We Have Always Lived in the Castle

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Whilst I am a complete sucker for basically any form of literature, if I had to pick a favourite genre in a life-or-death situation, it would be gothic all the way. As old as the 1800s, gothic literature has evolved drastically over time, but has always retained its characteristic traits of excitement, macabre, sinister, and beauty. Secrets, mysteries, and unreliable narrators are a foolproof good read for me and with this passion at hand I recently plucked a copy of Jackson’s We Have Always Lived in the Castle from my shelf and buried myself in it…

Narrated by 18 year-old Mary Katherine ‘Merricat’ Blackwood, Castle tells the story of Merricat, her older sister Constance, and her Uncle Julian’s simple happy life in their isolated family home. Protective of Constance and slightly eccentric, Merricat devotes herself to preserving their delicate way of life, especially since Constance was on trial and acquitted of murdering the rest of their family six years ago. But distressing disruption occurs when their cousin Charles appears out of the blue for a visit and while he’s all smiles and charm, he appears to have an ulterior motive in coming.

I honestly might have to read this book again because I’m still not sure I understood what was going on. It’s wonderfully gothic with its themes of isolation, social anxiety, and fear of the Other, but it’s actually a very tricky book to grasp because of its myriad of intense deceptions: namely the unreliable narrator. Like James and Poe, Jackson instantly sets readers up for a bumpy ride with the book being written in the first person perspective of a character that, we quickly realise, is not entirely ‘normal’. While Merricat’s narration is crisp and sophisticated, there are hints of a fractured mind and her actions also indicate a disturbed mental state. Her strategic placing of protective talismans around the house as well as her constant burying of objects are characteristic of OCD and the sincerity and rationality with which she communicates her mind hint at schizophrenia or post-traumatic stress disorder. The interesting, or frustrating, thing about the book is that no concrete evidence is given to tell you what Merricat actually is: mentally disabled, a witch, or dead? I’m still trying to decide.

This character and language deception is the car that Jackson drives us in through to the final page where there is still no destination in sight. Because of Merricat’s skewed perceptions of things and the isolation of the setting, it’s almost impossible to determine which characters to put our trust in. Uncle Julian is physically disabled and suffering from dementia, which throws a number of spanners in the works, and Constance also seems to suffer from OCD and PTSD as she spends all her time cooking and cleaning. Although Charles is obviously the villain he appears to be the only ‘sane’ person in the piece, which is actually not a very comforting thought.

Image credit: Time

Although the story centers on Merricat’s struggles to preserve her remaining family’s delicate existence when it’s threatened by Charles’ appearance, there is an ever present ripple of mystery throughout the book: who killed the rest of the family? It’s this compelling need to find the truth of the tragedy that keeps you reading on.

We Have Always Lived in the Castle, despite being so small, is a rich and seriously complex book, one that (for me anyway) definitely warrants multiple readings. Perhaps I’ll research and reread it and then come back with a more concrete idea as to what is actually happening within its pages. Then again, where’s the intrigue if there’s no mystery?

We Have Always Lived in the Castle is the final book written by Shirley Jackson, published in 1962 by Viking Press. Jackson died three years after it was published.