This week I’ve been reading two books, as usual: one fiction and one non-fiction. I finished the fiction, a re-release of a novel by Anne Rivers Siddons called The House Next Door. My book club chose to read this in honor of Halloween but honestly, it wasn’t all that scary despite its horror classification—and I’m an honest-to-goodness wimp. It is, in fact, so tame that I read it at night, just before going to sleep, even when my husband was out of town and I normally hear all kinds of unprecedented noises.
Since this book was originally published in 1978 it has an authentically 70s feel—an era I recall with probably as much detail as any average person who lived through that time. The story is set in the south, in a neighborhood full of comfortably wealthy people who know the meaning of community. The two main characters have a wonderful marriage, are in their mid-thirties and intentionally without children. When the empty lot next to them is sold and a gorgeous house goes up designed by a friendly, brilliant architect, the horror begins. All kinds of terrible things happen to the families unlucky enough to live there, and the neighbors get caught in the evil as well.
I’ve said before that my rule for finishing a book is that if it isn’t entirely entertaining me, it must at least teach me something. This book had a great blend of engaging characters and a plot that moved right along. No sagging middle, and any boring segments were brief—more a sign of the time it was written than of poor writing or editing. Even though the horror part fell short for me, (I’m actually relieved about that) and the ending was a disappointment, the writing itself was for the most part well done, which went a long way in inspiring me to turn those pages.
After some mulling about it, I learned it was the point of view that I found troublesome. It was first person through the eyes of someone who never lived in the house. This point of view was of course an intentional choice in order to bring basically three short stories together – three families that move in to the “haunted” house, each in relatively short succession. Actually the house isn’t exactly haunted, at least not in the classic sense of the word; rather it has evil in it that tries destroying the best inside anyone unlucky enough to live in it – or nearby.
But because it was told through this neighbor’s eyes, it was often at least one step removed from much of the horror that transpired. Sometimes the action even came through another neighbor, simply recounted to the point of view character. This is why it was so tame for me—why it simultaneously allowed me to read the book all the way through because I don’t like horror while at the same time disappointing me as a student of the writing craft. The author tried to justify the choice of point of view (as I said, necessary in order to tell three stories rather than one) by an ending that was supposed to shock and tie in the point of view choice, but it seemed to fall short as a device rather than a natural progression of the story.
In any case, it certainly reminded me how important point of view is in a story! The reader wants to see and feel everything on stage, through the eyes of the character they basically become while reading an engaging story. Perhaps if this book were written today it would not only be more violently horrific (in which case I most likely wouldn’t have finished it) but the writer might not have been allowed to use such a device to justify story structure.
Note to self: remember that.
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