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The Turn of the Screw
The Turn of the Screw
The Turn of the Screw
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The Turn of the Screw

Rating: 3.5 out of 5 stars

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The basis for Netflix’s The Haunting of Bly Manor: One of the most disturbing ghost stories ever written, a tale of imagined danger and real dread.

A young governess arrives at a secluded country estate, hired by the manor’s often-absent master to look after his orphaned niece and nephew. The young woman, a parson’s daughter, is immediately charmed by eight-year-old Flora—and Miles, two years older, seems like a perfect little gentleman when he is unexpectedly sent home from his boarding school.
 
But Miles’s steadfast refusal to reveal the cause of his expulsion is troubling, as are the staff’s whispered stories about the previous governess, Miss Jessel, and her lover, the mysterious valet, Peter Quint, both of whom are now dead. Most disturbing of all are the spectral figures wandering the grounds of Bly that only the new governess can see: a woman and a dark man who seem to take a special interest in Miles and Flora. No longer sure of what is real and whom she can trust, the governess desperately tries to hold on to her sanity and protect the innocent children from forces too sinister to name.
 
A literary masterpiece whose mysteries are open to endless interpretation, The Turn of the Screw has been haunting readers for more than a century.
 
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LanguageEnglish
Release dateAug 26, 2014
ISBN9781497659773
Author

Henry James

Henry James (1843–1916) was an American writer, highly regarded as one of the key proponents of literary realism, as well as for his contributions to literary criticism. His writing centres on the clash and overlap between Europe and America, and The Portrait of a Lady is regarded as his most notable work.

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Reviews for The Turn of the Screw

Rating: 3.26 out of 5 stars
3.5/5

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  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    Chilling! That ending is utterly chilling!
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    Another genre classic that I hadn't read for a long time-and this time with good reason. James' way with a convoluted sentence often makes me want to scream, and having to backtrack to work out his intended focus does not make for a smooth flow in reading experience.

    That said, there is a definite power in this tale, and it builds nicely in dread and atmosphere to a chilling conclusion. It is definitely a classic of the genre, but the movie THE INNOCENTS showed how it could have been done in a more straightforward, yet still distinctly superior, fashion, and Peter Straub's retelling in GHOST STORY is also a superior version.

    Could easily have been a 5 star tale, and saying that, I've nudged it up from 3 to 4 this time around. It could be a long, long time before I want to read it again though.
  • Rating: 2 out of 5 stars
    2/5
    Nogal moeilijk verhaal over verschijningen; de lezer wordt op het verkeerde been gezet. Thema's: onschuld kinderen, overbescherming door volwassenen.
  • Rating: 2 out of 5 stars
    2/5
    A tale of a ghost in Victorian England.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    I've never read Henry James, but I love ghost stories, and this is one of the classic ghost stories. I loved the ambiguity-- but the dense language lost me from time to time. You can certainly see its influence on modern horror literature, film and pop culture.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    Written in 1898 and republished numerous times Turn of the Screw has also been adapted for the stage, television and the big screen. Someone told me it was even mentioned in an episode of "Lost" (I wouldn't know). James's technique is to tell the story within a frame - one story within another. We are first introduced to a man at a Christmas party telling a tale of a governess. From there we are in the story, told from the point of view of the governess. She has been hired to look after two small children after their parents are killed and they are sent to live on an uncle's estate. Soon after the governess's arrival she starts to notice strange occurances, shadowy figures stalking the grounds. She learns they are former lovers and hired hands, back to supposedly recreate their relationship through the children.While James uses words like "hideous", "sinister", "detestable", and "dangerous", there is great debate as to exactly what he is describing as so terrible. He refers to evil again and again, but his ghosts are not the usual spectors. They only hint at danger rather than taking action and "attacking". The other great debate is whether the governess is insane (or goes insane while at Bly). Because no one else really backs up her ghost sightings you have to wonder.
  • Rating: 2 out of 5 stars
    2/5
    Intense? No. Boring.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    Tangled Victorian prose spoils this otherwise good ghost story. The scene where the governess meets the spectre of Peter Quint on the stairs is genuinely scary. I don't think I would read this one again just for enjoyment, so I'm going to register & release it on BookCrossing.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    eBook

    Reading The Turn of the Screw is like few other reading experiences I've ever had. It's perhaps most similar to Faulkner's unwillingness to explicitly explore the trauma driving his characters, but taken to an extreme far beyond that. Does James truly know what is happening in the story? Perhaps, but given that the governess, despite her overwhelming certainty in her own beliefs, is one of literature's least-trustworthy narrators, it is impossible for any reader to have total certainty about any part of her story.

