Book review: The Turn of the Screw by Henry James

Reading The Turn of the Screw by Henry James is like descending into a shadowed corridor where every flicker of candlelight reveals another ambiguity. From the very first pages, I found myself pulled into a narrative that is as haunting as it is elusive, and that compels the reader to participate actively in the unraveling of its mysteries. The story wraps itself around you gradually, drawing you deeper with its unsettling atmosphere and psychological depth, until you realize there is no simple way out.

The Turn of the Screw, penned by Henry James in 1898, is widely regarded as a cornerstone of literary ghost stories. Situated firmly within the gothic fiction genre, the novella was written during the height of the Victorian era, yet its resonance with themes of psychological complexity, repression, and ambiguity grants it timeless appeal. It is a relatively short but densely written work that challenges and rewards attentive readers, making it ideal for lovers of psychological horror and literary fiction alike.

The story is set in a remote English country estate and told through the eyes of an unnamed governess who is hired to care for two orphaned children—Miles and Flora. The employer, their uncle, is a wealthy man who wishes to have no further involvement with the children and entrusts all responsibility to the governess, giving her absolute authority and strict instructions not to bother him under any circumstances. What initially appears to be a pastoral assignment quickly grows ominous as the governess begins to suspect that the estate is haunted by the ghosts of two deceased former employees: Peter Quint and Miss Jessel. As events unfold, the lines between the supernatural and the psychological blur, and the reader is left to question whether the hauntings are real or the product of a disturbed mind.

James constructs his story as a framed narrative: it begins with a man named Douglas recounting a manuscript written by the governess. This layered storytelling contributes to the book’s elusive nature. It immediately introduces the theme of subjectivity and casts a shadow of doubt on the reliability of the narrator. The tale itself is replete with gothic motifs: the isolated estate, the angelic children who may not be as innocent as they seem, the appearances of apparitions, and the psychological unraveling of the protagonist. The atmosphere is thick with dread, but it is a quiet, creeping dread rather than one of overt horror. What makes the novel so disturbing is precisely this sense of uncertainty—it invites readers to constantly question what is happening, what is being seen, and whether we can trust what we are being told.

James's prose is notoriously elaborate and dense. At first, I found it challenging to navigate his long, winding sentences and the often circuitous logic of the governess’s internal monologue. However, as I adjusted to the rhythm of his language, I came to appreciate the deliberate construction of every phrase. The style reflects the thematic core of the story—uncertainty, complexity, and the unreliability of perception. This narrative opacity is not accidental; it is a tool that James wields masterfully to unsettle the reader. The very structure of the prose mimics the foggy, unreliable landscape of the mind, and in doing so, draws us into the governess’s world with visceral force.

The characters in The Turn of the Screw are paradoxical in their presentation. The governess, our narrator and guide, is both sympathetic and questionable. Her devotion to the children seems sincere, yet her increasingly intense reactions to perceived threats raise questions about her mental stability. Miles and Flora are portrayed with an ethereal innocence, but their words and actions often carry a subtext that suggests they are not entirely transparent. This duality is central to the novel’s power. James provides no definitive answers, instead inviting the reader to interpret the characters’ actions and motives according to their own understanding. The ghosts—if they are indeed ghosts—never speak, never act directly, and never explain themselves. Their very silence enhances their menace and deepens the mystery.

One of the most impressive aspects of the book is its use of imagery. James evokes a world of half-seen visions, flickering lights, and silent watchfulness. The house at Bly is described in terms that make it simultaneously charming and threatening, a place of beauty that conceals something dark. The imagery is consistently aligned with the theme of perception—things are rarely what they appear to be, and the boundary between the seen and unseen is constantly in flux. James uses silence, stillness, and shadow more effectively than most authors use outright action. These tools create a claustrophobic, inescapable sense of unease that persists long after the book is finished.

Thematically, The Turn of the Screw explores repression, innocence, guilt, and the dangers of unchecked imagination. The governess’s fervent desire to protect the children becomes entangled with her own psychological needs and fears. Her role as a moral guardian becomes a burden that consumes her, possibly warping her perception of reality. At the same time, the novel questions the nature of evil—does it reside in spectral beings, in the corrupted souls of children, or in the delusions of a well-meaning adult? These are not easy questions, and James does not attempt to answer them. Instead, he leaves us with a narrative that functions like a dark mirror, reflecting not truth but possibility.

If the novel has a flaw, it is in the very ambiguity that gives it strength. Some readers may find the lack of resolution frustrating, particularly those accustomed to more conventional horror stories with clear-cut villains and satisfying conclusions. There is also a certain emotional coldness to the narrative—while it is intellectually gripping, it is not a book that inspires deep emotional connection to the characters. The distance between the reader and the narrator, mediated through the framing device and the dense language, can make it difficult to feel fully immersed on a visceral level.

That said, I found the book to be deeply rewarding. Its refusal to provide easy answers kept me thinking about it long after I turned the last page. I was particularly struck by how modern the psychological tension felt, despite its Victorian setting. The book anticipates many of the concerns of 20th-century literature: the subjectivity of experience, the fragility of sanity, and the dangers of moral absolutism. What distinguishes The Turn of the Screw from other ghost stories is precisely this psychological sophistication. It is not merely a tale of things that go bump in the night, but a study of how fear, guilt, and isolation can distort one’s entire understanding of reality.

The Turn of the Screw is a masterclass in narrative subtlety and psychological tension. It is a story that does not just ask to be read, but to be reread and reinterpreted. I would recommend it to anyone who enjoys literature that challenges as much as it entertains—particularly readers who are drawn to psychological fiction, gothic horror, and philosophical ambiguity. My final verdict: a brilliantly disquieting tale that haunts not through spectacle, but through suggestion.

This book review was written using the following references 👇

• Full text The Turn of the Screw by Henry James at LitArchive
• Audiobook The Turn of the Screw by Henry James at AudioReads