![]() We’re left to imagine what these walls might look like. had an unbelievably faulty design which left it chillingly wrong in all its dimensions, so that the walls seemed always in one direction a fraction longer than the eye could endure, and in another direction a fraction less than the barest possible tolerable length. Hill House, famously “not sane,” bothers the soul because Jackson describes the perception of horror, not the horror itself: I spent the summer reading some touchstones of horror: Ira Levin’s Rosemary’s Baby, Koji Suzuki’s The Ring, Michel Faber’s Under the Skin, Doris Lessing’s The Fifth Child, and most recently, The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson. The trick, I think, is to stay out of its way. ![]() It’s an interesting moment when you give up control of something you’re making and instead become its servant, helping it become what it needs to become. It wasn’t until midway through revising the novel I’m writing that I realized I was writing a ghost story. ![]()
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