Book Review: We Have Always Lived In the Castle by Shirley Jackson
No one except Merrikat goes up the back path to the Blackwood house any more. Not since the murders. And that’s just the way Mary Katherine Blackwood likes it. And even she would not go through the gate except that someone has to shop for groceries once a week. Uncle Julian is confined to his chair, and Merrikat’s sister Constance will go no further than the garden, so it’s up to her to brave the mocking of the villagers.
There was a time when the people of the village if not liked, then respected the Blackwoods as one of the finer families of the area. But when Merrikat’s parents got married, her mother insisted on having their property fenced to keep out the riff-raff, and whispering began. After the murders, plagued by reporters and looky-loos, the remaining family members closed the curtains, refused to answer knocks, disconnected the telephone and refused all mail. That really got tongues waving.
Now the only visitors are Helen Clarke, an old friend of the family who comes once a week to tea because that is always what has been done, and Uncle Julian’s doctor once a month. And to be honest, Merrikat could get along just fine without either of them. She spends a lot of time burying objects and setting up wards to protect the grounds from intruders. Merrikat would be happiest if no one ever interrupted her days with her sister.
But now one of the wards has failed, and a man claiming to be their cousin Charles has come into the house. A girl’s house is her castle, but what can Merrikat do now?
This 1962 classic is usually shelved under “horror,” but what it mostly is is intensely creepy. The Blackwoods are all suspended in time–Uncle Julian starts and restarts his memoir of the day of the poisoning (and from the fragments he reveals, all was not well in the Blackwood family even then); Constance tends her garden, house and remaining family in a scheduled loop, and Merrikat has not matured emotionally from the child she was when the murders happened. There’s nothing overtly supernatural going on(1) but the atmosphere is haunted.
(1) The symptoms of the poisoning do not match the poison named; this was a deliberate choice by either Ms. Jackson or her editor, because Shirley Jackson’s notes show she originally used a poison that matches.
The creepiness intensifies as the plot unfolds. Is cousin Charles well-meaning but arrogant, or just greedy? Are the villagers’ prejudices against the Blackwoods justified or ignorant? If Constance didn’t murder her family (and the jury said she didn’t), who did? The secrets start coming out.
While the book was not written as young adult, it’s suitable for morbid junior high readers on up. I regret not having read it at that age as my school library’s copy had a cover that mimicked the then-hot V.C. Andrews books, and I had been burned by those.
With its eerie conclusion, this book is rewarding reading for those who prefer their horror on the Gothic side; subtle and non-gory. Highly recommended.
Here’s a fan-made movie trailer.
