The Turn of the Screw & the Aspern Papers

By Henry James

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• Language: English
• Publisher: Read Books Ltd.
• Release date: Nov 3, 2015
• ISBN: 9781473374744

Henry James

Henry James (1843-1916) was an American author of novels, short stories, plays, and non-fiction. He spent most of his life in Europe, and much of his work regards the interactions and complexities between American and European characters. Among his works in this vein are The Portrait of a Lady (1881), The Bostonians (1886), and The Ambassadors (1903). Through his influence, James ushered in the era of American realism in literature. In his lifetime he wrote 12 plays, 112 short stories, 20 novels, and many travel and critical works. He was nominated three times for the Noble Prize in Literature.

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The Turn of the Screw

&

The Aspern Papers

by

Henry James

Copyright © 2013 Read Books Ltd.

This book is copyright and may not be

reproduced or copied in any way without

the express permission of the publisher in writing

British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

Contents

Henry James

THE TURN OF THE SCREW

I

II

III

IV

V

VI

VII

VIII

IX

X

XI

XII

XIII

XIV

XV

XVI

XVII

XVIII

XIX

XX

XXI

XXII

XXIII

THE ASPERN PAPERS

I

II

III

IV

V

VI

VII

VIII

IX

Henry James

Henry James was born in New York City in 1843. One of thirteen children, James had an unorthodox early education, switching between schools, private tutors and private reading. In 1855, the James family embarked on a three year-long trip to Geneva, London, and Paris; an experience that greatly influenced his decision, some years later, to emigrate to Europe. Having returned to America, and having met prominent authors and thinkers such as Ralph Waldo Emerson and Henry David Thoreau, James turned seriously to writing.

James published his first story, ‘A Tragedy of Error’, in the Continental Monthly in 1864, when he was twenty years old. In 1876, he emigrated to London, where he remained for the vast majority of the rest of his life, becoming a British citizen in 1915. From this point on, he was a hugely prolific author, eventually producing twenty novels and more than a hundred short stories and novellas, as well as literary criticism, plays and travelogues. Amongst James’s most famous works are The Europeans (1878), Daisy Miller (1878), Washington Square (1880), The Bostonians (1886), and one of the most famous ghost stories of all time, The Turn of the Screw (1898). James’ personal favourite, of all his works, was the 1903 novel The Ambassadors. He is regarded by modern-day critics as one of the key figures of 19th-century literary realism, and one of the greatest American authors of all-time.

James’ autobiography appeared in three volumes between 1914 and 1917. He died following a stroke in February of 1916, aged 72.

THE TURN OF THE SCREW

The story had held us, round the fire, sufficiently breathless, but except the obvious remark that it was gruesome, as, on Christmas Eve in an old house, a strange tale should essentially be, I remember no comment uttered till somebody happened to say that it was the only case he had met in which such a visitation had fallen on a child. The case, I may mention, was that of an apparition in just such an old house as had gathered us for the occasion—an appearance, of a dreadful kind, to a little boy sleeping in the room with his mother and waking her up in the terror of it; waking her not to dissipate his dread and soothe him to sleep again, but to encounter also, herself, before she had succeeded in doing so, the same sight that had shaken him. It was this observation that drew from Douglas—not immediately, but later in the evening—a reply that had the interesting consequence to which I call attention. Someone else told a story not particularly effective, which I saw he was not following. This I took for a sign that he had himself something to produce and that we should only have to wait. We waited in fact till two nights later; but that same evening, before we scattered, he brought out what was in his mind.

I quite agree—in regard to Griffin’s ghost, or whatever it was—that its appearing first to the little boy, at so tender an age, adds a particular touch. But it’s not the first occurrence of its charming kind that I know to have involved a child. If the child gives the effect another turn of the screw, what do you say to TWO children—?

We say, of course, somebody exclaimed, that they give two turns! Also that we want to hear about them.

I can see Douglas there before the fire, to which he had got up to present his back, looking down at his interlocutor with his hands in his pockets. Nobody but me, till now, has ever heard. It’s quite too horrible. This, naturally, was declared by several voices to give the thing the utmost price, and our friend, with quiet art, prepared his triumph by turning his eyes over the rest of us and going on: It’s beyond everything. Nothing at all that I know touches it.

