The Zen of Ghost Stories

This will probably be my least interesting entry because this topic is where I am most out of my depth. But I feel it needs to be said: any telling of a ghost story owes a lot to Japan.

I wrote my first novel about demon possession. That supernatural phenomenon is rooted directly in Christian tradition. But ghosts, as a phenomenon, while of course prevalent as a popular susperstition, in my view exist on the periphery of the Christian tradition. There’s very little place for them, and little theology that explains them.

The Buddhist tradition, on the other hand, seems the perfect home for ghosts. To grossly oversimplify, the goal of that religion’s spiritual quest is to release onesself from earthly desires. That’s just what ghosts must do. Finding the name Harness for my ghost character who can’t let go of the past, was an exciting turn for me. Harness is perfect; it’s exactly what he is: a harness to the past, to desire… these are the kinds of things that juice me when I’m writing, goofy as it may seem in retrospect!

While writing this book a few additional Japanese-themed elements were important grist for the mill:

• Going to a Japan Society exhibit to see miniarure brass statues of “hungry ghosts”: skinny figures with fat bellies and open mouths, who wander the earth in search of food—when nothing will satisfy them.
• Reading Noh plays. A 15th-16th century Japanese type of popular drama, with a common structure: a pilgrim stops at a strange house for the night for shelter. He meets his host. His host seems normal but turns out to be a phantom, ghost, or demon. The ghost is trapped in this world because he/ she has not let go of some event that happened to them in their lives. If the ghost is a warrior, this might be a battle they were in and lost. If they were a lady at court, it might be a love affair they lost out to another prettier woman. The ghost then tells their story to the pilgrim. (The reliving of that older drama is the main action of the play.) Then the pilgrim says prayers that, along with the expiation provided by telling the tale, releases the ghost into the next world. It is this combination of the expiation-by-memory, and forcible-exit-through-prayer, that inspired my finale. My favorite—because it has a witchy, Harness-like jealous protagonist, is Aoi No Uye (“the flame of anger consumes itself only!”)
• Reading a bunch of Japanese kwaidan, or ghost stories, online. A particular favorite involved a man who is lured into becoming the lover of a beautiful (dead) lady, and loses his life doing it. The idea of a ghostly seducer appealed to me.
• Watching the beautiful film Japanese film Ugetsu, which contains a magnificent ghost story. Another ghostly seductress who wants her victim to stay with her, and uses every feminine wile to do so.

All the kwaidan made me think it would be a good idea to include some kind of image of a well, or water, in my novel, since this is a basic image in the kwaidan genre. I invented the idea of a cistern in a Harrow dormitory.

One thing I didn’t do in my preparation was watch a lot of contemporary Japanese horror movies. Apparently the “spooky well” is a total cliché. I had a mortifying experience when I admitted to a few friends—film buffs—that I had a “spooky well” in my book… and they laughed and laughed. Oh well. I remain proud of my craggy, sexualized basement cistern.