    It's her certainty, paradoxically, that makes the governess such a compelling character. Presented with events she doesn't fully comprehend, she leaps to conclusions with a startling suddenness, and once adopted, treats those conclusions as absolute facts. It is, in fact, her certainty that leads to so much doubt on the part of the reader, even as it is responsible for the creation of the story itself. Clearly, the story as written, whether true or not, is the governess' creation. Throughout, she fills in every narrative gap, cutting off the statements of others so as to complete their statements herself, or painting in vivid terms the motivations and imaginings of characters that would otherwise have remained hidden. As readers, we're not allowed our own suppositions about the other characters or the events of the story. The governess tells us what they say, think, believe, and do, leaving us only a binary option, befitting greatly the way her own mind works: do we believe her or not?

    No matter our efforts, we can never really know if there were ghosts at Bly Manor, but in the end, that's irrelevant. The ghosts exist inside the governess' head, perhaps not as the spirits of the former governess and her lover, but at least in the form of the world constructed within the current governess' head. In a strange way, she is both narrator and reader of her own story, not only telling us what is happening, but simultaneously inviting us to join her in her own understanding of what she witnesses.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    A little novel about a dear little boy and a dear little girl, who are plagued by ghosts of of their previous caretakers, who may or may not have taken part in little perversions. The little children live in a mansion full of little rooms, run by a governess who may be a little crazy. The plot suffers from a little bit of ambiguity. I guess it's time to read a dozen critical essays on this classic. Until then, 3 - more than a little generous - stars.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    A horror classic. The story is conducive to so many readings; the most obvious question, that of the narrator's sanity, gives rise to two completely different but equally compelling narratives. There is a lot of complexity packed into this short novel, and it is clear why it continues to be of interest to literary critics and readers alike. Of course, it hails from the Victorian era, so you have to be willing to wade through the overly verbose inner monologue and the ludicrously heightened displays of emotion. These can make it a bit of a chore to read, but the bones of this story are rock-solid. And to be fair, it's hard to imagine the crucial atmosphere, full of traumatic secrets and implied confessions, remaining intact without the sense of aristocratic Victorian propriety.

    I will say that this was not an emotionally satisfying read. Whether supernatural or not, there is a very real terror that permeates this story: the theme of children helpless and voiceless in the face of abuse from their caretakers. For a new parent especially, it's deeply upsetting, and it is delivered without any final catharsis. I was left with just a sense of hopelessness and loss at the end, and I was happy to have my son in my arms to hold.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    Is the absence of explanations that makes this book interesting. Too many unknowns and just some answers
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    Having read this, I stared at the last page on my Kindle, trying to decide how I felt about it. And I'm not sure. I enjoyed reading it, I enjoyed the slow unfurling of the menace of it. I liked the ambiguity, being unable to ensure if the governess were going mad or whether there really were ghosts. And I loved the starkness of the ending.