For sheer terror? I remember asking.

He seemed to say it was not so simple as that; to be really at a loss how to qualify it. He passed his hand over his eyes, made a little wincing grimace. For dreadful—dreadfulness!

Oh, how delicious! cried one of the women.

He took no notice of her; he looked at me, but as if, instead of me, he saw what he spoke of. For general uncanny ugliness and horror and pain.

Well then, I said, just sit right down and begin.

He turned round to the fire, gave a kick to a log, watched it an instant. Then as he faced us again: I can’t begin. I shall have to send to town. There was a unanimous groan at this, and much reproach; after which, in his preoccupied way, he explained. The story’s written. It’s in a locked drawer—it has not been out for years. I could write to my man and enclose the key; he could send down the packet as he finds it. It was to me in particular that he appeared to propound this—appeared almost to appeal for aid not to hesitate. He had broken a thickness of ice, the formation of many a winter; had had his reasons for a long silence. The others resented postponement, but it was just his scruples that charmed me. I adjured him to write by the first post and to agree with us for an early hearing; then I asked him if the experience in question had been his own. To this his answer was prompt. Oh, thank God, no!

And is the record yours? You took the thing down?

Nothing but the impression. I took that HERE—he tapped his heart. I’ve never lost it.

Then your manuscript—?

Is in old, faded ink, and in the most beautiful hand. He hung fire again. A woman’s. She has been dead these twenty years. She sent me the pages in question before she died. They were all listening now, and of course there was somebody to be arch, or at any rate to draw the inference. But if he put the inference by without a smile it was also without irritation. She was a most charming person, but she was ten years older than I. She was my sister’s governess, he quietly said. She was the most agreeable woman I’ve ever known in her position; she would have been worthy of any whatever. It was long ago, and this episode was long before. I was at Trinity, and I found her at home on my coming down the second summer. I was much there that year—it was a beautiful one; and we had, in her off-hours, some strolls and talks in the garden—talks in which she struck me as awfully clever and nice. Oh yes; don’t grin: I liked her extremely and am glad to this day to think she liked me, too. If she hadn’t she wouldn’t have told me. She had never told anyone. It wasn’t simply that she said so, but that I knew she hadn’t. I was sure; I could see. You’ll easily judge why when you hear.

Because the thing had been such a scare?

He continued to fix me. You’ll easily judge, he repeated: YOU will.

I fixed him, too. I see. She was in love.

He laughed for the first time. You ARE acute. Yes, she was in love. That is, she had been. That came out—she couldn’t tell her story without its coming out. I saw it, and she saw I saw it; but neither of us spoke of it. I remember the time and the place—the corner of the lawn, the shade of the great beeches and the long, hot summer afternoon. It wasn’t a scene for a shudder; but oh—! He quitted the fire and dropped back into his chair.

You’ll receive the packet Thursday morning? I inquired.

Probably not till the second post.

Well then; after dinner—

You’ll all meet me here? He looked us round again. Isn’t anybody going? It was almost the tone of hope.

Everybody will stay!

"I will—and I will! cried the ladies whose departure had been fixed. Mrs. Griffin, however, expressed the need for a little more light. Who was it she was in love with?"

The story will tell, I took upon myself to reply.

Oh, I can’t wait for the story!

The story WON’T tell, said Douglas; not in any literal, vulgar way.

More’s the pity, then. That’s the only way I ever understand.

Won’t YOU tell, Douglas? somebody else inquired.

He sprang to his feet again. Yes—tomorrow. Now I must go to bed. Good night. And quickly catching up a candlestick, he left us slightly bewildered. From our end of the great brown hall we heard his step on the stair; whereupon Mrs. Griffin spoke. Well, if I don’t know who she was in love with, I know who HE was.

She was ten years older, said her husband.

Raison de plus—at that age! But it’s rather nice, his long reticence.

Forty years! Griffin put in.

With this outbreak at last.

