Reviews of Old and New Stories. Mostly Old

Review of “The Folly of Realism: How the West Deceived Itself about Russia and Betrayed Ukraine” by Alexander Vindman

For it is the US and its allies, I argue, that have enabled the ongoing tragedy in Ukraine. The West’s failings to constrain Russian aggression and harden Ukraine against it have nourished the Russian sense of impunity.
–Alexander Vindman, The Folly of Realism, p. 3

In his introduction, author Alexander Vindman describes the history of America’s foreign policy with the Soviet Union/Russia with respect to Ukraine. During and following the Cold War, the foreign policy actions were based on what he describes as “realism.” This was associated with Henry Kissinger, John Mearsheimer, Stephen Walt, and Kenneth Waltz, and held national interest as its highest goal.

Realism was a reaction to the Wilsonian era’s idea of promoting American values of democracy and freedom and of “making the world safe for democracy.” Vindman calls this view “liberalism.”

The author argues for a foreign policy stance that he labels “neo-liberalism,” one that, in short, promotes national interests while also promoting national values. It was developed by Benjamin Tallis.

Vindman writes (pp. 8-9) “Neo-liberalism demands using a more nuanced and coherent understanding of interest, viewed through our values, along with other important inputs, to determine a compass heading for a US foreign policy approach.”

Vindman claims that in practice, neo-liberalism will provide the stability in foreign relations that realism seeks but is incapable of delivering because it is transactional in nature and dependent on the actions of others.

Yeah, that’s all very abstract. And that’s just the introduction.

Thoughts:

I confess that I don’t know jack about Ukrainian history. There was the Pale of Settlement, and the Holodomor, but outside of that, it was a big chunk of land in Eastern Europe and a former Soviet Republic (kids, ask your grandparents), so reading the brief medieval and Renaissance history that I knew nothing of was nice, if a bit depressing.

The rest of the book is a history (with maps) of Ukraine, beginning with the settlement of a people now known as the Kyivan Rus from roughly present-day St. Petersburg to Kyiv, and whose hegemony lasted from the 9^th to the 12^th centuries, C.E. From this group sprang both the Ukrainians and later the Russians.

Enter the 20^th century. Vindman shows how the US, in its dealings with Russia and former Soviet states, seemed—almost without fail—to choose the wrong door every chance it got because it saw Russia as the big kid on the block. The US didn’t want to anger nuclear-capable Russia. With the right incentives, Russia could become a functioning democracy, ya know. Ukraine and other former Soviet republics—like Chechnya—are nice, and the US certainly didn’t want them to fail, but it would only go so far with its support. Sink or swim, boys.

And the US expected the republics to play nice. Ukraine, for example, had to give up the Soviet-era nuclear weapons on its soil. In return, the US would, uh, offer promises of support—not Article V support as if Ukraine were a member of NATO or anything. But criminey—Ukraine had the third largest collection of nukes in the world, and we can’t have that! So, let’s get together in Budapest and hammer out a deal in 1994 that it would take the Russians twenty years to violate with the annexation of Crimea.

Actually, the situation was a little more complicated than that: The US did give aid to Ukraine in the form of cash and non-weapons-grade uranium. It considered the matter finished, however. The point was to get the weapons out of Ukrainian hands and into Russian hands, not to bolster Ukrainian democracy. When Russia annexed the Crimean Peninsula in 2014, the US applied sanctions to Russia and told them, in effect, “Now you stop that!”

I am poking fun, but this and other incidents are deadly serious. People lost their lives. With the Russian incursion (“Special military operation,” huh? It’s a war!), people are losing their lives every day.

Smarter people than I (there are more than a few) have argued the merits of foreign policy actions and inaction endlessly. Could Vindman’s prescriptions have been followed to happier outcomes in the past? Can they lead to better outcomes in the future? I don’t know. I lack the expertise and experience to say one way or the other. To my inexpert eye, he makes a good prima facie case for the US trying to plan in the long term as opposed to reacting in the short term.

I also see the football being dropped in the past. I see needless suffering and the expansionist and damnable invasion of a sovereign land. Ukraine is a sovereign land not because it was permitted to be one, but simply because it wishes to be one.

Vindman’s writing style is clear and, for the most part, free of jargon. He did use two words I had to look up. I found them both appropriate for the material: 1) revanche: the policy of a state intent on regaining areas of its original territory that have been lost to other states as a result of war, a treaty signed under duress, etc. and 2) irredentism: the acquisition or annexation of a region previously included in another country because of cultural, historical, ethnic, racial, or other ties, or advocacy for such an acquisition.

