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A review by oddfigg
The Bird's Nest by Shirley Jackson
4.0
This, Shirley Jackson’s third novel, came out six years after “The Lottery” and five years before The Haunting of Hill House. It is clear that what she is interested in are themes that encompass the dark depths humanity can sink to and intensely character-driven stories. Though I don’t think The Bird’s Nest can be considered a Gothic novel (like her last two and more well-known books), it shows clear ruminations on interiority and deeply emotional characters and the creation of a dark, tense atmosphere through the writing—hallmarks of Gothic writing.
The book centers around young Elizabeth, who seems ordinary enough: under her aunt’s thumb, plagued by headaches, shepherded back and forth from a boring, repetitive job at the history museum. The most interesting thing about her is the strange building she works in, one side of it sinking and upsetting the balance of the whole museum. And of course the hole in the wall right beside her desk.
Isn’t that really the start of it all? A great gaping hole where it shouldn’t be, revealing the inner machinations and foibles of a building crumbling into its foundation. From the outside, everything seems to be just fine, but come inside and maybe you’ll sense that the floor is slightly uneven, a marble rolling cleanly across it, a slight feeling vertigo when you come around the corner.
This off-kilter building creates the tingle of foreshadowing, the ominous buildup for what is to come when Elizabeth begins losing time, splintering, showing off the other sides of herself that have been hidden inside. And this is the perfect example of why I love Shirley Jackson’s writing. She creates these strange, almost whimsical, moments that completely distract you from the character or the plot. And though they seem innocuous, there is something off, and you realize that you’ve actually been holding your breath, feeling your stomach clench up. Jackson creates an ominous undercurrent with these types of scenes, weaving into our subconscious that there is something larger at play—that it will all tie in and once we know the full truth, we might be sorry we ever poked our noses in to find out at all.
The Bird’s Nest is really not as dark and brooding as I’ve made it sound. The characters of Dr. Wright and Aunt Morgen are quite humorous and tend toward the extreme, as Jackson characters do. Though Elizabeth’s personalities are not all friendly, their interactions with the doctor and even with each other do not offer a sense of tension or horror. Instead, there is the classic Jackson sharpened brilliance and aslant witticism, each character completely their own person—fully developed and springing from the page (if not from that slightly heightened reality I always feel Jackson is writing from).
At the same time, Jackson manages to capture a very humanistic story. Elizabeth’s story is a coming-of-age tale of sorts, and possibly more importantly, one about female identity and the lack of control women felt about their lives and selves during this time period. While it seems like everyone else is concerned with condensing her back into one person, what she is worried about is losing each distinct self, how the creation of one Elizabeth would stamp out all the others.
Though the ending does feel rather tidy and warm compared to the open-ended shock of her darker writings, The Bird’s Nest is a psychologically driven and well-rounded exploration of a now over-used trope that still feels fresh, all these years later.
The book centers around young Elizabeth, who seems ordinary enough: under her aunt’s thumb, plagued by headaches, shepherded back and forth from a boring, repetitive job at the history museum. The most interesting thing about her is the strange building she works in, one side of it sinking and upsetting the balance of the whole museum. And of course the hole in the wall right beside her desk.
Isn’t that really the start of it all? A great gaping hole where it shouldn’t be, revealing the inner machinations and foibles of a building crumbling into its foundation. From the outside, everything seems to be just fine, but come inside and maybe you’ll sense that the floor is slightly uneven, a marble rolling cleanly across it, a slight feeling vertigo when you come around the corner.
This off-kilter building creates the tingle of foreshadowing, the ominous buildup for what is to come when Elizabeth begins losing time, splintering, showing off the other sides of herself that have been hidden inside. And this is the perfect example of why I love Shirley Jackson’s writing. She creates these strange, almost whimsical, moments that completely distract you from the character or the plot. And though they seem innocuous, there is something off, and you realize that you’ve actually been holding your breath, feeling your stomach clench up. Jackson creates an ominous undercurrent with these types of scenes, weaving into our subconscious that there is something larger at play—that it will all tie in and once we know the full truth, we might be sorry we ever poked our noses in to find out at all.
The Bird’s Nest is really not as dark and brooding as I’ve made it sound. The characters of Dr. Wright and Aunt Morgen are quite humorous and tend toward the extreme, as Jackson characters do. Though Elizabeth’s personalities are not all friendly, their interactions with the doctor and even with each other do not offer a sense of tension or horror. Instead, there is the classic Jackson sharpened brilliance and aslant witticism, each character completely their own person—fully developed and springing from the page (if not from that slightly heightened reality I always feel Jackson is writing from).
At the same time, Jackson manages to capture a very humanistic story. Elizabeth’s story is a coming-of-age tale of sorts, and possibly more importantly, one about female identity and the lack of control women felt about their lives and selves during this time period. While it seems like everyone else is concerned with condensing her back into one person, what she is worried about is losing each distinct self, how the creation of one Elizabeth would stamp out all the others.
Though the ending does feel rather tidy and warm compared to the open-ended shock of her darker writings, The Bird’s Nest is a psychologically driven and well-rounded exploration of a now over-used trope that still feels fresh, all these years later.