The outbreak, I returned, will make a tremendous occasion of Thursday night; and everyone so agreed with me that, in the light of it, we lost all attention for everything else. The last story, however incomplete and like the mere opening of a serial, had been told; we handshook and candlestuck, as somebody said, and went to bed.

I knew the next day that a letter containing the key had, by the first post, gone off to his London apartments; but in spite of—or perhaps just on account of—the eventual diffusion of this knowledge we quite let him alone till after dinner, till such an hour of the evening, in fact, as might best accord with the kind of emotion on which our hopes were fixed. Then he became as communicative as we could desire and indeed gave us his best reason for being so. We had it from him again before the fire in the hall, as we had had our mild wonders of the previous night. It appeared that the narrative he had promised to read us really required for a proper intelligence a few words of prologue. Let me say here distinctly, to have done with it, that this narrative, from an exact transcript of my own made much later, is what I shall presently give. Poor Douglas, before his death—when it was in sight—committed to me the manuscript that reached him on the third of these days and that, on the same spot, with immense effect, he began to read to our hushed little circle on the night of the fourth. The departing ladies who had said they would stay didn’t, of course, thank heaven, stay: they departed, in consequence of arrangements made, in a rage of curiosity, as they professed, produced by the touches with which he had already worked us up. But that only made his little final auditory more compact and select, kept it, round the hearth, subject to a common thrill.

The first of these touches conveyed that the written statement took up the tale at a point after it had, in a manner, begun. The fact to be in possession of was therefore that his old friend, the youngest of several daughters of a poor country parson, had, at the age of twenty, on taking service for the first time in the schoolroom, come up to London, in trepidation, to answer in person an advertisement that had already placed her in brief correspondence with the advertiser. This person proved, on her presenting herself, for judgment, at a house in Harley Street, that impressed her as vast and imposing—this prospective patron proved a gentleman, a bachelor in the prime of life, such a figure as had never risen, save in a dream or an old novel, before a fluttered, anxious girl out of a Hampshire vicarage. One could easily fix his type; it never, happily, dies out. He was handsome and bold and pleasant, offhand and gay and kind. He struck her, inevitably, as gallant and splendid, but what took her most of all and gave her the courage she afterward showed was that he put the whole thing to her as a kind of favor, an obligation he should gratefully incur. She conceived him as rich, but as fearfully extravagant—saw him all in a glow of high fashion, of good looks, of expensive habits, of charming ways with women. He had for his own town residence a big house filled with the spoils of travel and the trophies of the chase; but it was to his country home, an old family place in Essex, that he wished her immediately to proceed.

He had been left, by the death of their parents in India, guardian to a small nephew and a small niece, children of a younger, a military brother, whom he had lost two years before. These children were, by the strangest of chances for a man in his position—a lone man without the right sort of experience or a grain of patience—very heavily on his hands. It had all been a great worry and, on his own part doubtless, a series of blunders, but he immensely pitied the poor chicks and had done all he could; had in particular sent them down to his other house, the proper place for them being of course the country, and kept them there, from the first, with the best people he could find to look after them, parting even with his own servants to wait on them and going down himself, whenever he might, to see how they were doing. The awkward thing was that they had practically no other relations and that his own affairs took up all his time. He had put them in possession of Bly, which was healthy and secure, and had placed at the head of their little establishment—but below stairs only—an excellent woman, Mrs. Grose, whom he was sure his visitor would like and who had formerly been maid to his mother. She was now housekeeper and was also acting for the time as superintendent to the little girl, of whom, without children of her own, she was, by good luck, extremely fond. There were plenty of people to help, but of course the young lady who should go down as governess would be in supreme authority. She would also have, in holidays, to look after the small boy, who had been for a term at school—young as he was to be sent, but what else could be done?—and who, as the holidays were about to begin, would be back from one day to the other. There had been for the two children at first a young lady whom they had had the misfortune to lose. She had done for them quite beautifully—she was a most respectable person—till her death, the great awkwardness of which had, precisely, left no alternative but the school for little Miles. Mrs. Grose, since then, in the way of manners and things, had done as she could for Flora; and there were, further, a cook, a housemaid, a dairywoman, an old pony, an old groom, and an old gardener, all likewise thoroughly respectable.

