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The Sundial
Aunt Fanny knows when the world will end....
Aunt Fanny has always been somewhat peculiar. No one is surprised that while the Halloran clan gathers at the crumbling old mansion for a funeral she wanders off to the secret garden. But when she reports the vision she had there, the family is engulfed in fear, violence, and madness. For Aunt Fanny's long-dead father has given her the precise date of the final cataclysm!
Aunt Fanny has always been somewhat peculiar. No one is surprised that while the Halloran clan gathers at the crumbling old mansion for a funeral she wanders off to the secret garden. But when she reports the vision she had there, the family is engulfed in fear, violence, and madness. For Aunt Fanny's long-dead father has given her the precise date of the final cataclysm!
245 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1958
About the author
Shirley Jackson
294 books9,640 followersShirley Jackson was an influential American author. A popular writer in her time, her work has received increasing attention from literary critics in recent years. She has influenced such writers as Stephen King, Nigel Kneale, and Richard Matheson.
She is best known for her dystopian short story, "The Lottery" (1948), which suggests there is a deeply unsettling underside to bucolic, smalltown America. In her critical biography of Shirley Jackson, Lenemaja Friedman notes that when Shirley Jackson's story "The Lottery" was published in the June 28, 1948, issue of The New Yorker, it received a response that "no New Yorker story had ever received." Hundreds of letters poured in that were characterized by, as Jackson put it, "bewilderment, speculation and old-fashioned abuse."
Jackson's husband, the literary critic Stanley Edgar Hyman, wrote in his preface to a posthumous anthology of her work that "she consistently refused to be interviewed, to explain or promote her work in any fashion, or to take public stands and be the pundit of the Sunday supplements. She believed that her books would speak for her clearly enough over the years." Hyman insisted the darker aspects of Jackson's works were not, as some critics claimed, the product of "personal, even neurotic, fantasies", but that Jackson intended, as "a sensitive and faithful anatomy of our times, fitting symbols for our distressing world of the concentration camp and the Bomb", to mirror humanity's Cold War-era fears. Jackson may even have taken pleasure in the subversive impact of her work, as revealed by Hyman's statement that she "was always proud that the Union of South Africa banned The Lottery', and she felt that they at least understood the story".
In 1965, Jackson died of heart failure in her sleep, at her home in North Bennington Vermont, at the age of 48.
She is best known for her dystopian short story, "The Lottery" (1948), which suggests there is a deeply unsettling underside to bucolic, smalltown America. In her critical biography of Shirley Jackson, Lenemaja Friedman notes that when Shirley Jackson's story "The Lottery" was published in the June 28, 1948, issue of The New Yorker, it received a response that "no New Yorker story had ever received." Hundreds of letters poured in that were characterized by, as Jackson put it, "bewilderment, speculation and old-fashioned abuse."
Jackson's husband, the literary critic Stanley Edgar Hyman, wrote in his preface to a posthumous anthology of her work that "she consistently refused to be interviewed, to explain or promote her work in any fashion, or to take public stands and be the pundit of the Sunday supplements. She believed that her books would speak for her clearly enough over the years." Hyman insisted the darker aspects of Jackson's works were not, as some critics claimed, the product of "personal, even neurotic, fantasies", but that Jackson intended, as "a sensitive and faithful anatomy of our times, fitting symbols for our distressing world of the concentration camp and the Bomb", to mirror humanity's Cold War-era fears. Jackson may even have taken pleasure in the subversive impact of her work, as revealed by Hyman's statement that she "was always proud that the Union of South Africa banned The Lottery', and she felt that they at least understood the story".
In 1965, Jackson died of heart failure in her sleep, at her home in North Bennington Vermont, at the age of 48.
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January 5, 2019
In Stephen King's novel 11/22/63 a man named Jake Epping finds a portal that allows him to travel to 1958.
To be specific. . . it transports him to September 9, 1958 @ 11:58am.
And, no matter how many times Jake goes into the portal and emerges back into the present day, it is always 1958 when he returns.
Once Jake commits to entering into the portal for good, he adjusts to life in 1958 and prefers it. He can't quite get over how much better the food tastes, how much more polite children are to their parents and teachers and how big and beautiful the cars are.
My father would have loved 11/22/63, and it was published while he was still alive, but my dad had fallen into a mental despair by that time, and had given up on reading. I remember calling him, though, as I was reading it (devouring it, actually) and telling him the basic premise. When I told him about the rabbit hole that takes Jake to 1958, my dad said, “I would have jumped right in.”
Believe me, he would have.
My dad loved the 1950s more than any other time, and while he was alive, you could ask him just about anything from that decade, and he would know the answer immediately. He also had an excellent voice and could sing just about any lyric from any song performed during that time, tell you the make and year of any car (he grew up in the then-booming auto industry in the Midwest), and then branch off in a soft voice and talk about Ray Bradbury, Rod Serling and UFOs.
But now that it's 2019 and I'm obsessed, for the first time in my life with Shirley Jackson. . . I wish I knew. . . Did my father know about Shirley Jackson?
I think the answer is “No.”
And yet, in 1958. . . 42-year-old Shirley Jackson published The Sundial, her fourth novel, written before her two most popular books, The Haunting of Hill House and We Have Always Lived in the Castle.
She had commercial success and she had readership, but WHO was reading her, and what were they thinking at the time?
Because. . . I'm in my 40s. . . in 2019. . . and this woman is BLOWING MY MIND.
I started The Sundial over a month ago and it took me days just to get past the first paragraph. The only word I can use to describe it is: genius. I can't read her work quickly; there's too much for me to absorb and stare at.
And, did you know Shirley Jackson's writing can be wicked funny? FUNNY? Oh, this is funny all right.
I'm not even going to tell you what it's about. . . that's for me to know and you to find out. . . but you're missing out, is what you are, if you haven't read these books.
Shirley's depiction of life in 1958 was so vivid, so on my mind. . . I have thought about my dad, Ray Bradbury and Jake Epping throughout this entire read.
And, when I finally finished the book last night and turned off the lights, I had this sudden vision of my father as a skinny teenager, walking home from school after basketball practice.
It was weird; I was not asleep. I was not summoning any particular image. My eyes were closed, and I was listening to the dogs shuffling in protest in their crates, but in my mind I could suddenly see my dad in his sweaty gym clothes, walking home quietly, whistling, feet crunching lightly in the dirt.
It was 1958, he was 15, and he was ridiculously happy. I "watched" him this way for quite some time, then I sat up in bed and cried and cried at the sight of him.
I swear, Shirley. You're some kind of witch for sure.
To be specific. . . it transports him to September 9, 1958 @ 11:58am.
And, no matter how many times Jake goes into the portal and emerges back into the present day, it is always 1958 when he returns.
Once Jake commits to entering into the portal for good, he adjusts to life in 1958 and prefers it. He can't quite get over how much better the food tastes, how much more polite children are to their parents and teachers and how big and beautiful the cars are.
My father would have loved 11/22/63, and it was published while he was still alive, but my dad had fallen into a mental despair by that time, and had given up on reading. I remember calling him, though, as I was reading it (devouring it, actually) and telling him the basic premise. When I told him about the rabbit hole that takes Jake to 1958, my dad said, “I would have jumped right in.”
Believe me, he would have.
My dad loved the 1950s more than any other time, and while he was alive, you could ask him just about anything from that decade, and he would know the answer immediately. He also had an excellent voice and could sing just about any lyric from any song performed during that time, tell you the make and year of any car (he grew up in the then-booming auto industry in the Midwest), and then branch off in a soft voice and talk about Ray Bradbury, Rod Serling and UFOs.
But now that it's 2019 and I'm obsessed, for the first time in my life with Shirley Jackson. . . I wish I knew. . . Did my father know about Shirley Jackson?
I think the answer is “No.”
And yet, in 1958. . . 42-year-old Shirley Jackson published The Sundial, her fourth novel, written before her two most popular books, The Haunting of Hill House and We Have Always Lived in the Castle.
She had commercial success and she had readership, but WHO was reading her, and what were they thinking at the time?
Because. . . I'm in my 40s. . . in 2019. . . and this woman is BLOWING MY MIND.
I started The Sundial over a month ago and it took me days just to get past the first paragraph. The only word I can use to describe it is: genius. I can't read her work quickly; there's too much for me to absorb and stare at.
And, did you know Shirley Jackson's writing can be wicked funny? FUNNY? Oh, this is funny all right.
I'm not even going to tell you what it's about. . . that's for me to know and you to find out. . . but you're missing out, is what you are, if you haven't read these books.
Shirley's depiction of life in 1958 was so vivid, so on my mind. . . I have thought about my dad, Ray Bradbury and Jake Epping throughout this entire read.
And, when I finally finished the book last night and turned off the lights, I had this sudden vision of my father as a skinny teenager, walking home from school after basketball practice.
It was weird; I was not asleep. I was not summoning any particular image. My eyes were closed, and I was listening to the dogs shuffling in protest in their crates, but in my mind I could suddenly see my dad in his sweaty gym clothes, walking home quietly, whistling, feet crunching lightly in the dirt.
It was 1958, he was 15, and he was ridiculously happy. I "watched" him this way for quite some time, then I sat up in bed and cried and cried at the sight of him.
I swear, Shirley. You're some kind of witch for sure.
December 22, 2022
if i don't age into an old lady who wanders off at family parties to have visions of the end of the world in elegant gardens, i don't want to age at all.
so let's get that on the record right away.
other than that...the book itself. this was like a combination of shirley jackson's memoirs about her family and her spooky scary stories, except not charming and funny like the former and not creepy and atmospheric like the latter.
but it's still by shirley jackson so it's good by me!
that's my bottom line.
so let's get that on the record right away.
other than that...the book itself. this was like a combination of shirley jackson's memoirs about her family and her spooky scary stories, except not charming and funny like the former and not creepy and atmospheric like the latter.
but it's still by shirley jackson so it's good by me!
that's my bottom line.
September 15, 2017
This book is such a wicked pleasure. I give it four stars only to distinguish it from We Have Always Lived in the Castle and The Haunting of Hill House, which are really the pinnacle of Shirley Jackson's art. But the elements are all here, in The Sundial: the old house, the sense of decay and doom, family legends, oddball characters, the blurring of reality and magic, and a comedy of manners so black and biting that it makes you wince with pleasure and pain. The novel opens with a family returning to its estate after the funeral of Lionel Halloran, the heir to the fortune, who was pushed down the stairs by his own mother. The first words uttered by the mother? "It's over," Mrs. Halloran said. And then, to her husband, the young man's father: "He's gone, Richard," she said. "Everything went off beautifully."
