La mujer de negro: ¿Crees en fantasmas?
Por Susan Hill
3.5/5
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Información de este libro electrónico
Según dice la tradición, siempre que alguien ve al espectro de la madre, muere un niño, y a la larga Arthur Kipps comprobará en su propia familia hasta qué punto esa tradición es cierta.
Susan Hill demuestra conocer muy bien tanto los elementos más recurrentes de la novela gótica como los mecanismos que hacen que resulten tan efectivos.
Sin embargo, su verdadero talento consiste en dotar de una modernidad asombrosa todos estos recursos y conseguir que el lector se sorprenda y atemorice como si fuera la primera vez que lee una historia de fantasmas.
Tras haber vendido más de un millón de ejemplares en todo el mundo, llevada a los escenarios reiteradamente y con enorme éxito, y adaptada tanto a la radio como a la televisión, esta estremecedora historia ha sido adaptada para la gran pantalla en una espectacular versión dirigida por James Watkins y protagonizada por Daniel Radcliffe.
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Comentarios para La mujer de negro
1,251 clasificaciones129 comentarios
- Calificación: 5 de 5 estrellas5/5La narración tiene mucho atractivo, sabe mantener el interés en la lectura.
- Calificación: 3 de 5 estrellas3/5“For I see that then I was still all in a state of innocence, but that innocence, once lost, is lost forever.” So writes the main character, Mr. Arthur Kipps, while reminiscing about his last good night’s sleep before...... before Mrs. Drablow and her Eel Marsh House. And the woman in black, who haunts it. And the curse that comes with her...This is a quick read, but not very scary. It builds up a bit, but there is so much description of everything, that it doesn't hold the reader captive, or at least this reader. The copyright is 1983, but it reads like it was written a hundred years before that. Maybe that's why I was a little bored. But it is a ghost story, and it's short, so give it a try - if you dare!"They asked for my story. I have told it. Enough."
- Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas4/5Susan Hill should be more widely known than she appears to be. I had not heard of her until Dove Grey recently mentioned her new ghost story. I read The Woman in Black last night and found it creepily delightful. Reminiscent of James' The Turn of the Screw it is also written in a period style and the writing is done beautifully. In my edition the illustrations were definitely not a plus - I kept looking for the captions as they were cartoonish and did not further the tale's creepiness. I won't go so far as to say the hair stood up on my neck but it is a perfect read for an October's night.This is a novella length book, about the same length as Turn of the Screw, and can be read in a couple of hours. A young solicitor goes to the country north of London to handle the estate of a recently deceased client of his firm. While there he comes upon what he at first supposes is just a local 'urban legend'. Until he sees it firsthand he is quite superior. The ghost turns out to be angry and malevolent enough to convince Arthur and he spends a couple of extremely harrowing nights in the old home of the deceased where he finds some clues to the mystery. I won't ruin the ending for you but this is a vengeful ghost.Hill has set the story (written in 1982) in a nonspecific past. There are motorcars and telephones but the feel is more early twentieth century or even farther back. This is an atmospheric thriller, very creepy and just what is wanted for Halloween.
- Calificación: 3 de 5 estrellas3/5I wished it was longer, and the ending was a tad predictable, but I love Hill's writing style. I have never before read a full-page description of lighting a fire, making tea, and sitting down to look at old receipts and been so entertained and enthralled.
- Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas4/5I first heard about this story from a friend who saw the stage adaptation in London. She said it was terrifying. Because of that visceral review, I had high expectations for the book.
There are a number of very unsettling scenes, and the ending, although somewhat easy to see coming, sent chills through my spine. My only criticism is the set-up took much too long and there were a few other points where the story dragged a bit. But overall, a quick, scary read. And those unsettling scenes are the type that will linger in my mind for a very long time. - Calificación: 3 de 5 estrellas3/5I found the introductory chapter to be far too long for its purpose and the story, while only taking up 200 pages, could have been told in half that space. I thought the story was too predictable. The author was obviously trying to get the reader to experience the horror of the main character but I felt her writing skills were not up to this. I felt she was telling me the man's feelings rather than showing them to me and having me experience them.I can see how this story would work well as a film, but having finished the story I think it would be hard for the ending to be a surprise even if one hadn't read the book.I read the book before seeking out the film but I do not now care if I ever see the film. If you are considering reading the book in advance of watching the film I would suggest you watch the film and do not bother with the book.
- Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas4/5Great read. As always, the movie is different, but they did a great job with it.
- Calificación: 5 de 5 estrellas5/5To me this rates up there with Dickens' Signalman or many of M.R. James best stuff. Really good ghost stories are so hard to find so all seekers of a supernatural chilling should throw another log on the fire and reach for The Woman in Black.
- Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas4/5Who doesn't love a good ghost story? The suspense and overall tone in this story makes for great fireside reading. Even when I could see what was going to happen, I was still shocked at some of the outcomes. Reminds me of The Turn of the Screw. Great read!
- Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas4/5This was a good old-fashioned ghost story, the kind of story that gets into your head, the kind that makes you lock the door... at least it was for me, especially that night, when reading about the noises coming from behind the locked door, and the dog was growling scared, and the noises didn't stop, and the lights went out...Gothic, Victorian-like story of a woman in black in the northern coastal marshes of England. Trust me... you don't want to see her.
- Calificación: 3 de 5 estrellas3/5This is the third book I’ve read for this years’ Halloween Read and is, so far, the least satisfying for me. Although I have no complaints about the writing, even from the beginning this book seemed somewhat flat. It was written in the 1980’s by an English author who seems to be attempting to write a ghost story in the 19th century Gothic style. At first I though maybe it was because it was more novella length without the time to really set up the atmosphere, but The Turn of the Screw was a novella and the atmosphere was skillfully built up to grab the reader and hold him breathless. It may have been that my problem was that I had just finished [The House of Seven Gables] with its heavy emphasis on atmosphere that develops much more slowly than in Hill’s story in which there seem to be sudden changes of both atmosphere and mood. I felt very detached as I read this book, almost to the point of analyzing why I thought it was "missing the mark!" Another problem may be that the first chapter of the story shows the protagonist many years removed from this part of his life, well and happy with his family around him at Christmas. It’s like feeling that obviously he managed to survive the experience and move on so there was not the sense of great urgency that catastrophe would befall him. I also found that I was often able to anticipate what would happen and why rather than experiencing what the main character was feeling. This story might have been better told in third person rather than first person. The narrator was very analytical about himself and the strange occurrences going on, which made me also analytical instead of settling into the flow of the story. In spite of that, throughout most of the book I kept enough interest to want to finish the story. My biggest complaint is I felt manipulated by the ending. Even though I saw the final event coming I was still angry when it happened. Perhaps, because I did see it coming! Bottom line: A lot of people have really liked this book and I can see the attraction, even though it didn’t work for me. I consider it a 19th century Gothic wannabe without the style and the ability to create an atmosphere that would draw me into the story.
- Calificación: 2 de 5 estrellas2/5This is more of a novella than a novel. It has wonderfully whimsical illustrations which add to the sense of the book as a reproduction of an older tale & maybe that's the problem.I really love a good ghost story, but this just didn't do it for me. I found the writing to be mannered to the point of distraction & the story to be a cliched set piece with nothing new to add to the genre.I wanted to be scared by this book, but the ghostly happenings are just so predictable - the woman in black with the wasted face that pops up all over, the deserted house in the marsh that no one will visit, the ghostly sounds of pony trap & chair, the callow narrator's journey from youth to experience, etc., etc., etc.I really like this author, but this isn't one of her better outings. I'd like her to write as herself & not in imitation of others.
- Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas4/5saw the play in london TWICE. found it so so. i started the book and expected it to be so so too but i enjoyed it, understood it better and was kinda spooked. he says many times that he's happy in his second life but i wonder or is it just that when we're old we wonder more about other lives.
- Calificación: 5 de 5 estrellas5/5Wonderful chilling oldfashioned ghoststory
- Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas4/5This is a horrible and sad story of Arthur, who was a silictor. He was tortured by a ghost and finally, lost his family, but I think this incident was necessary for his life. I leaarned from this book that the difficulties in life are all meaningful.
- Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas4/5This is a Reading Good Books review.Just in time for the movie tie-in’s release! I’ve had this in my TBR list for years and finally I’ve come around to reading it.The Woman in Black is a straight up horror story. No frills, no creepy crawlies, no blood and gore. Just your honest to goodness scary ghost with a curse. And I enjoy horror stories like that. It’s very simple with essentially one main character, Arthur Kipps, and he’s the one narrating the story. And the way he tells it from his point of view feels like he’s taking the reader along with him.Arthur Kipps tells of the only ghost story he knows… and experienced. He gets sent to a remote part of England to set an old woman’s affairs in order. While there, he starts noticing the locals’ hesitance to help him, reluctance to assist him with his business. He decides to work on it alone but a few days in a haunted house ended up being too much for him. There, he encounters “The Woman in Black” and his life was forever changed.It had a sort of Edgar Allan Poe gothic feel. It was even set in a dark and gloomy place to match the whole mood of the story. It definitely added to the scare factor. At first, I was really bored. There was a lot of unneeded detailing and explanations, a lot of fragmented sentences that were confusing. I guess the author was shooting for a very conversational tone between Arthur and the reader but there was too much of it. It did have its slow parts but the latter parts made up for that.I could imagine that the book still would’ve worked as a short story. But I think without the build up, it wouldn’t work as well as it did. And it was really scary, in my opinion. A bit predictable, but what horror story isn’t?Rating: 4/5.Recommendation: Classic horror. If you are looking for a good scare, read this on a dark rainy night.
