This is a case found among the papers of the (fictional) “metaphysical physician” Dr. Martin Hesselius and described by his anonymous assistant.
Sir James Barton has served in the British Navy with distinction for some twenty years, particularly in the American War (American Revolution). In his early 40s now, he returns to Dublin with thoughts of settling down. He becomes engaged to Miss Montague, the niece of a Lady L—. They await the return of Miss Montague’s father from India to formalize things.
One night, on his way home after visiting with Lady L— and Miss Montague, he hears footsteps behind him. It’s late, and the streets are deserted. He looks over his shoulder but sees no one. The footsteps seem to run and stop. The seeming pursuit rattles Barton enough that he calls out. No answer comes.
Barton says nothing to anyone at first, least of all Miss Montague.
Similar incidents follow; Barton hears laughter. One day, he meets a small man in a fur-traveling cap. The man says nothing but looks at him with such vicious malice that Barton’s friends notice he’s taken aback.
Thoughts:
The reader watches Barton’s antagonist circle ever closer. Barton is a materialist and doesn’t believe in the supernatural. These experiences shake his disbelief. He finally seeks counsel from well-intentioned experts—even a clergyman—who tell him in the politest of terms that it’s all in his head. He should get some rest, eat better, and get some exercise.
His questions to a medical doctor reveal that he has something he’d prefer not to remember. It’s not entirely clear to the reader yet. Could lockjaw (tetanus) ever look like death?
The reader feels Barton’s terror and this nameless enemy. Not until the end are an identity and a motive made known, though the reader can make some guesses. The author ratchets up the danger to Barton as the story goes on. The result is not so much righteous anger as sadness.
While things take a while to get going, and the reader has a bit to sit through, I like this sad tale.
Bio: Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu (1814-1873) was an Irish writer of Huguenot descent. His early writings include a group of short stories, initially published anonymously in The Dublin University Magazine in the guise of the literary remains of one (fictional) Father Frances Purcell (The Purcell Papers 1838-1850). These range from the creepy (“Strange Event in the Life of Schalken the Painter”) to the silly (“The Quare Gander”).
Le Fanu’s writings include many ghost stories and supernatural pieces. His works influenced such writers as M. R. James and may have inspired portions of Charlotte Brontë’s Jane Eyre (1847). His vampire tale, “Carmilla” (1872), influenced Bram Stoker’s Dracula. “Carmilla” has been adapted for film several times with varying degrees of success.
In 1858, his wife died after what was described as a fit of hysteria. Le Fanu ceased writing for years and became a recluse, taking to his bed.
Title: “The Familiar” Author: J. Sheridan Le Fanu (1814-1873) First published: This is a minor revision of “The Watcher,” first published in the collection In a Glass Darkly (1851). This version was published in 1872. Length: novelette Series: Martin Hesselius
Our hero’s great-uncle V— works as a law agent and “Justitiarius” (other translations call him “Advocate”) for the family of Freiherr (Baron)* R—. Our hero is named V—like his great-uncle. He accompanies the elder V— to the family estates to attend to R— family business.
Uncle V—’s usual rooms are unavailable, having suffered a catastrophic collapse, so Uncle and Nephew are put up in unfamiliar quarters. Nephew dreams of strange, otherworldly things the first night they stay—footsteps when no one is there, sighs and moans, and someone scratching at a sealed-off passage.
In the morning, he relates this to Uncle. Having dreamed these same things, Uncle takes Nephew’s account seriously and banishes the evil presence on the second night. Uncle and Nephew then sleep peacefully.
Nephew despises the baron. Uncle knows why—the baron stands between Nephew and the lovely 19-year-old baroness. Fortunately, the business he and his uncle have is completed before Nephew can do anything really stupid, and they depart.
Sadly, Uncle has a stroke soon after they return home. While recovering and knowing he’s not long for this world, Uncle tells Nephew the story of the family R—. It takes a while.