Nor is the book overly long. At about 240 pages of text (plus notes, acknowledgments, bibliographies, etc.), it is not something a reader has to dedicate too much time to. If you are interested in the topic, this should be an intriguing read.

It’s hard to say I enjoyed this, as it hurt to watch smart, well-meaning people fumble the ball so many times. But I learned a lot. It made me think.

Vindman, who immigrated to the US as a toddler with his family from Ukraine when it was part of the Soviet Union, has dedicated the book “to those killed in the Russia-Ukraine War…May we learn to avoid such tragedies.”

Bio: Alexander Vindman (b. 1975) is a retired Lieutenant Colonel, US Army, was the director for European Affairs on the White House Security Council, a former political-military affairs officer for the Pentagon, and an attaché at the American embassies in Moscow and Kyiv. He became a national figure for his testimony during the first impeachment trial of Donald Trump. His earlier book is titled Here, Right Matters.

Title: The Folly of Realism: How the West Deceived Itself about Russia and Betrayed Ukraine
Author: Alexander Vindman
First published: 2025
Length: nonfiction book

Review of “The Beast with Five Fingers” by William Fryer Harvey: Halloween Countdown

Plot:

The narrator introduces Mr. Adrian Borlsover, who was good with his hands, able to illustrate his own scientific paper, and carve wood. At the time, the narrator was a child, and Mr. Borlsover was elderly. He’d lost his eyesight in midlife but adapted, learning Braille and maintaining his ability to write.

Mr. Borlsover had no children. He had a nephew, Eustace, who visited him seldom but regularly. Like most of his family, Eustace was an accomplished naturalist, having advanced degrees from universities on the continent. He has traveled to the East and South America.

On his final visit to his uncle, he notices the elderly man is failing. Adrian tells him he is leaving him no legacy, as he is well provided for, but is leaving him his books. Adrian dozes but seems to write. For the most part, it is nonsense, bits and pieces, like a child learning to write, but the words respond to questions Eustace asks. When Adrian wakes, he says he’s been dreaming and dispenses avuncular advice, including a warning to choose his friends wisely.

Eustace glances at the writing: “It’s too late, Adrian. We’re friends already, aren’t we, Eustace Borlsover?”

Two months later, while he is in Milan, Eustache reads Adrian’s obituary.

Eustace returns to his uncle’s home with his secretary, Saunders, to try to figure out what to do with all the books. A package arrives with something bouncing around in it, some kind of animal, no doubt. As Eustace opens the package, the whatever flees into the library before he can get a good look at it.

Oh, well. Where is it going to go? It’ll come down when it’s good and hungry. He hears it scuttling around, knocking books down.

And then he sees it…

Thoughts:

This is a creepy little story. Among Adrian’s avuncular advice is a note that toward the end of life, people tend to request odd things. Eustace is to ignore the odd things he requests.

Hmmm…

After a note from Adrian’s solicitor arrives, stating that Adrian had requested to be embalmed and had further requested that his right hand be sent to Eustace, the nephew begins to piece things together. While believing the hand is secure in the house safe, Eustace and his secretary take a vacation.

Letters from the house staff start coming, tendering resignations, and claiming there are toads in the house. The housekeeper writes to say that others have quit with stories about the big, old, empty house being haunted—not that she believes the stories for a moment, her mother having always been a Wesleyan.

The hand grows sinister, stalking Eustace for no apparent reason. He wonders if he’s paying for his sins. He’s no worse than other men, though he mentions some “dirty business in San Diego,” which he promptly blames on Saunders (what are personal secretaries for?).

“It’s not that, of course,” Saunders assures him. “We are in the twentieth century, and even the parsons have dropped the idea of your old sins finding you out.” He adds that the hand was malevolent from the beginning. Only since Eustace fought it did it focus on him.

What’s behind the hand’s inherent malevolence? That’s more difficult to discern. It shows independence from Adrian while he is still alive, as well as a spark of mischievousness. In his last speech to his nephew, Adrian says, “Education is good so long as you know to whom and for what purpose you give it. But with the lower orders of men, the baser and more sordid spirits, I have grave doubts as to its results.”

Is he being a snob? Or is he speaking of over-educating his hand? It’s a bit in the weeds.

As for tension, this is a good read. Just when you think the beast is done for, there’s a knock at the door, and it’s not Thing with the mail.

