Edited by Joyce Carol Oates
PS3519 A392 A15 2010
Reviewed by Miriam Stone, Learning Resource and Access Specialist, The Yocum Library
PS3519 A392 A15 2010
Reviewed by Miriam Stone, Learning Resource and Access Specialist, The Yocum Library
This 800-page book, filled with the novels and short stories of Shirley Jackson, has been called a collector’s dream. Through her writing, Jackson illustrates her view on gender and identity roles. She deals with prejudice and bigotry and seems to conclude that most of society is populated by monsters.
Shirley Jackson was born in 1916 and died of heart failure in 1965. She spent 48 years on this planet, and although she tried so hard to do the things that women of that day did, she failed miserably. On the surface it looked so right. She went from her mother’s house to her husband’s. She had four children. She cleaned and cooked and washed and reared children and wrote clever little stories about their antics, stories that were published in “women’s” magazines such as Ladies Home Journal. Occasionally, The New Yorker would pick up one of her stories and run it. She was married to Stanley Edgar Hyman, a noted literary critic and professor and though she was the bread winner in the family, he controlled the finances.
She railed against the title “housewife,” insisting she was a writer. Her style was bohemian and although to the outside world she was an excellent mother, she often thought that she wasn’t raising children so much as she was dragging them along.
She railed against the title “housewife,” insisting she was a writer. Her style was bohemian and although to the outside world she was an excellent mother, she often thought that she wasn’t raising children so much as she was dragging them along.
Jackson appeared to have it made. Inside, she was drowning. Her mother only kept in touch with Jackson when she wanted to tell her what a failure she was as a daughter. Her husband rewarded her devotion to him by having affair after affair, regaling her with vivid descriptions of his adultery and calling her stupid for not wanting to hear him describe his exploits.
It is of interest to note that the Library of Congress approached Hyman asking to archive his work and adding almost as an afterthought, that they would be interested also in his wife’s work. Today, Jackson’s work is available on site in Washington DC while Hyman’s has been relegated to a location off site.
Jackson became well known for her humorous commentary on marriage and children. It would have surprised her readers to know that when she tucked her children into bed every night, she would sing them a lullaby called “The Gratten murders” in which a whole family is murdered with things like knives and hatchets.
In 1948, The New Yorker published a new Jackson story called “The Lottery.” People were expecting something light and amusing. What they got wasn’t light or amusing. In fact, it was so dark, readers responded to it with more letters than the magazine had ever received. Only 13 of them were favorable. Most called Jackson perverted, themselves traumatized by the horror of the story and betrayed by its writer.
“The Lottery” is now required reading in almost every high school in America. It has been discussed, ripped apart, and interpreted by countless numbers of scholars and continues to be to this day.
In any case, writing about the happy days of family life were over. It became known that Jackson considered herself to be a witch and saw herself as fractured into many separate personas. She kept simultaneous journals that she claimed were written by each of these personas.
In 1959, “The Haunting of Hill House” was published and the consensus is that it is a perfect work of unnerving terror. Jackson was just getting started. Other books and articles followed, each one more mysterious than the last.
Critics have taken countless shots at analyzing the meaning of her work and yet she, herself, never commented on or defended her writing. She hoped that one day it would stand on its own, but it was almost 50 years after her death that it has become recognized for the genius that it is. Just as Jackson drew on Edgar Allan Poe, Stephen King drew on Jackson. His phenomenal success in the field of horror fiction brought Jackson’s work to the forefront for an audience much less critical than the letter writers of 1948.
In tribute to her, Jackson’s husband said “she consistently refused to be interviewed, to explain her work, to take public stands or to be the pundit of Sunday supplements.” She has been called the “Queen of Horror,” a label she may not have appreciated. She is an acquired taste and not for everyone, but she is recognized by all as a great writer.
“The Haunting of Hill House” conveys the terror felt by four people trapped in a place of diabolical horror. No one is slashed, hacked or crushed, no blood is spilled and not one ghostly specter makes an appearance. Yet, in this and most of Jackson’s stories, the reader will be white knuckled, their fear palpable, their blood racing in anticipation and dread of the next sentence. How is that possible? It is because Jackson inherently understood two truisms of human nature and she expertly employed them in her work. They are the power of suggestion and the scope of imagination. She leads us to the edge of a cliff, confident that once there, we will jump.
It is of interest to note that the Library of Congress approached Hyman asking to archive his work and adding almost as an afterthought, that they would be interested also in his wife’s work. Today, Jackson’s work is available on site in Washington DC while Hyman’s has been relegated to a location off site.
Jackson became well known for her humorous commentary on marriage and children. It would have surprised her readers to know that when she tucked her children into bed every night, she would sing them a lullaby called “The Gratten murders” in which a whole family is murdered with things like knives and hatchets.
In 1948, The New Yorker published a new Jackson story called “The Lottery.” People were expecting something light and amusing. What they got wasn’t light or amusing. In fact, it was so dark, readers responded to it with more letters than the magazine had ever received. Only 13 of them were favorable. Most called Jackson perverted, themselves traumatized by the horror of the story and betrayed by its writer.
“The Lottery” is now required reading in almost every high school in America. It has been discussed, ripped apart, and interpreted by countless numbers of scholars and continues to be to this day.
In any case, writing about the happy days of family life were over. It became known that Jackson considered herself to be a witch and saw herself as fractured into many separate personas. She kept simultaneous journals that she claimed were written by each of these personas.
In 1959, “The Haunting of Hill House” was published and the consensus is that it is a perfect work of unnerving terror. Jackson was just getting started. Other books and articles followed, each one more mysterious than the last.
Critics have taken countless shots at analyzing the meaning of her work and yet she, herself, never commented on or defended her writing. She hoped that one day it would stand on its own, but it was almost 50 years after her death that it has become recognized for the genius that it is. Just as Jackson drew on Edgar Allan Poe, Stephen King drew on Jackson. His phenomenal success in the field of horror fiction brought Jackson’s work to the forefront for an audience much less critical than the letter writers of 1948.
In tribute to her, Jackson’s husband said “she consistently refused to be interviewed, to explain her work, to take public stands or to be the pundit of Sunday supplements.” She has been called the “Queen of Horror,” a label she may not have appreciated. She is an acquired taste and not for everyone, but she is recognized by all as a great writer.
“The Haunting of Hill House” conveys the terror felt by four people trapped in a place of diabolical horror. No one is slashed, hacked or crushed, no blood is spilled and not one ghostly specter makes an appearance. Yet, in this and most of Jackson’s stories, the reader will be white knuckled, their fear palpable, their blood racing in anticipation and dread of the next sentence. How is that possible? It is because Jackson inherently understood two truisms of human nature and she expertly employed them in her work. They are the power of suggestion and the scope of imagination. She leads us to the edge of a cliff, confident that once there, we will jump.
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