Thoughts:
This story is long and written without chapter breaks. By my count, the reader will wade through more than 34,000 words, a feat that would be difficult to accomplish in a single sitting.
The R— family history is full of intrigue, murder, betrayal, sleepwalkers (…maybe…), jealousy, a hidden child, and—as the reader learns early—a grandaddy who practiced black magic. Two family members are named Roderick. Two others are named Hubert. Why? Did author Hoffmann run out of given names?
“Entail” was a word not familiar to me. As far as I could puzzle out, it’s a legal term referring to a piece of real estate with limited ownership and inheritance. Old Granddaddy, the dabbler in the black arts, wanted to keep his descendants close, even if his two sons couldn’t stand him. How’d that work out for you, Granddaddy?
The tale wanders. The young narrator, V—, grows older. The elder V— passes away, but not before revealing (at some length) the secrets of the family R—. The horror is real, yet humor appears. Especially when the family history is revealed, things get complicated and a little hard to follow. Mostly, I find the story sad.
I believe the greatest obstacle to the modern reader would be the length of this tale. The next greatest obstacle would be the confusing family history. However, there are rewards for the reader willing to wade through this long story.
Bio: E. T. A. Hoffmann (1776-1822) was a German composer, painter, lawyer, judge, and author. He was born in what was then Königsberg in the Kingdom of Prussia but is now Kaliningrad, Russia. He trained in law, following family tradition. He wrote more than fifty stories—not all of which have been translated into English—musical compositions like the opera Undine, one complete novel, The Devil’s Elixir (Die Elixiere des Teufels), and an incomplete novel, The Life and Opinions of Tomcat Murr (Lebens-Ansichten des Kater Murr). One of his stories, “Nutcracker and Mouse-King” (“Nußknacker und Mausekönig”), inspired Tchaikovsky’s ballet The Nutcracker. His most well-known story is probably “The Sandman,” which is not related to the Neil Gaiman series of the same name.
Most of Hoffman’s works deal with the supernatural or uncanny, whether ghosts, automatons, or doppelgangers. His writings influenced writers as diverse as Alexandre Dumas, Nikolai Gogol, Franz Kafka, Leo Perutz, and Edgar Allan Poe.
*The meaning of the titles changed a bit over time, but “baron” is close enough for jazz.
Walter Gilman, a student at (fictional) Miskatonic University in (fictional) Arkham, Massachusetts, deliberately rented the tower room in the old house where accused witch Keziah Mason disappeared in 1692. His fields of study include “non-Euclidean calculus and quantum physics.” He also has an interest in folklore, all of which leads him to trace multidimensional space.
The room is oddly portioned; the ceiling slants to meet a wall that tilts inward. There may be an attic above his room, but the landlord says it’s been sealed off for ages and won’t hear talk of exploring what might or might not be there. The locals talk of an indescribable creature that darts rat-like around town. They’ve named it Brown Jenkin.
When Keziah Mason disappeared from the same room where Gilman sleeps and studies, “the jailer had gone mad and babbled of a small white-fanged furry thing which scuttled out of Keziah’s cell, and not even Cotton Mather could explain the curves and angles smeared on the grey stone walls with some red, sticky fluid.”
Gilman dreams. He sees shadows, which eventually resolve into a bent old woman and a rat-like creature with a human face and beard. He begins to sleepwalk, even discovering mud on his feet in the morning. Are his dreams really dreams? Or is he going somewhere?
A child goes missing from one of the poor families in town. Her mother says she’s not surprised; Brown Jenkin has been spotted, and everyone knows Walpurgisnacht, the night of the witches’ Sabbat, is approaching.
Thoughts:
I have to warn any potential readers that this story is gory and deals with the deaths of children.
Perhaps because it mentions the Elder Things, Nyarlathotep, The Necronomicon, The Book of Eibon, and Unaussprechlichen Kulten*, the story is associated with the Cthulhu Mythos.