This story was adapted into a 1946 movie of the same name, directed by Robert Florey and starring Robert Alda, Julie Holden, and Peter Lorre. The names and some of the elements were changed considerably, but the creepiness remained.

Bio: William Fryer Harvey (1885-1937) was a UK writer and journalist who, according to the Encyclopedia of Fantasy, became a “semi-invalid” after saving the life of a comrade during WWI. As a practicing Quaker, he served in the Friends’ Ambulance Unit and later as a surgeon-lieutenant in the Royal Navy. Among his writings is a memoir, We Were Seven (1936), but he wrote primarily psychological horror.

This story can be read here:

This story can be listened to here: (1:04:44)

And just a gentle reminder: if you live in a state with an election this November, please vote. Something truly scary could happen if you sit this one out.

Happy Halloween!

Title: “The Beast with Five Fingers”
Author: William Fryer Harvey (1885-1937)
First published: The New Decameron, Basil Blackwell (Oxford), 1919; The story was revised for its first book publication in 1928. All subsequent publications will probably reprint the revised version
Length: novelette

Review of “The Yellow Sign” by Robert W. Chambers: Halloween Countdown

Getty Images and tip o’ the hat to Tracy

Plot:

The painter, Mr. Scott, writes that he first sees the watchman go into a church on Washington Square and thinks nothing of it. The next time he sees him, he glances from his window and sees his face. It reminds him of a “coffin-worm” or “grave-worm” (a maggot).

He turns back to his easel but finds something has spoiled his painting. Tessie, his model, examines the work and wonders if something is wrong with the paint or the canvas. Mr. Scott scrapes the paint off and applies turpentine, but nothing seems to work.

Tessie gets dressed and tells him about a dream she’s had several times. In her dream, she wakes to stand by the window. Outside, a “black-plumed” horse pulls a hearse. Inside the hearse, lying in a glass-covered coffin, is Mr. Scott. She wakes then to find herself standing by the window, cold.

Mr. Scott later tells her that he had the same dream, only from his point of view. He woke to find himself confined in a tight box with a glass top. He knew he was moving and heard the horse’s hooves against the pavement.

Hearing this distresses Tessie. Mr. Scott kisses her, something he promised himself he would not do.

Sometime later, coming home from a dinner and a show with another woman, he sees the watchman in the square outside the church.

“Have you found the Yellow Sign?” the watchman asks.

Mr. Scott doesn’t answer but storms off as if offended.

Thoughts:

There is a dreaminess to the story as well as a feeling of inescapable fate, as if the former could soften the latter.

This story is one in a series of interrelated tales in the collection titled The King in Yellow. The title refers to a (fictitious) play that is said to drive its readers mad. The broader narrative of the book moves back and forth in time.

While there is no direct mention of sexual contact between Mr. Scott and Tessie, Mr. Scott is attached to her. He will not marry her, for he believes himself unsuited to marriage. He likes the company of women. There are several mentions of a (deceased?) lover named Sylvia. It seems he likes keeping his options open.

But he’d also like to keep his model.

“I said that I was no good,” he tells the reader. “That is true, but still I was not exactly a comic opera villain.”

However, there is one complication. Now that she’s in love with him, Tessie is reluctant to continue to pose in the nude.

Mr. Scott reflects on this: “Alas! Alas! We had eaten of the tree of knowledge, and Eden and native innocence were dreams of the past.”

Ideas of lost innocence infuse the narrative, though this is relative. Neither of the main characters is exactly an innocent, yet they are still susceptible to the corruption (so to speak) of the maggot/watchman. The watchman is not Satan tempting them astray with promises of wealth and pleasure. He offers only malice, corruption, and evil.

This tale is creepy and sad, designed for the “decadent” set of the late nineteenth century. I enjoyed the creepiness of it and watching poor Mr. Scott trying to get his painting mojo back. The ending didn’t quite click for me, though none of it was a surprise.

Bio: Robert W. Chambers (1865-1933) was a playwright, artist, and illustrator who turned to writing supernatural and weird fiction. Of his seventy books, his best-known is The King in Yellow, which was influenced by Ambrose Bierce and, in turn, influenced H. P. Lovecraft. Told in vignettes that jump forward and backward in time, it describes a play that drives its readers mad.