    At the same time, I don't know, there was something lacking. I got to the end and felt -- is that it? Is that all the pay off we're going to get? And yet, at the same time, I didn't think there was anything more that needed to be added. A strange, strange feeling.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    Turn of the Screw is the classic story of the unreliable narrator. A governess is given charge of two children on a rather isolated estate in England. She has taken the job because it was offered by a man she has romanticized, a man she wants to impress, a man who is conspicuously absent at the estate. The two precocious children are mysterious in their beauty, their behavior, and their background. They have a bond with each other, as well as with one staffmember that borders on collusion. They have secrets, revealed in bits about their previous governess and a licentious groundskeeper who had inappropriate relationships, implied in a Victorian manner. The two predecessors, though dead, figure prominently in the story as the heroine must protect the children from their ghosts. James's method of relating the story through a third generation narrator brings into question whether the ghosts are "real" or the illusion of the governess, who, throughout the story, is defending herself. The opening chapter may be overlooked for its importance as it only introduces the thrilling tale, but much has been speculated on James's intent in using a narrator who is the friend of a man who once loved the governess, who may edit the story to defend him who may have edited the story that came from the governess herself. Love may make you do crazy things, which is why the governess's great threat is questionable in the first place. The story may be my favorite of James's works because it is different from his longer novels. He uses the unreliable narrator, in a style like Poe's, and implied psychology, leaving ambiguity for the reader to interpret.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    I thought I would never make it through the first chapter, but I did and enjoyed finishing it. I made it through 2 books that were 400 pages + during the same time it took me to finish this 120 page book. Tedious, very difficult to read but enjoyable once I got into it. It has since made any semi-difficult read a breeze.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    Any writer can make a cemetery or haunted house scary, but a good writer can make terrifying the absolutely ordinary. Henry James does this in Turn of the Screw, which is a ghost story about a governess who finds herself stuck with loving but haunted charges.This mini-novel is densely written, so if you're fresh off Stephen King and want blood, gore, and one-liners, you're not going to find it here. Turn of the Screw is an old-fashioned gothic story, full of expensive manors and apparitions in the study. But if you can get through the dense language, you'll find a terrific atmosphere. At first everything will seem normal, but a sense of unease will creep up on you. You'll realize that there's something not quite right with the children or the governess. You'll feel the macabre before you can even put a name to it, and you'll start to question what is real and what is psychological. This is horror the way it used to be, and the way it should be again.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    I don't think it has to be interpreted as either/or imagination or ghosts. I think it can be both. I also think there's some interesting things implied about the relationship between the governess and the older boy.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    This book by Henry James is a ghost story. The story is told by an unnamed governess who takes her first job as governess of two children. She is delighted with her charges but soon thinks they are scheming against her and then she gets them alone and accuses them. The author's style is ambiguous and I have more questions than answers after reading this novella.
  • Rating: 1 out of 5 stars
    1/5
    I suppose it's because of how old the story is, that I found the mystery/ story unsuspenseful. I've never seen so many unnecessary words used to describe the simplest of things! My mind was left strained and uncaring towards the end.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    I had a hard time with the language on this one...tough to follow. And I was continually frustrated with the governness in regards to Miles--if she wanted to know why he was kicked out of school, she should have asked him from the beginning, or written a letter to the headmaster!! It just seemed really odd that she decided not to mention it to him at all when he first came home. There was a lot of communication that was not happening. I did like the psychological element to it, and the possibly unreliable narrator. I was hoping it would be creepier than it turned out to be! I just didn't feel as much of an emotional connection to the characters.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    Very interesting gothic ghost (maybe?) story. Wonderful unreliable narrator who may be mad and imagining the whole thing. Or maybe the ghosts are real. Or perhaps she is mad, but isn't imagining it at all.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    Another one of the scariest books I have ever read. Really creepy, perfect for reading around the fire by candlelight.
  • Rating: 1 out of 5 stars
    1/5
    Against my better judgment, I read this, my second Henry James story. So tedious! The exquisite sensitivities of his protagonist are absurd and prevent her from achieving a simple solution on every page. The protagonist and James' prose were exasperating enough to overwhelm the psychological tension and creepiness that this story is supposed to exhibit so well. William remains my favorite of the James brothers, for sure. I'll do my best to avoid Henry in the future.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    I know this is supposed to be a classic psychological gothic-type mystery, but I just didn't find it very effective. Yes, there is a big scary secret revealed, but from my point of view (as a reader and movie-watcher in the 21st century), it just wasn't as unnerving as it was meant to be. Perhaps it should be viewed as the predecessor of all the psychological thrillers around today.
  • Rating: 2 out of 5 stars
    2/5
    A ghost story with a horrific overtone.Victorian obscurity in expression, so not to say anything that could be objectionable. Took me a while to figure out what was worrying the governess.220
  • Rating: 2 out of 5 stars
    2/5
    I have no freaking idea what I just read. It ended--if you can even call that an ending, which is up for debate--and I went back and re-read the last six chapters. It didn't really help.W.T.F????2 stars for a strong start and a cool story idea...he lost me after that.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    Not much to say about this one. It had great potential to be a really creepy Halloween tale, but just fell flat for me.