- Calificación: 5 de 5 estrellas5/5Now this is my kind of ghost story. In the past I've enjoyed books like The Turning of the Screw and The Haunting of Hill House, but have always been left feeling just a little bit frustrated. You aren't quite sure if they are ghosts stories or tales of madness. You can't trust the narrator, which makes them both wonderful and infuriating. The Woman is Black doesn't take that approach. It is absolutely a ghost story and it scared me more than I'd like to admit (but in a good way!) A young solicitor, Arthur Kipps, is dispatched to a remote corner of England to resolve the affairs of a recently deceased client, Mrs. Drablow. She had lived alone in a huge, old mansion, Eel Marsh House, on the outskirts of town. Kipps quickly realizes that things won't be as simple as he'd hoped, but every attempt he makes to get more information is thwarted. The townspeople's furtive glances and refusal to talk about Eel Marsh House heighten his suspicions that there's something very wrong with the house.I think if I could sum up the book in one word it would be: satisfying. It perfectly fulfilled my own personal taste for a ghost story. I don't like graphic scenes of horror, but I love a good scare. I also want good characters and a believable plot. This one had the perfect balance of all of those factors and on top of that, the writing was excellent. It has the best and most disturbing description of fog that I've ever read..."It was a mist like a damp, clinging cobwebby thing, fine and yet impenetrable. It smelled and taste quite different from the yellow filthy fog of London; that was choking and thick and still, this was salty, light and pale and moving in front of my eyes all the time. I felt confused, teased by it, as though it were made up of millions of live fingers that crept over me, hung on to me and then shifted away again." Another reason I loved this story is Kipps himself. So often ghost stories seem to contain weak lead characters that are easily frightened. I think I trusted Kipps' description of the events more because he was determined not to be easily scared off by rumors. The story scares with both the tangible and intangible, both scary in their own way. For example..."At that moment I began to doubt my own reality."Is anything more terrifying than that? I absolutely recommend this one for anyone and everyone who likes a good scare.
- Calificación: 5 de 5 estrellas5/5I do not love horror. I stay away from it because I'm a coward so to read and finish this one is a big feat for me. Surprisingly, I loved it. It IS scary but not in a conventional way. There are no demon possession, flying objects or ghosts that walks through walls. It only has a woman in black and the sound of a child dying. I wouldn't be that scared if not for Susan Hill's narrative. She is the queen of adjectives. She'll describe fear in 20+ words that you won't have any excuse but to feel it! I was reading this book while riding to train (never in the dark or alone!) but still I got goosebumps. That's how good Susan Hill is. There is something poetic in the way she writes and I would probably read more of her works - horror or not.
- Calificación: 3 de 5 estrellas3/5Holy Cow. So, okay the book was okay. No, I enjoyed reading it and you know what, I found it hard to go to sleep. I stayed up late last Saturday. Started and finished it in one day. Spider was my favorite character. I have to say that there was a sort of rage after I finished reading the story. I felt (and I hate feeling this way) that there was no winning, no escaping ones fate. I hate that and I hate fate. BalderdashThere is always a way around things and a way to defeat. Why in the blue blazes did he just stand there? There she stood as evil as a demon and he froze. Scream yell jump in front of that poor demented donkey, DOOOOO something. See the book was okay to make rise my call for action. But I’m beyond it now and off to the next read. It was meant to scare, had one rough night and now I’m off and running to the next book . So in short it wasn’t really a thinker but it’s been a wweek later and I’ve not for gotten it.
- Calificación: 5 de 5 estrellas5/5Although written in the modern period, this book takes on the character of a Victorian thriller, which indeed it is. It is, plain and simple, a ghost story, a tale of retribution and revenge, a tragedy in every sense of the word. There is also a movie based on this book, but the book is much better (of course) and creepier even than the film. After you read this, you will avoid the fog like crazy.
- Calificación: 5 de 5 estrellas5/5Probably one of the scariest books I have ever read, particularly when read on a dark and gloomy day in near darkness with thick fog outside the window... The stage version is fantastic, VERY scary, be prepared to jump out of your seat, and probably yell too!
- Calificación: 5 de 5 estrellas5/5This is the quintessential ghost story. The novel is narrated by a character named Arthur Kipps, now an elderly man, who recounts the eerie events that occurred decades earlier when he was a solicitor settling the estate of Alice Drablow.As a young man, he was sent to a small town to attend Mrs Drablow's funeral and sort through the widow's papers. Although it was an ordinary task, Kipps' life was permanently altered by the appearances of a woman in black, the mystery he uncovered, and the strange occurrences in Eel Marsh House--Mrs Drablow's large home, surrounded by marsh and cut off from the mainland during high tides.Author Susan Hill does a superb job of creating that foggy, damp atmosphere that's ideal for old-fashioned ghost stories. I saw the play which is based upon the novel when I was in England last year and actually jumped out of my seat a couple times. I went out to buy the book before the plane ride home. The book isn't scary in that same jump-out-of-your-seat-and-scream (as the group of school children in the audience did frequently) sense, but that's not to say that it's boring. If you enjoy subtly creepy stories, you'll devour this book.
- Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas4/5Written years before The Man in the Picture, this novel is also about a malevolent, vengeful ghost who destroys the lives of anyone who sees her. A perfect read for a stormy winter night. A classic "gothic" ghost story set in England.
- Calificación: 5 de 5 estrellas5/5The back cover of this short novel says: “What real reader does not yearn, somewhere in the recess of his or her heart, for a really literate, first-class thriller—one that chills the body, but warms the soul with plot, perception, and language at once astute and vivid? In other words, a ghost story written by Jane Austen?” How can you resist a hook like that?I first read The Woman in Black in 2002 after seeing the play of the same name in London’s West End. The story features a young solicitor named Arthur Kipps who’s dispatched to the north of England to settle the affairs of the recently-deceased Mrs. Drablow, an elderly woman who lived at the remote Eel Marsh House.The Woman in Black is a ghost story with all the requisite elements: a strange woman dressed in black, a locked room with a rocking chair that won’t stop moving; and the eerie sound of a pony and trap in the fog. It’s one of the creepiest books I’ve read in a long time—Company of Liars may be the exception. There’s no blood here, just a spine-tingling yet subtle mystery. There's really nothing more I can say; this book is perfect.
- Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas4/5At the start of this novella, I noted the authors's decision to make the book a memoir--a reflection of the narrator's past. The pros to this being I knew the narrator would live through this eerie story, and it allowed the author to build suspense about just how harrowing these events were to haunt the narrator almost twenty years later.
A good, solidly told story of a typical 'city' man sent to the country to do business--he doesn't believe the stories and rumors....until he has to experience them himself.
I read this as part of a challenge to read a book made into the movie, and on that score the relative low number of pages should mean the movie could follow the story closely. Only one way to find out! - Calificación: 3 de 5 estrellas3/5What's a reader to do when a ghost story is the embodiment of "The Ghost Story"? If it ticks off every requirement--old, isolated house; sullen villagers; gloomy weather--does that make it "the best" ghost story? I might once have insisted that, yes, a ghost story that meets all of the criteria (whatever the list might be) is in fact the best of its genre. (The hubris of youth!) Having read Susan Hill's The Woman in Black, I'm forced to concede that perhaps there is more to a ghost story than spooks, moors, and crisp English diction. I'm reminded of the words of a comic book writer, who advised teenagers aspiring to his role, "If you only read comic books, you might write the best comic book ever written, but you'll never write anything different."The Woman in Black begins, appropriately enough, on a Christmas Eve sometime in the early decades of the twentieth century. Arthur Kipps' second wife and his step-children sit around the fire, telling one another ghost stories. Here we have already satisfied one criterion of a ghost story: It must be set in England. Certainly, every culture in every time and place has spoken of ghosts, but "the best" ghost story can only be set in England. Bonus: By beginning her tale on Christmas Eve, Hill tips her hat to the fine English tradition of telling ghost stories on that most-anticipated evening of the year. More spooky stories by the fire, fewer fat men and elves!Kipps is agitated as his family's stories grow grislier and more ridiculous. As his children's merriment increases, his declines. Urged by his step-sons to join in the fun, Kipps storms off in a huff. Staring at the clear night sky, he is reminded of events through which he suffered as a younger man, a trauma he has worked hard to put behind him. He resolves to write it down in its entirety, a purge that becomes Hills' larger narrative, the ghost story "proper."The action commences with Kipps dispatched on legal business to a small village a day's train ride outside of London. Kipps, stymied in his career aspirations, gladly takes on what his elder partner perceives as an imposition. In addition to seeking refuge from his humdrum duties as a solicitor, Kipps flees the London weather, characterized by many days of fog so dense it made travel within the city dangerous. Kipps sallies forth to put in order the estate of the recently deceased Mrs. Drablow of Eel Marsh House. Read those names again: That is some heavy handed foreshadowing going on there.En route to Eel Marsh House, Kipps encounters what you might expect from the villagers, which is to that they seem to know something about Eel Marsh House, but are unwilling to talk about it, to Kipps' growing frustration. The local lawyer, Kipps' contact, is thrown into paroxysms of fear when, at Mrs. Drablow's funeral, Kipps confesses to having seen the eponymous "Woman in Black." Kipps nevertheless proceeds, as an ambitious and sensible young man is likely to do, to head to Eel Marsh House, which, sitting in the middle of a swamp, can be reached only by a narrow causeway during low tide. One requirement of a successful ghost story is for the protagonist to be headstrong in his foolishness to the point of foolhardiness. He (or she) must tempt fate with his (or her) stupidity. Needless to say, Kipps' visit does not go as planned, and it is at this point, as his adventure derails, that I can so no more about the plot. It is obvious from the first chapter of the book that Kipps survives, albeit as a changed man.There is much to be said in favor of The Woman in Black. Kipps' voice, channeled via Hill, is spot-on, which is to say very, very English. (I am subconsciously mimicking it as I write this.) Whether or not Kipps really sounds like a turn-of-the-century British professional, I don't know, but it's house I imagine such men would have sounded. In other words, it's believable. So, too, is the tone, which is one of creeping eeriness, abetted by Hill's strength in establishing setting. Hill obviously knows the English countryside and its weather, and lavishes attention on such details. Of course, atmosphere is in some ways the most essential aspect of any ghost story. The author must ease the reader into it, step by step, just as the protagonist, for instance, Kipps, cheerfully whistling his way to his doom. You can't just toss an idiot into a decrepit old house and throw spooks at him. It takes subtlety, and Hill masters that.In the end, though, even as The Woman in Black meets all of the expectations a reader might have of a ghost story, in doing so it somehow fails to do anything different, and that, perhaps, is the problem. There's a predictability about the plot that is comforting if you want a good, old-fashioned ghost story, but is dissatisfying if you want anything more. The story is also rather tame, although one must keep in mind that it isn't horror in the modern sense, meaning that it isn't dripping with gore. Still, contemporary readers (The Woman in Black was published in 1983) might be desensitized to the novel's quiet dread. Recommended for lovers of the supernatural, but not necessarily for horror aficionados, The Woman in Black is a fine book with which to spend any autumn day.
- Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas4/5The Woman in Black by Susan Hill; (3 1/2*)A good story of haunting, The Woman in Black holds the reader's interest. It has everything a good ghost story entails. A dark & aboding house, the eerie marshlands surrounding said house, strange things that "go bump in the night", the small village where no one wishes to speak of the strange goings on out at the house, and of course your innocent who is sent to the house to do some sleuthing work.Mrs. Alice Drabble of Eel Marsh House is a client of Arthur Kipps' soliciting house in London and when she dies, his employer sends him out to her lonely house on the marsh to dig through her private papers to speed up dealing with her estate. When Arthur gets to the village he finds no one there will speak with him of the reclusive Mrs. Drabble, her house nor her life. However the man who trundled her groceries & needs out to her house in his pony cart is willing to take him to the house & return for him.While at the house Arthur hears the most frightful sounds, sees apparitions and literally hears things that "go bump in the night." He is there alone and tries to remain calm and continue with his work but it becomes more and more difficult. As he goes through Mrs. Drabble's papers he finds very little of use until he comes across a bundle of letters regarding a distant relative of Mrs. Drabble's who is unmarried and in the family way. The young lady wishes to keep the baby but doesn't have the means and so the little boy is adopted by the Drabbles. He later comes across legal paperwork that suggests the reasons for the hauntings of Eel Marsh House and the more he learns the more the hauntings continue until Arthur becomes ill in heart, soul & body. He is rescued from the house in a collapsed state and taken to the home of a gentleman he met on the train coming out who says he must remain until he is on the road to recovery. He is attended by the local doctor, fed nourishing broths and that coupled with much bed rest does Arthur much good. He is surprised one day to receive his fiance, Stella, who has come to take him back to London on the train. They marry soon after and Arthur puts the experience behind him until one day.........one day................Well, you will have to read the book to discover more of the particulars and the finale. Needless to say I enjoyed this book as I have every Susan Hill I have read. (Mrs. de Winter aside) I like the spare way she writes without throwing in flowery phrasing and unnecessary wording. I found this to be a good read and recommend it for those who enjoy a little spooking and haunting.
- Calificación: 5 de 5 estrellas5/5Young solicitor Arthur Kipps is sent from his London firm to the far away and isolated Eel Marsh House to retrieve the paperwork of recently deceased client Mrs. Drablow. Kipps puts the anxious warnings from the locals down to the old woman living alone for decades out in the marshes and often cut off from the town, but he soon begins to see and hear a pattern of supernatural events that terrify him.This story has a long set-up before the scary stuff begins, but once it does it's non-stop ghostly happenings. I think it's set around the 1930's, but it's truly a Gothic, with Kipps being cut off from civilization, with a car or phone. Even his flashlight breaks.
- Calificación: 3 de 5 estrellas3/5The Basics
Arthur Kipps is a young solicitor in vague olden times (Victorian era England, I assume) who is sent out from London to deal with the very jumbled papers of the late Mrs. Drablow. He’s pretty happy about the whole affair until a ghost shows up. Sort of horror ensues.
My Thoughts
I had problems with this book. Firstly, there are people in this world who can write a first person narrative within a bygone era and sound as if they lived there themselves. And then there are those who sound as if they’re trying way too hard. Susan Hill is that second option, unfortunately. It hit me as soon as I started reading and didn’t relent at any point.