This story can be read here:

This story can be listened to here: (45:47)

Title: “The Yellow Sign”
Author: Robert W. Chambers
First published: The King in Yellow, 1895
Length: novelette

Review of “The Undying Thing” by Barry Pain: Halloween Countdown

Plot:

Sir Edric murdered his wife, Alice, and sent their son away. He loves his present wife, Eve. For some unexplained reason, he began keeping wolves on his estate. Eve begged him to “destroy” the animals, but he liked them until they attacked Eve without biting her (huh?). He then shot them all himself.

Now that Eve is struggling in childbirth, he’s afraid he may lose her. He gets right with God, promising, “Whatsoever punishment Thou givest me to bear I will bear it; whatsoever Thou givest me to do I will do it. Whether Thou killest Eve or whether Thou keepest her in life—and never have I loved but her—I will from this night be good.”

Eve dies. Her child is born in such a state—no detail is given—that Dr. Dennison suggests holding a hand over its mouth and nose. Sir Edric refuses, but later, he and Dr. Dennison carry a bundle into an area known for caves. They return without the bundle.

Sir Edric has his son by his first wife brought back, educates him, and lives by the straight and narrow. Six years later, he dies. His last words are, “Wolves, wolves, wolves!”

Four generations later, at the end of the nineteenth century, the current baronet, another Sir Edric, is the “last surviving member of the race” and “a pleasant-spoken young man.” He’s about to be married and has stopped by to fix up the old family place. Yes, there’s this old curse, but it’s nonsense, right?

Thoughts:

The family curse in this story goes mostly unseen. It seems to rely on old folk wisdom that emotional trauma during pregnancy could disfigure a developing child. The townsfolk view the area known as Hal’s Planting, where the caves are that the first Sir Edric and Dr. Dennison once left a bundle, as haunted. More than one person ends up dead there without a mark of violence.

One local, John Marsh, likes to drink for free in the watering hole known as the Stag in exchange for stories of local history. He can tell you on good authority that your grandfather was hanged for larceny. And he knows far too much about the doings of Sir Edric’s line. With the exception of the current one, they were all miserable bastards.

All this adds to the idea of dread of the curse coming due, the sins of the fathers being passed on to the third and fourth generations, and so on. John Marsh’s mooching drinks might provide a bit of comic relief, but at the same time, all the stories he tells are dark and dreary. Is this meant to be satirical?

The ending struck me as abrupt, if logical. The reader never sees the monster/abandoned baby all grown up/werewolf (?), so the possibilities are endless. Leaving it all up to the reader’s imagination is perhaps more powerful than actually showing it, but it is also more disappointing.

The greatest weakness is that there are few surprises. It’s not a bad story, but there are better ones.

Bio: Barry Pain (1864-1928) was a UK journalist and writer best known during his lifetime for his humorous work. He contributed to magazines such as Punch and Granata. According to the Encyclopedia of Fantasy, his humorous work “grates now.” He is currently best known for his horror works, although he also wrote fantasy and some science fiction. Among his short story collections are Stories and Interludes (1892), Stories in the Dark (1901), Stories in Grey (1911), and The New Gulliver and Other Stories (1913).

This story can be read here:

This story can be listened to here: (29:04)

Title: “The Undying Thing”
Author: Barry Pain (1864-1928)
First published: Black and White, Christmas Number 1893
Length: short story

Review of “The Thing from ‘Outside’” by George Allan England: Halloween Countdown

Plot:

A party of Americans traveling in the Canadian wilderness finds themselves deserted by their Indigenous guides after they come across a “circular print on a rock-ledge.” They hear the guides scream, fire shots, and conclude they’re dead and “out of harm’s way.” On the other hand, the present company is “two hundred and fifty wicked miles from the C. P. R. rails.”

After an uncomfortable night, Jandron, the geologist, discovers another circular print. Out of sight and hearing of the womenfolk, who are busy by the fire, he shows it to Marr, the journalist, and Professor Thorbrun. Both are dismissive. What’s the big deal?

Jandron knows. He’s seen things like this before. The guides knew. Things… happen.

The impression in the ground is cold enough to freeze water that will never melt.

The next morning, Jandron wakes with a splitting headache. He finds Marr in a foul mood, also with a headache. They discover new prints all over their campsite, as if someone/something were watching them in their sleep. Whatever arguing Jandron and Marr might start is interrupted by Professor Thorbrun. His wife… She’s dying. Her sister, Vivian, kneels beside her.

