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Fantasy Commentator, v. 1, issue 11, Summer 1946
Page 280
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280 FANTASY COMMENTATOR Three of the six stories to be found here have a lesser or greater derivation from spiritualistic subjects. "Two and a Third" deals frankly with the results of a seance. In "Sarah Bennet's Possession" one meets a woman unconsciously influenced by the soul of her dead husband, who led a wicked and profligate life. "Miss Cornelius" is an ingenious account of a woman who is responsible for poltergeist-like manifestations, and of how she activates those about her; its development bears certain resemblances to that of the author's non-supernatural "Double Demon." Both "The Dabblers" and "The Ankardyne Pew" warrant more than passing mention, not only because they are two of Harvey's best efforts, but because they bear the unmistakeable influence of M. R. James. This is manifested less by the first of the pair, which involves survival of a juvenile black mass in a school which was once a monastery possessing an evil reputation; here the similarity is more int he realm of theme, for the style and treatment are very much Harvey's own. The likeness of "The Ankardyne Pew" to James' work is too obvious to be overlooked, however; it subject-matter, treatment and style are all strikingly reminiscent of the late Provost of Eton. The story is told by extracts from letters and a diary, a favorite James device, and takes place in typically Jamesian fashion some thirty years before; it is told, moreover, by one who actually participated in the events. Its sole differing feature is a somewhat conventional religious interpretation of an encounter between forces of good and of evil---though such a circumstance could be construed as echoing the two instances where James used religion as a foil against the supernatural. In the Ankardyne House lives the sole survivor of what was once a populous family, well known about the countryside. She is a woman of seventy-five, her deceased relatives, who were notorious for their intemperance, lack of fidelity and domineering ways. Miss Ankardyne has realized for years that her house is haunted by something very horrible connected with pain and fire and a bird; but she has felt pity for it, and by continuing to dwell there feels she is liv-it down, for the manifestations are becoming weaker as each season passes. The hauntings are characterized by vague cries, "sometimes a human cry with something bird-like in it", heard both within and without the house; and inhabitants of the place frequently awaken with a sensation of burning eyes and a sharp pain in the tongue. What causes these phenomena is eventually discovered by means of a hypnotic vision seen by a chance visitor and through the finding of an anonymous account of the incident itself written in an eighteenth century book. Young Francis Ankardyne, insanely enraged because his favorite cock lost a fight when blasphemously matched with another in the family church pew, cursed the bird and burned out its eyes and tongue with a red-hot wire. Continuing his usual frenzied course of life, he gradually succumbed to an impediment of speech resembling a cock's crow, and eventually suffered progressive loss of sight; in the end he was killed by a bolting horse who took fright at his voice during a hunt. A beautiful example of how a supernatural tale may be built upon hints and suggestive understatement is to be found in "The Clock." It is brief, and told in the first person. A woman promises her friend to go to the latter's home on a visit to the town where it is located and bring back a travelling clock the friend accidentally left behind on departing for a summer vacation. She lets herself into the house, which is deserted and shuttered barring the return of its occupants, an explores the darkened corridors and rooms. The object of her search is not on the first floor. Ascending to the second, she unlocks the doors of the rooms there, relocking each after examination. In the last chamber, ticking away on the mantelpiece, is the clock. For twelve days the house has been shut and tenantless---but the clock has but recently been wound. On impulse, she bolts the bedroom door behind her. The closets are empty. Nothing is under the
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280 FANTASY COMMENTATOR Three of the six stories to be found here have a lesser or greater derivation from spiritualistic subjects. "Two and a Third" deals frankly with the results of a seance. In "Sarah Bennet's Possession" one meets a woman unconsciously influenced by the soul of her dead husband, who led a wicked and profligate life. "Miss Cornelius" is an ingenious account of a woman who is responsible for poltergeist-like manifestations, and of how she activates those about her; its development bears certain resemblances to that of the author's non-supernatural "Double Demon." Both "The Dabblers" and "The Ankardyne Pew" warrant more than passing mention, not only because they are two of Harvey's best efforts, but because they bear the unmistakeable influence of M. R. James. This is manifested less by the first of the pair, which involves survival of a juvenile black mass in a school which was once a monastery possessing an evil reputation; here the similarity is more int he realm of theme, for the style and treatment are very much Harvey's own. The likeness of "The Ankardyne Pew" to James' work is too obvious to be overlooked, however; it subject-matter, treatment and style are all strikingly reminiscent of the late Provost of Eton. The story is told by extracts from letters and a diary, a favorite James device, and takes place in typically Jamesian fashion some thirty years before; it is told, moreover, by one who actually participated in the events. Its sole differing feature is a somewhat conventional religious interpretation of an encounter between forces of good and of evil---though such a circumstance could be construed as echoing the two instances where James used religion as a foil against the supernatural. In the Ankardyne House lives the sole survivor of what was once a populous family, well known about the countryside. She is a woman of seventy-five, her deceased relatives, who were notorious for their intemperance, lack of fidelity and domineering ways. Miss Ankardyne has realized for years that her house is haunted by something very horrible connected with pain and fire and a bird; but she has felt pity for it, and by continuing to dwell there feels she is liv-it down, for the manifestations are becoming weaker as each season passes. The hauntings are characterized by vague cries, "sometimes a human cry with something bird-like in it", heard both within and without the house; and inhabitants of the place frequently awaken with a sensation of burning eyes and a sharp pain in the tongue. What causes these phenomena is eventually discovered by means of a hypnotic vision seen by a chance visitor and through the finding of an anonymous account of the incident itself written in an eighteenth century book. Young Francis Ankardyne, insanely enraged because his favorite cock lost a fight when blasphemously matched with another in the family church pew, cursed the bird and burned out its eyes and tongue with a red-hot wire. Continuing his usual frenzied course of life, he gradually succumbed to an impediment of speech resembling a cock's crow, and eventually suffered progressive loss of sight; in the end he was killed by a bolting horse who took fright at his voice during a hunt. A beautiful example of how a supernatural tale may be built upon hints and suggestive understatement is to be found in "The Clock." It is brief, and told in the first person. A woman promises her friend to go to the latter's home on a visit to the town where it is located and bring back a travelling clock the friend accidentally left behind on departing for a summer vacation. She lets herself into the house, which is deserted and shuttered barring the return of its occupants, an explores the darkened corridors and rooms. The object of her search is not on the first floor. Ascending to the second, she unlocks the doors of the rooms there, relocking each after examination. In the last chamber, ticking away on the mantelpiece, is the clock. For twelve days the house has been shut and tenantless---but the clock has but recently been wound. On impulse, she bolts the bedroom door behind her. The closets are empty. Nothing is under the
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