by Shirley Jackson

Through the eyes of the misanthropic narrator, Merricat, the reader is immediately drawn into a world where nothing seems quite right. Merricat makes her way past cruel and taunting neighbours, all the while dropping a trail of crumbs which inform us little by little of a family tragedy which lies several years in the past and alludes to the possible circumstances which brought about the tragedy. The narrator also gives us snippets of her remaining family members, of her love for her elder sister Constance, and of her cat. We become acutely aware of Merricat’s struggle with depression and anxiety. They live isolated with their uncle, safe and secure in a creaking old New England house, and Constance’s efforts to assure and protect her younger sister, despite her own sufferings, are intensified when they are threatened by uninvited guests.

This novella is darkly haunting and beautifully gothic, like the pretty patterns of flowers and birds scratched into the wood of a black-painted door by a rusty nail. With the small-town America setting, populated with malicious gossips, cruel-tongued children and a possibly murderous pair of siblings dabbling in witchcraft, it is easy to see Jackson’s influence on Stephen King, (think ‘Needful Things’). The author’s bio on Goodreads tells us that she intended her writing to mirror society in an era of cold-war fear.

I think most would agree that the world has become more unstable than it ever was during the cold war, and given that our fears are now magnified through the lens of social media and unreliable journalism, this theme is possibly more relevant now than it was when the book was first published over half a century ago.