Ouch. Soon one of the family gets a vision of the world ending, and the rest of the novel is spent busily preparing for this monumental happening, all lorded over by Mrs. Halloran, who grows into the role of leader of this small band of expected survivors. It's all so witty and dark, and then the end (which I won't reveal) serves to deepen the entire work, as in a way it circles back to its sad beginning. So while all the elements didn't come together quite as seamlessly as in We Have Always Lived in the Castle or The Haunting of Hill House, this is still a magnificent work, and one that I will no doubt re-read with pleasure.
Ouch. Soon one of the family gets a vision of the world ending, and the rest of the novel is spent busily preparing for this monumental happening, all lorded over by Mrs. Halloran, who grows into the role of leader of this small band of expected survivors. It's all so witty and dark, and then the end (which I won't reveal) serves to deepen the entire work, as in a way it circles back to its sad beginning. So while all the elements didn't come together quite as seamlessly as in We Have Always Lived in the Castle or The Haunting of Hill House, this is still a magnificent work, and one that I will no doubt re-read with pleasure.
June 1, 2019
Like a sort of compassionate Oscar Wilde, this romp among the tombstones & all types of Gothic macabre can be experienced like a full-out play. There is an impressive group of characters--eh, automatons--and enough lines of dialogue to tickle anyone's fancy. This is the third Jackson novel I've delved into; the third novel deserving a 5-star rating. Jackson is the quintessential lost-and-found writer, the fountainhead of so much of the stuff the genre has to offer. In short, an indispensable author whom, if you have not read yet, you most definitely should. It's almost religious, this bond formed between us two.
Anyway, the theme here is charlatanism. The seance & its ministrations are at the forefront (along with story faves such as family curses, a limboesque arena for the wind-up toys to snap at each other in, creepy children and naive adults); you see, Shirley Jackson writes about this solely because she herself is its inverse. She's the Real Deal.
This is like Edward Gorey f***ing the Addams family! The magic is derived from the fact that characters are added & subtracted with so much freakish frequency that it all seems as in a feverish dream.
Anyway, the theme here is charlatanism. The seance & its ministrations are at the forefront (along with story faves such as family curses, a limboesque arena for the wind-up toys to snap at each other in, creepy children and naive adults); you see, Shirley Jackson writes about this solely because she herself is its inverse. She's the Real Deal.
This is like Edward Gorey f***ing the Addams family! The magic is derived from the fact that characters are added & subtracted with so much freakish frequency that it all seems as in a feverish dream.
August 11, 2019
WHEN SHALL WE LIVE IF NOT NOW?
Shirley Jackson is a wonderfully weird sister, a witchy woman with wicked powers and wry sense of humour.
The Sundial, a lesser known precursor to The Haunting of Hill House and We Have Always Lived in the Castle, is a nasty indulgence well worth reading. It features many characters, none of them particularly sympathetic, who find themselves in the Halloran Mansion, and who are convinced the end of the world is imminent. Believing they will be safe if they stay in the ostentatious house, they become "preppers" for a 1950s apocalypse.
There's so much here that appeals. The first thing that comes to mind is the dialogue. People don't talk to each other in this book, they snipe. The clever, sniping dialogue is worthy of an Oscar Wilde play. The characters also never listen to one another. They are all so completely self involved, they simply posture themselves as best serves their own preservation. They do not gain wisdom, they just dig deeper and deeper into their own obsessions and kookiness. It's absolutely entertaining to see this happen.
Shirley Jackson is queen of gothic, and this book strikes me as perhaps the most gothic of her work that I've read so far. The Sundial is an heirloom necklace strung with one beautiful gothic bauble after the next. The novel opens after the death of the man of the house - pushed down the stairs by his own mother who stands to inherit? Then, a mysterious portent of doom delivered by a ghost. A terrifying overgrown garden maze that spells the name of a dead woman. A creeptastic child who fantasizes about the death of her grandmother. An evil and blinding fog that has a woman laughing and crying madly as she gropes around. An insane invalid. Spying servants that hang on in the background. Book burning. Murder. And the house, the huge, looming house that is the most dominant character of all.
Those who have read Jackson's later and more famous novels will see seeds of inspiration here. One subplot features a haunted house that draws tourists because of a grisly family murder committed by a teenage girl... need I say more? But you'll stay in these pages for the story of The Sundial, for the sheer fascination of it. For the way these characters luxuriate in their idiocy and emptiness. For the impending doom. For the intoxicating cackles of the pen-wielding witch who wrote this.
And, for the answer to the question: if it's the end of the world, will this group of unlikable people really inherit the earth?
The sight of one's own heart is degrading; people are not meant to look inward - that's why they've been given bodies, to hide their souls.
(4 stars only because I still prefer her Castle which is one of my very favourite books)
Shirley Jackson is a wonderfully weird sister, a witchy woman with wicked powers and wry sense of humour.
The Sundial, a lesser known precursor to The Haunting of Hill House and We Have Always Lived in the Castle, is a nasty indulgence well worth reading. It features many characters, none of them particularly sympathetic, who find themselves in the Halloran Mansion, and who are convinced the end of the world is imminent. Believing they will be safe if they stay in the ostentatious house, they become "preppers" for a 1950s apocalypse.
There's so much here that appeals. The first thing that comes to mind is the dialogue. People don't talk to each other in this book, they snipe. The clever, sniping dialogue is worthy of an Oscar Wilde play. The characters also never listen to one another. They are all so completely self involved, they simply posture themselves as best serves their own preservation. They do not gain wisdom, they just dig deeper and deeper into their own obsessions and kookiness. It's absolutely entertaining to see this happen.
Shirley Jackson is queen of gothic, and this book strikes me as perhaps the most gothic of her work that I've read so far. The Sundial is an heirloom necklace strung with one beautiful gothic bauble after the next. The novel opens after the death of the man of the house - pushed down the stairs by his own mother who stands to inherit? Then, a mysterious portent of doom delivered by a ghost. A terrifying overgrown garden maze that spells the name of a dead woman. A creeptastic child who fantasizes about the death of her grandmother. An evil and blinding fog that has a woman laughing and crying madly as she gropes around. An insane invalid. Spying servants that hang on in the background. Book burning. Murder. And the house, the huge, looming house that is the most dominant character of all.
Those who have read Jackson's later and more famous novels will see seeds of inspiration here. One subplot features a haunted house that draws tourists because of a grisly family murder committed by a teenage girl... need I say more? But you'll stay in these pages for the story of The Sundial, for the sheer fascination of it. For the way these characters luxuriate in their idiocy and emptiness. For the impending doom. For the intoxicating cackles of the pen-wielding witch who wrote this.
And, for the answer to the question: if it's the end of the world, will this group of unlikable people really inherit the earth?
The sight of one's own heart is degrading; people are not meant to look inward - that's why they've been given bodies, to hide their souls.
(4 stars only because I still prefer her Castle which is one of my very favourite books)
October 9, 2014
this is among my favourite novels. every time i read it i am just as struck by its harmonious discord as i was the first time. this story is, to me, a perversely uneven amalgam of apocalypse, drawing room comedy, and creepy, gothic haunted-house tale. i think i only like the book more for the fact that the pieces don't quite fit together, and the scene that scares me the most isn't the one i'd expect; though there are several claustrophobic and uncomfortable moments in the sundial, and i always smile at the dialogue in this novel, for me, some of shirley's wittiest writing. it almost feels like oscar wilde briefly inhabited her mind when she wrote this book because the characters are so pert, and alive, that even when they are cruel, or shallow, or stupid, i am fond of them. the drunk villagers are a joy each time, and i am as foolishly in love with essex as ever i was, though i know he is a cad.
people i have loaned it to never seem to like this book as much as i do; perhaps it is because i am a crooked and misbegotten as it is. several found fault with the ending which makes me perfectly content -- the ending they want i think would have to be a whole other book. i find everything i want in a book here: poetry, and confusion, loneliness, and fear, and the waiting for something bigger than yourself, so that you don't have to think about yourself, or what the point is, anymore.
thank you shirley, for leaving me stories that understand me so well.
people i have loaned it to never seem to like this book as much as i do; perhaps it is because i am a crooked and misbegotten as it is. several found fault with the ending which makes me perfectly content -- the ending they want i think would have to be a whole other book. i find everything i want in a book here: poetry, and confusion, loneliness, and fear, and the waiting for something bigger than yourself, so that you don't have to think about yourself, or what the point is, anymore.
thank you shirley, for leaving me stories that understand me so well.
December 14, 2023
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In The Sundial, perhaps Shirley Jackson’s most comical novel, twelve rather disagreeable individuals are cooped together in a mansion waiting for the end of the world.
When Aunt Fanny, a rather ditsy spinster whose passive aggressive martyr act brought to mind E. M. Forster's Miss Bartlett, is threatened out of her family home by her megalomaniac sister-in-law, she is quite rightfully distressed. Lucky for Aunt Fanny, on that very same day she happens to hear the disembodied voice of her deceased father. He warns Aunt Fanny of an impending apocalypse, and tells her not to leave the Halloran estate: “Tell them in the house that they will be saved. Do not let them leave the house.”
When Aunt Fanny reports her father’s warning, her brother’s wife, Orianna, although not entirely convinced, decides that if there is to be a new world, she wants in. More people join their ranks, some by chance, such as Orianna’s friend and her two daughters, while others, such as a random stranger, are more or less coerced into remaining.
Aunt Fanny is perhaps the only character who actively tries to prepare for ‘life’ after doomsday: she buys a Boy Scout handbook and other books that have “practical information on primitive living”, as well as stocking up the house with food and other essentials (her bulk-buying puts to shame today’s panic buyers). In the meantime the solipsistic and conniving Orianna ensures her authority, punishing those who dare to defy her and her rules.
The Sundial offers its readers some brilliantly absurd scenes. For instance, when Aunt Fanny picks up a stranger in the village and decides to name him “Captain Scarabombardon”, or when the residents of Halloran house come into contact with the True Believers. The dialogues in this novel demonstrate Jackson’s wicked sense of humour, as she’s unafraid of ridiculing her own characters.
Make no mistake though, this darkly comedic novel has its disturbing moments, and a sense of unease pervades much of the narrative.
In some ways this novel is decidedly Jackson-esque. First of all, we have the setting:
This is another novel where Jackson plays around with the doubles, be it people or places. For instance, the Halloran mansion is both a fortress—a place of safety—and a prison. There are also many other elements and themes within The Sundial that are motifs in Jackson's ouvre:
the tensions between an aristocratic family and the ‘small minded’ villagers (who are often described as belonging to an inferior species), toxic and possibly murderous relatives, creepy young girls (who are far more perceptive than others think), and mind-wandering and surprisingly endearing old men in wheelchair (who may be the sanest people in their families). There is that fear of being Othered, and a resentment towards those who Other you, an atmosphere that is at once oppressive and surreally light, etc.
