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The Accursed: A Novel Kindle Edition
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"Joyce Carol Oates has written what may be the world’s finest postmodern Gothic novel: E.L. Doctorow’s Ragtime set in Dracula’s castle. It’s dense, challenging, problematic, horrifying, funny, prolix and full of crazy people. You should read it.” —Stephen King, New York Times Book Review
Princeton, New Jersey at the turn of the 20th century: a tranquil place to raise a family, a genteel town for genteel souls. But something dark and dangerous lurks at the edges of the town, corrupting and infecting its residents. Vampires and ghosts haunt the dreams of the innocent. A powerful curse besets the elite families of Princeton—their daughters begin disappearing. A young bride on the verge of the altar is seduced and abducted by a dangerously compelling man—a shape-shifting, vaguely European prince who might just be the devil, and who spreads his curse upon a richly deserving community of white Anglo-Saxon privilege. And in the Pine Barrens that border the town, a lush and terrifying underworld opens up.
When the bride’s brother sets out against all odds to find her, his path will cross those of Princeton’s most formidable people, from Grover Cleveland, fresh out of his second term in the White House and retired to town for a quieter life, to soon-to-be commander in chief Woodrow Wilson, president of the University, and a complex individual obsessed to the point of madness with his need to retain power; from the young Socialist idealist Upton Sinclair, to his charismatic comrade Jack London, and the most famous writer of the era, Samuel Clemens/ Mark Twain—all plagued by “accursed” visions.
Narrated with Oates's unmistakable psychological insight, The Accursed combines beautifully transporting historical detail with chilling supernatural elements to stunning effect.
- LanguageEnglish
- PublisherEcco
- Publication dateMarch 5, 2013
- File size4285 KB
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Editorial Reviews
From Booklist
Review
“Spectacular. . . With its vast scope, its mingling of comic and tragic tones, its omnivorous gorging on American literature, and especially its complex reflection on the major themes of our history, The Accursed is the kind of outrageous masterpiece only Joyce Carol Oates could create.” (Ron Charles, Washington Post)
“A brilliant Gothic mystery that has the punch of historical fiction. Currents of race, class and academic intrigue swirl under the surface, but it’s the demonic curse that propels the action... Oates casts a powerful spell. You’ll close The Accursed and want to start it all over again.” (People (4 Stars))
“The Accursed is a unique, vast multilayered narrative; a genre bending beast of a book, utterly startling from start to finish, compulsive and engaging, the writing crackling with energy and wit. This is an elaborately conceived work.” (New York Review of Books)
“[The Accursed] is in addition to being a thrilling tale in the best gothic tradition, a lesson in master craftsmanship...The story sprawls, reaches, demands, tears, and shrieks in homage to the traditional gothic, yet with fresh, surprising twists and turns... Oates has given us a brilliantly crafted work .” (Publishers Weekly (starred review))
“Carefully and densely plotted, chockablock with twists and turns and fleeting characters, her novel offers a satisfying modern rejoinder to the best of M.R. James―and perhaps even Henry James.” (Kirkus Reviews (starred review))
“Oates’ atmospheric prose beautifully captures the flavor of gothic fiction . . . In Oates’ hands, this supernatural tale becomes a meditation on the perils of parochial thinking. It demands we think - with monsters - about our failure to face the darkest truths about ourselves and the choices we’ve made.” (NPR)
“A lush, arch, and blistering fusion of historical fact, supernatural mystery, and devilish social commentary... A diabolically enthralling and subversive literary mash-up. ” (Booklist (starred review))
“A smart and relentlessly absorbing read.” (Library Journal)
“Joyce Carol Oates is at her gothic best… an astonishing fever dream of a novel.” (Los Angeles Times) --This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition.
About the Author
Joyce Carol Oates is a recipient of the National Medal of Humanities, the National Book Critics Circle Ivan Sandrof Lifetime Achievement Award, the National Book Award, and the PEN/Malamud Award for Excellence in Short Fiction, and has been several times nominated for the Pulitzer Prize. She has written some of the most enduring fiction of our time, including the national bestsellers We Were the Mulvaneys, Blonde, which was nominated for the National Book Award, and the New York Times bestseller The Falls, which won the 2005 Prix Femina. Her most recent novel is A Book of American Martyrs. She is the Roger S. Berlind Distinguished Professor of the Humanities at Princeton University and has been a member of the American Academy of Arts and Letters since 1978.
