Hi, This is the Aistoryteller I’m Mark. The book we are interpreting in this issue is the representative work of American writer Henry James, the psychological novel, The Turn of the Screw. James is considered one of the greatest American novelists of the 19th century, following in the footsteps of authors like Hawthorne, the author of The Scarlet Letter, and Melville, the author of Moby-Dick. His significance lies not in the wide popularity of his works but rather in his pivotal role in the transition of literary genres from realism to modernism. James extensively employed psychological analysis techniques in his works, delving deep into the human psyche, and played an important role in laying the foundation for the stream of consciousness novels that would flourish in the 20th century. In the list of the top 100 English novels of the 20th century selected by the renowned publisher Random House, James earned recognition with three of his lengthy novels, namely, The Golden Bowl, The Ambassadors, and The Wings of the Dove, all of which ranked prominently. Henry James was born in 1843 near Washington Square in New York City. His grandfather was a banker, his father was a philosopher, and his mother's family was quite affluent. His brother, William James, was both a philosopher and a pioneer in American modern psychology. Therefore, the James family possessed not only financial resources but also a rich knowledge background that was beyond the reach of ordinary people. Young James spent his childhood and adolescence shuttling between New York and various cities in Europe, including the UK, France, and Switzerland. He did not receive a formal secondary education, but his family environment and social experiences were sufficient to shape a multidisciplinary, philosophically-oriented knowledge structure. In 1862, Henry James entered Harvard Law School, but soon realized that he had little interest in law. Consequently, a significant portion of his university years was immersed in the world of literature, where he cultivated extensive relationships with writers and literary critics. Beneath the surface of these credentials, the reality was not as rosy as it might seem. In his autobiography from his later years, we can discover that strict upbringing created both achievements and long-lasting childhood shadows for James. His highly accomplished elder brother was always an object of fear for him. Tense family relationships, often depicted in his novels, and his meticulous analysis of child psychology were recurring themes, reflecting the chaotic adult world that he focused on. Furthermore, Henry James never married, and he lacked heterosexual companionship throughout his life. From various hints, we can infer that he struggled to suppress his homosexual tendencies throughout his life. In summary, during Henry James's formative years, his sensitive inner world harbored a significant amount of energy in need of release, and literature may have been his only outlet. James's literary journey was not without its challenges. He was passionate about drama throughout his life, with his first published work being a theater review. However, he was neither skilled at dealing with theater managers nor adept at pleasing audiences, and as a result, his scripts in the theater world never achieved the success he had hoped for. Ironically, it was the novels he didn't particularly care about, both short and long, that had a lasting impact on educated American readers. British and European critiques, on the other hand, held more complex views. Author E.M. Forster praised Henry James's carefully crafted novel patterns, but he also noted that a significant number of readers found James uninteresting due to his overly cryptic and obscure writing style. Oscar Wilde once taunted James, saying that writing novels is like a painful duty for him. Virginia Woolf, too, expressed an inability to find anything remarkable in James's works. To this day, the many subtleties of Henry James's works remain largely outside the purview of mainstream readers. However, the subject of our analysis in this issue, The Turn of the Screw, might be an exception. Though not lengthy by today's standards, it could be classified as a novella or a so-called long short story. Nevertheless, since its publication, this story has not only been adapted into film and television multiple times but has also achieved a level of recognition among the general readership in Europe and America that rivals many of his longer works. Moreover, its themes have sparked recurring debates, meaning that what this novella is truly about has evolved with each passing era. This debate has even spilled over into the field of psychology, making The Turn of the Screw a remarkable case study in psychology. Before delving into this eerie and suspenseful tale, let me explain a literary term, the gothic novel. The word gothic originally referred to a Germanic tribe living on the fringes of the Roman Empire, and over time, it came to symbolize a barbaric, bold, and ruthless image due to their actions during times of conflict. Gothic novels, as a genre, emerged in late 18th-century England, and the term was borrowed to encapsulate the aesthetic standards of a popular set of novels at the time. Gothic novels later branched into numerous subgenres, especially in popular literature, and are often considered the progenitors of horror fiction and horror films. Elements of gothic literature can be found in many modern Western genre novels, such as romance, fantasy, and the supernatural. While it's challenging to provide a precise