Jackson’s writing is as clever as always. Not a word is out of place. From her scintillating descriptions (“a lady of indeterminate shape, but vigorous presence,”) to the careful yet impactful way in which she arranges her phrases. And of course, her dialogues are a pure delight to read:
This being a novel by Jackson, most of the characters hate other people and the rest of the world. Aunt Fanny’s ‘prophecy’ gives them the possibility of entertaining a future in which they are different. Yet, they are so occupied with their future as to completely ignore the people around them, so that meaningful heart-to-hearts inevitably fail. The characters talk over one another, they are dismissive about one another's worry, and most of them are utterly self-involved. Not only are all of the characters entertaining in their own right but they play off with one another in such a delightful way.
The ambiguous nature of Jackson's story and her characters may not appeal to those who dislike when things happen off-stage. Personally, I love that Jackson doesn't always provide answers to the mysteries within her stories.
I would definitely recommend this to fans of Jackson, or to those are interested in a satirical 'pre-doomsday' story populated by an Addams type of family. And of course, this being Jackson, I'd definitely recommend her work to fans of directors like David Lynch & Tim Burton. Additionally, if you like books by Helen Oyeyemi chances are The Sundial is the right book for you. Lastly, the chaotic energy characterising the Halloran house brought to mind François Ozon's 8 femmes.
Some of my favourite quotes:
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“I mean, why should I figure I’m so special, the world is going to end while I’m around?”
In The Sundial, perhaps Shirley Jackson’s most comical novel, twelve rather disagreeable individuals are cooped together in a mansion waiting for the end of the world.
“The house would be guarded during the night of destruction and at its end they would emerge safe and pure. They were charged with the future of humanity; when they came forth from the house it would be into a world clean and silent, their inheritance.”
When Aunt Fanny, a rather ditsy spinster whose passive aggressive martyr act brought to mind E. M. Forster's Miss Bartlett, is threatened out of her family home by her megalomaniac sister-in-law, she is quite rightfully distressed. Lucky for Aunt Fanny, on that very same day she happens to hear the disembodied voice of her deceased father. He warns Aunt Fanny of an impending apocalypse, and tells her not to leave the Halloran estate: “Tell them in the house that they will be saved. Do not let them leave the house.”
When Aunt Fanny reports her father’s warning, her brother’s wife, Orianna, although not entirely convinced, decides that if there is to be a new world, she wants in. More people join their ranks, some by chance, such as Orianna’s friend and her two daughters, while others, such as a random stranger, are more or less coerced into remaining.
Aunt Fanny is perhaps the only character who actively tries to prepare for ‘life’ after doomsday: she buys a Boy Scout handbook and other books that have “practical information on primitive living”, as well as stocking up the house with food and other essentials (her bulk-buying puts to shame today’s panic buyers). In the meantime the solipsistic and conniving Orianna ensures her authority, punishing those who dare to defy her and her rules.
The Sundial offers its readers some brilliantly absurd scenes. For instance, when Aunt Fanny picks up a stranger in the village and decides to name him “Captain Scarabombardon”, or when the residents of Halloran house come into contact with the True Believers. The dialogues in this novel demonstrate Jackson’s wicked sense of humour, as she’s unafraid of ridiculing her own characters.
Make no mistake though, this darkly comedic novel has its disturbing moments, and a sense of unease pervades much of the narrative.
In some ways this novel is decidedly Jackson-esque. First of all, we have the setting:
“The character of the house is perhaps of interest. It stood upon a small rise in ground, and all the land it surveyed belonged to the Halloran family. The Halloran land was distinguished from the rest of the world by a stone wall, which went completely around the estate, so that all inside the wall was Halloran, all outside was not.”
This is another novel where Jackson plays around with the doubles, be it people or places. For instance, the Halloran mansion is both a fortress—a place of safety—and a prison. There are also many other elements and themes within The Sundial that are motifs in Jackson's ouvre:
the tensions between an aristocratic family and the ‘small minded’ villagers (who are often described as belonging to an inferior species), toxic and possibly murderous relatives, creepy young girls (who are far more perceptive than others think), and mind-wandering and surprisingly endearing old men in wheelchair (who may be the sanest people in their families). There is that fear of being Othered, and a resentment towards those who Other you, an atmosphere that is at once oppressive and surreally light, etc.
Jackson’s writing is as clever as always. Not a word is out of place. From her scintillating descriptions (“a lady of indeterminate shape, but vigorous presence,”) to the careful yet impactful way in which she arranges her phrases. And of course, her dialogues are a pure delight to read:
“Humanity, as an experiment, has failed.”
“Well, I’m sure I did the best I could,” Maryjane said.
“Do you understand that this world will be destroyed? Soon?”
“I just couldn’t care less,” Maryjane said.
This being a novel by Jackson, most of the characters hate other people and the rest of the world. Aunt Fanny’s ‘prophecy’ gives them the possibility of entertaining a future in which they are different. Yet, they are so occupied with their future as to completely ignore the people around them, so that meaningful heart-to-hearts inevitably fail. The characters talk over one another, they are dismissive about one another's worry, and most of them are utterly self-involved. Not only are all of the characters entertaining in their own right but they play off with one another in such a delightful way.
“But there aren’t any good people,” Gloria said helplessly. “No one is anything but tired and ugly and mean.”
The ambiguous nature of Jackson's story and her characters may not appeal to those who dislike when things happen off-stage. Personally, I love that Jackson doesn't always provide answers to the mysteries within her stories.
I would definitely recommend this to fans of Jackson, or to those are interested in a satirical 'pre-doomsday' story populated by an Addams type of family. And of course, this being Jackson, I'd definitely recommend her work to fans of directors like David Lynch & Tim Burton. Additionally, if you like books by Helen Oyeyemi chances are The Sundial is the right book for you. Lastly, the chaotic energy characterising the Halloran house brought to mind François Ozon's 8 femmes.
Some of my favourite quotes:
“Now, she thought; I may go mad, but at least I look like a lady.”
“You, sir,” the man said, addressing Essex. “Do you atone?”
“Daily,” said Essex.
“Sin?”
“When I can,” said Essex manfully.”
“I will not have space ships landing on my lawn. Those people are perfectly capable of sending their saucers just anywhere, with no respect for private property.”
“Can you cook?”
“Admirably.”
“You would have to cook poorly, to meet my ideal. I want the kind of dismal future only possible in this world. ”
“I personally deplore this evidence of frayed nerves; we do not have much longer to wait, after all, and perhaps if we cannot contain ourselves we had better remain decently apart.”
“If my lunacy takes the form of desiring to wear a crown, will you deny me? May I not look foolish in tolerant peace? ”
“There’s no denying, for instance, that my clever Julia is a fool and my lovely Arabella is a—”
“Flirt,” Mrs. Halloran said.
“Well, I was going to say tart, but it’s your house, after all.”
“We must try to think of ourselves,” Mrs. Halloran went on, “as absolutely isolated. We are on a tiny island in a raging sea; we are a point of safety in a world of ruin.”
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October 3, 2015
Shirley Jackson writes seriously weird fiction. I used to think of her as a horror writer, after reading The Lottery and reading about The Haunting of Hill House umpteen number of times (I have still not been able to lay my hands on the book). However, We Have Always Lived in the Castle convinced me that her literary talents were much above that of the run-of-the-mill horror writer: the book under discussion has strengthened that belief. Shirley Jackson is a genius of the level of Franz Kafka - a genuine purveyor of nightmares. In The Sundial, we have Kafka meeting P. G. Wodehouse in an American manor house.
As with We Have Always Lived in the Castle, the opening is abrupt and horrifying and hits us with the power of a sledgehammer. The Halloran family has just returned from the funeral of young Lionel Halloran, who has been killed by his mother by being pushed down the stairs. Orianna Halloran killed her only son so that the house would belong to her - at least, until young Fancy, Lionel's daughter, comes of age. Fancy is already dreaming of pushing her Grandma down the stairs, like she did her daddy.
And all this is mentioned in the first two pages: it's only a prelude to the story proper.
The Hallorans are a dysfunctional family. Apart from the murderess Orianna, there is Maryjane, the weak wife of Lionel: Orianna's husband Richard who's paralysed from waist down and slowly sliding down the slippery slope of dementia: Fancy, who we shall see is as psychopathic as her grandmother: the governess Miss Ogilvie: Essex, a young gigolo who has attached himself to Orianna - and last but not least, Richard's sister Fanny ("Aunt Fanny"), who is skirting the thin line between eccentricity and insanity.
In fact, vintage Shirley.
The Halloran house, constructed by Fanny's father, is situated near a village which is a tourist attraction in its own right, due to a notorious murder where a young girl wiped off her whole family with a hammer. The house is huge and laid out symmetrically: as is the grounds and garden. Only the sundial stands off-centre, striking a jarring note, with the curious inscription: WHAT IS THIS WORLD? written on it.
Immediately after Lionel's death, Aunt Fanny loses her way during a morning ramble in the garden and apparently meets her long-dead father, who gives her the message of doom: the world is going to be destroyed.
Fanny relays the message, and (here is where the novel starts to become pure Kafka) apparently the whole household buys into it - initially in a spirit of indulgence, but getting more serious as time goes on. The Halloran family picks up a few guests who become their fellow travellers on the road to Armageddon - Mrs. Willow and her daughters, Gloria, a cousin whose father is away on a game-hunting trip in Africa, and "the captain" - a young visitor to the village picked by Mrs. Halloran to add to her coterie. Together, they await the destruction of the old world and the birth of the new, and story moves slowly and surely to its destructive climax.
----------------------------------------
Shirley Jackson's writing is pure delight. I have always felt that humour and horror straddled a thin line: many horror scenes could become sources of belly-laughter if not managed properly, and many jokes would make good horror stories. Shirley does the tightrope act splendidly. Her characters are unpleasant and serious enough to inspire unease, but they show their ridiculous side (especially in the dialogue which is very Wodehousian in this novel) often enough to make us laugh.
One cannot miss out the religious undertones. The only son who is sacrificed: the father who plans to destroy the world and save only one family: The burning of the books: The matriarch who wears a crown (which looks "just like a substitute for a hat", to put in the ridiculous touch): Gloria, the seer who can see the future in a mirror... the story could have slipped all the way into religious allegory, had not the author reined it in every time with expert hands.
The climactic party on the grounds of the Halloran house is a masterpiece of scene-setting. What starts as a rather formal affair slowly slides down into an orgy of eating, drinking, bawdy talk and sex. I was reminded of this painting by Bosch.