Thoughts:

This story is atmospheric right out of the gate, with our heroes sitting around a campfire talking about the guides running off and dying. The skeptical Marr sneers. The Professor appeals to reason. His wife echoes him. The reader never learns her given name. Her sister, Vivian, does her best; Jandron vows to look after her.

In content and tone, I thought this story was indebted to Algernon Blackwood’s “The Willows.” In both stories, the protagonists face an unseen, unknown, relentless menace. Both stories also involve depressions in the ground.

England writes chillingly of the surroundings (as did Blackwood): “Pale, cold stars watched down from spaces infinitely far beyond man’s trivial world.”

After several tragedies, England writes of Jandron’s internal life: “His thought drifted to better days, when all had been health, sanity, optimism; when nothing…had troubled him. Days when the sizzle of the frying-pan over friendly coals had made friendly wilderness music; when the wind and the northern star, the whirr of the reel, the whispering vortex of the paddle in clear water had all been things of joy. Yes, and when a certain happy moment had, through some word or look of the girl, seemed to promise his heart’s desire.”

This is a horror story in the traditional sense. That is, it relies on dread rather than blood and guts, though there is a rather high body count. It was effective but not enjoyable. “The Willows” works better, perhaps in that sense, but this story is much more accessible.

Bio: George Allan England (1877-1936) was a U.S. explorer, translator, and prolific author. According to the Encyclopedia of Science Fiction, he published more than 330 magazine stories, including five serialized novels, between 1901 and 1935. Many of his writings dealt with socialist themes. In 1912, he ran for governor of Maine on the Socialist ticket, garnering (OUCH) about 1.5% of the vote.

This story can be read here:

This story can be listened to here:(45:28)

Title: “The Thing from ‘Outside’”
Author: George Allan England (1877-1936)
First published: Science and Invention, April 1923
Length: short story

Review of “The Story of Ming-Y” by Lafcadio Hearn: Halloween Countdown

Plot:

This little morality tale is set during the Ming Dynasty (ruled 1368-1644). Ming-Y’s father is the Inspector of Public Instruction at the city of Tchin-tou. Though only eighteen, Miny-Y stands out for his scholarship, grace, and polite accomplishments. Thus, when the wealthy Lord Tchang seeks a worthy tutor for his children, he engages Ming-Y.

Because Lord Tchang’s house is several miles away, he agrees to let Ming-Y live with him. When the second moon of spring and “The Birthday of a Hundred Flowers” arrive, Ming-Y wishes to see his parents. Lord Tchang grants permission and gives him silver, thinking he would like to buy his parents a present for the festival.

On his way home, he catches a glimpse of a woman’s face in the woods where no one lives. He does the right thing and looks away, but not before their eyes meet.

In that moment, Ming-Y could not avoid discerning the loveliness of her face, the golden purity of her complexion, and the brightness of her long eyes, which sparkled under a pair of brows as daintily curved as the wings of the silkworm butterfly outspread.

Of course, the two later meet and spend a long night drinking and reading the poetry of the masters. The woman seems to have copies of many poets who are long dead.

Ming-Y now does something he has never done before. He lies. He tells his employer that he’s walking home to his parents’ house every night, when in fact he’s spending time with this lovely lady.

Thoughts:

The story may be a little heavy-handed with finger-wagging and tsk-tsking, but the writing is lovely and dreamy. Ming-Y is led astray by a graceful, learned woman who is both more and less than she appears—drinking and reading poetry. She tells him she is a relative of his employer. Maaaybe.

Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to read poetry.

Do you ask me who she was,—the beautiful Sië-Thao? For a thousand years and more the trees have been whispering above her bed of stone. And the syllables of her name come to the listener with the lisping of the leaves; with the quivering of the many-fingered boughs; with the fluttering of lights and shadows; with the breath, sweet as a woman’s presence, of numberless savage flowers,—Sië-Thao.

The story has just the right amount of creepiness and dreaminess. If there are few surprises, at least the ride was pleasant. Ming-Y and the lady love each other, but sumpthin ‘taint right. I enjoyed this tale.

Bio: Patrick Lafcadio Tessima Carlos Hearn (1850-1904) was born on the Greek Ionian Island of Lefkada, from which came one of his given names. His mother was Greek, and his father was an Anglo-Irish member of the British military. He was sent to Ireland to live with a paternal aunt after his parents’ divorce.

After his father’s death and his aunt’s bankruptcy, his aunt’s financial manager sent him at the age of nineteen to relatives in Cincinnati, Ohio, who offered him little but good wishes.