definition of gothic novels, they often incorporate elements such as terror, mystery, the supernatural, doom, death, haunted old houses, and family curses. At least on the surface, the plot progression, narrative style, character setup, and atmospheric development of The Turn of the Screw can broadly be categorized within the realm of gothic literature. It's precisely because of this that, over a century ago, most readers, while sensing an underlying peculiarity, generally appreciated the story as a particularly thrilling gothic tale. Therefore, let's first follow the reading preferences of that time and explore the surface of this story. The entire novella is narrated in the first person, but the narrator shifts through three layers in the introductory frame section. The outermost I is an ordinary gentleman who, during a Christmas Eve gathering, sits by the fire with a group of friends, exchanging ghost stories in an old, decrepit mansion as per holiday tradition. The narrator's friend, Douglas, asserts that he possesses a dreadfully sinister story locked away in a drawer, one that he's reluctant to share on the spot. This story had been written long ago and had remained hidden away for many years. Douglas claims that it involves two children and ghosts, and this declaration excites the listeners. To them, the idea of innocent children encountering ghostly harassment and the nerve-wracking atmosphere it entails is akin to suddenly tightening a screw by two turns. The novella eventually takes its name, The Turn of the Screw, from this context. The act of turning the screw has no direct connection to the specific plot but rather describes and sets the tone for the entire story's atmosphere. Under the persistent persuasion of his friends, Douglas finally agreed to send his servant to retrieve the manuscript, which had been locked away for many years. Two days later, the manuscript arrived as promised, and once again, the group gathered around the fire. Douglas commenced reading, and his voice seemed to convey to the listener the very breath and fine flavor of the author's hand-made pages. However, what unfolded before them was not narrated directly by Douglas but rather was a copy of the manuscript transcribed by me based on Douglas's request before his passing. This relay-style narrative transition created a suspenseful atmosphere, tantalizing the readers' anticipation, a common technique in gothic literature. What's more important is that this arrangement blurred the certainty of the plot, creating what is known as unreliable narration. From the outset, vigilant readers might sense that behind the literal meaning, there could be an entirely different possibility. The entirety of the story is contained within this transcribed manuscript, also narrated in the first person by someone who has long since passed away, and she is the central figure in this extraordinary tale. The story is set in Victorian-era England, with the characters shrouded in damp weather and emotions. As Douglas had explained in the introduction, the narrator of this story is a young woman, the daughter of a poor country parson, who was in her early twenties when she sought her first position as a governess and traveled to Harley Street in London for an interview. The novella never reveals the name of this governess. In her eyes, the employer, referred to as the master, is handsome, wealthy, and enveloped in an aura of charm. Currently, he resides leisurely in a grand mansion in London, but he wishes the governess to hasten to a place in Essex, deep in the countryside. According to the master, two years ago, his younger brother, who served in the military, and his sister-in-law both passed away in India, leaving behind a pair of children, his nephew and niece, for him to take care of. This wealthy man was not lacking in financial means but was clearly inexperienced and impatient when it came to raising children. He sent the children to the countryside and appointed Mrs. Grose, a childless widow, as the caretaker of the estate. The ten-year-old boy, Miles, had already begun attending a boarding school and returned for holidays, which were approaching. The eight-year-old girl, Flora, had been under Mrs. Grose's care and was in need of a governess. The position came with an attractive salary, but there were two aspects that alarmed potential candidates. First, the master informed the governess that there had been a previous young governess for these two children who had done an excellent job but had tragically died, leaving the position vacant. Second, the master set a stringent condition, no matter what happened on the estate, the governess was not to trouble him, seek his assistance, complain, or write to him. She was to face all issues alone, with all expenses covered through the master's lawyer, and she was solely responsible for all matters, big or small. In essence, it was a burden that once taken on, could not be laid down. These conditions frightened off several previous applicants, but the governess was utterly entranced by the master, who warmly shook her hand, expressing gratitude for her self-sacrifice. In his eyes, this was already the greatest reward she could receive, and she willingly embraced the responsibility. At first, everything was perfect. Bly Manor was vast and tranquil, the housekeeper kind and friendly, and the young master Miles and Miss Flora were intelligent and beautiful, like a pair of angels without wings. In the eyes of the governess, this large and ancient mansion, half idling and half functioning, was like a drifting ship, and she