.
After this Armageddon is only to be expected.
----------------------------------------
The sundial, actually does not have much of a role in the story. . But we feel its sinister presence throughout. By being off-centre in a symmetric world, the sundial is questioning the reality of this world: this comfortable day-to-day world we are accustomed to.
Like Shirley Jackson's novels.
As with We Have Always Lived in the Castle, the opening is abrupt and horrifying and hits us with the power of a sledgehammer. The Halloran family has just returned from the funeral of young Lionel Halloran, who has been killed by his mother by being pushed down the stairs. Orianna Halloran killed her only son so that the house would belong to her - at least, until young Fancy, Lionel's daughter, comes of age. Fancy is already dreaming of pushing her Grandma down the stairs, like she did her daddy.
And all this is mentioned in the first two pages: it's only a prelude to the story proper.
The Hallorans are a dysfunctional family. Apart from the murderess Orianna, there is Maryjane, the weak wife of Lionel: Orianna's husband Richard who's paralysed from waist down and slowly sliding down the slippery slope of dementia: Fancy, who we shall see is as psychopathic as her grandmother: the governess Miss Ogilvie: Essex, a young gigolo who has attached himself to Orianna - and last but not least, Richard's sister Fanny ("Aunt Fanny"), who is skirting the thin line between eccentricity and insanity.
In fact, vintage Shirley.
The Halloran house, constructed by Fanny's father, is situated near a village which is a tourist attraction in its own right, due to a notorious murder where a young girl wiped off her whole family with a hammer. The house is huge and laid out symmetrically: as is the grounds and garden. Only the sundial stands off-centre, striking a jarring note, with the curious inscription: WHAT IS THIS WORLD? written on it.
Immediately after Lionel's death, Aunt Fanny loses her way during a morning ramble in the garden and apparently meets her long-dead father, who gives her the message of doom: the world is going to be destroyed.
"From the sky and from the ground and from the sea there is danger; tell them in the house. There will be black fire and red water and the earth turning and screaming; this will come."
"Father-Father-when?"
"The father comes to his children and tells them there is danger. There is danger. Within the father there is no fear; the father comes to his children. Tell them in the house."
"Please-"
"When the sky is fair again the children will be safe; the father comes to his children who will be saved. Tell them in the house that they will be saved. Do not let them leave the house; say to them: Do not fear, the father will guard the children. Go into your father's house and say these things. Tell them there is danger."
Fanny relays the message, and (here is where the novel starts to become pure Kafka) apparently the whole household buys into it - initially in a spirit of indulgence, but getting more serious as time goes on. The Halloran family picks up a few guests who become their fellow travellers on the road to Armageddon - Mrs. Willow and her daughters, Gloria, a cousin whose father is away on a game-hunting trip in Africa, and "the captain" - a young visitor to the village picked by Mrs. Halloran to add to her coterie. Together, they await the destruction of the old world and the birth of the new, and story moves slowly and surely to its destructive climax.
----------------------------------------
Shirley Jackson's writing is pure delight. I have always felt that humour and horror straddled a thin line: many horror scenes could become sources of belly-laughter if not managed properly, and many jokes would make good horror stories. Shirley does the tightrope act splendidly. Her characters are unpleasant and serious enough to inspire unease, but they show their ridiculous side (especially in the dialogue which is very Wodehousian in this novel) often enough to make us laugh.
One cannot miss out the religious undertones. The only son who is sacrificed: the father who plans to destroy the world and save only one family: The burning of the books: The matriarch who wears a crown (which looks "just like a substitute for a hat", to put in the ridiculous touch): Gloria, the seer who can see the future in a mirror... the story could have slipped all the way into religious allegory, had not the author reined it in every time with expert hands.
The climactic party on the grounds of the Halloran house is a masterpiece of scene-setting. What starts as a rather formal affair slowly slides down into an orgy of eating, drinking, bawdy talk and sex. I was reminded of this painting by Bosch.
.After this Armageddon is only to be expected.
----------------------------------------
The sundial, actually does not have much of a role in the story. . But we feel its sinister presence throughout. By being off-centre in a symmetric world, the sundial is questioning the reality of this world: this comfortable day-to-day world we are accustomed to.
Like Shirley Jackson's novels.
November 15, 2021
El reloj de sol es una novela bastante corta, a la que muy probablemente cualquiera pueda acabar en menos de dos o tres días si le pones todo el empeño del mundo; porque si de algo estoy seguro es que es una historia muy lenta, en la que lo propuesto en la sinopsis no pasa sino llegado hasta el final y aún así, a medias; porque ni siquiera a eso se le puede considerar una conclusión en condiciones. En pocas palabras es un desenlace que puede tomar tantos significados y a la vez ninguno ya que es tan abierto y oscuro como un pozo profundo.
Sin ninguna duda puedo afirmar que no es una novela que recomendaría, es de esos libros que llegan a tu vida y se van dejándote prácticamente igual que si no lo hubieras leído. Es más, hasta deseando ni siquiera haber invertido parte de tu tiempo en él. Lo que sí me sorprendió fue lo bien plagado que está el texto de un tono satírico que en múltiples ocasiones me hacía sonreír por los comentarios de los personajes, que eran bastante sardónicos. De resto, no es una novela de suspenso como tal, no llega a lograr eso en el lector en ningún momento. Y mucho menos esperes leer este libro creyendo que tiene algún elemento notable como para considerarlo o enmarcarlo dentro del terror.
El reloj de sol no es La lotería y por eso siento que es un relato bastante alejado de lo que yo consideraría perturbador. Y aunque la comparación sobra, lo he mencionado porque en mi cabeza me hice una imagen mental de Shirley Jackson bastante siniestra al tener como primera toma de contacto ese cuento; que me pareció magnífico. Ahora, claramente seguiré leyendo las otras dos novelas que me quedan en español para comprobar si me calla la boca o no, que por el momento no me rindo con ella. Y por cierto, la nota en realidad es un 2.5 porque si bien no me gustó del todo tampoco me dejó indiferente.
Sin ninguna duda puedo afirmar que no es una novela que recomendaría, es de esos libros que llegan a tu vida y se van dejándote prácticamente igual que si no lo hubieras leído. Es más, hasta deseando ni siquiera haber invertido parte de tu tiempo en él. Lo que sí me sorprendió fue lo bien plagado que está el texto de un tono satírico que en múltiples ocasiones me hacía sonreír por los comentarios de los personajes, que eran bastante sardónicos. De resto, no es una novela de suspenso como tal, no llega a lograr eso en el lector en ningún momento. Y mucho menos esperes leer este libro creyendo que tiene algún elemento notable como para considerarlo o enmarcarlo dentro del terror.
El reloj de sol no es La lotería y por eso siento que es un relato bastante alejado de lo que yo consideraría perturbador. Y aunque la comparación sobra, lo he mencionado porque en mi cabeza me hice una imagen mental de Shirley Jackson bastante siniestra al tener como primera toma de contacto ese cuento; que me pareció magnífico. Ahora, claramente seguiré leyendo las otras dos novelas que me quedan en español para comprobar si me calla la boca o no, que por el momento no me rindo con ella. Y por cierto, la nota en realidad es un 2.5 porque si bien no me gustó del todo tampoco me dejó indiferente.
October 22, 2019
Collected in Let Me Tell You: New Stories, Essays, and Other Writings is a lecture titled “About the End of the World.” In it Jackson explains how she came to write this novel. Casting around for a topic, she reread her earlier (pre-1958) novels and discovered they all included a wall surrounding some forbidden, lovely secret, and in this wall a gate that cannot be passed. She also realized she never got past the gate and inside the wall, so decided to start writing from inside the wall: The result was The Sundial.
I was surprised at how funny this novel is. Some of it is satirical, but all the humor arises naturally from the characters, their situation, and the dialogue. While reading Jackson’s nonfiction works, especially those about her family, I’ve chuckled out loud, but never during one of her novels before—and this is the last one I had left to read. I’m not much for comic novels, but this is not jaunty in tone. At one point I was reminded of Brave New World, though I’m not sure why; at other points I was reminded of The Golden Bough, and I do know why. The only jarring note, for our time, are spinster-type ladies enjoying rumors of rape-fantasies.
Jackson ends her lecture by saying, Nothing I have written has ever given me so much pleasure. Within the pages of the novel, her pleasure is obvious, and that pleasure becomes the reader’s. It’s a work unlike any of her others, and I’ve read them all. Normally I’d feel sad upon finishing all the published works by an author I love, but I think I’m going to reread her first three novels, read so long ago I barely remember them. And I'll be aware of those gated walls she couldn’t pass through until she wrote her way into this one.
I was surprised at how funny this novel is. Some of it is satirical, but all the humor arises naturally from the characters, their situation, and the dialogue. While reading Jackson’s nonfiction works, especially those about her family, I’ve chuckled out loud, but never during one of her novels before—and this is the last one I had left to read. I’m not much for comic novels, but this is not jaunty in tone. At one point I was reminded of Brave New World, though I’m not sure why; at other points I was reminded of The Golden Bough, and I do know why. The only jarring note, for our time, are spinster-type ladies enjoying rumors of rape-fantasies.
Jackson ends her lecture by saying, Nothing I have written has ever given me so much pleasure. Within the pages of the novel, her pleasure is obvious, and that pleasure becomes the reader’s. It’s a work unlike any of her others, and I’ve read them all. Normally I’d feel sad upon finishing all the published works by an author I love, but I think I’m going to reread her first three novels, read so long ago I barely remember them. And I'll be aware of those gated walls she couldn’t pass through until she wrote her way into this one.
October 9, 2021
It was Harold Bloom who said “You can read merely to pass the time, or you can read with an overt urgency, but eventually you will read against the clock.” Once in a while, a book comes along that really makes the clock in your head salient. This was it. “Tick tock” yelled the clock. “Why not us?” screamed the classics on my shelves.
I will leave the well-worded review to my more willing Goodreads friends, I have nothing to say. It was, however, mighty fun reading this along with others in a book group.
I will leave the well-worded review to my more willing Goodreads friends, I have nothing to say. It was, however, mighty fun reading this along with others in a book group.
April 4, 2021
The Sundial is the last Shirley Jackson novel I haven’t read and that was the only thing that propelled me to finishing it: so I’d never have the foolish urge to pick it up again and finish it sometime in the future. It’s over, it’s done, I hated it, and - like her previous three, rightfully lesser-known novels, The Road Through the Wall, Hangsaman and The Bird’s Nest - I’ll never read it again.
