As we’re getting closed to Hallowe’en, I’ve been seeking out horror books, films, and TV programmes. This is why I’ve been watching The Haunting of Hill House recently on Netflix. It’s OK so far, but not particularly scary, and not in the same league as the novel it’s based on or its 1963 film adaptation.
Before the last episode I watched, there was an interesting phrase in the content warning during the credits: drug misuse. Odd, I thought, that sounds much less natural than drug abuse, which is a much more common phrase. Why would they say that? Continue reading
No live organism can continue for long to exist sanely under conditions of absolute reality; even larks and katydids are supposed, by some, to dream. Hill House, not sane, stood by itself against its hills, holding darkness within; it had stood so for eighty years and might stand for eighty more. Within, walls continued upright, bricks met neatly, floors were firm, and doors were sensibly shut; silence lay steadily against the wood and stone of Hill House, and whatever walked there, walked alone.
Well if that’s not an opening paragraph that makes you want to read the rest of the novel, I don’t know what is. Published in 1959 by Shirley Jackson, The Haunting of Hill House is widely regarded as one of the finest horror novels, and, in my opinion, rightly so. Continue reading