The Little Stranger

An English village doctor is called out to Hundreds Hall, a once-glamorous, now crumbling estate where his mother used to be employed as a nursemaid, to tend to a young servant girl. From that moment he becomes entangled in the affairs of the diminishing manor and its inhabitants: the widowed older mother, the spry, spinster daughter, and the son who suffers from physical and emotional trauma after the war. But there seems that there may be another resident of Hundreds, and unseen and potentially not-that-friendly one...

Very heavy gothic vibes here, and I loved it! Somewhere between mystery and horror, the story moves along at a perfect pace, and all the characters - including the estate itself - are drawn with wonderful detail.

Imagine a cuisine where the appetizer IS the meal. No matter its artful presentation, even the most tasty hors d'oeuvre will not only leave you hungry but chafing at its parsimony. This is not to say that The Little Stranger is a skimpy book -- it's broad, detailed and engrossing. Yet, at the end, there's an appetite unsatisfied. I suppose we could debate the meaning of "ghost" or "madness" or how they might even work in tandem, but it doesn't preclude a feeling of somehow being cheated of a full meal.

I didn't know anything about this book before I opened it: I downloaded it having enjoyed [b:Affinity|72929|Affinity|Sarah Waters|https://d.gr-assets.com/books/1328087803s/72929.jpg|1413038] and I suppose I was expecting something similar. In some ways it was: paranormal elements, a strong historically-researched setting and wonderful prose. But this one is fundamentally a ghost story, and a deeply creepy one at that. It starts mildly enough, but gradually the weirdness is heaped on, leaving the reader increasingly unsettled (reading this alone in the house at night was quite scary!).

The book is also a study in class attitudes and changes in post-War British society. Dr Faraday is doomed to be ever adrift somewhere between the County show more and the working classes, while Hundreds Hall and its family is destined to decay from the moment the young Faraday digs the plaster acorn from the moulding. show less

It's no Fingersmith. Let's get that out of the way right away, because that's Sarah Waters's best-known and probably best-loved book (I actually prefer Affinity, but I'm weird that way).

Having said that, if you've liked and enjoyed Sarah Waters's books before, I think you will like this one. I loved it. It's a little slow getting started--the vaunted ghost doesn't appear until about a third of the way through the book--but it's very absorbing and I was hooked by the end of the first chapter. I thought Waters did a great job creating a creepy atmosphere--I thought her descriptions of the house, which is almost a character itself, were particularly well-done--and I thought Caroline and Faraday were quite well-characterized. The show more characterization of Faraday has to be quite subtle, because the book is framed as a story he's telling about other people, and I really admired the skill with which Waters handled this.

I've seen some complaints that the book isn't creepy enough, but I thought it was extremely creepy--maybe because I was reading it late at night with only a lamp for light--but it was creepy enough that it invaded my dreams last night. And the last chapter! I don't want to be too spoilery, but the last few paragraphs made me want to reread and reevaluate the events of the rest of the book.

I don't think it's as twisty as Fingersmith, and I still think the story of Affinity was more original. But I still really liked this book and would highly recommend it. show less

As a child, Dr. Faraday visited Hundreds Hall with his parents on a fete day. His mother used to work as a nurserymaid there, and her connections allowed Faraday to get a glimpse of the interior of the house. Years later, when Dr. Faraday is called in to treat a young servant, he is dismayed to see the deterioration that has taken place since his first visit. The second World War, heavy inheritance taxes, and family tragedies have taken their toll. The household has dwindled to widowed Mrs. Ayres; her daughter Caroline; Roderick, the heir scarred from a wartime air accident; the teenaged live-in servant, Betty; and a daily woman. As Dr. Faraday is drawn into the intimate family circle, he is increasingly disturbed by the psychological show more effect that the house is having on its inhabitants. The burden of its upkeep shows in Caroline's physical appearance and in Roderick's deteriorating mental state. When strange markings start appearing and odd noises are heard, are they simply symptoms of decay, or of something far more sinister?