So far had Douglas presented his picture when someone put a question. And what did the former governess die of?—of so much respectability?

Our friend’s answer was prompt. That will come out. I don’t anticipate.

Excuse me—I thought that was just what you ARE doing.

In her successor’s place, I suggested, I should have wished to learn if the office brought with it—

Necessary danger to life? Douglas completed my thought. She did wish to learn, and she did learn. You shall hear tomorrow what she learned. Meanwhile, of course, the prospect struck her as slightly grim. She was young, untried, nervous: it was a vision of serious duties and little company, of really great loneliness. She hesitated—took a couple of days to consult and consider. But the salary offered much exceeded her modest measure, and on a second interview she faced the music, she engaged. And Douglas, with this, made a pause that, for the benefit of the company, moved me to throw in—

The moral of which was of course the seduction exercised by the splendid young man. She succumbed to it.

He got up and, as he had done the night before, went to the fire, gave a stir to a log with his foot, then stood a moment with his back to us. She saw him only twice.

Yes, but that’s just the beauty of her passion.

A little to my surprise, on this, Douglas turned round to me. It WAS the beauty of it. There were others, he went on, who hadn’t succumbed. He told her frankly all his difficulty—that for several applicants the conditions had been prohibitive. They were, somehow, simply afraid. It sounded dull—it sounded strange; and all the more so because of his main condition.

Which was—?

That she should never trouble him—but never, never: neither appeal nor complain nor write about anything; only meet all questions herself, receive all moneys from his solicitor, take the whole thing over and let him alone. She promised to do this, and she mentioned to me that when, for a moment, disburdened, delighted, he held her hand, thanking her for the sacrifice, she already felt rewarded.

But was that all her reward? one of the ladies asked.

She never saw him again.

Oh! said the lady; which, as our friend immediately left us again, was the only other word of importance contributed to the subject till, the next night, by the corner of the hearth, in the best chair, he opened the faded red cover of a thin old-fashioned gilt-edged album. The whole thing took indeed more nights than one, but on the first occasion the same lady put another question. What is your title?

I haven’t one.

"Oh, I have!" I said. But Douglas, without heeding me, had begun to read with a fine clearness that was like a rendering to the ear of the beauty of his author’s hand.

I

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

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

But it was a comfort that there could be no uneasiness in a connection with anything so beatific as the radiant image of my little girl, the vision of whose angelic beauty had probably more than anything else to do with the restlessness that, before morning, made me several times rise and wander about my room to take in the whole picture and prospect; to watch, from my open window, the faint summer dawn, to look at such portions of the rest of the house as I could catch, and to listen, while, in the fading dusk, the first birds began to twitter, for the possible recurrence of a sound or two, less natural and not without, but within, that I had fancied I heard. There had been a moment when I believed I recognized, faint and far, the cry of a child; there had been another when I found myself just consciously starting as at the passage, before my door, of a light footstep. But these fancies were not marked enough not to be thrown off, and it is only in the light, or the gloom, I should rather say, of other and subsequent matters that they now come back to me. To watch, teach, form little Flora would too evidently be the making of a happy and useful life. It had been agreed between us downstairs that after this first occasion I should have her as a matter of course at night, her small white bed being already arranged, to that end, in my room. What I had undertaken was the whole care of her, and she had remained, just this last time, with Mrs. Grose only as an effect of our consideration for my inevitable strangeness and her natural timidity. In spite of this timidity—which the child herself, in the oddest way in the world, had been perfectly frank

Reviews for The Turn of the Screw & the Aspern Papers

[jbd1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Two very different stories, but I enjoyed each for its own reasons, though I haven't read much if any Henry James before. I kept hearing that "The Turn of the Screw" was a good ghost story, so I had to give it a try. I didn't enjoy it as much as I do those of M.R. James and others, but it was fine. "The Aspern Papers" was good and creepy too, but I don't know that I'll go out in search of more Henry James to read.