found herself aboard this ship, inexplicably at the helm. She awaited anxiously, proud yet bewildered, for something to happen. And indeed, something did. It began with a letter from Miles's school. Mrs. Grose, unable to read, relied on the governess to relay the contents of the letter to her. The governess explained that it was an ambiguous letter, declining Miles's further attendance at school without giving any reason. She speculated that Miles might have engaged in improper conduct at the school. This topic clearly unsettled Mrs. Grose, who began to recall past signs of depravity at the estate. The previous governess had left the manor under the pretext of illness and had died under mysterious circumstances, and it seemed that there had been another man involved with the estate at some point. Shortly thereafter, during one of her walks, the governess was thinking about the master who had bewitched her when she suddenly saw his figure atop the tower. However, like a swift change in a movie scene, she quickly realized that the man she was staring at was not the same man she had assumed a moment ago. At this moment, the author, James, wrote in a rather mystical manner, for an instant, everything around the governess seemed to transform into a desolate wilderness, the crows around her ceased their noise, and the man's image outside the window became as vivid and real as a framed painting, blending reality and dream, the present and the supernatural. The governess swiftly confirmed that this man was not the master and, in fact, not anyone she had ever seen. After a brief, tense exchange of gazes, the man turned and departed. Not long after, the governess encountered her second apparition. This time, the man came much closer, standing directly outside the window and gazing into the room. Seeing that the man was about to turn away, the governess rushed out of the room in pursuit but failed to catch him. Instead of retracing her steps, she instinctively moved to the window and stood in the same spot where the man had been, peering into the room just as he had done. Mrs. Grose, the housekeeper, happened to pass by and, much like the governess a moment ago, abruptly stopped and turned pale with fear. Clearly, this mirror-like scene held strong metaphorical significance. The act of observing and being observed, humanity and inhumanity, reality and illusion, all blurred at the slightest shift in perspective. Mrs. Grose's intense reaction hinted that, from a different angle, the so-called apparition could very well be the governess herself. With these two frightening encounters, the governess and Mrs. Grose naturally engaged in an intense discussion. Long-buried secrets of the manor began to surface, and their conversation was written in a vivid manner, revealing how initially vague and ambiguous information gradually expanded. According to Mrs. Grose's account, the apparition was highly likely to be Peter Quint. Quint had been the master's personal valet, handsome but thoroughly wicked. The master had seemed unusually tolerant of him, even allowing Quint to wear his own clothes. Rumor had it that Quint had been involved with the previous governess and had met an untimely demise. Mrs. Grose's insinuations strongly suggested an intimate relationship between this ill-fated pair and the two children during their lifetimes. It's worth noting that all this information is pieced together by two people, who stimulate and hint at each other, lacking any direct evidence. The impression Mrs. Grose, the housekeeper, gives is consistently that of subservience and mediocrity, refusing to make any decisions. However, she excels at offering deliberate and inadvertent suggestions, always affirming the governess's assumptions at critical moments, like an undercurrent that further moistens the secretive corner of the governess's mind, creating conditions for mold to grow. They engage in conversations laden with hidden meanings when it comes to matters of sexuality and misconduct. Every word in their dialogue seems like a secret code. However, upon closer inspection, you can hear the undertones of excitement and a chilling sense of complicity in their discussions, whether intentional or unintentional. In reality, Mrs. Grose plays the role of the governess's spiritual accomplice. A silent war unfolds between the governess and the apparitions. The governess sees Quint and the previous governess's ghosts in various situations, and their appearances become increasingly sinister, with a growing sense of purpose. In the governess's eyes, they are undoubtedly targeting the two children, possibly intending to harm them or lead them astray. What terrifies her even more is the belief that she has witnessed direct eye contact between the two children and the two apparitions, leading her to suspect that the children have already been corrupted by the ghosts and may even be in league with them. Driven by a fierce protective instinct, the governess becomes consumed with extraordinary heroism and derives increasing pleasure from her role. Her first-person narrative reveals a fearless and perpetually excited state of mind, as if she were a warrior ready to confront the demons. She initially interrogates Miles, who responds ambiguously. He admits to using inappropriate language at school, words that might have reached the teacher's ears and led to his expulsion. However, when questioned about the specifics of his words, he is unable to respond because, at that moment, the governess sees the pale face of the apparition pressed against the glass. In a sudden move, she jumps