We Have Always Lived in the Castle

I am confident to say that this may be one of the best books a misanthrope could read. Jackson has manipulated me into remembrance of just how horrible people can be. The horror and fear I expected from this tale, honestly expecting this to be a ghost story, wove its way, instead, into reminding the reader that the real evil and horror of the world is found amongst the living.

This is the first of Shirley Jackson's novels that I have read, previously having only read one short story from Dark Tales which I thoroughly enjoyed. I think enchanted may be the most appropriate word for my first experience with Jackson's writing, her style, her characters (specifically the feral and witchy Merricat) and the oozing tension of what is lurking around the corner for these young maidens so alone in the world.

I felt incredibly protective of Merricat, instantly I noted hints at her (potentially) neurodivergent habits and thoughts, and Constance's agoraphobia, and wanted to plunge my way into their world and slap Cousin Charles senseless, as well as half the village, but of course, the ladies didn't need my help and Jackson had been trying to tell me that from the very beginning. Merricat's disconnection from the reality of others, her black cat companion, her and her sister's botanical knowledge, her magical safeguards and Merricat's disdain of everyone outside her little ‘coven' scream witchcraft without the words, or acts, ever really being muttered. This novel is superb, glittering and dark at the same time, we are weaved into Merricat's unreliable narration and caught like the helpless fly cosied into our own little corner of this wicked tale.