It’s not a good sign when you finish a book that you have to go on Wikipedia to find out what it was about! All that I got was that a bunch of obnoxious rich people were in a big house wittering on about how the world was going to end. I’m not sure where they got this idea - the spooky sundial told them probably - and I didn’t care. Then the book’s over. Ugh.
Besides a lack of plot, there are way too many characters (Jackson can’t handle big casts - this and The Road Through the Wall are testament to this), all of whom were indistinct, unmemorable, uninteresting, and sounded the same. I think there was a nightmare sequence where one of these ciphers ran around the garden droning on about the sundial and another one (or maybe even the same one) tried to leave but didn’t. Oy, it ain’t much and man alive was I bored!
Amazingly, Jackson’s next novel and the one after that - The Haunting of Hill House and We Have Always Lived in the Castle - are modern masterpieces of horror. How she went from this and the previous three novels of such shoddy quality to that is a mystery, but maybe she just needed to get all this crap out of her system before getting the skills needed to create her good books.
If you only read Shirley Jackson’s two most famous novels and her short stories, you’re not missing anything by ignoring everything from The Sundial back to her first novel - all four of those novels are truly horrible snorefests!
It’s not a good sign when you finish a book that you have to go on Wikipedia to find out what it was about! All that I got was that a bunch of obnoxious rich people were in a big house wittering on about how the world was going to end. I’m not sure where they got this idea - the spooky sundial told them probably - and I didn’t care. Then the book’s over. Ugh.
Besides a lack of plot, there are way too many characters (Jackson can’t handle big casts - this and The Road Through the Wall are testament to this), all of whom were indistinct, unmemorable, uninteresting, and sounded the same. I think there was a nightmare sequence where one of these ciphers ran around the garden droning on about the sundial and another one (or maybe even the same one) tried to leave but didn’t. Oy, it ain’t much and man alive was I bored!
Amazingly, Jackson’s next novel and the one after that - The Haunting of Hill House and We Have Always Lived in the Castle - are modern masterpieces of horror. How she went from this and the previous three novels of such shoddy quality to that is a mystery, but maybe she just needed to get all this crap out of her system before getting the skills needed to create her good books.
If you only read Shirley Jackson’s two most famous novels and her short stories, you’re not missing anything by ignoring everything from The Sundial back to her first novel - all four of those novels are truly horrible snorefests!
April 5, 2020
"... but when I think about it this new world is going to have Aunt Fanny and my grandmother and you and Essex and the rest of these crazy people and my mother and what makes anyone think you're going to be more happy or peaceful just because you're the only ones left?"
The thing about the blurb for this is that it doesn't mention just how funny this book is. Not pleasantly funny, though there's something close to drawing room comedy here; it's wicked, possibly misanthropic, sardonic, cruel humour - but it had me all the way from sniggering and smirking to laughing out loud.
But because this is Shirley Jackson, it's not all laughter and crazy people: there are important things going on, too. The Hallorans may be waiting for the new Garden of Eden to emerge on their doorstep but the snakes are already haunting their house. However long ago this was written, some of the happenings have a prescient significance for our times: Aunt Fanny's manic ordering and hoarding of provisions for the apocalypse (she's got four cartons of toilet rolls!) as she burns books to make room on the bookshelves for canned olives and tinned spaghetti. More seriously, the barricading of the house to keep both others out and the family in is eerily suggestive. The monstrous Mrs Halloran is a blast to read about but also contains a shrewd and pointed analysis of social power, privilege and self-absorption (her crown!)
Some of the set pieces are marvellous: Julia's creepy attempt to escape; the almost orgiastic last party with Essex's wicked stories of ravaging pirates which thrill Miss Ogilvie and the village single women! But alongside the humour (and the rapier-like dialogue is stupendous), I kept thinking of Sartre's 'hell is other people': locked into a nexus of familial and social relationships, tied to the house and all it stands for, scrutinised, watched and policed by bourgeois values and their human manifestations, there is, and can be, no escape.
October 13, 2021
Having only read her in-every-anthology short story, "The Lottery," I was expected something quite suspenseful. Pip could've warned me about Great Expectations, I guess.
This book looked like it was searching for itself. Really. I'm surprised I didn't find it in California. Or any location where crystals are sold.
It started like it might be spooky. Big house. Crazy old lady. Giant maze outside to get lost in while "warm" marbled statues reach out and touch her.
But spookiness was run down and tackled by silliness before long. Crazy lady is visited by her dead father, who warns her of the impending end of the world and tells her that the ancestral home is the only place to survive.
There is no explanation for this and many other things. Will the house float in case of flood? Is it fireproof in case of fire? Does it have nuclear warhead deflector shields in case of some fool ass pressing a button?
God only knows, but everyone seems to play along and take her warning seriously. Right down to the last Masque of the Red Alert Death party (cue Auld Lang Syne and ring out the old).
Characters rush forward, then fade into the background. Plot threads are picked up, then summarily cut with scissors. Characters vie in an Olympic-style contest to win readers' scorn.
But (and it's a Big Bertha-style "but") Jackson does occasionally serve up set pieces that work. Aunt Fanny lost in the maze (all too briefly!). A young girl trying to escape the grounds in the car of a psychopathic cab driver (all too briefly!).
And there are some funny lines, too. Deadpan. Dry. Sardonic. But it's all off and on and without a compass (alas!). Fans looking for Jackson's horror-writing need not apply. Fans looking for Jackson's dark humor writing need not apply. The servings are just too skimpy to give anyone that full feeling. The kind you get on Thanksgiving when you eat too much turkey and stuffing and ______ before retiring to the TV room to not watch some football.
You know: Zzzzzzzzz.
This book looked like it was searching for itself. Really. I'm surprised I didn't find it in California. Or any location where crystals are sold.
It started like it might be spooky. Big house. Crazy old lady. Giant maze outside to get lost in while "warm" marbled statues reach out and touch her.
But spookiness was run down and tackled by silliness before long. Crazy lady is visited by her dead father, who warns her of the impending end of the world and tells her that the ancestral home is the only place to survive.
There is no explanation for this and many other things. Will the house float in case of flood? Is it fireproof in case of fire? Does it have nuclear warhead deflector shields in case of some fool ass pressing a button?
God only knows, but everyone seems to play along and take her warning seriously. Right down to the last Masque of the Red Alert Death party (cue Auld Lang Syne and ring out the old).
Characters rush forward, then fade into the background. Plot threads are picked up, then summarily cut with scissors. Characters vie in an Olympic-style contest to win readers' scorn.
But (and it's a Big Bertha-style "but") Jackson does occasionally serve up set pieces that work. Aunt Fanny lost in the maze (all too briefly!). A young girl trying to escape the grounds in the car of a psychopathic cab driver (all too briefly!).
And there are some funny lines, too. Deadpan. Dry. Sardonic. But it's all off and on and without a compass (alas!). Fans looking for Jackson's horror-writing need not apply. Fans looking for Jackson's dark humor writing need not apply. The servings are just too skimpy to give anyone that full feeling. The kind you get on Thanksgiving when you eat too much turkey and stuffing and ______ before retiring to the TV room to not watch some football.
You know: Zzzzzzzzz.
October 5, 2021
Shirley Jackson herself wrote in an essay that "this was the book that gave me the most pleasure to write."
It's about an unusual and unlikeable bunch of people in a great old mansion who have convinced themselves that the world will end on August 30. They will be the only survivors of the coming holocaust and will emerge to form a new civilization. God help the new world with these people as it's founders. The novel starts and ends with a murder, and in between we get some wicked dialog and put-downs, which was the only source of pleasure for me, as the plot was murky and hard to follow.
I can only think that Jackson may have peopled this story with all the characters she disliked in her own life, and told them what she really thought of them.
I thought the book was amusing and chose to read it as a farce. The only eerie thing about it was the foreshadowing of how humans are destroying our world, envisioning a new world that was fresh and green and lovely. "The kind of life and world people have been dreaming about ever since they first began fouling this one."
It's about an unusual and unlikeable bunch of people in a great old mansion who have convinced themselves that the world will end on August 30. They will be the only survivors of the coming holocaust and will emerge to form a new civilization. God help the new world with these people as it's founders. The novel starts and ends with a murder, and in between we get some wicked dialog and put-downs, which was the only source of pleasure for me, as the plot was murky and hard to follow.
I can only think that Jackson may have peopled this story with all the characters she disliked in her own life, and told them what she really thought of them.
I thought the book was amusing and chose to read it as a farce. The only eerie thing about it was the foreshadowing of how humans are destroying our world, envisioning a new world that was fresh and green and lovely. "The kind of life and world people have been dreaming about ever since they first began fouling this one."
October 17, 2022
“The sight of one's own heart is degrading; people are not meant to look inward—that's why they've been given bodies, to hide their souls.”
3.5 stars. While the charmingly odd dialogue and eerie atmosphere were quite a bit more intriguing than the actual plot, you can never go too far wrong with Shirley Jackson!
March 12, 2010
Shirley Jackson was such a kooky genius. Emphasis on genius. Also, emphasis on kooky.
I'm learning that there is a whole world of Shirleyana beyond that one story which shall remain nameless because everyone read it in high school.
The premise of this one is simple but also highly bizarre. A wealthy family, plus assorted hangers-on, waits around in a big old house for what they believe to be the imminent apocalypse. Most of the family members are pretty awful in one way or another, and they mostly hate each other. The novel chronicles their interactions as they wait for a premonition to come true and plan for the paradisiacal new world that supposedly awaits them.
Also, it's funny.
The neat irony at the center of Jackson's style here is how all the characters comport themselves with extreme decorum and refinement, yet at the same time are openly hostile toward each other. It makes for a lot of dryly hilarious dialogue and devious plotting.
Another impressive thing Jackson does is to render irrelevant the question of whether the end of the world is "real" and whether the characters are crazy for believing in it. There is no authorial judgment of the characters; the point is that they believe in this thing, for various reasons, and it doesn't matter if we believe it. And they do have their reasons: leadership opportunities, spiritual connection with dead loved ones, fear of non-paradisiacal life lived as a failure, or the simple power of Pascal's wager.
Speaking of those characters, they are wonderfully drawn--especially for such a short novel. My favorite is the world-weary, self-deprecatingly witty Essex, who I could easily see being played by George Sanders. (In fact, almost all the characters come off as British--I guess mid-20th-century pseudo-aristocratic Americans acted rather Britishly). And it's impossible not to love the family's wicked matriarch Mrs. Halloran, who takes charge of the family's post-apocalyptic planning with extreme prejudice. (In one of the book's funniest details, Mrs. Halloran insists on wearing a crown during a party given at the house, and thereafter into the new world.)