Poor Gilman sees a connection between modern knowledge of mathematics and science and the knowledge of the old wise women. Somehow, Keziah learned to travel in extra-dimensional space that modern science is just now finding out about.
At one point, the reader is told, “Possibly, Gilman ought not to have studied so hard.” He found the records of Keziah’s trial fascinating. She admitted to the judge at the Court of Oyer and Terminer that one could use lines and curves to point out directions leading through the walls of space to other spaces beyond and implied that such lines and curves “were frequently used at certain midnight meetings.”
This was Judge John Hathorne, a historical person and an ancestor of the writer Nathaniel Hawthorne.
Much of the action is in dreams that say more than the words. Why doesn’t Gilman leave? When he starts sleepwalking, why doesn’t he take measures against it? The dreams terrify and confuse him. But they’re only dreams, right? Gilman isn’t evil. He’s merely curious. The things that happen to him do so because he dares to look in places others are too afraid (or too wise) to do so.
This tale is sad and gory. It poses an intriguing question; those with the wits and the will to ask questions suffer for their efforts.
Bio: H.P. (Howard Phillips) Lovecraft (1890-1937) was an American writer of science fiction, fantasy, and horror. He is best known as the creator of the Cthulhu myths, which involve “cosmic horror,” that is, a horror that arises from the dangers that surround us mortals, but remain so far from our everyday lives that we don’t and can’t see them. Those who seek knowledge of it are often driven insane or die.
Lovecraft originally wanted to be a professional astronomer. He maintained a voluminous correspondence, particularly with other writers. Though his work is now revered as seminal in horror and dark fantasy, he died in poverty at the age of 46 of cancer of the small intestine at his birthplace, Providence, Rhode Island.
Lovecraft was an early contributor to Weird Tales magazine in the 1920s. Among his best-known works are “The Dunwich Horror,” “Dagon,” and “The Call of Cthulhu.”
*The Elder Things are fictional aliens. Nyarlathotep is a vicious deity, often seen as the messenger of Azathoth, the ruler of the Outer Gods. The Necronomicon is the fictional grimoire of Lovecraft. The Book of Eibon is a fictional book of Clark Ashton Smith’s, having to do with a wizard’s journeys and magic. Unaussprechlichen Kulten (Unspoken Cults) is a fictional book by Robert E. Howard. These are all part of the Cthulhu Mythos.
Title: “The Dreams in the Witch House” Author: H. P. Lovecraft (1890-1937) First published: Weird Tales, July 1933 Length: novelette Series: Cthulhu Mythos (Lovecraft originals)
The authorities find Mr. Thompson, a bookkeeper, “slightly confused, a trifle bewildered, but otherwise apparently normal.” He makes no effort to conceal his conduct, the knife in his hand, or “the pieces in the trunk.”
Rather than taking him directly to the slammer, the police bring him to a psychiatrist.
Mr. Thompson tells the psychiatrist that he and his wife were happy enough. They didn’t quarrel much. About a year earlier, he noticed his wife’s health begin to fail. She coughed and lost weight but refused to see a doctor. His mother-in-law laughed and told him that if he’d make Lizzie happy again, she’d soon be fat once more.
The coughing grew worse. It got so bad that he started sleeping in the spare room.
After one especially bad fit, she stopped coughing. The house was so quiet that Mr. Thomspon began to fear the worst had happened. He went into his wife’s room and turned on the light. On seeing her, he “just knew it was over.” He called a doctor.
The doctor came, listened to her heart, and took her pulse.
“She’s fine,” he said. “Just fast asleep. I wish I could sleep as soundly as that. You worry too much about her, Mr. Thompson.”
Mr. Thompson was dismayed. Though only a bookkeeper and not a doctor, he knew something was wrong. Why did no one take him seriously? Either he was wrong, and the rest of the world was right, or he was right, and the rest of the world was wrong. He was pretty sure he was right.
