Day 17

I knew Arthur reminded me of someone, but it took me until now to figure out who. His speech patterns—“Mark of a man,” “Leave all that kind of thing to the teachers”—are similar to the way Jackson, in her household memoirs (Life Among the Savages and Raising Demons—absolutely hilarious, if you haven’t read them), depicts the speech of her eldest son, Laurie (Laurence), when he’s trying to sound older than he is or otherwise impress someone. Although there she does it lovingly, I suppose. Here Arthur just sounds like an idiot. There’s a similar dynamic in the scene in which he interrupts Dr. Montague at his reading, exactly as a small child would.

I see why some of you think he and Mrs. Montague are a bit too much. Although I am fascinated by the ambiguity of their relationship, as well as the fact that there’s no question of Mrs. Montague and her husband sharing a room.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Montague companionably helps Mrs. Dudley out in the kitchen, almost as if they were old friends. The two women chat, Mrs. Dudley’s voice “comfortable and easy,” and share a cup of tea. Why does Mrs. Montague’s presence put Mrs. Dudley at ease?

According to Jackson’s children, she used to sing “The Grattan Murders,” an Appalachian folk ballad, to them as a lullaby. Here’s a recording of Sarah Hyman, the younger sister, singing it. She sang it once for me in exactly the same way.

The passage in which Eleanor listens to the house is another of the loveliest moments in the novel.

“Somewhere upstairs a door swung quietly shut; a bird touched the tower briefly and flew off. In the kitchen the stove was settling and cooling, with little soft creakings. An animal—a rabbit?—moved through the bushes by the summerhouse. She could even hear, with her new awareness of the house, the dust drifting gently in the attics, the wood aging.”

By the end, Eleanor is thrilled by her ability to see and hear things the others don’t, by the touch on her face: the child-spirit coming to her in peace rather than banging on the doors or laughing through the keyhole. For this moment, at least, she belongs.