Amid all this there is at least one nail-biting suspense set piece, involving a character's attempted escape from the house. Since the rest of the book is relatively uneventful, plotwise, that one sequence really sticks out as a tour-de-force. There's also one really funny sequence involving another group of eschaton-hopefuls, whose belief system hinges on salvation courtesy little green men from outer space.
I don't think it's too spoiler-y to say that the book ends on a note of ambiguity. My immediate reaction to this was annoyance, but after some thought I realized the ending is perfect. As Maureen put it in her lovely review, the ending one might crave would have to be a whole other book. It's so much more tantalizing and frightening to imagine the possibilities that Jackson leaves open.
I'm holding back on five stars because there is one exposition-y section earlyish in the book that is, as far as I can tell, completely extraneous on both a narrative and a thematic level. I kept thinking it was gonna pay off, and it never did. But that's really a nitpick. Call it 4.75 stars. Regardless, it's an unclassifiable, largely unheralded work that really deserves to be back in print. Check your local libraries, folks.
I'm learning that there is a whole world of Shirleyana beyond that one story which shall remain nameless because everyone read it in high school.
The premise of this one is simple but also highly bizarre. A wealthy family, plus assorted hangers-on, waits around in a big old house for what they believe to be the imminent apocalypse. Most of the family members are pretty awful in one way or another, and they mostly hate each other. The novel chronicles their interactions as they wait for a premonition to come true and plan for the paradisiacal new world that supposedly awaits them.
Also, it's funny.
The neat irony at the center of Jackson's style here is how all the characters comport themselves with extreme decorum and refinement, yet at the same time are openly hostile toward each other. It makes for a lot of dryly hilarious dialogue and devious plotting.
Another impressive thing Jackson does is to render irrelevant the question of whether the end of the world is "real" and whether the characters are crazy for believing in it. There is no authorial judgment of the characters; the point is that they believe in this thing, for various reasons, and it doesn't matter if we believe it. And they do have their reasons: leadership opportunities, spiritual connection with dead loved ones, fear of non-paradisiacal life lived as a failure, or the simple power of Pascal's wager.
Speaking of those characters, they are wonderfully drawn--especially for such a short novel. My favorite is the world-weary, self-deprecatingly witty Essex, who I could easily see being played by George Sanders. (In fact, almost all the characters come off as British--I guess mid-20th-century pseudo-aristocratic Americans acted rather Britishly). And it's impossible not to love the family's wicked matriarch Mrs. Halloran, who takes charge of the family's post-apocalyptic planning with extreme prejudice. (In one of the book's funniest details, Mrs. Halloran insists on wearing a crown during a party given at the house, and thereafter into the new world.)
Amid all this there is at least one nail-biting suspense set piece, involving a character's attempted escape from the house. Since the rest of the book is relatively uneventful, plotwise, that one sequence really sticks out as a tour-de-force. There's also one really funny sequence involving another group of eschaton-hopefuls, whose belief system hinges on salvation courtesy little green men from outer space.
I don't think it's too spoiler-y to say that the book ends on a note of ambiguity. My immediate reaction to this was annoyance, but after some thought I realized the ending is perfect. As Maureen put it in her lovely review, the ending one might crave would have to be a whole other book. It's so much more tantalizing and frightening to imagine the possibilities that Jackson leaves open.
I'm holding back on five stars because there is one exposition-y section earlyish in the book that is, as far as I can tell, completely extraneous on both a narrative and a thematic level. I kept thinking it was gonna pay off, and it never did. But that's really a nitpick. Call it 4.75 stars. Regardless, it's an unclassifiable, largely unheralded work that really deserves to be back in print. Check your local libraries, folks.
October 12, 2021
103rd book of 2021.
1.5. I was in London for a long weekend visiting my old university housemate and he asked me about this novel as it was a book-club choice, a club we are both a part of. He hadn't found the time to pick up a copy. I told him he missed nothing, it was poor and I didn't like it at all. Returning to my review then, I realise 2-stars isn't accurate. I've given it a half star more purely for two scenes in this novel which are fine, the rest is just aimless boring prose with ridiculous characters and events and no (evident) purpose to any of it. It is constructed mostly with dialogue, none of which is engaging. The relevance of the titular sundial was completely lost on me, at times I thought perhaps it was even lost on Jackson. I can't fathom the point of it or why it was written, I was only glad that I finished it and could move on. Just to give Jackson some respite, The Haunting of Hill House (as someone who doesn't like "genre" fiction) is a decent read.
1.5. I was in London for a long weekend visiting my old university housemate and he asked me about this novel as it was a book-club choice, a club we are both a part of. He hadn't found the time to pick up a copy. I told him he missed nothing, it was poor and I didn't like it at all. Returning to my review then, I realise 2-stars isn't accurate. I've given it a half star more purely for two scenes in this novel which are fine, the rest is just aimless boring prose with ridiculous characters and events and no (evident) purpose to any of it. It is constructed mostly with dialogue, none of which is engaging. The relevance of the titular sundial was completely lost on me, at times I thought perhaps it was even lost on Jackson. I can't fathom the point of it or why it was written, I was only glad that I finished it and could move on. Just to give Jackson some respite, The Haunting of Hill House (as someone who doesn't like "genre" fiction) is a decent read.
October 8, 2021
“… the rest of them believed in what they could--power, perhaps, or the comforting effects of gin, or money.”
I have been feeling more than a little apocalyptic lately. Climate change is wreaking its havoc in fires and floods. People are unhinged from the confines of the pandemic and the evils of Facebook. Shops are shuttering, prices are soaring, we’re being strangled by supply chain problems … it goes on and on.
So, you could say the perfect time for an end-of-the-world story, and the perfect time for Shirley Jackson.
Jackson is an odd duck, that’s for sure. Her books almost always leave me scratching my head, and this one is no exception. It could be an allegory, it could be a farce, or it could be just pure silliness.
The story is about a wealthy family living on top of a hill next to a much poorer village. Their long-deceased patriarch visits them with a prophecy about the end of the world--for all but them, as long as they stay in the house. It gives Jackson lots of room to play with the shallowness of the rich.
“‘All the houses and people and automobiles and everything will be just melted away.’ She sighed again. ‘I don’t know how we’re going to make our coffee that first morning.’”
But she doesn’t stop at mocking the rich. We are all human, and therefore vulnerable--rich or poor, inside or outside, the chosen ones or the left behind.
“Like I keep trying to tell you, it doesn’t matter which world you’re in.”
For me, writing is very much like playing with a doll house, the way the young girl Fancy does in this story. You create characters, dress them up and move them around in little scenes. You can feel Shirley Jackson playing here. She’s created an inordinate amount of characters and amusing little backstories for them. She played with fright but never submitted to it. Sometimes a cloud of noir darkness passes over, but then it goes away. The overall tone is mocking--primarily of the powerful, but sometimes of the powerless too.
I think Jackson’s gift is she forces you to look at things differently, even in a silly story like this one, and that opens your mind a little. I predict, as has happened with her other novels (even the ones that seemed pointless) that I’ll think from time to time about this story and wonder, who am I believing here? What is controlling me? And I may say to myself, with a shudder, “Maybe life is more like Fancy’s doll house than we care to believe.”
I have been feeling more than a little apocalyptic lately. Climate change is wreaking its havoc in fires and floods. People are unhinged from the confines of the pandemic and the evils of Facebook. Shops are shuttering, prices are soaring, we’re being strangled by supply chain problems … it goes on and on.
So, you could say the perfect time for an end-of-the-world story, and the perfect time for Shirley Jackson.
Jackson is an odd duck, that’s for sure. Her books almost always leave me scratching my head, and this one is no exception. It could be an allegory, it could be a farce, or it could be just pure silliness.
The story is about a wealthy family living on top of a hill next to a much poorer village. Their long-deceased patriarch visits them with a prophecy about the end of the world--for all but them, as long as they stay in the house. It gives Jackson lots of room to play with the shallowness of the rich.
“‘All the houses and people and automobiles and everything will be just melted away.’ She sighed again. ‘I don’t know how we’re going to make our coffee that first morning.’”
But she doesn’t stop at mocking the rich. We are all human, and therefore vulnerable--rich or poor, inside or outside, the chosen ones or the left behind.
“Like I keep trying to tell you, it doesn’t matter which world you’re in.”
For me, writing is very much like playing with a doll house, the way the young girl Fancy does in this story. You create characters, dress them up and move them around in little scenes. You can feel Shirley Jackson playing here. She’s created an inordinate amount of characters and amusing little backstories for them. She played with fright but never submitted to it. Sometimes a cloud of noir darkness passes over, but then it goes away. The overall tone is mocking--primarily of the powerful, but sometimes of the powerless too.
I think Jackson’s gift is she forces you to look at things differently, even in a silly story like this one, and that opens your mind a little. I predict, as has happened with her other novels (even the ones that seemed pointless) that I’ll think from time to time about this story and wonder, who am I believing here? What is controlling me? And I may say to myself, with a shudder, “Maybe life is more like Fancy’s doll house than we care to believe.”
October 6, 2021
Such an odd farce Jackson produced in The Sundial. With echoes of an Oscar Wilde play, she has brought together twelve people in the large, overdone mansion of the Halloran family. Action opens after the funeral for the son/husband/father Lionel, an unmissed member apparently tripped on the stairs leading to his death. There isn’t much mourning but the craziness ensues early on, capped by Aunt Fanny’s rather amazing vision in the secret garden. She has received a message from her Father…the world is to end soon, except for those who are inside the house.
What follows is a sometimes funny, sometimes rather sad portrait of a family with some hangers-on and “friends” dealing with this prospect. The satire can be scathing at times and at others becomes almost silly. It is a portrait of the “haves” planning to be the only ones.
Overall, I enjoyed this novel while being puzzled while reading it about its purpose and intent. The actual reading I would rate 4* but my overall rating is 3* because of the gap between them. I still wonder where was this going though I enjoyed the journey.. 3.5
What follows is a sometimes funny, sometimes rather sad portrait of a family with some hangers-on and “friends” dealing with this prospect. The satire can be scathing at times and at others becomes almost silly. It is a portrait of the “haves” planning to be the only ones.
Overall, I enjoyed this novel while being puzzled while reading it about its purpose and intent. The actual reading I would rate 4* but my overall rating is 3* because of the gap between them. I still wonder where was this going though I enjoyed the journey.. 3.5
September 16, 2019
Pronto la reseña.
November 2, 2023
Published in 1958, this novel was followed by, “The Haunting of Hill House,” and is from an author really reaching the height of her powers. Rather like, “We Have Always Lived in the Castle,” this has a lovely, gothic feel and yet is over-shadowed by Jackson’s better known titles. This is a shame, as it has so much to offer and I am delighted that I have read it.