[oscarwilde87_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Published in 1898, The Turn of the Screw is a ghost story in novella length. A young governess is hired to look after the niece and nephew of a man who seems not to be interested in raising the children himself after the death of their parents. Soon after the governess has arrived at Bly she meets the housekeeper, Mrs. Grose, and Miles and Flora, the children. Miles was expelled from a boarding school, the reasons of which remain unclear until the end of the novella. The governess, however, is set on finding out the truth about Miles and why he was expelled. Exploring the grounds of her new temporary home, the governess sees a strange man, first far away in a tower of the country house, then much closer, looking through a window into her room. Soon, she starts seeing a second figure, a woman. When the governess relates these strange encounters to Mrs. Grose, the housekeeper identifies the two figures as Miss Jessel and Mr. Quint, former employees who are already dead. The governess now strives to protect the children and find out about the strange apparitions.The second novella in this volume is The Aspern Papers, published in 1888. It is set in Venice, Italy, and the protagonist is an editor who wants to acquire documents by Jeffrey Aspern, a poet who had a relationship with Miss Bordereau before he died. Miss Bordereau and her niece live a secluded life in a palazzo in Venice and the old lady prefers not to talk about her relationship with Jeffrey Aspern. She is in possession of the documents, letters to her written by Jeffrey Aspern, that the protagonist wants to have. The editor rents rooms in the Bordereau palazzo and tries to establish communications to Juliana Bordereau, which, however, fails. When the editor tries to work his way to Jeffrey Aspern's former lover by talking to her niece and taking her out to see Venice, the conversation finally turns to the Aspern papers. The protagonist finds out where they had been kept and tries to find them, but he is discovered by Juliana Bordereau who dies soon after. Her niece, Tina, now owns the Aspern papers and the protagonist is still dead set on possessing them. When Tina Bordereau implies that the only way he could own them is if he were part of the family, the protagonist despairs and leaves the palazzo for a while. On his return, he learns that the papers have been burnt by Tina Bordereau.There are certain aspects both novellas have in common. First, there is the narrator. In both cases the narrator of the story is the protagonist, relating events from a first person perspective. The governess in The Turn of the Screw as well as the editor in The Aspern Papers remain nameless. Their credibility is doubtful as they contradict themselves in their narration or appear to see things that are not there. As a reader, you find yourself questioning everything you are told and constantly trying to figure out the truth. This, however, is impossible as certain details in both stories are never revealed. Both stories leave a lot open to interpretation.Second, there is the matter of truth. As already mentioned, the reader has a hard time finding out the truth because of the narrative perspective chosen for the stories. The protagonists of both stories, however, also strive to reveal the truth. In The Turn of the Screw, the governess wants to find out the reason for Miles' being expelled from boarding school. In The Aspern Papers, the editor wants to find out more about the mysterious relationship between Juliana Bordereau and Jeffrey Aspern. Eventually, the 'truth' is lost when, respectively, Miles dies or the letters are burnt and cannot be recovered anymore.In light of those two aspects, narrative perspective and the quest for truth, I found both novellas very interesting. They made me rethink matters of composition in literary works, especially the trustworthiness of narrators. On the whole, I liked The Aspern Papers a little better than The Turn of the Screw as the story was more to my liking. 4 stars for the former and 3 stars for the latter leave me with a combined rating of 3.5 stars for this volume.

[michellech_1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

The Aspern Papers I read first, and it wasn't the kind of storytelling style I enjoy. The writing was choppy and a little hard for me to follow. I felt the same as I read The Turn ( although the psychological aspects of The Turn are rather fascinating). Many years ago I read Daisy Miller and remember that I wasn't fond of James's style at that time as well.

Outside of the writing, some of the trouble I had with The Aspern Papers is that the main character is rather loathsome and sneaky. His quest for Aspern the poet's lost papers has him seek out the former lover and muse of Aspern, Juliana Bordereau. This nameless young man talks Juliana into renting him rooms in her home in Venice. From there he woos the niece and only companion of Juliana with the purpose of gaining access to those valuable papers. To the end, I hoped that he would not be successful in this quest. Where James does well is in bringing Venice to life; as a reader I could feel the heat, smell the flowers and see the canals.

The battle of the wills between this nameless young man and Juliana is intense. Will he or won't he get his hands on those oh so valuable papers?