Mrs. Thompson got worse. It was not just the coughing, but her cheeks sank in. Later, flies appeared, to be followed by even worse things—
Thoughts:
The story is primarily sad. How reliable is the narrator? Perhaps he believes what he relates is the truth, but is it? Could Mr. Thompson actually be wrong about his wife’s deterioration and the rest of the world right? Could he have done this horrible deed under a delusion of sorts?
The horror in this piece is not that a woman could have somehow existed as a walking corpse, annoying and then repulsing her husband. That’s gross and sickening. The horror lies in a mentally ill man thinking his wife was dead and then killing and dismembering the perfectly healthy woman whom he loved.
The author leaves few mysteries. The reader knows in the first paragraphs that Mr. Thompson has killed. The unraveling of the circumstances and the motivations make up the rest of the story. Does it change the way the reader sees Mr. Thompson?
I liked this short read, even though it was so sad. As the reader, I want to know why he would do such a thing. He was narrating the story and would tell me what was on his mind—maybe.
Bio: David H. Keller, M.D. (1880-1966) was an American writer, physician, and psychiatrist. During WWI, he treated soldiers with PTSD, then known as shell shock. He is best known for his science fiction writing, but he also wrote fantasy and horror. In addition, he wrote a series involving occult detective Taine of San Francisco.
The story’s narrator says he has come into possession of some papers belonging to Mr. Wraxall, a traveler and writer of travel guides. In the early summer of 1863, Mr. Wraxall sets off to explore Sweden. At the time, most Britons considered Scandinavia to be a backwater.
Snobs.
He spends time conducting research at a herrgård (manor house) called Råbäck, located outside Stockholm. The estate dates to around 1600 and was built by the De la Gardie family, whose descendants still reside there.
Mr. Wraxall notices a portrait of De la Gardie ancestor, Magnus, and calls him an “almost phenomenally ugly man.” He inquires of the innkeeper where he’s staying about what the local lore says regarding what kind of man Count Magnus was.
He is not a favorite. He tortured and beat tenants for showing up late to work. Once or twice, a house with all inside burned down if it was on land the count wanted. The count also made the Black Pilgrimage and brought back something or someone.
When Mr. Wraxall asks what the Black Pilgrimage is, the innkeeper becomes busy elsewhere.
Nearby, the eight-sided mausoleum of the De la Gardie ancestors stands next to a church. The church is open, but the mausoleum is locked.
“Ah, Count Magnus, there you are. I should dearly like to see you,” Mr. Wraxall says to the mausoleum.
Really? Dude, maybe all that blåbärssoppa (blueberry/bilberry soup) didn’t agree with you?
Nevertheless, Mr. Wraxall glances inside the mausoleum and sees statues and three coffins. Two have crosses atop them. The third has a bas-relief showing disturbing scenes of war, an execution, and a black-cloaked figure chasing a man into the woods.
Thoughts:
This story shares many similarities with other James stories I’ve read; a researcher, unknowingly, yet perhaps foolishly, awakens an ancient evil that comes back to haunt him. In most stories, the protagonist walks away a scared but wiser man, having escaped a close shave with evil and/or death.
The story begins slowly, letting the reader know that it will not end happily for Mr. Wraxall. This took the wind out of the sails for me. If you’re going to bore me, at least give the protagonist a fighting chance.
In all seriousness, it’s not that bad. Once the creepy stuff starts, it grows like a snowball rolling downhill, aimed at an innocent and unsuspecting victim at the bottom of the hill.
The innkeeper at last tells the gruesome story of a Black Pilgrimage without precisely defining it. When Mr. Wraxall gains entry to the De la Gardie mausoleum, he notices one of the three locks on the count’s coffin has dropped off. Hmmm….
James often includes some subtle humor in his stories. I didn’t see it here. If it is hidden in the cluelessness of the unfortunate Mr. Wraxall, that strikes me as simple cruelty rather than a deserving miscreant getting his comeuppance.
My feelings about the story are mixed. On the one hand, I liked the creepiness—on the other, I disliked the slow start and the cruel, undeserved fate of the main character.