    The writing was very good and typical of the writing in the late 1800s.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    This was my first Henry James story and I really enjoyed it. It was a short novel that can be characterized as a classic psychological thriller or ghost story from the 19th century. The story itself was not particularly scary, but I really enjoyed James' writing style and how he got inside the head of the main character as she starts to lose it later in the story. I will certainly read more of Henry James.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    An eerie ghost story that takes place at Bly, a country house in England. The story involves a governess and her two charges, Miles and Flora, who seem to be the most beautiful and well-behaved of children. But things are not always what they seem. It is left to the reader to imagine the possible reasons for Mile's expulsion from school, the relationship between the previous governess and manservant at Bly, and whether the governess is psychologically unstable or if there really are ghosts wandering the halls and corrupting the children. A great rainy day read.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    Brilliantly eerie story with much mystery surrounding what is actually happening. Is it an examination of a unhealthy personality or truly a ghost story? This is such a nice copy of the book, but the illustration are world class awful.

Book preview

The Turn of the Screw - Henry James

I

I remember the whole beginning as a succession of flights and drops, a little seesaw of the right throbs and the wrong. After rising, in town, to meet his appeal, I had at all events a couple of very bad days—found myself doubtful again, felt indeed sure I had made a mistake. In this state of mind I spent the long hours of bumping, swinging coach that carried me to the stopping place at which I was to be met by a vehicle from the house. This convenience, I was told, had been ordered, and I found, toward the close of the June afternoon, a commodious fly in waiting for me. Driving at that hour, on a lovely day, through a country to which the summer sweetness seemed to offer me a friendly welcome, my fortitude mounted afresh and, as we turned into the avenue, encountered a reprieve that was probably but a proof of the point to which it had sunk. I suppose I had expected, or had dreaded, something so melancholy that what greeted me was a good surprise. I remember as a most pleasant impression the broad, clear front, its open windows and fresh curtains and the pair of maids looking out; I remember the lawn and the bright flowers and the crunch of my wheels on the gravel and the clustered treetops over which the rooks circled and cawed in the golden sky. The scene had a greatness that made it a different affair from my own scant home, and there immediately appeared at the door, with a little girl in her hand, a civil person who dropped me as decent a curtsy as if I had been the mistress or a distinguished visitor. I had received in Harley Street a narrower notion of the place, and that, as I recalled it, made me think the proprietor still more of a gentleman, suggested that what I was to enjoy might be something beyond his promise.

I had no drop again till the next day, for I was carried triumphantly through the following hours by my introduction to the younger of my pupils. The little girl who accompanied Mrs. Grose appeared to me on the spot a creature so charming as to make it a great fortune to have to do with her. She was the most beautiful child I had ever seen, and I afterward wondered that my employer had not told me more of her. I slept little that night—I was too much excited; and this astonished me, too, I recollect, remained with me, adding to my sense of the liberality with which I was treated. The large, impressive room, one of the best in the house, the great state bed, as I almost felt it, the full, figured draperies, the long glasses in which, for the first time, I could see myself from head to foot, all struck me—like the extraordinary charm of my small charge—as so many things thrown in. It was thrown in as well, from the first moment, that I should get on with Mrs. Grose in a relation over which, on my way, in the coach, I fear I had rather brooded. The only thing indeed that in this early outlook might have made me shrink again was the clear circumstance of her being so glad to see me. I perceived within half an hour that she was so glad—stout, simple, plain, clean, wholesome woman—as to be positively on her guard against showing it too much. I wondered even then a little why she should wish not to show it, and that, with reflection, with suspicion, might of course have made me uneasy.