This was my second reading of The Turn of the Screw and it is completely rich with hysteria and creepiness. Again we have another nameless narrator relating the story of a governess and her experiences with two children in a remote country home. The governess from the beginning was dramatic and totally convinced that evil was surrounding the pupils in her care and in their home. The two children she is responsible for, Miles and Flora, seem innocent enough but the governess seems to always be on the hunt for evil influences. It is like watching a guilty person pointing the finger at everyone else. When she discovers that the former governess, Miss Jessel and the former manservant of the estate,Quint, were lovers and the primary caretakers of Miles and Flora, all hell breaks lose. There is the implication that these two were inappropriate with the children and it it is all left up to the reader to interpret. By the end I felt like a little bit of crazy turned into a lot of crazy.

[lizaha_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Kids are so creepy! You want to protect them, but then god knows what they know already. They are cute, at least, but so cute that you just want to hold them, and keep them safe, and close, so close to you forever. And ever. Uh oh! Who is creepy now?

Some people say this is really about Alice James, but I pretty much believe it when Henry James says he just wants to write a potboiler. Still a really good potboiler!

[hadriantheblind · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Two short stories by Henry James. Not bad, all things considered, but his writing style is notoriously dense, and may dissuade a lot of potential readers. His endings were pretty shocking, though, and actually building up suspense despite his flowery style is a worthy achievement.

[isabelx_21 · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

"The Turn of the Screw"It may be of course above all what suddenly broke into this gives the previous time a charm of stillness - that hush in which something gathers or crouches. The change was actually like the spring of a beast.More enjoyable than "The Aspern Papers", but I still wouldn't call myself a fan of Henry James. Is the current governess correct about the malevolent presence of the ghosts of the manservant and ex-governess and their malign influence on the two young children in her care? Or is she merely a neurotic imagining things? Who knows."The Aspern Papers"I hated the story and all the characters. I hoped that the horrible old woman would lose her papers, but didn't want the loathsome critic to get what he wanted either, and wished that the pathetic niece would either get a grip or throw herself in the canal.1/2 a star for the Aspern Papers, 3 stars for The Turn of the Screw, so I'll give it 2 stars overall.

[ebro_4 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Oh, Henry James. The man of many commas. This was my second time reading, first time finishing (the first time I started reading was for a college lit class and other readings overwhelmed me before I could finish). It's hard to talk about the plot without giving anything away, as the details of the book are essentially the plot, which is in itself intentionally vague to the point where James actually relies on the reader having an inner sense of inherent wrongness to fill in the blanks of his own fiction. This is, of course, a ghost story. A ghost story involving children, which is laid claim to be the most frightening kind. To the modern reader it is hardly terrifying, but with reflection over certain scenes I did find it to be chilling. I have a habit of imagining books as films as I read them, and I can't say this would transfer well while still remaining true to the book. It would have to be a very loose adaptation in order to come across as a horror film, as most of the terror of the book comes in quick gusts, allowing the reader to meditate on them obsessively as the governess does. That is where the real suspense of the book comes in, in the quoted "tightening of the screw" that continues to do up the narrator and add yet another pressure point on the vice of the novel. Henry James has never been for everyone, but if you are predisposed to liking Victorian literature this one is certainly something fun to try out. Just, whatever you do, put on a goddamn hat. What kind of gentleman are you? Oh... oh, you're a ghost. I see.

[msnikki · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Henry James is an amazing author. The Aspern Papers is a great battle of wits story, with the twists and turns to keep you interested. It's a great exploration of human morals, needs and wants. The professor wants these letters from his favourite author, the owner is poor and wants to provide for her family member. Who will win, who will be the master manipulator?In The Turn of the Screw James turns a gothic ghost story into a psychological drama. I'm on the side that believes the governess was experiencing hullucinations. James is a wiz with words. The sentences he constructs are amazing, for the images they evoke, to the placement of the punctuation marks. I was really impressed. The ending will surprise you. Actually, this was a great pairing, because both endings were extremely satisfying. I highly recommend.