Next up, our main character. I didn’t really connect with this guy at all. Here is, I think, the crux of why. If the story had been handled in albeit a more cliche fashion, wherein Arthur is told some horrible story and remains brave in the face of it, it would’ve made more sense to me. Instead, he sees the ghost, sees the uniquely terrible expression it wears and reads it accurately. Experiences things that send him running with soiled britches. He’s even convinced there are ghosts haunting the estate and doesn’t try to placate himself with rational explanations. Then decides to go ahead anyway. This guy has no survival instinct whatsoever.
Yet when the eerie stuff starts, it’s good and eerie. That ending has a nice impact, as well. But saying, “oh, when you get to the good parts…” feels really cheap. I can’t recommend it based on a few good parts. Not to mention that any tension that could’ve been had from a mystery to be solved is wasted on the predictability of it. I had figured out what was going on at Eel Marsh House a lot quicker than Arthur did. I also foresaw that ending from about twenty pages away.
Do you like Victorian era, historical fiction? And ghost stories? Then this might be for you. I’m admittedly not that big of a ghost story fan, so that probably impacted me in the negative. As always, these reviews are just opinions based on my personal preferences.
Final Rating
2.5/5 - Calificación: 2 de 5 estrellas2/5Not scary at all, actually kind of boring.
Vista previa del libro
La mujer de negro - Susan Hill
La Nochebuena
Eran las nueve y media de la Nochebuena. Mientras atravesaba el largo vestíbulo de Monk’s Piece tras salir del comedor, donde acababa de disfrutar de la primera de las alegres cenas de las fiestas, y dirigirme al salón y al fuego en torno al cual mi familia se había reunido, hice una pausa y, como tenía por costumbre en el transcurso de la noche, me dirigí a la puerta, la abrí y salí.
Siempre me ha gustado aspirar una bocanada de aire nocturno para ver si está dulcemente perfumado por las flores del verano, intenso a causa de las hogueras y el humus otoñal o gélido debido a la escarcha y la nieve. Me agrada contemplar el firmamento que se extiende sobre mi cabeza, ver si hay luna y estrellas o la oscuridad más absoluta y escrutar la negrura que aparece ante mis ojos; me apetece estar atento a las llamadas de los seres nocturnos, al gemido del viento que arrecia y decrece o al golpeteo de la lluvia en los árboles del huerto; disfruto con las bocanadas de aire que escalan la colina desde los pastos llanos del valle del río.
Esa noche percibí de inmediato y con el corazón alegre que el tiempo había cambiado. La semana anterior había llovido sin cesar, había caído una lluvia fría y la niebla se posó sobre la casa y el paisaje. Desde las ventanas, sólo podía verse uno o dos metros jardín abajo. Era un tiempo pésimo, daba la sensación de que nunca era totalmente de día y resultaba desapacible. Salir a caminar era desagradable, la visibilidad resultaba insuficiente para cazar y los perros estaban taciturnos y cubiertos de barro. Dentro de la casa, las lámparas permanecían encendidas todo el día; las paredes de la despensa, del anexo y de la bodega rezumaban humedad y olían mal, y los fuegos chisporroteaban, ahumaban y ardían con deprimente falta de intensidad.
Hace muchos años que las condiciones meteorológicas afectan mi vida en demasía y reconozco que, de no ser por la atmósfera de alegría y el ajetreo que imperaban en el resto de la casa, me habría hundido en la desesperanza y el letargo, no habría disfrutado de la vida como me gusta hacer y mi propia susceptibilidad me habría irritado. Como las inclemencias del tiempo provocan en Esmé un animoso desafío, los preparativos de las Navidades de ese año habían sido más amplios e intensos que de costumbre.
Me aparté uno o dos pasos de la sombra de la casa para ver a la luz de la luna cuanto me rodeaba. Monk’s Piece se encuentra en una cumbre que se eleva suavemente alrededor de ciento veinte metros desde el lugar donde el pequeño río Nee serpentea de norte a sur por esa zona fértil y resguardada del país. A nuestros pies hay pastos salpicados de pequeñas arboledas de ejemplares frondosos. A nuestras espaldas se extienden varios kilómetros cuadrados de una zona muy distinta, formada por monte bajo y landas, un manchón de terreno agreste en medio de un territorio primorosamente cultivado. Estamos a poco más de tres kilómetros de una aldea de dimensiones considerables y a once de la población principal con mercado, pero predomina una atmósfera de lejanía y aislamiento que nos lleva a sentirnos mucho más distantes de la civilización.