Bio: M. R. (Montague Rhodes) James (1862-1936) was a British linguist and biblical scholar. He was Provost of King’s College, Cambridge, and later of Eton. He told ghost stories to his fellow dons at Christmas. His tales tend to find the supernatural in the everyday, unlike the earlier Gothic tales, which focus on atmosphere—graveyards, abandoned houses, weather, and so on. His work was enormously influential. H. P. Lovecraft was among his admirers. Several of his stories have been adapted for television. Among his most well-known is “Oh, Whistle and I’ll Come to You, My Lad.”
An older man in a gray frock coat waits in a storm for a coach. The rain runs down the back of his suit; he has neither luggage nor an umbrella. It’s St. John’s Eve, midsummer. The coach arrives. The driver, wrapped against the weather, appears to have no head. The man in gray boards, unhurried, indeed, almost disappointed. At least the mud hasn’t marred the exquisite polish of his shoes.
Among the other passengers is a woman dressed in furs and jewels—an easy draw for thieves, the man in gray surmises. The other passengers include a jovial man in corduroy with a handkerchief around his neck, a woman “of the people,” and a man who sits withdrawn in a corner and says little.
The man in the gray frock coat knows none of the others.
The man in corduroy greets him and says, “Well, mate! They’ve chosen a rare rough night to shift us on! Orders from headquarters, I suppose? I’ve been here nigh on a year and never set eyes on the boss.”
What a strange thing to say. What is he talking about?
“We used to call him God the Father,” the man in the gray frock says.”
Oh. A rather ostentatious name for a boss—particularly if these two men don’t know each other. Wait—are they dead? And they know it? Where is the coachman headed?
Thoughts:
The story is not frightening as much as it is sad. None of the passengers led a happy life. Most were unconnected in life, but one crucial connection is revealed. Yet, they realize they’ve left this world behind. Their ultimate destination is unknown.
The “woman of the people” was, in life, a baby farmer, something I was unfamiliar with. Baby farming was the practice of taking unwanted infants—for a fee—and raising them often in poor circumstances. The “woman of the people” admits to killing children for the convenience of their parents, like drowning unwanted litters of puppies or kittens. When everyone shrinks from her, she calls them hypocrites. She provided a vital service.
In my ten-minute internet search, I could find no customs that connect St. John’s Eve with death or the underworld. It’s dedicated to John the Baptist, born six months before Jesus of Nazareth (so the story goes). It is also associated with the summer solstice. In the days of yore, people often lit bonfires and had parties. I cannot discern its significance in the story. I am willing to be enlightened by any folklorist out there.
This story was an interesting, sad little read. If not in my top ten, it is still worth the time to see the perspective of the dead looking back on their lives.
Bio: Violet Hunt (legal name: Isobel Violet Hunt) (1866-1942) was a British novelist, short story writer, journalist, feminist, suffragist, and hostess. Her novels were feminist rather than supernatural, though she wrote two collections of supernatural short stories. Aside from her writing, she was well-known for her literary salons. She founded the Women Writers’ Suffrage League in 1908 and participated in the founding of International PEN (now known as PEN International), a writer’s group dedicated to literary freedom.
Oddly, I could not find a text version of this story.
Title: “The Coach” Author: Violet Hunt (legal name: Isobel Violet Hunt) (1862-1942) First published: The English Review, March 1909 Length: short story
Montresor tells the reader that he had borne the injuries from his friend Fortunato as best he could, but when Fortunato insulted him, he vowed revenge. He kept up the pretense of friendship until he could exact his revenge—and he would do so with impunity.
Fortunato’s weak point was his belief in his connoisseurship of wine. Montresor accidentally runs into him during the carnival. Fortunato is dressed as a jester—or fool— in a hat with bells that jingle.
Oh, the irony.
Montresor tells him he’s happy to meet him. He’s come into a bottle of what proports to be Amontillado, but he has doubts.
Fortunato is only too happy to sort it out for him.