But it was a comfort that there could be no uneasiness in a connection with anything so beatific as the radiant image of my little girl, the vision of whose angelic beauty had probably more than anything else to do with the restlessness that, before morning, made me several times rise and wander about my room to take in the whole picture and prospect; to watch, from my open window, the faint summer dawn, to look at such portions of the rest of the house as I could catch, and to listen, while, in the fading dusk, the first birds began to twitter, for the possible recurrence of a sound or two, less natural and not without, but within, that I had fancied I heard. There had been a moment when I believed I recognized, faint and far, the cry of a child; there had been another when I found myself just consciously starting as at the passage, before my door, of a light footstep. But these fancies were not marked enough not to be thrown off, and it is only in the light, or the gloom, I should rather say, of other and subsequent matters that they now come back to me. To watch, teach, form little Flora would too evidently be the making of a happy and useful life. It had been agreed between us downstairs that after this first occasion I should have her as a matter of course at night, her small white bed being already arranged, to that end, in my room. What I had undertaken was the whole care of her, and she had remained, just this last time, with Mrs. Grose only as an effect of our consideration for my inevitable strangeness and her natural timidity. In spite of this timidity—which the child herself, in the oddest way in the world, had been perfectly frank and brave about, allowing it, without a sign of uncomfortable consciousness, with the deep, sweet serenity indeed of one of Raphael’s holy infants, to be discussed, to be imputed to her, and to determine us—I feel quite sure she would presently like me. It was part of what I already liked Mrs. Grose herself for, the pleasure I could see her feel in my admiration and wonder as I sat at supper with four tall candles and with my pupil, in a high chair and a bib, brightly facing me, between them, over bread and milk. There were naturally things that in Flora’s presence could pass between us only as prodigious and gratified looks, obscure and roundabout allusions.

And the little boy—does he look like her? Is he too so very remarkable?

One wouldn’t flatter a child. "Oh, miss, most remarkable. If you think well of this one!"—and she stood there with a plate in her hand, beaming at our companion, who looked from one of us to the other with placid heavenly eyes that contained nothing to check us.

Yes; if I do—?

"You will be carried away by the little gentleman!"

Well, that, I think, is what I came for—to be carried away. I’m afraid, however, I remember feeling the impulse to add, I’m rather easily carried away. I was carried away in London!

I can still see Mrs. Grose’s broad face as she took this in. In Harley Street?

In Harley Street.

Well, miss, you’re not the first—and you won’t be the last.

Oh, I’ve no pretension, I could laugh, to being the only one. My other pupil, at any rate, as I understand, comes back tomorrow?

Not tomorrow—Friday, miss. He arrives, as you did, by the coach, under care of the guard, and is to be met by the same carriage.

I forthwith expressed that the proper as well as the pleasant and friendly thing would be therefore that on the arrival of the public conveyance I should be in waiting for him with his little sister; an idea in which Mrs. Grose concurred so heartily that I somehow took her manner as a kind of comforting pledge—never falsified, thank heaven!—that we should on every question be quite at one. Oh, she was glad I was there!

What I felt the next day was, I suppose, nothing that could be fairly called a reaction from the cheer of my arrival; it was probably at the most only a slight oppression produced by a fuller measure of the scale, as I walked round them, gazed up at them, took them in, of my new circumstances. They had, as it were, an extent and mass for which I had not been prepared and in the presence of which I found myself, freshly, a little scared as well as a little proud. Lessons, in this agitation, certainly suffered some delay; I reflected that my first duty was, by the gentlest arts I could contrive, to win the child into the sense of knowing me. I spent the day with her out-of-doors; I arranged with her, to her great satisfaction, that it should be she, she only, who might show me the place. She showed it step by step and room by room and secret by secret, with droll, delightful, childish talk about it and with the result, in half an hour, of our becoming immense friends. Young as she was, I was struck, throughout our little tour, with her confidence and courage with the way, in empty chambers and dull corridors, on crooked staircases that made me pause and even on the summit of an old machicolated square tower that made me dizzy, her morning music, her disposition to tell me so many more things than she asked, rang out and led me on. I have not seen Bly since the day I left it, and I daresay that to my older and more informed eyes it would now appear sufficiently contracted. But as my little conductress, with her hair of gold and her frock of blue, danced before me round corners and pattered down passages, I had the view of a castle of romance inhabited by a rosy sprite, such a place as would somehow, for diversion of the young idea, take all color out of storybooks and fairytales. Wasn’t it just a storybook over which I had fallen adoze and adream? No; it was a big, ugly, antique, but convenient house, embodying a few features of a building still older, half-replaced and half-utilized, in which I had the fancy of our being almost as lost as a handful of passengers in a great drifting ship. Well, I was, strangely, at the

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