Vi Monk’s Piece por primera vez una tarde de pleno verano, en la que había salido a pasear en cabriolé con el señor Bentley. El buen hombre había sido mi patrón, aunque últimamente me había convertido en socio de pleno derecho del bufete en el que de joven había entrado como pasante y en el cual, dicho sea de paso, permanecí durante toda mi vida laboral. En aquel entonces, el señor Bentley se acercaba a la edad en la que se mostraba propenso, poco a poco, a soltar las riendas de la responsabilidad, a pasarlas de sus manos a las mías, si bien siguió acudiendo a nuestro bufete de Londres como mínimo una vez por semana hasta su fallecimiento, cuando contaba ochenta y dos años. De todas maneras, se acostumbró cada vez más a vivir en el campo. Como no le atraían la caza ni la pesca, se dedicó a desempeñar las funciones de magistrado rural, coadjutor, así como las de director de esta, aquella y la de más allá junta, cuerpo y comité parroquiales y del condado. Me sentí aliviado y satisfecho cuando, después de tantos años, me hizo por fin socio de pleno derecho, si bien seguí convencido de que ese cargo no era ni más ni menos de lo que merecía, ya que había trabajado como un burro y asumido gran parte de la responsabilidad de dirigir el destino del bufete cobrando lo que, en mi opinión, era una remuneración insuficiente..., al menos en lo que a mi posición se refiere.
De modo que aquel domingo por la tarde estaba sentado junto al señor Bentley y disfrutaba al contemplar el paisaje verde y amodorrado por encima de los setos de espinos cuando el jefe condujo a paso lento al poni rumbo a su casa solariega, una vivienda bastante fea e imponente. Repantigarme sin hacer nada me resultó raro. En Londres vivía para trabajar, salvo el tiempo libre que dedicaba a estudiar y coleccionar acuarelas. A la sazón tenía treinta y cinco años y hacía doce que había enviudado. La vida social no me atraía y, aunque en líneas generales gozaba de buena salud, era propenso a enfermedades y malestares nerviosos debidos a las experiencias que más adelante describiré. A decir verdad, envejecía prematuramente y era un hombre sombrío, pálido y de expresión tensa: un bulldog.
Comenté con el señor Bentley la tranquilidad y lo benigno del día; me miró por el rabillo del ojo y comentó:
–Debería comprarse algo por esta zona, ¿no le parece? Una preciosa casita..., ¿tal vez allí abajo? –Señaló con el látigo un caserío cómodamente asentado en un recodo del río, con las paredes blancas calentadas por el sol de la tarde–. Deje la ciudad cualquier viernes por la tarde, dé un paseo por aquí, llénese los pulmones de aire fresco y tome huevos y nata de primera.
La idea tenía su encanto, pero lejano, y me pareció que no se vinculaba conmigo, así que me limité a sonreír, a aspirar el aroma cálido de las hierbas y las flores silvestres, a observar el polvo que los cascos del poni levantaron en el camino y me olvidé del tema. Mejor dicho, lo descarté hasta que llegamos a un tramo que pasaba frente a una casa de piedra de proporciones ideales, construida en una cuesta, por encima de una panorámica espectacular del valle del río, que se extendía varios kilómetros más allá hasta llegar al perfil violeta azulado de las colinas distantes.
En ese momento me dominó algo que no puedo describir con exactitud, una emoción, un deseo...; no, fue algo más: una certeza, la certidumbre, tan clara e impactante que involuntariamente grité al señor Bentley que se detuviese y, casi sin darle tiempo, abandoné de un salto el cabriolé y me detuve en un otero cubierto de hierba; en primer lugar miré esa casa tan bonita, tan adaptada al sitio que ocupaba, esa casa modesta pero segura de sí misma y, a continuación, paseé la vista por la campiña. No experimenté la sensación de haber estado allí, sino la convicción absoluta de que volvería a ese lugar, de que la casa ya era mía y estaba invisiblemente unido a ella.
A un lado, un arroyo correteaba hacia el prado situado más abajo, desde donde serpenteaba en dirección al río.
El señor Bentley me observaba con curiosidad desde el cabriolé y comentó:
–No está nada mal.
Asentí pero, como no estaba en condiciones de transmitirle mis intensas emociones, le di la espalda y subí unos pocos metros hasta avistar la entrada del viejo huerto invadido de maleza que se extendía detrás de la casa y que se estrechaba hasta llegar al otro extremo, poblado de hierbas largas y espesura enmarañada. Más lejos pude ver el perímetro de un terreno abierto y agreste. Aún me dominaba la convicción que ya he descrito y recuerdo que me alarmé, pues nunca he sido un hombre imaginativo ni fantasioso y, por supuesto, no solía tener visiones del futuro. Por cierto, desde aquellas experiencias previas había evitado deliberadamente la contemplación de cualquier asunto inmaterial y me había aferrado a lo prosaico, lo visible y lo tangible.
Sin embargo, no pude librarme de la creencia..., no, tengo que ser más preciso, de la certeza absoluta de que esa casa se convertiría algún día en mi hogar y de que, tarde o temprano, no sabía cuándo, pasaría a ser su dueño. Cuando por fin lo acepté y lo reconocí, experimenté una profunda sensación de paz y contento que hacía muchos años que no sentía y regresé con el corazón ligero al cabriolé, donde el señor Bentley me aguardaba bastante sorprendido.
