In Virginia Woolf’s brief masterpiece “A Haunted House,” the ghosts are content, the walls of the house thrumming with whispers of peace, a happy marriage. Then there is the special house, the one built on love, for a muse, a mistress, an adored spouse. I love James Lees-Milne’s stories of National Trust houses, postwar stories of houses built on dynasties and coming apart. “Rebecca,” about a house haunted by a first wife. But so, too, can a house be haunted by a disappointment, by expired love, curdled, lending an imperceptible perfume to the halls and rooms.

Source: New York Times July 04, 2016 09:33 UTC