Jackson’s novels always seemed to have strong beginnings and she outdoes herself here, with our introduction to the Hallorhan family, being their return to the Big House, after the funeral of Mrs Hallorhan’s son, Lionel - after she pushed him down the stairs, in order to inherit the property… Having neatly pulled the rug from beneath our feet, Jackson introduces her cast of characters. There is the matriarch, Orianna Hallorhan, her invalid husband, daughter in law, Maryjane and her young daughter, Fancy. Fancy is a brilliant creation, the creepy child that so often inhabits her pages. Here, though, you must sympathise with Fancy, kept isolated and without playmates, she is more than aware of the machinations going on around her. Then there is Fancy’s nurse/tutor, Miss Ogilvie, plus Essex, who – possibly – catalogues the library. Lastly, there is Aunt Fanny, Mrs Hallorhan’s sister in law, who is about to have a vision.
When Aunt Fanny first says the world is to end, it seems only those in the house will be safe. Gradually, more guests arrive and the assorted characters – wonderfully at odds, with sharp, vicious interchanges – find themselves in a world which becomes smaller and smaller. Even if they do not believe in the messages, can they take the chance? Can they, in fact, even leave?
Without doubt, Shirley Jackson is in my favourite author of all time list. She was a woman, I feel, who noticed everything – no slight, however politely voiced, must have been missed. She peers beneath the veneer, peeks behind the curtains and opens that half open drawer. What she reveals is clever, caustic and claustrophobic.
Jackson’s novels always seemed to have strong beginnings and she outdoes herself here, with our introduction to the Hallorhan family, being their return to the Big House, after the funeral of Mrs Hallorhan’s son, Lionel - after she pushed him down the stairs, in order to inherit the property… Having neatly pulled the rug from beneath our feet, Jackson introduces her cast of characters. There is the matriarch, Orianna Hallorhan, her invalid husband, daughter in law, Maryjane and her young daughter, Fancy. Fancy is a brilliant creation, the creepy child that so often inhabits her pages. Here, though, you must sympathise with Fancy, kept isolated and without playmates, she is more than aware of the machinations going on around her. Then there is Fancy’s nurse/tutor, Miss Ogilvie, plus Essex, who – possibly – catalogues the library. Lastly, there is Aunt Fanny, Mrs Hallorhan’s sister in law, who is about to have a vision.
When Aunt Fanny first says the world is to end, it seems only those in the house will be safe. Gradually, more guests arrive and the assorted characters – wonderfully at odds, with sharp, vicious interchanges – find themselves in a world which becomes smaller and smaller. Even if they do not believe in the messages, can they take the chance? Can they, in fact, even leave?
Without doubt, Shirley Jackson is in my favourite author of all time list. She was a woman, I feel, who noticed everything – no slight, however politely voiced, must have been missed. She peers beneath the veneer, peeks behind the curtains and opens that half open drawer. What she reveals is clever, caustic and claustrophobic.
October 6, 2021
2.5, rounded up.
Before I review The Sundial, I would just like to say that Shirley Jackson is an awesome writer. I have read several other of her novels, one of her memoirs, and a number of her short stories. My assessment is that she generally rocks. So, why couldn’t I love The Sundial? Perhaps Jackson was trying to do too much in this novel, and thus left me with a sense of being a little befuddled about what I was meant to glean or to think.
The story opens with the funeral of the head of a family that owns the “big house” in the town. There is a very strong hint that this is murder and that Lionel, the man in question, was pushed to his death, perhaps by his own mother. Pretty intriguing, but not the story really, because that aspect is dropped and we are off to pursue the end of the world, which Lionel’s Aunt Fanny informs the others is imminent. The rest of the novel is spent basically in preparation for this event, with a cast of characters that read more like caricatures. Of course, the end of the world will not include them, they will be the survivors in what will be a utopia after everyone else is gone.
The sundial in question is located on the grounds of the mansion and is used symbolically in several instances in the story, but, again never really gelled as a centerpoint for me. There is a precocious little girl who seems to understand, as the adults do not, that even if they make it to the other side of the cataclysm, they will find their miserable selves there and likely be no happier than they are in the world they already inhabit. There is an odd parallel between a doll house and an attic that begged me to see more, but in the end I didn’t.
There were moments of keen interest in the novel, when it seemed very much like it was going somewhere; there were moments when I felt Jackson making statements about the nature of things and people that bordered on profound, but for the most part the novel had no gel and it just fell apart. The end was just bizarre.
Sometimes I think I am just getting old and don’t want to work this hard to reach the meaning of things. I tried taking it at face value, but then it seemed just a bit too silly and vapid, farcical and funny at some level, but not nearly as clever as a Jonathan Swift or Oscar Wilde. It’s Shirley Jackson, so you might well read it, love it, and find it has depths I missed, but for now, I am closing the book and hoping the next book I pick up by a great writer is a great book.
Before I review The Sundial, I would just like to say that Shirley Jackson is an awesome writer. I have read several other of her novels, one of her memoirs, and a number of her short stories. My assessment is that she generally rocks. So, why couldn’t I love The Sundial? Perhaps Jackson was trying to do too much in this novel, and thus left me with a sense of being a little befuddled about what I was meant to glean or to think.
The story opens with the funeral of the head of a family that owns the “big house” in the town. There is a very strong hint that this is murder and that Lionel, the man in question, was pushed to his death, perhaps by his own mother. Pretty intriguing, but not the story really, because that aspect is dropped and we are off to pursue the end of the world, which Lionel’s Aunt Fanny informs the others is imminent. The rest of the novel is spent basically in preparation for this event, with a cast of characters that read more like caricatures. Of course, the end of the world will not include them, they will be the survivors in what will be a utopia after everyone else is gone.
The sundial in question is located on the grounds of the mansion and is used symbolically in several instances in the story, but, again never really gelled as a centerpoint for me. There is a precocious little girl who seems to understand, as the adults do not, that even if they make it to the other side of the cataclysm, they will find their miserable selves there and likely be no happier than they are in the world they already inhabit. There is an odd parallel between a doll house and an attic that begged me to see more, but in the end I didn’t.
There were moments of keen interest in the novel, when it seemed very much like it was going somewhere; there were moments when I felt Jackson making statements about the nature of things and people that bordered on profound, but for the most part the novel had no gel and it just fell apart. The end was just bizarre.
Sometimes I think I am just getting old and don’t want to work this hard to reach the meaning of things. I tried taking it at face value, but then it seemed just a bit too silly and vapid, farcical and funny at some level, but not nearly as clever as a Jonathan Swift or Oscar Wilde. It’s Shirley Jackson, so you might well read it, love it, and find it has depths I missed, but for now, I am closing the book and hoping the next book I pick up by a great writer is a great book.
February 22, 2019
This is going to be tricky, even the star rating was difficult.
This is an extremely character driven book with no plot to speak of. I didn't like or care for any of them and there are lots.
The gothic setting and 'story' should have been right up my street but we just didn't gel.
I've decided to dnf this one at over 150 pages which is rubbish I know, but if I keep on not being involved it will send me into a reading slump which I really don't want.
Not all books are going to be winners for all readers and I've had an excellent reading month up to now. So I'm saying ta ta to this one and off it goes into the charity shop pile.
And breathe;))
This is an extremely character driven book with no plot to speak of. I didn't like or care for any of them and there are lots.
The gothic setting and 'story' should have been right up my street but we just didn't gel.
I've decided to dnf this one at over 150 pages which is rubbish I know, but if I keep on not being involved it will send me into a reading slump which I really don't want.
Not all books are going to be winners for all readers and I've had an excellent reading month up to now. So I'm saying ta ta to this one and off it goes into the charity shop pile.
And breathe;))
August 9, 2011
What a wonderfully weird, creepy, funny book, with such an oddball cast of characters. The plot is pretty simple: an aristocratic family believes the world is going to end on August 30th, and only people within the Halloran family homestead will survive the apocalypse and be reborn to paradise. Mrs. Halloran, the controlling, overbearing matriarch is the star of the novel. Her wit, cruelty, and vulnerability shines on every page. Can't say I've ever read a book quite like The Sundial.
March 6, 2023
Con Shirley Jackson me sucede algo peculiar: es una autora laureada que muchos reconocen como la inspiración para una nueva clase de horror, una suerte de ícono incuestionable... pero personalmente no encuentro sus libros terroríficos en la más mínimo. Son, a lo sumo, perturbadores. Tal vez se deba a mis características como lector, pero es la verdad.
"El reloj de sol" está poblado de personajes desagradables. No hay un solo que genere simpatía. Todos son codiciosos, interesados, egocéntricos y así podríamos seguir. La familia Halloran vive encerrada en su gran mansión, en medio de delirios de grandeza, encabezados por la tía Fanny, una mujer obsesionada por el pasado y su historia familiar a niveles casi necrofílicos. La única niña de la historia, su sobrina Fancy, es una niña perversa y malcriada. Los sirvientes son manipuladores y solo piensan en la comodidad y el dinero. Los Halloran se creen grandes ídolos de un pueblo pequeño, cuyos habitantes tienen una mentalidad cerrada y poco cultivada, pero que en realidad los desprecian.
La mayor parte de la novela es, lisa y llanamente, aburrida. No sucede nada. La familia y sus diversos visitantes viven inmersos en su microclima, completamente ajenos al mundo exterior. Algo que también le bajó puntos al libro es que después de haber leído "La maldición de Hill House" y "Siempre hemos vivido en el Castillo", es imposible no notar las enormes similitudes. En "El reloj de sol" y "Siempre hemos vivido en el Castillo" (spoilers a continuación si no leyeron esas dos novelas) hay personajes en silla de ruedas con sus facultades disminuidas. En ambas novelas una familia rica vive rodeada de pueblerinos que los detestan. Al igual que en "La maldición de Hill House" hay eventos sobrenaturales que condicionan la trama, pero que apenas se describen oblicuamente. El final, al igual que en esa novela, es abierto y anticlimático.
Que un escritor visite los mismos temas en sus obras, sucede a menudo. Pero no que la trama ocurra en ubicaciones virtualmente idénticas, con personajes casi idénticos e idiosincrasias casi idénticas.
"El reloj de sol" está poblado de personajes desagradables. No hay un solo que genere simpatía. Todos son codiciosos, interesados, egocéntricos y así podríamos seguir. La familia Halloran vive encerrada en su gran mansión, en medio de delirios de grandeza, encabezados por la tía Fanny, una mujer obsesionada por el pasado y su historia familiar a niveles casi necrofílicos. La única niña de la historia, su sobrina Fancy, es una niña perversa y malcriada. Los sirvientes son manipuladores y solo piensan en la comodidad y el dinero. Los Halloran se creen grandes ídolos de un pueblo pequeño, cuyos habitantes tienen una mentalidad cerrada y poco cultivada, pero que en realidad los desprecian.