[booktsunami · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Henry James is one of those writers that I have heard a lot about. Maybe, I've even read some of his work along the way but really I'm pretty ignorant of his work. In fact, I found myself confounding him with that other famous American writer....Edgar Allan Poe. Anyway, I found this book, with two stories by Henry James, and decided to inform myself. My verdict: interesting, nice use of words and phrasing, clever development of tension and characters.....not especially scary. Light entertainment yes. But not something that I found either believable or something that I wanted to pursue ....in terms of reading more of Henry James. Both stories rely on; big, wealthy (unfriendly) houses, absent parents and remoteness. The governess in "Turn of the Screen" is a smart young women.....apparently with limited prospects because of her background. And Miss Tina in "The Aspern Papers" seems a complete victim of her aunt...unable to escape the confines of the house and utterly lost in the real world. And there is an underlying sexism about both stories......plus very much an "upstairs/downstairs world that I find both foreign and nasty. In "The turn of the screw" papers there is the hint of paederphilia......unstated but very present. This was unsettling in itself. "Turn of the screw" calls upon the gullible and the supernatural in ways that I can imagine titillating but I found lacking.There are flashes of the life of Peggy Guggenheim.....wealthy, passionate art collector,American, living in Venice ....in the Aspern papers. And I must admit to being somewhat confused about where Henry James was from because of his writing about England and America. So did bit of delving and found he was almost a mid Atlantic person who lived both in America and Europe and maybe never felt totally at home in either place. But he was able to write effortlessly about both. For me, I give the book (and the two stories) 3 stars. I won't be seeking out more works of Henry James. Not unenjoyable but life is too short (for me) to spend more time with this writer.

[bibliotecauned-1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

en los papeles de Aspern, la idolatración del pasado y la necesidad de protegerlo envuelven a los personajes en una trama maestra de ambigüedades y bajezas, en la que el romanticismo y el materialismo se funden en una relación misteriosamente dialéctica. Otra vuelta de tuerca, la novela tiene que ver con una institutriz que acepta el encargo de cuidar a un par de niños, Flora y Miles. La narración comienza con Douglas, un chico que en una noche en la que se cuentan historias de terror, describe como a la institutriz en mención se le aparecen los fantasmas de anteriores habitantes de la casa donde cuida de los niños.

[passion4reading_1 · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

The first novella in this thin volume containing two of Henry James's works is regarded as a so-called classic, the story of a young governess engaged to look after two orphaned children in a country house in England. When she first meets the children, Miles, aged 10, and Flora, aged 8, she is very much taken with them, and she is bewildered to learn that Miles has been expelled from his school. Events take a supernatural turn when she sees a man on the top of the tower who answers to the description of the former valet of the master of the house, Peter Quint, who has since died; not only that, but she also catches glimpses of a lady in a black dress, whom the housekeeper Mrs Grose, based on her description, identifies as the former governess Miss Jessel, who has also since passed on. The governess becomes convinced that the spirits are in secret communication with the children and have an unholy influence over them.Years ago I saw the 1961 film The Innocents, based on The Turn of the Screw, and was always curious what the story was like in its original literary form. While the film as I recall it is very unambiguous in its interpretation that the children are indeed possessed by the spirits of the deceased valet and governess, the book is much more so, something I did not expect. Told in the style of a frame narrative, the first-person account penned by the governess is read out to an assembly of guests years later, and what emerges for me was the narrative of someone who was mentally unbalanced, and we only have the governess's word for it that the children were able to see and communicate with the spirits, as the writing itself is ambiguous on this point and the children never admit to seeing or hearing anything out of the ordinary, thus turning the story into an account by an unreliable narrator for me and elevating it from a boring and rather tame ghost story to something more interesting and deserving of reflection.I did not get on with the character of the unnamed governess at all: I thought her conceited, needy, paranoid and hysterical, and the laboriousness and convolutedness of the prose in which the account is written as an outward sign of her disturbed mental state. At no stage did the narrative become more than mildly tense, and the interest is more in the psychological deportment of the governess and the children than in any horror attributed to it since the novella's publication. The ending, though anticipated by my having watched the film, is sudden and unexpected, and leaves the reader with unanswered questions as to what really happened.The second novella is set in Venice, Italy, and tells of the frustrated attempts of an American editor to gain access to the private papers of Juliana Bordereau, former muse to the famous poet Jeffrey Aspern, in the hope of publishing previously unknown correspondence by the poet. Also written in the first person, the editor gains access under false pretences to the villa where Miss Bordereau lives in seclusion with only her middle-aged niece for company. On the very few occasions that the editor lays eyes on her, Juliana appeared to me like a shadow of Dickens's Miss Havisham, but that is really the only interesting thing that can be said of the story. I was repeatedly astonished how 80 pages could be spent without saying anything at all, as nothing of any significance takes place until the last 20 or so pages.Reading the narrative felt like wading through treacle and I more than once toyed with the idea of giving up, and only the thought that there might be a twist at the end stopped me; there is a twist of sorts, not unexpected, and resembling the one in The Turn of the Screw – though written ten years earlier – in that the pursuit of the truth is abruptly cut short. Not once did I feel engaged with the unnamed narrator as he belittles the younger Miss Bordereau and compliments himself on his perceived cleverness, and I thought he deserved what he got at the end.With a rating of three stars for The Turn of the Screw and one star for The Aspern Papers, this volume scores a measly two stars in my opinion.