up, rushes over, and clings tightly to the child, holding him close. Amid a series of confrontations and interrogations, Miles shakily utters the name Peter Quint. The governess is overcome with joy; she feels that with her unyielding courage, she has finally triumphed over Quint and reclaimed Miles from him. However, at this point, Miles is convulsing, emitting a scream such as only a person cast into hell would give. The governess holds him until she realizes what she is clutching. The novel's final line is haunting, the governess says, In the quietest, loveliest of the days, I was to find myself alone with him again, and was to find him, as I had found him once before, in the agony of a last struggle. This thrilling yet poignant story comes to an abrupt end, but discussions regarding its themes have continued to this day. After the novella was published in a magazine in 1898, Henry James himself provided some interpretation of the story in letters to friends and in the preface to a later collection of his shorter works. However, James' literary criticism has always been known for its opacity, and his self-explanations failed to address the most pressing questions readers had. He did not reveal the true cause of Miles's death or explain the nature of the apparitions in the story. On one hand, he claimed that the story was pure and simple, but on the other hand, he cryptically stated that his pleasure as an author lay in manipulating the reader's sensitive perceptions of literature and morality. Nevertheless, in the years immediately following the novella's publication, critics and readers largely accepted the governess's first-person narrative, taking refuge in the belief that she was a heroic figure defending the traditional values of the household, advocating gender distinctions, hierarchy, and keeping evil at bay, even at great personal cost. This mainstream view persisted for nearly fifty years. It wasn't until 1948 that the renowned American critic Edmund Wilson published a famous essay titled The Ambiguities of Henry James, which marked the official beginning of the debate and adaptations spawned by this novella. Interestingly, Wilson's lifelong interest in the novella led him to be particularly cautious in his statements, revisiting and revising his arguments almost every decade, even contemplating a complete reversal, until he ultimately circled back to his original position, emphasizing that his initial arguments in the essay still represented his final judgment. In simple terms, Wilson's view was that the ghosts do not exist at all, and the governess herself is a deeply repressed sexual deviant. The handsome master, the legendary Peter Quint, and even young Miles could all be objects of her projections in her fantasies. The rumors of Quint's affair with the previous governess and the whispers of Miles being led astray by Quint served as stimuli that ultimately warped the governess's psyche, creating a form of one-way stimulation that couldn't find an outlet through conventional means, resulting in a gradual distortion over time. Poor Miles, in her state of mental derangement, was smothered to death by her, ostensibly in the name of love. If there were to be any ghosts in this story, it would be the governess's own demons. In other words, the entire narrative is the account of a mentally unstable individual spiraling towards her own breakdown, and the truth can only be uncovered by deciphering the distortions in her narration. Expanding upon Wilson's perspective, let's analyze the character of the governess. In the Victorian era, the position of a governess in a household was precarious, with her straddling a line between being perceived as a servant by the master and as a quasi-mistress by the other servants. The previous governess's affair with the male servant Quint was looked down upon, partly because of the class disparity – people believed that a governess should not willingly degrade herself by engaging in such relationships with male servants. Typically, governesses had modest financial means, but they possessed education and refinement. While not necessarily attractive in appearance, they represented an ever-present temptation to the male head of the household and served as a maternal figure for the children. They often squandered their youth in the household, inserting themselves into romantic situations reminiscent of Gothic novels, secretly believing that someday they might become the mistress of the household. As their unfulfilled desires accumulated, they became increasingly sharp. In this particular case, it's not hard to understand that the master is the root of the governess's psychological issues. His handsome wealth is certainly one reason, but what truly captivates the governess is the master's mysterious and demanding nature. His dazzling appearances and abrupt disappearances are equally crisp and decisive—within the governess's imagination, this enigmatic quality only enhances his radiant aura. Wilson's viewpoint, while not flawless, can be supported by various textual ambiguities that remain unresolved. For instance, what role does the master play in this tragedy, and what is the significance of his deliberate avoidance? Similarly, how should we interpret Miles's precociousness and his vaguely hinted admissions of wrongdoing? Therefore, building upon Wilson's perspective, critics have explored various paths of interpretation. Some have found hidden sexual metaphors within the text to demonstrate how the novella subtly and intricately delves into the realm of sexual psychology. Others adopt a more middle-ground