“My friend, no; I will not impose upon your good nature. I perceive you have an engagement. Luchesi—”
“I have no engagement;—come.”
Oh, but Fortunato has a cold, and the vaults are damp—
“Let us go, nevertheless. The cold is merely nothing. Amontillado! You have been imposed upon. And as for Luchesi, he cannot distinguish Sherry from Amontillado.”
So they go, Montresor protesting and Fortunato insisting all the way.
Thoughts:
What terrible insult Fortunato offered Montresor, the reader is never told. It must have been a doozy. The strength of the story is how Montresor reels his prey in, all the while pretending to object.
Fortunato could turn back at several places, but he refuses. He wants to try this wine. He wants to offer his opinion to his friend. Maybe it is the real thing? Then he’ll have the chance to drink some fine wine. If it is not, then he can display his superior knowledge.
Poe creates an eerie atmosphere in the “vaults,” the catacombs or burial place for Montresor’s large family. Its coolness would provide a practical reason to store wine despite its lack of ambiance. They see bones. They also see white “nitre” (potassium nitrate)* along the walls. Oh, dear, is it irritating Fortunato’s cough? Perhaps we should turn back…?
Nah. Let’s keep going.
As with many Poe stories, everything leads up to the ending. Even the motto on the Montresor family crest reads (in Latin, thank you very much), “No one harms with impunity,” and a picture of a snake biting a heel only to get stepped on.
This short story is often read in schools in the United States, possibly because of its brevity and its psychology. Montresor plays Fortunato like a fiddle.
*A mineral that can leech from water into bricks or other building materials if water moves behind them.
Bio: Edgar Allen Poe (1809-1849) was the son of two actors. After his father deserted the family and his mother died of tuberculosis, two-year-old Edgar was taken in by the wealthy Allan family. He briefly studied at the University of Virginia and West Point. His most well-known works include “The Tell-Tale Heart,” “The Black Cat,” and “The Murders in the Rue Morgue.” The last is sometimes cited as the first detective story. The work that made him a household name in his day was the poem “The Raven.”
The circumstances of his death are still unclear. He was found in a tavern, appearing drunk, wearing someone else’s clothes, and died some days later in Washington University Hospital. According to the Poe Museum, twenty-six different theories regarding the cause of his demise have been published. Poe was a known tippler and, while alcohol poisoning is a perennial favorite cause of death, other plausible causes are as disparate as rabies and cooping, a 19th-century form of voter fraud.
Title: “The Cask of Amontillado” Author: Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849) First Published: Godey’s Magazine and Lady’s Book, November 1846 Length: short story Series: Fortunato
Carnacki recounts his adventures at (fictional) Iastrae Castle, some twenty miles northeast of Galway, Ireland. Mr. Sid K. Tassoc, the new owner, requested his help after finding the castle haunted. He bought the castle, intending to renovate it before marrying and bringing his bride to live there. He’s frustrated because sounds—whistling and sometimes screaming—come from one particular room, seemingly without rhyme or reason. He can’t bring his bride-to-be home to that.
On the first instance of hearing the whistling, Carnacki enters the room, followed by Tassoc and his brother, all holding their candles high. They see nothing, but in the racket, it seems the room itself is rocking. As Carnacki later tells his fellows, it was as if he heard a voice telling him, “Get out of here—quick! Quick! Quick!” He tells the others to leave immediately.
A scream follows their retreat and then, like a clap of thunder, dead silence.
The party retreats downstairs for whiskey.
Thoughts:
On the one hand, this is a classic ghost mystery. The ghost has plenty to be pissed off about, though those who harmed him have long since gone on to their reward.
The narrator spends a lot of energy trying to explain that the events were worse to experience than the description may suggest. On entering the Whistling Room the first time the noises start, he tells his friends at the club, “It was as if someone showed you the mouth of a vast pit suddenly, and said:—That’s Hell. And you knew that they had spoken the truth. Do you get it, even a little bit?”