Hearn became a reporter for the Cincinnati Daily Journal. He also spent time reporting from and writing about New Orleans and the West Indies. He later went to Japan to teach English and became enamored of all things Japanese, eventually becoming a naturalized Japanese citizen and assuming a Japanese name, Yokuma Koizumi.

Among his works are Two Years in the French West Indies (1890), Youma, The Story of a West-Indian Slave (1890), and Glimpses of Unfamiliar Japan (1894). He also translated some of the works of Guy de Maupassant and Théophile Gautier from French.

This story can be read here:

This story can be listened to here:

Title: “The Story of Ming-Y”
Author: Lafcadio Hearn (1850-1904)
First published: Some Chinese Ghosts, 1887
Length: short story

Review of “Smee” by A. M. Burrage: Halloween Countdown

Plot

During a Christmas Eve party, Jackson refuses to play hide-and-seek because he sometimes stays at a house where a girl was accidentally killed playing the game by falling down a flight of stairs. He wasn’t there when this happened, but he was visiting the same house during another Christmas party when something worse happened.

When asked about this “something worse,” he defers and tells the group about a game called “smee” or “it’s me.” It’s like hide-and-seek, except only “it” knows who “it” is. Non-its identify themselves by calling “smee” to each other as they search the house. “It” responds with silence.

In a large, dark old house, it’s essential to keep track of how many people are in your party. A person missing could mean tragedy—for example, someone falling down a flight of stairs. An extra person could mean something entirely different, but nothing happy.

Thoughts:

If this tale is creepy and sad, there are few surprises. A couple of misunderstandings arise. Our hero, Tony Jackson, finds himself in what appears to be a compromising position with Mrs. Gorman. The homeowner, Mr. Jack Sangton, pulls him aside and warns him, in so many words, that he’ll have none of that in his house.

Jackson admits he doesn’t know everyone at the house and is bad with names. He expects the names he’s missing will come up in conversation. They don’t.

That adults—adults old enough to have grown children of their own—play parlor games at Christmas parties may strike the modern reader as a bit odd, but this is 1929. Radio was in its infancy, and commercial television was a couple of decades in the future. References to the accident victim as a “girl” when she was a grown woman also made me reset my thinking; I thought of her at first as this impetuous ten-year-old.

The characters initially enjoy the game, but the fun doesn’t last. Something is off. No one can quite put their finger on it, and most are too polite to say anything.

I liked this odd little story.

Bio: A. M. Burrage (Alfred McLelland Burrage) (1889-1956) was a UK novelist and short story writer active from 1905 into the 1940s. Several of his relatives, most notably his uncle Edwin Harcourt Burrage, were also writers. Because he wrote under several pseudonyms and in various genres, it’s difficult for cataloguers to determine the total number of stories he published. In 1930, Burrage published a scathing memoir of his wartime experiences, War is War, under the pseudonym “Ex-Private X.” He is best known now for his ghost stories, but he also wrote for boys’ magazines, stories of black magic, and a satire set in Arthurian England.

This story can be read here: (slightly different version from what I read)

This story can be listened to here: (23:28)

Title: “Smee”
Author: A. M. Burrage (1889-1956)
First published: Nash’s Pall Mall Magazine, December 1929
Length: short story

Review of “The Signalman” by Charles Dickens: Halloween Countdown

Plot:

Our hero visits a signalman in a railroad tunnel where he works, signaling trains that come through and passing messages along. He announces his presence by shouting from atop the hill, “Halloa! Below there!”

Much to his surprise, the man walks away as if he hasn’t heard him. After some more screaming, the narrator gets directions down the hill to where he might speak with the signalman. The internal passage is damp and unpleasant, but our hero makes the trek and finds his way down to the floor.

The signalman invites him into his cabin.

The narrator offers the following assessment:

“In the discharge of his duties, I observed him to be remarkably exact and vigilant, breaking off his discourse at a syllable, and remaining silent until what he had to do was done.

“In a word, I should have set this man down as one of the safest of men to be employed in that capacity, but for the circumstance that while he was speaking to me he twice broke off with a fallen colour, turned his face towards the little bell when it did NOT ring, opened the door of the hut (which was kept shut to exclude the unhealthy damp), and looked out towards the red light near the mouth of the tunnel.”

The signalman seems to be content—a job that requires attention, but no hard physical labor. He admits something is troubling him, however, and will describe it if our hero visits him again.

