Sarah Waters’ The Little Stranger has been lauded as a chilling ghost story, yet it masterfully transcends genre conventions, delving into the intricacies of post-war British society and the crumbling edifice of class structures. Narrated through the eyes of Dr. Faraday, a country physician with humble origins, the novel lures readers into the decaying grandeur of Hundreds Hall and the unsettling events that plague the Ayres family. But why does this narrator, seemingly objective and grounded in medical rationality, present his account in such a way? Exploring Faraday’s narrative voice is crucial to understanding the true haunting at the heart of The Little Stranger.
Sarah Waters: The Little Stranger
From the outset, Faraday establishes himself as an outsider, yet intimately connected to Hundreds Hall. His childhood memories of the estate, where his mother once worked, are imbued with a sense of awe and aspiration. He describes the mansion with vivid detail, noting “its lovely ageing details: the worn red brick, the cockled window glass, the weathered sandstone edging,” which collectively made it appear “blurred and slightly uncertain – like an ice, I thought, just beginning to melt in the sun.” This evocative imagery foreshadows the decline of the Ayres family and their ancestral home, mirroring the societal shifts of post-World War II Britain. Waters skillfully uses Faraday’s perspective to highlight the social anxieties of the time. The introduction of the National Health Service looms large in Faraday’s mind, symbolizing a potential erosion of his hard-earned social mobility and reflecting a broader unease among the middle class.
The narrative unfolds as Faraday becomes increasingly entwined in the lives of the Ayres family – Mrs. Ayres, and her children Caroline and Roderick – as they grapple with unsettling occurrences within Hundreds Hall. What begins as a medical call to attend to a sick maid soon escalates into an investigation of a supposed haunting. The belief that a supernatural entity, perhaps the ghost of Mrs. Ayres’ deceased daughter Susan, is tormenting the family permeates the household. Faraday, initially skeptical, finds himself drawn into their spectral anxieties, his rational worldview gradually challenged by inexplicable events.
Waters masterfully builds suspense, captivating readers through prolonged sequences of eerie occurrences within the house. The novel serves not only as a ghost story but also as a potent commentary on the decline of the landed gentry. The Ayres family, representing the upper middle class, are haunted not just by a potential ghost, but by the “spectre of the rising working class,” their Labour government, and the burgeoning welfare state. Roderick Ayres voices this fear explicitly, lamenting, “‘Ordinary people hate our sort now, don’t you see?'” The family’s financial struggles, forcing them to sell off land and witness the construction of council homes, further emphasize their dwindling status in a changing England. Mrs. Ayres poignantly feels that her world “is dwindling to the point of a pin.”
Faraday’s relationship with the Ayres family is complex, marked by envy, resentment, and a peculiar sense of self-loathing. He acknowledges his “humble beginnings” and reveals his past shame towards his working-class parents. Even his professional status as a doctor fails to fully mask his insecurities: “I’m a nobody. People don’t even see me half the time. They see ‘Doctor’. They see the bag.” This self-deprecating perspective shapes his narrative, coloring his observations of the Ayres family and their crumbling world. His internal struggles with class identity and self-worth are subtly woven into his account of the haunting, making him an unreliable yet compelling narrator.
However, some critics have pointed out a perceived weakness in the novel’s subtlety. The hints regarding the true nature of the haunting are arguably too pronounced, limiting interpretive possibilities beyond the surface narrative. This directness, coupled with symbolic elements, lends The Little Stranger a certain “neatness,” aligning it with what some might term “establishment literary fiction.” Despite this, Waters’ storytelling prowess remains undeniable, propelling readers through the novel’s 500 pages with remarkable ease. Her ability to blend social commentary with gothic suspense is a key strength, making The Little Stranger a compelling and thought-provoking read.
Comparisons can be drawn between The Little Stranger and Patrick McGrath’s Asylum, particularly in their post-war settings and narratives delivered by medical professionals. Both novels explore psychological depths beneath the surface of their stories. Yet, Asylum arguably achieves greater subtlety and complexity within a more concise narrative.
In conclusion, The Little Stranger is more than just a ghost story; it’s a nuanced exploration of social change, class anxiety, and the unsettling nature of memory and perception. Dr. Faraday’s narrative voice, marked by his own social insecurities and evolving understanding of the events at Hundreds Hall, is central to the novel’s power. He invites us into a world where the past haunts the present, and the true “little stranger” may reside not in the shadows of a haunted house, but within the complexities of the human psyche itself.