However, the revelation of the ghost was so absurd that I could not buy it. I’d followed up to that point but was lost there. It made me wonder how much whiskey he and his buddies were downing at that castle.
The character Carnacki is an occult detective whose tales are often related in “club stories,” a framing device of (usually) one member of a group of friends in a safe and comfortable place, relating his adventure in a far-off land or some unusual and dangerous circumstance. The typical place is a nineteenth-century men’s club with one member regaling the others with his tales of adventures to Solomon’s Mines, snipe hunting, or some such, but the definition is broader than that.
Hodgson published five Carnacki stories beginning in 1910. A few appeared posthumously. Since then, several others have used the character and continued the series.
I really wanted to like this tale.
Bio: William Hope Hodgson (1877-1918) ran away to sea at a young age and spent nine years as a merchant marine. His experiences at sea affected his writing and poetry. His occult detective, Carnacki, through the force of science, often found rational explanations for odd phenomena—but not always. The short story “Voices in the Night” is regarded as one of his strongest. H. P. Lovecraft praised his novel The Borderlands—conditionally. Hodgson was killed in battle at Ypres in 1918.
Full disclosure: The author of this short story is a netbuddy of mine going back to sometime in the early aughts. We “met” on the (alas!) defunct site Epinions some twenty-odd (many of them quite odd) years ago.
The Stuff:
At a party where Jim is more observer than participant, a young woman approaches him and asks him, “You’re not having a good time, are you?” Feeling dejected, disliking his beer, which by now has grown warm, Jim is struck by the confidence of the woman who introduces herself as Kelly. Kelly listens and does not push, mock, or judge (other than to call Budweiser “horse piss.”) She sees, something Jim, invisible up to that point, is grateful for.
The story is not a romance, but rather an enjoyable, insightful journey into empathy and the importance of human connection. It portrays the gift of intimacy set against a backdrop of alienation—college, often one’s first time away from home. The author adds music to the narrative, not only to evoke the 1980s (UGH), but also to enhance the conversation between Jim and Kelly.
In short: The book has an engaging writing style and is a quick, easy read. However, it is too short to do the subject justice and suffers from oversimplification and insufficient information.
My first impression of this book, with its 188 pages of text, was that it was too short to do its subject justice. It is also my final impression. It seems, at times, hastily written, and the author is selective in what material she chooses to present. The entire book, including a perusal of its notes and bibliography, could be read over a rainy weekend.
The book contains eleven chapters, ten covering a particular period of the history of Christianity and the eleventh a conclusion: “Seeds of Tyranny,” “Political Maneuvering: Making Christianity Palatable to the Romans,” “Deciding Upon Doctrine: Sex, Free Will, Reincarnation and the Use of Force,” “The Church Takes Over: The Dark Ages,” “The Church Fights Change: The Middle Ages,” “Controlling the Human Spirit: The Inquisition and Slavery,” “The Reformation: Converting the Populace,” “The Witch Hunts: The End of Magic and Miracles,” “Alienation from Nature,” “A World Without God,” and the conclusion.
The preface opens with a quote from Pope John Paul II about the millennium being a good time for the Roman Catholic Church to reflect on its “dark history.” Barely a paragraph below it, the author writes about an acquaintance who spoke of the Christian church as embodying all that is best in Western civilization and seemed entirely unaware of the history of violence and oppression committed by not only individual Christians but by Christian institutions. That the author, as well as the Pope, was attempting to remedy this ignorance seemed to me a good and hopeful sign and was actually the reason I decided to read the book.
The title is a fair warning that the author is not about to present an unbiased history of the church, which is certainly not required for either an interesting or informative read. Her main thesis is stated early and repeated often: The belief in one supreme being leads to oppression because it demands hierarchy and conformity.
“The dark side of Christian history was not an unavoidable result of human nature,” Ellerbe concludes, “It was the result of a very specific ideology and belief structure.”