Notably, he asks if the narrator visits him again, not to call out. A specter once called out to him, just as the visitor had, and six hours later, a terrible accident occurred on that line. A second incident occurred. The specter has been back; false alarms ring; what is its warning? How can he prevent another tragedy?

Thoughts:

This is a poignant tale of a haunted man who witnesses tragedy but is powerless to prevent it. Adding insult to injury, no one takes him seriously. Our hero, the narrator, assumes he’s mentally ill, even while he admires his attention to his job. The signalman insists he recognizes the difference between a real alarm and a supernatural one, yet he didn’t see the narrator as real at first.

While the story revolves around the signalman, I have to ask, why did the narrator visit the signalman in the first place? He doesn’t know him. Is he curious about the train and the setup there? Had he been walking around and decided that day to let his curiosity get the better of him?

Overall, it is a tightly written little piece with a sense of forboding throughout.

Bio: Charles Dickens (1812-1870) was a UK author, novelist, actor, and editor. Among his most famous works are the often imitated/parodied “A Christmas Carol” (1843), “David Copperfield” (1850), “A Tale of Two Cities” (1859), and “Great Expectations” (1860). He achieved great popularity during his lifetime, though it was not until after his death that it became known that he had known poverty. As a child, he’d left school and been forced to work to support his widowed mother after his father’s early death. At his death, he left the novel The Mystery of Edwin Drood unfinished. Others have attempted to adapt it for the screen or complete it.

This story can be read and listened to here:(42:17)

Title: “The Signalman”
Author: Charles Dickens (1812-1870)
First published: All the Year Round, Christmas Number, 1866
Length: short story

Review of “The Shadow” by Edith Nesbit: Halloween Countdown

Plot:

A girl faints during a dance at a country house over Christmas in Victorian-era Great Britain. She is sent to recover in a dressing room. Other girls sleep in a bedroom attached to the dressing room. Of course, they don’t sleep but sit up, telling each other ghost stories. While they’re scaring themselves, a knock comes at their door. It’s Miss Eastwich, the “housekeeper, companion, and general stand-by” of the narrator’s aunt. She noticed the light and thought the girls were up late. She doesn’t say much, but she’s concerned about the girl who fainted.

“She’s fast asleep,” the narrator assures her.

The youngest girl invites her in and offers her cocoa. The narrator confesses irritation toward the youngest, referring to her as “young, crude, ill-balanced, subject to blind, calf-like impulses.” The youngest explains to Miss Eastwich that they were telling ghost stories, but they don’t believe in ghosts—not one bit. She asks Miss Eastwich if she knows any ghost stories.

The narrator bristles. Prim and proper Miss Eastwich? Tell a ghost story?

She does. Twenty years earlier, her two best friends married. The implication is that she was in love with the guy. After a year or two, the guy invited her to stay with them while the wife was “ill,” delicately saying she was in the middle of a difficult pregnancy.

Miss Eastwich goes. She finds the wife “weak and excitable,” but the husband looking worse. Thinking he may be in debt or something of that sort, she doesn’t ask but waits for him to speak. He tells her of something wrong with the house, something he almost sees, almost hears…

Thoughts:

While Miss Eastwich describes her story as “hardly worth telling,” it becomes clear that there is more below the surface of this low-key ghost story. Dread, fear, and an unknown horror, barely perceived, haunt the new “warm and welcoming” house. Couple that with a difficult pregnancy and the very real danger of death in childbirth at the time,

This sad little tale may (according to some commenters) reflect something of Nesbit’s own living situation. The narrator respects Miss Eastwich, understanding her reserve almost to the point of not wishing to speak to her in order to avoid disturbing her. The youngest girl, whom the narrator despises, may speak of the pretty young things Nesbit’s philandering husband always seemed to be chasing. Miss Eastwich’s dear friends echo a situation closer to home. A close friend of Nesbit’s lived with her and her husband, only to be impregnated by him twice.

Few points in the story are scary. Dread and sorrow are most prevalent. What is it that Miss Eastwich’s friend almost sees? Why is she concerned about the present? Why does she agree to tell her story now? The youngest girl, whose misunderstandings might be funny in other contexts, are merely uncomfortable.

Much of the action takes place between the lines, in the context. The story takes a little patience. A quick, superficial read will disappoint.