[pgmcc · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

As with every tale of horror “The Turn of the Screw” isolates the primary character, in this case the governess of two young children. It also isolates those around her as it takes place in a country home to which “The Master” never visits and from whence he wants no news or communications.Within the residence the governess is the highest authority, followed by the housekeeper with the other servants being a social level further down in the pecking order.The children in the care of the governess are, of course, the focus of the entire household.There are several levels of isolation. As mentioned above, The Master minimised his contact with the household. The governess, while spending most of her time with the children is cautious of them and, as the substance of the story emerges she begins to distrust their manner and hence isolates herself from them.The governess does, however, feel a level of affinity with the housekeeper but a difference in intellectual level is clearly identified and this, along with the expectations of their different positions in the household, limits the degree of association between the two women. For the climax of the story the housekeeper is removed from the scene entirely, along with one of the children. This serves to further isolate the governess.Of course, the governess will have no social association with the other servants apart from being the recipient of the services provided by them within the remit of their function.When Henry James organised his stories into categories he did not put “The Turn of the Screw” with his ghostly tales, but rather with his psychological stories. I can understand this. It was only the governess who observed the ghostly appearances. The story was a narration based on the writings of the governess. I questioned the alacrity of her story and believe we are dealing with an unreliable narrator.I enjoyed this story as a ghost story, but also as a tale that can be interpreted as something else; a psychological tale of a person’s self delusion and her slow descent into paranoia.

[equestrienne · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Well, you certainly have to concentrate on the prose in this one; be prepared to pay attention.

A classic story with a classic question. Did all this really happen as the governess tells it? Were the children really possessed by the malevolent spirits of their dead servants? Was the governess really a half-crazy repressed old maid victim of Victorian society who in turn victimized her young charges? I prefer the former, but either one is horrifying in its own way.

Although a certain type of woman, from a certain strata of British Victorian society, may have been heavily oppressed by the morals and social expectations of the era, this is largely a myth. The very era itself is named for a woman. The same society also produced women like Christina Rossetti, May Morris, Evelyn de Morgan, Marie Correlli, Elizabeth Gaskell, Beatrix Potter, Ada Lovelace and many others; which clearly could not have happened if conditions were as 'anti-woman' as are popularly attributed.

I have seen three different film adaptations of this book. The first is titled "The Innocents" and the acting is old school melodrama, but the look of the black & white film is perfect; very gothic. Bly House and the entire estate have that lovely, eerie appearance. The last one was titled "The Turn of the Screw", and with an interesting twist, was set in the 1960's. The story remained true to the novel, in spite of the mod costuming. The cinematography was not as atmospheric as the black & white version, much more sunlit, but still visually appealing.

I know that some readers struggle with the prose of Henry James. The story is worth adapting your reading style; it is just a novella. This book will not appeal to fans of gore and bloodshed.