approach, suggesting that James may not have been consciously explicit in his intentions while writing the novella. He intentionally crafted the story to be ambiguous, conveying the message that true fear lies in the inability to determine whether the governess is righteous or wicked, whether the ghosts are real or figments of her imagination—these uncertainties reside within the reader's own psyche. Regardless of the viewpoint, it was Wilson who reopened the interpretative space for The Turn of the Screw, turning it into a hotbed of literary criticism and adaptations for film, television, and the stage throughout the 20th century. The documented history of adaptations began six years after Wilson's essay was published, including a stage play, a television movie starring Ingrid Bergman, and the classic 1961 horror film The Innocents. From The Innocents, we can see that the director neither wanted to be led solely by the governess's subjective narrative nor fully endorsed Wilson's interpretation, so they introduced numerous details into the screenplay to accommodate both perspectives, allowing for dual interpretations. Following the success of The Innocents, The Turn of the Screw instantly became one of the most adaptable novellas, with versions produced in France, Spain, Germany, Italy, and the United States. Adaptations ranged from film to theater to ballet. Overall, the adaptations were not dramatically different, but they did exhibit subtle shifts in tone, as directors and writers gained more confidence in their audience's understanding and delved deeper into the characters' psychology. After all, late 20th-century audiences were no longer as classically innocent as their early 20th-century counterparts, as Freudian psychoanalysis had become a fundamental part of readers' and viewers' awareness. It's worth noting that, in addition to its multi-interpretable themes, The Turn of the Screw also showcases the typical characteristics of Henry James's writing, meticulously crafted language and structure, an ongoing sense of suspense from beginning to end, the gradual buildup of a sense of horror, seamless integration of setting and psychological description, and conversations laden with hidden meanings that can be interpreted from different angles. This unique textual allure has been a significant factor in ensuring that The Turn of the Screw continues to captivate readers and audiences alike, standing the test of time. Alright, let's conclude this analysis now, and let's review the key points of knowledge one more time. Firstly, American author Henry James achieved an important posthumous recognition in literary history not because his works had a broad mass appeal, but because he was a pivotal figure in the transition from realism to modernism in literature. James's texts extensively employed psychological analysis, delving deep into the human psyche, and played a crucial role in the development of the stream of consciousness novel, which became popular in the 20th century. Secondly, within James's body of work, The Turn of the Screw occupies a unique position. It has not only been adapted into various films and television series but also enjoys a level of fame among ordinary readers in Europe and America that rivals many of his full-length novels. Additionally, its themes have sparked periodic debates. These debates have even extended beyond the literary realm and into the field of psychology. It can be argued that The Turn of the Screw itself serves as a superb classic case study in psychology. Thirdly, Gothic fiction originated in late 18th-century England and later gave rise to numerous subgenres, particularly within popular literature. It is generally considered the progenitor of horror fiction. Providing an exact definition for Gothic fiction is challenging, but these stories often contain elements such as horror, mystery, the supernatural, doom, death, haunted old houses, family curses, and so on. On the surface, the plot progression, narrative style, character settings, and atmospheric descriptions in The Turn of the Screw can broadly be placed within the category of Gothic fiction. This is why, over a century ago, most readers, while sensing something peculiar, primarily viewed this story as a particularly thrilling work of Gothic fiction. Fourthly, in 1948, the renowned American critic Edmund Wilson published a famous essay titled The Ambiguity of Henry James, which opened Pandora's box regarding interpretations of The Turn of the Screw. In simple terms, Wilson's viewpoint was that the ghosts did not exist, and the governess herself was a repressed sexual deviant. The handsome master, the legendary Peter Quint, and even young Miles could all be objects projected by her imagination. If you must find a ghost in this story, it's the governess's own inner demon. In other words, the entire story is a self-narration of a mentally disturbed individual descending into madness. To discover the truth, one must decipher the distortions in her narration. Lastly, apart from its theme's interpretative flexibility, The Turn of the Screw also reflects typical characteristics of Henry James's writing, meticulously crafted language and structure, a sustained sense of suspense from start to finish, a gradual buildup of a sense of horror, seamless integration of setting and psychological description, and dialogues filled with hidden meanings that can be interpreted from different angles. This unique textual charm has been a significant reason why The Turn of the Screw continues to endure and captivate readers, standing the test of time.