Hundreds Hall is as much a character as any of the humans in the book. The hall and its grounds are in a state of entropy that seems impossible to stop or reverse. Postwar rationing is having a leveling effect on the social classes. The psychological tension begins to mount once the setting and characters are firmly established. Interpretations of the events described in the book will vary with readers' views of the supernatural. Is the series of events a tragic coincidence, or is there an agent driving them? If an agent is responsible, is it human or supernatural? Waters doesn't provide easy answers for her readers. show less

This is quite a good novel. It's scary in an understated way that makes it even scarier. Add in the elements of sexism and the paternalistic manner of members of professions that see themselves as the sole keepers of reason, and this novel leaves the reader feeling just as trapped as the characters.

It feels a bit like an alternate ending to Downton Abbey, only I never felt the need to leave the lights on after watching Downton Abbey.

"The Little Stranger" is set in the bucolic countryside of 1947 Warwickshire, England, and centers upon strange happenings at Hundreds Hall, a decaying manor that is consuming the pocketbook and possibly the sanity of its aristocratic occupants

The book is narrated by Dr. Farraday, a country doctor whose initial visit to the Ayres family at Hundreds Hall is prompted by the sudden illness of their sole maid, Betty. Dr. Farraday had visited the Hall once before as a young boy, when his working class mother managed to talk a servant into showing young Farraday the Hall's interior rooms while a busy civic event took place on the home's grounds. The older Farraday is shocked at the Hall's state of decay; the peeling wallpaper and sagging show more ceilings bear only a slight resemblance to the grand palace he viewed with a child's astonished eyes. The Ayres family has suffered with time, too. Mr. Ayres is deceased, his wife is now a frail and aging beauty, and the Ayres' only son, Roderick, has been mentally and physically crippled by his service in WWII. Only daughter Caroline, a thick-ankled spinster who is fond of wearing shapeless woolen shifts and sturdy shoes, seems to emit a sense of animal vitality. The Ayres's only other child, Susan, died of diphtheria when she was very young.

The physical clues to the deadly mystery haunting Hundreds Hall are maddeningly ambiguous. A key thrown into the snow, smudged burn marks that slowly proliferate on the library's walls and ceiling, childlike scribbles that are discovered on woodwork and behind furniture, the sound of whistles and tinkling bells emanating from the Hall's ancient servant-summons system -- all of these can be dismissed by a bit of agile rationalization, and Dr. Farraday does his best to calm the growing fears of his upper crust clientele.

The true suspense in Waters' novel is mental, in the best gothic tradition of "The Turn of the Screw." The psychological tension within and between characters is at once subtle and overpowering. Dr. Farraday, an "up-from-his-bootstraps" local success story, is simultaneously charmed with the outdated eloquence of the Ayres family and revolted at his lapdog attempts to worm his way into their gentrified circle. (In one of the book's telling passages, Farraday looks at his image in a mirror before he visits the Hall and worries whether he looks like a balding grocer.) His initial tepid appraisal of Caroline gradually grows into a physical obsession; the tiny line of sweat that always appears on her upper lip after walking the family dog slowly transforms from turnoff to turn on. Caroline's animal vitality runs hot and cold with Farraday; she alternately urges him on and pushes him away with fear and disgust. Mrs. Ayres admits to Farraday that she has always been indifferent to Roderick and Carolyn; the only child she ever loved with maternal passion was Susan. Roderick feels that the house itself is a monster that can never be given enough repair and upkeep; the burden of his family's legacy is slowly consuming him.

Is it possible that repressed sexual desires and bottled-up mental torment can ultimately call forth "a little stranger" who wreaks havoc on its victims? If so, what is the nature of this "little stranger?" Is it based in the mind, or in reality, or somewhere in between? It is Sarah Waters' artful working of the "in between" that makes her book so memorable. Waters' refusal to spell out the answer forces each reader to reach his or her own conclusion based upon their own internal stranger. Sarah Waters' novel will prompt a little tickle on the back of your neck that will refuse to go away. An evil that is never decisively identified is difficult to decisively ignore. Don't forget your night light! show less