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A review by fachrinaa
Ghost Stories of an Antiquary by M.R. James
5.0
M. R. James’s stories can be formulaic at times – A professor or scholar of some kind finds a mysterious artefact, meddles with it, and unleashes a demonic entity which ends up haunting him. The stories are straightforward horror; no is-it-a-ghost-or-is-the-narrator-mad complexity here.
I wouldn’t call his stories scary. The more appropriate word, I feel, is unnerving. The entities are described, yes, but never thoroughly. The faces, and the exact nature of the entities, are often left unexplained. What we get instead is the characters’ reaction. As their repulsion grows, so does ours.
A charming feature of James’s stories is the dry humour that runs through them. A prime example of this is ‘Oh Whistle, and I’ll Come to You, My Lad’ (which, if you only read one James’s story, read this).
Before the stories are published, James usually told them to pupils and colleagues on Christmas night (as per old British tradition of telling ghost stories on Christmas, apparently). It’s a tradition that should be revived, I think – so we can all gather round in a room on a dark cold night and listen to James’s stories, and tell ourselves that the persistent chill comes from the howling wind.
I wouldn’t call his stories scary. The more appropriate word, I feel, is unnerving. The entities are described, yes, but never thoroughly. The faces, and the exact nature of the entities, are often left unexplained. What we get instead is the characters’ reaction. As their repulsion grows, so does ours.
A charming feature of James’s stories is the dry humour that runs through them. A prime example of this is ‘Oh Whistle, and I’ll Come to You, My Lad’ (which, if you only read one James’s story, read this).
Before the stories are published, James usually told them to pupils and colleagues on Christmas night (as per old British tradition of telling ghost stories on Christmas, apparently). It’s a tradition that should be revived, I think – so we can all gather round in a room on a dark cold night and listen to James’s stories, and tell ourselves that the persistent chill comes from the howling wind.