*WARNING* A BIT OF GROUSING AND PEDANTRY TO FOLLOW *WARNING*
While she does not argue that polytheism leads to egalitarianism, she does posit that seeing the many aspects or faces of god(s) can bring about social justice, sexual and racial equality, and peace with one’s neighbors because such a system is more open to power sharing. In this, she ignores the many hierarchical polytheistic societies past and present. For example, the classical polytheistic societies of Greece. Even classical Athens, the putative cradle of Western democracy, practiced slavery and sequestered (respectable) women.
The belief in a single supreme being may be responsible for some of the woes we humans tend to inflict on each other but viewing how widespread the practice of human sacrifice has been through time and across geography—Aztecs slaughtering prisoners of war to feed the sun with their hearts, for example—I don’t see that belief in many gods does much better.
Quotes from people as diverse as sharp-tongued Tertullian, the “Father of the Latin church,” and physicist Stephen Hawking fill The Dark Side of Christian History. It makes for delicious reading at times.
However, I got the impression that Ellerbe probably has read few of the passages in their original context. To my dismay, I noticed a quote attributed to St. Cyril of Alexandria (the learned Hypatia of Alexandria was murdered during his bishopric, possibly with his—at least—tacit consent) sourced in contemporary writer Riane Eisler’s The Chalice and the Blade. Eisler was born in 1931. I doubt she has had any conversations with a 4th-century CE North African bishop lately. I would have dug out Eisler’s book to check, but I lent it to a friend who didn’t see fit to return it. So, what is the ultimate source of the Cyril quote?
When Ellerbe deals with any historical person, she presents only one side of them. For instance, she portrays Isaac Newton as the discoverer of the laws of gravity, who deprived the world of magic (so her argument goes), which in turn alienated Europeans from nature. This simplification overlooks that Newton was a mystic and an alchemist who held a heretical view of the nature of god. Such information would apparently—complicate things.
Another huge omission is the history of the Eastern Orthodox church. The few paragraphs devoted to Byzantium note that the Crusaders decided to sack the city between home and the “holy land.” The author does not deal with Orthodox religious issues.
The writing is clear and straightforward, avoiding purple passages even when recounting the horrors of the Inquisitions and witch-finding. However, the author recounts large numbers of victims in those horrors without qualification or hesitation.
On page 95, she cites the number of Protestants (Huguenots) killed in the St. Bartholomew’s Day Massacre in France in 1572 unequivocally as 10,000. The Catholic Encyclopedia (granted, not an unbiased source) numbers the dead in Paris as 2000 but states, “The number of victims in the provinces is unknown, the figures varying between 2000 and 100,000.” While Ellerbe put her figure toward the low end of the possible total, the problem is—IMseldomHO—that she pretends certainty where there is none. I’m sure this is for the sake of simplicity, but as a reader, I’ve handled reading about the suffering of people being tortured, burned alive, or drowned. I can handle a little uncertainty, particularly when it speaks to careful research on the part of the author.
END OF MOST OF THE GROUSING AND PEDANTRY
Finally, at the end of this extremely long review (for which I ask the reader’s forgiveness, assuming any have made it this far), I can only marginally recommend this book. It is perhaps a good starting place, but there is so much left out and so much sacrificed for simplicity that I felt cheated. As for the author’s thesis (polytheism leads to harmony; monotheism to hierarchy and patriarchy), I didn’t buy it for a moment, but the subjects she brings up bear some study. The millennium is twenty-five years old now and her book about thirty, but it’s always a good time to reflect on the past to learn from mistakes made before us in order to work on creating a world where, as Ellerbe puts it, “we can embrace the hope and pursue the dream that humanity can be free to act humanely.”
Bio: I could find little info on the author. She was raised in the Episcopalian tradition. At the time of the book’s publication, she was a researcher, writer, and public speaker living in the San Francisco Bay Area.
Title: The Dark Side of Christian History Author: Helen Ellerbe First published: 1995 Length: non-fiction book
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