It's impossible to talk about M.R. James without addressing his importance in the history of horror fiction. His signature still continues to touch contemporary horror if only through secondary influences. Rightly, he should be lauded for the work he did. But, when approaching his stories, there is such an overwhelming level of perfectionism that he has set for himself. A need to define everything with absolute accuracy. As a reader theres a certain level of cutting through the skin and fat to get to the meat that can be exhausting.

Between the detailed cataloging of church manuscripts, and intense concentration on the local history, he focuses on the mundane minutia detailing antiquated conflicts and vague stirrings. It can be overwhelming to have to bear yet another unloading of latin phrases.

He's so caught up in accuracy of this space, that as an example, after a page long paragraph unloading a ton of details, because he can't just skip forward to where the information might be pertinent, he'll write a paragraph like the following:
"It is not necessary to tell in further detail the steps by which Henry Harrington and Dunning were brought together."

And then the next paragraphs literally starts like this:
"The next scene that does require to be narrated is a conversation that took place between the two."

He frequently can't cut to the action anywhere. And even when he does get to a conversation that has to preface any information with an elaborate dance before divulging anything, like this quote:
‘That is final to my mind. Now I must explain further. From something he said, I feel sure that my brother John was beginning to believe—very much against his will—that Karswell was at the bottom of his trouble. I want to tell you what seems to me to have a bearing on the situation."

To this protestant author, it's clear that papists, Jewish mysticism the otherness of thing like Scandinavian or French culture were a bit unsettling for such a traditionalist. So they lay the foundations to the spookiness that in todays society just aren't inherently frightening.

BUT, when you do blow the dust off of most these, underneath are delightful gems. I particularly enjoyed "The Mezzotint," "The Ash-tree," "Number 13," "Count Magnus," "'Oh, Whistle, and I'll Come to You, My Lad,'" & "Casting the Runes." With "The Treasure of Abbot Thomas," & "A School Story" both charming me. The rest of the stories had some great moment in them as well, but either didn't deliver or were burdened by his style. Then there are the stinkers: "The Stalls of Barchester Cathedral" & "Martin's Close."

The biggest issue for me is the frequent second hand removal of the reader from the protagonists. Their stories are usually told through other narrators by way of some found letter in yet another abby. So too often, you go through the whole rigamarole of the set-up just to get to a narrator to start the story. Because of this, his stories feel better to me in memory than in reading them. As he creates so many haunting moments.

I'd read a couple of these stories already when I cracked open this collection, and I was pleased to read them again. On whole, I a super happy I revisited James, but it's hard for me not to point a guiding finger to the snappier, livelier, ghost stories of James' contemporary F. Marion Crawford.