La mayor parte de la novela es, lisa y llanamente, aburrida. No sucede nada. La familia y sus diversos visitantes viven inmersos en su microclima, completamente ajenos al mundo exterior. Algo que también le bajó puntos al libro es que después de haber leído "La maldición de Hill House" y "Siempre hemos vivido en el Castillo", es imposible no notar las enormes similitudes. En "El reloj de sol" y "Siempre hemos vivido en el Castillo" (spoilers a continuación si no leyeron esas dos novelas) hay personajes en silla de ruedas con sus facultades disminuidas. En ambas novelas una familia rica vive rodeada de pueblerinos que los detestan. Al igual que en "La maldición de Hill House" hay eventos sobrenaturales que condicionan la trama, pero que apenas se describen oblicuamente. El final, al igual que en esa novela, es abierto y anticlimático.
Que un escritor visite los mismos temas en sus obras, sucede a menudo. Pero no que la trama ocurra en ubicaciones virtualmente idénticas, con personajes casi idénticos e idiosincrasias casi idénticas.
August 10, 2023
پر از سَنبُل، فضایی به شدت گوتیک و بینهایت سوال بی جواب.
January 29, 2024
09/2016
This book epitomizes Shirley Jackson's Gothic Psychedelia.
Aunt Fanny, having a surreal psychotic episode (probably a seizure) sees her father's ghost, who tells her the world will end and all will die but the inhabitants of their family mansion. And everyone there believes her and acts accordingly. This novel is funny and weird and adorably dark and surreal. I find it a heavy book, strange, deep and abstract. I loved the part when Julia gets lost in the fog at night. Also the dollhouse and the shrubbery maze.
This book epitomizes Shirley Jackson's Gothic Psychedelia.
Aunt Fanny, having a surreal psychotic episode (probably a seizure) sees her father's ghost, who tells her the world will end and all will die but the inhabitants of their family mansion. And everyone there believes her and acts accordingly. This novel is funny and weird and adorably dark and surreal. I find it a heavy book, strange, deep and abstract. I loved the part when Julia gets lost in the fog at night. Also the dollhouse and the shrubbery maze.
May 25, 2023
Ecco un altro romanzo che dimostra la genialità di Shirley Jackson.
Il lettore viene catturato in un vortice e si chiede, ancora una volta, se quello che sta succedendo sia reale o frutto della paranoia dei personaggi. A proposito dei personaggi: qui abbiamo proprio i peggiori (e meglio scritti) partoriti dalla penna della Jackson. Non a caso, la vicenda si apre con un omicidio: una madre che butta giù dalle scale il proprio figlio per mantenere il possesso della casa. Dal funerale si aprono una serie di vicende inquietanti, tra le quali: la nipote che sogna di uccidere la nonna per poter ereditare la casa, la zia che si perde in un labirinto di siepi e comincia a vedere cose strane (Shining, sei tu?), una profezia che sembra annunciare la fine del mondo, una strana nebbia che non permette di allontanarsi dalla casa, una scenetta in pieno spirito "aspettando Godot" e così via.
Da recuperare subito!
Il lettore viene catturato in un vortice e si chiede, ancora una volta, se quello che sta succedendo sia reale o frutto della paranoia dei personaggi. A proposito dei personaggi: qui abbiamo proprio i peggiori (e meglio scritti) partoriti dalla penna della Jackson. Non a caso, la vicenda si apre con un omicidio: una madre che butta giù dalle scale il proprio figlio per mantenere il possesso della casa. Dal funerale si aprono una serie di vicende inquietanti, tra le quali: la nipote che sogna di uccidere la nonna per poter ereditare la casa, la zia che si perde in un labirinto di siepi e comincia a vedere cose strane (Shining, sei tu?), una profezia che sembra annunciare la fine del mondo, una strana nebbia che non permette di allontanarsi dalla casa, una scenetta in pieno spirito "aspettando Godot" e così via.
Da recuperare subito!
November 1, 2021
È sempre un piacere immenso leggere Shirley Jackson.
In questo romanzo, è di scena la follia, con le sue manie e le sue ossessioni, in questa pazza famiglia degli Halloran e di tutti coloro che ruotano attorno alla loro tenuta, che a volte appare un po' stregata.
Si riconosce lo stile tipico della Jackson che sa creare la giusta tensione, con le sue descrizioni ambientali (come quando Julia scende dall'auto che la deve accompagnare in città ed è avvolta nella nebbia e perde il senso dell'orientamento). Ma a queste scene in cui la tensione cresce, seguono scene di un'ilarità disarmante. Mi piace credere che non a caso la Jackson abbia chiamato una delle protagoniste Fanny, giocando sull'assonanza con l'aggettivo "funny" (divertente): e questo romanzo è così, estremamente divertente e al tempo stesso molto profondo.
Uno dei protagonisti inanimati della storia è una meridiana: “Mr. Halloran desiderava ardentemente una meridiana; la ordinò da una particolare ditta di Philadelphia specializzata in quel genere di cose e poi decise lui stesso dove metterla. Aveva un po’ sperato che la scritta sulla meridiana – lasciata alla discrezione di quelli di Philadelphia, che erano esperti di quel genere di cose – fosse «è più tardi di quanto credi», o magari persino «Il dito avanza scrivendo, e dopo aver scritto...», ma per un capriccio di qualcuno di Philadelphia – che non fu mai identificato – la meridiana arrivò con la scritta CHE COS’È QUESTO MONDO? ”
Shirley Jackson prova a rispondere a questa domanda, dicendo che questo mondo altro non è che un equilibrio precario tra la paura e la commedia, dove ai lutti (il romanzo si apre con la morte/omicidio di Lionel, il figlio degli Halloran) si succedono le feste (la grande festa organizzata a fine agosto), e in cui a nulla vale accumulare ricchezze, tanto mica si possono portare all'altra riva.
“«[...] È abominevole avere bisogno di una cosa al punto da non potere immaginare di vivere senza. Va contro la condizione umana».
«Sa, io ho sempre vissuto molto bene» disse Arabella. «Mia madre si è sempre sforzata di non farmi mancare niente».
«Temo che sia soltanto una brama di annientamento. Nessuno che abbia visto il proprio volto per quello che è può desiderare di continuare a vivere».
«Be’, questo non posso capirlo. Cioè, posso capire che a una persona non piaccia il proprio volto, ma dopotutto non dipende da noi. Io so che mi dispiace sempre per le ragazze che non sono carine. E penso senz’altro che lei abbia un volto assai gradevole».
«La vista del proprio cuore è avvilente; le persone non sono fatte per guardarsi dentro – è per questo che hanno ricevuto un corpo: per nascondere l’anima».
«Certo, io sono stata molto fortunata, e per favore non pensi che non riconosca la mia fortuna; la bellezza è solo un caso, come le condizioni in cui veniamo al mondo».”
Scrive Mariarosaria Mancuso su Robinson n. 256 del 30 ottobre 2021: "La fine del mondo tira fuori vecchii e nuovi rancori, spinge ai colpi di testa. Le conversazioni in salotto sono più acide del solito, le gerarchie si allentano, viene organizzata una festa aperta agli abitanti della cittadina. Per la prima volta sono ammessi dentro il muro di cinta, ora che andranno incontro a morte sicura. E champagne per tutti."
In questo romanzo, è di scena la follia, con le sue manie e le sue ossessioni, in questa pazza famiglia degli Halloran e di tutti coloro che ruotano attorno alla loro tenuta, che a volte appare un po' stregata.
Si riconosce lo stile tipico della Jackson che sa creare la giusta tensione, con le sue descrizioni ambientali (come quando Julia scende dall'auto che la deve accompagnare in città ed è avvolta nella nebbia e perde il senso dell'orientamento). Ma a queste scene in cui la tensione cresce, seguono scene di un'ilarità disarmante. Mi piace credere che non a caso la Jackson abbia chiamato una delle protagoniste Fanny, giocando sull'assonanza con l'aggettivo "funny" (divertente): e questo romanzo è così, estremamente divertente e al tempo stesso molto profondo.
Uno dei protagonisti inanimati della storia è una meridiana: “Mr. Halloran desiderava ardentemente una meridiana; la ordinò da una particolare ditta di Philadelphia specializzata in quel genere di cose e poi decise lui stesso dove metterla. Aveva un po’ sperato che la scritta sulla meridiana – lasciata alla discrezione di quelli di Philadelphia, che erano esperti di quel genere di cose – fosse «è più tardi di quanto credi», o magari persino «Il dito avanza scrivendo, e dopo aver scritto...», ma per un capriccio di qualcuno di Philadelphia – che non fu mai identificato – la meridiana arrivò con la scritta CHE COS’È QUESTO MONDO? ”
Shirley Jackson prova a rispondere a questa domanda, dicendo che questo mondo altro non è che un equilibrio precario tra la paura e la commedia, dove ai lutti (il romanzo si apre con la morte/omicidio di Lionel, il figlio degli Halloran) si succedono le feste (la grande festa organizzata a fine agosto), e in cui a nulla vale accumulare ricchezze, tanto mica si possono portare all'altra riva.
“«[...] È abominevole avere bisogno di una cosa al punto da non potere immaginare di vivere senza. Va contro la condizione umana».
«Sa, io ho sempre vissuto molto bene» disse Arabella. «Mia madre si è sempre sforzata di non farmi mancare niente».
«Temo che sia soltanto una brama di annientamento. Nessuno che abbia visto il proprio volto per quello che è può desiderare di continuare a vivere».
«Be’, questo non posso capirlo. Cioè, posso capire che a una persona non piaccia il proprio volto, ma dopotutto non dipende da noi. Io so che mi dispiace sempre per le ragazze che non sono carine. E penso senz’altro che lei abbia un volto assai gradevole».
«La vista del proprio cuore è avvilente; le persone non sono fatte per guardarsi dentro – è per questo che hanno ricevuto un corpo: per nascondere l’anima».
«Certo, io sono stata molto fortunata, e per favore non pensi che non riconosca la mia fortuna; la bellezza è solo un caso, come le condizioni in cui veniamo al mondo».”
Scrive Mariarosaria Mancuso su Robinson n. 256 del 30 ottobre 2021: "La fine del mondo tira fuori vecchii e nuovi rancori, spinge ai colpi di testa. Le conversazioni in salotto sono più acide del solito, le gerarchie si allentano, viene organizzata una festa aperta agli abitanti della cittadina. Per la prima volta sono ammessi dentro il muro di cinta, ora che andranno incontro a morte sicura. E champagne per tutti."
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