Tag: classics

Guest Blogs: Mine

Guest Blog: My Thoughts on ‘Jane Eyre’

Peregrine Arc: An Author's Scratchwork

I recently wrote a guest blog for Charles French’s series on the U.L.S., or Underground Library Society. I picked Charlotte Brontë’s ‘Jane Eyre’ as my novel. If you’re interested in giving this a read, check out what I wrote on the masterpiece here. Feel free to contact French if you’re interested in potentially contributing a piece as well.

Also if you’d like to read fellow author Andrew McDowell’s piece he wrote for U.L.S. on Dicken’s “The Christmas Carol” the link to his blog can be found here, introducing what he wrote. I decided to take a crack at this after reading his take–thanks for the inspiration, Andrew!

Until then–happy reading and writing. Wonderful things can be found in books, can’t they? I recently finished reading a book where the villain was knocked out by a thick, 8oo pager paperback. I couldn’t help but smile. That was quite clever of the author, I thought.

Cheers.

Take A Book, Leave a Book, Thoughts & Reviews

Book Review & Theory: The Turn of the Screw

Peregrine Arc: An Author's Scratchwork

A friend recommended reading Henry Jame’s novella, The Turn of the Screw. It’s a psychological horror, set in Victorian times in England in Essex, specifically. Throw in an old country estate named Bly–isolated and with a large pond–a couple of potential ghosts, a country church and I’m sold. Get me a cup of tea, some caramel popcorn and away we go. Nothing better than a cozy horror snuggled up in blankets.

Expecting something like Jane Eyre, I sat and read the novella (approximately 43,000 words) over a weekend, some in the car, some in restaurants and the rest at home. It’s a quick read–I particularly loved the short, but thick chapters, that gave just enough momentum to keep the reader going. The imagery, particularly the ghost sightings I adored. James has a way with describing just enough and letting your mind fill in the rest, particularly with domestic scenes so close to our experiences.

I got to the end, eager for answers, several theories at my side I developed. I met Mr. James there, holding his white handkerchief in a tease surrender, standing next to his character’s corpse. My theories fell to the wayside. I argued, I harangued, I politely condoled. But I would get no answers, it seemed. It was up to me and all the other readers since the 1800’s.

I screamed.

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