The End of the Innocents

I’ve been spending the day in an extraordinarily seasonally appropriate endeavor: reading Victorian ghost stories. Lucky me, it also counts as homework, since I’m trying to figure out some sort of thesis to tie 3 or 4 of them together. (Actually, I’m trying to figure out which of the eighteen ideas floating around in my head is the best: Victorian ghost children (let’s talk about queer futurity!); haunted houses (let’s talk about the woman question!); miser ghosts (women and economics! laws of coverture!); passive ghosts and active ghosts, helpful ghosts and vengeful ghosts, and on and on… and lordy lordy I only get to pick one.)

So, as a break from all these unruly spirits (working title), I’m settling in with my knitting and the latest Netflix delivery: The Innocents (1961). And holy mother, I might not sleep tonight.

The Innocents is a retelling of The Turn of the Screw, starring Deborah Kerr as the governess.

And these kids are freaking me out.

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