La emoción abrumadora que había experimentado en Monk’s Piece me acompañó, aunque no ocupó el primer plano de mis pensamientos, cuando esa tarde abandoné el campo y regresé a Londres. Dije al señor Bentley que, si se enteraba de que la casa estaba en venta, me encantaría saberlo.
Varios años después me informó de que la habían puesto en venta. Ese mismo día me puse en contacto con los agentes y varias horas más tarde, sin siquiera volver a verla, ofrecí una cifra que aceptaron. Pocos meses antes había conocido a Esmé Ainley. Nuestro afecto había ido en constante aumento pero, como todavía estaba maldito por mi indecisión en todo lo referente a las cuestiones emocionales y personales, guardé silencio en lo que se refiere a mis intenciones futuras. Tuve la sensatez necesaria como para considerar la noticia sobre Monk’s Piece como un buen augurio y, una semana después de convertirme formalmente en el propietario de la casa, viajé al campo con Esmé y le propuse matrimonio entre los árboles del viejo huerto. Esmé aceptó y poco después nos casamos y nos fuimos enseguida a vivir a Monk’s Piece. Aquel día me convencí sinceramente de que por fin me había librado de la larga sombra que arrojaban los acontecimientos del pasado y, por su expresión y la calidez de su apretón de manos, tuve la sensación de que el señor Bentley pensaba lo mismo y de que se había quitado una pesada carga de encima. Siempre se había considerado responsable, al menos en parte, de lo ocurrido; al fin y al cabo, fue él quien me encomendó el primer viaje a Crythin Gifford, a la casa de Eel Marsh y al funeral de la señora Drablow.
Toda esa historia no podía estar más lejos de mis pensamientos, al menos de los conscientes, mientras aquella Nochebuena aspiraba el aire en la puerta de mi casa. Hacía catorce años que Monk’s Piece era el más feliz de los hogares: el de Esmé, el mío y el de los cuatro hijos que había tenido en sus primeras nupcias con el capitán Ainley. En los primeros tiempos sólo viajaba hasta allí los fines de semana y en vacaciones, pero la vida y los negocios en Londres comenzaron a fastidiarme desde el día en el que compré la casa y me alegré de retirarme definitivamente en el campo en la primera oportunidad que se me presentó.
Era a ese hogar feliz al que mi familia acudía de nuevo para las Navidades. En cuestión de segundos, abriría la puerta y oiría el sonido de sus voces procedentes del salón, a menos que me llamara de un modo imperativo mi esposa, preocupada ante la posibilidad de que pillase un resfriado. Era indudable de que la noche se había vuelto muy fría y despejada. El firmamento estaba tachonado de estrellas y la luna llena aparecía rodeada por un halo de escarcha. La humedad y las nieblas de la semana anterior habían desaparecido en la noche, como los ladrones; los senderos y las paredes de piedra de la casa brillaban tenuemente y mi aliento formaba vaho al entrar en contacto con el aire.
Arriba, en los dormitorios de la buhardilla, dormían los tres hijos pequeños de Isobel, los nietos de Esmé, con los calcetines colgados de los postes de las camas. A pesar de que al día siguiente no verían nieve, al menos el día de Navidad mostraría un semblante alegre y despejado.
Aquella noche había algo en el aire, supongo que algo que me recordaba mi propia niñez, añadido a otra cosa que los críos me habían contagiado y que, pese a tener la edad que tenía, me entusiasmaba. Como es obvio, no tenía ni la más remota idea de que mi tranquilidad de espíritu estaba a punto de derrumbarse y de que aflorarían recuerdos que consideraba definitivamente muertos. En ese momento me habría parecido imposible pensar que recuperaría mi estrecha relación, aunque sólo fuera en el transcurso de intensas evocaciones y vívidos sueños, con el miedo cerval y el terror espiritual.
Eche un último vistazo a la escarchada oscuridad, suspiré satisfecho, llamé a los perros y entré con la expectativa de fumar una pipa y beber una copa de buen whisky de malta junto al fuego chisporroteante en compañía de mi familia. Crucé el vestíbulo, entré en el salón y noté un estremecimiento de bienestar, parecido al que suelo experimentar en mi vida en Monk’s Piece, sensación que de forma natural desemboca en otra de sincero agradecimiento. Por supuesto, agradecí ver a mi familia arrellanada ante el enorme fuego que en ese momento Oliver avivaba hasta una altura y unas llamaradas peligrosas mediante el añadido de otra rama del viejo manzano del huerto, frutal que en otoño habíamos talado. Oliver es el primogénito de Esmé y tanto entonces como ahora guarda un gran parecido con su hermana Isobel, sentada junto a su marido, el barbado Aubrey Pearce, y con Will, el que le sigue en edad. Los tres tienen sencillos y francos rostros de ingleses, propensos a la redondez y con el pelo, las cejas y las pestañas de tono castaño claro, el mismo color de los cabellos de su madre antes de quedar veteado de canas.
Isobel tenía sólo veinticuatro años,