Bio: British author Edith Nesbit Bland (1835-1915) is now best known for her several children’s book series: the Bastable series, the Psammead series, and the House of Arden series, among other children’s books. She wrote children’s tales of adventure, fantasy, and magic, as well as more realistic stories. Her best-known works include The Story of the Treasure Seekers (1899), The Wouldbegoods (1901), The Revolt of the Toys, What Comes of Quarreling (1902), and The Railway Children (1906).

Additionally, she wrote fiction for adults and poetry.

She and her husband, Hubert Bland, were among the founders of the Fabian Society, a democratic socialist organization that still exists. It attracted people such as George Bernard Shaw, a friend of the Blands. Its goal is to slowly bring about lasting social change rather than through sudden radical change or revolution. Nesbit and her husband edited the Society’s journal, Today, and entertained friends and colleagues at their home.

This story can be read here:

This story can be listened to here: (49:28)

Title: “The Shadow”
Author: Edith Nesbit (1858-1924)
First published: as “Portent of the Shadow” in the London magazine Black and White, December 23, 1905
Length: short story

Review of “The Shadow in the Corner” by Mary Elizabeth Braddon: Halloween Countdown

Plot:

Wildheath Grange sits back from the road, the last remnants of a once-vast estate of the Bascom family. The house has a bad reputation among the locals in the nearby village of Holcroft, but it suits the current owner, Michael Bascom, a middle-aged bachelor who spends his days among his books in scientific reading. The only other occupants of the house are his two servants, Daniel Skegg and his wife.

One day, Skegg approaches the master and asks that he hire “a girl” to help his wife, who is getting on in years. Distracted, Bascom agrees but wants her kept out of his way. Skegg explains they’ll have to find someone outside the area because the villagers believe the Grange is haunted.

Bascom reacts with annoyance, but the reader learns that an ancestor of his lost most of the estate and then “destroyed himself” in the Grange.

What luck! Mrs. Skegg finds a girl who has just lost her father and is now homeless. She’ll whip her into shape. Skegg assigns her an attic room to sleep in. It’s the only one up there where the roof doesn’t leak, and it also happens to be where old Anthony Bascom destroyed himself. But what does that matter?

Sometime later, Bascom comes across the girl, Maria, and finds her visibly disturbed. He asks what is wrong. After some hesitation, she tells him she can’t sleep. Her room terrifies her.

He dismisses her; it’s all in her pretty little head.

…but the more he thinks about it, the more he wonders.

Thoughts:

This is a poignant tale, one that deals more with the most vulnerable of Victorian society than with ghosts. The common Victorian trope of a death by suicide leading to a restless spirit appears, but is not dwelt on. At the center of the story is the plight of the orphan girl, Maria. Through no fault of her own, she is cast into the world without friend or protector. She grieves for her father but never shows self-pity. Nor does she complain about the hard work that is now her lot in life. On the contrary, she expresses gratitude for being able to work.

Maria cannot defend herself. She is dependent on the goodwill of those around her and has no appeal should they choose to oppress her. If she makes too much of a nuisance of herself, those in authority could toss her out on her rear end. Her recourse lies in the workhouse, the world’s oldest profession, or starvation.

As science fiction would a century later, “ghost” stories sometimes addressed social issues in the late 19^thcentury. After all, the story isn’t advocating women’s rights or anything. It’s a ghost story, isn’t it?

While it’s sometimes a bit slow for 21st-century readers and can be a bit on the nose, I enjoyed this poignant tale.

Bio: Mary Elizabeth Braddon (1835-1915) was associated with “sensation” fiction, a melodramatic genre from the latter half of the nineteenth century that often incorporated elements of crime and drama while drawing on Gothic and romantic traditions. Her most popular work is the novel, Lady Audley’s Secret (1862), which was loosely based on a real-life event and involved unintentional bigamy and (presumably intentional) murder.

Braddon founded the monthly magazine Belgravia in 1866 and edited it until 1876. Concentrating on sensation fiction, Belgravia featured poems, short stories, and serialized novels.

After others purchased the magazine, Braddon was removed from the editorship, and Belgravia went on to bigger things, publishing works by Mark Twain, Thomas Hardy, and Arthur Conan Doyle. It folded in 1899.

Braddon and the married publisher John Maxwell lived together without scandal while his wife was confined to an asylum. They married when the wife died. One of their six children, William Babington Maxwell, became a novelist. He also served in World War I.

This story can be read here:

This story can be listened to here: (37:47)

Title: “The Shadow in the Corner”
Author: Mary Elizabeth Braddon (1835-1915)
First published: All the Year Round, 1879
Length: short story