--This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition.From the Back Cover
Princeton, New Jersey, at the turn of the twentieth century: a genteel town for genteel souls. But something dark and dangerous lurks at its edges, corrupting and infecting its residents. Vampires and ghosts haunt the dreams of the innocent and a powerful curse besets the families of the elite–their daughters begin disappearing. And in the Pine Barrens that border the town, a lush and terrifying underworld opens up.
When a shape-shifting, vaguely European prince, who might just be the devil, abducts a young bride on the verge of the altar, her brother sets out against all odds to find her. His path will cross those of Princeton's most formidable people, including Grover Cleveland, fresh out of his second term in the White House, soon-to-be commander in chief Woodrow Wilson, a complex individual obsessed to the point of madness with his need to retain power, the young idealist Upton Sinclair and his charismatic comrade Jack London, and the most famous writer of the era, Mark Twain–all of whom are plagued by "accursed" visions.
--This text refers to the paperback edition.Product details
- ASIN : B0089LOG2A
- Publisher : Ecco (March 5, 2013)
- Publication date : March 5, 2013
- Language : English
- File size : 4285 KB
- Text-to-Speech : Enabled
- Screen Reader : Supported
- Enhanced typesetting : Enabled
- X-Ray : Enabled
- Word Wise : Enabled
- Sticky notes : On Kindle Scribe
- Print length : 1057 pages
- Best Sellers Rank: #262,443 in Kindle Store (See Top 100 in Kindle Store)
- #392 in Psychological Literary Fiction
- #536 in Read & Listen for $14.99 or Less
- #1,081 in Read & Listen for Less
- Customer Reviews:
About the author

Joyce Carol Oates is the author of more than 70 books, including novels, short story collections, poetry volumes, plays, essays, and criticism, including the national bestsellers We Were the Mulvaneys and Blonde. Among her many honors are the PEN/Malamud Award for Excellence in Short Fiction and the National Book Award. Oates is the Roger S. Berlind Distinguished Professor of the Humanities at Princeton University, and has been a member of the American Academy of Arts and Letters since 1978.
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The book, filled with a rich series of concise psychological portraits that are, by turn, touching, amusing, and chilling, manages to evoke a wide range of literary styles. She has cleverly reproduced T. C. Boyle's style of historical fiction; she has neatly repackaged H. P. Lovecraft, Bram Stoker, Mark Twain, and even John Irving (more on that later.) The book delights; but in the end it, like most of its characters, reveals a fatal flaw that the author--like her characters--falls victim to.
In the course of the narrative, we're treated to horror stories, personal diaries, diatribes on socialism, and fairy tales, each weaving into the overall tale, but each one also an absorbing entity unto itself. The landscape is populated--and perhaps artificially overpopulated-- by a wide range of famous individuals including Upton Sinclair, Woodrow Wilson, Grover Cleveland, Jack London, and even Twain himself, all of whom end up looking, to one degree or another, like fools. The book careens through turn-of-the-century New Jersey society, painting what is, in the end, a rather bleak picture. The class-conscious nature of the period is exploited to good effect, but--that being said-- we don't get to touch the lower classes much, except as servants and murder victims.
Ms. Oates' mastery of prose is unparalleled, her touch with characters nearly perfect. One excuses the obvious (some of whom are mentioned above) referents whose styles she recycles simply because she does it so deftly, so perfectly; her skill at this is a delight in itself. At the same time, some of the story lines get impressively tiring; so much is heard about Upton Sinclair, who in reality hardly figures within the main plot line, that one eventually grows weary, especially given the fact that his socialist obsessions render him, as a character, nearly as flat as the society he seems to think would be preferable, were the present one satisfyingly leveled. Some of the most wonderful bit characters, such as Puss, whose diaries are a sheer delight, end horribly--in this case hacked to death by fan blades, a trick certainly worthy of B grade horror, but perhaps not the A grade prose it's delivered in.
But maybe its unworthiness is the point... very nearly everyone in the book turns out to be unworthy in one way or another, until any pretense of heroes or heroines is extinguished, with the notable and unlikely exception of the young Todd, who is dyslexic. (In hindsight, the fact that he can't read properly seems rather ironic, given his active life as a literary tool.) As in many fairy tales, an unlikely youth ultimately becomes the savior in this book, and that in a rather lovely (if unspeakably grim) fairy tale setting complete with, at least for all intents and purposes, the hall of a goblin king, and such.
But enough of the descriptions; readers ought to pick up the book and take in its delights on their own, with the caveat I am about to mention, lurking at the very end of the book, when all the important denouements are actually over.
Why Ms. Oates has chosen to end her book with a diatribe from the Reverend Slade will have to remain an open question, but the fact that she does so very nearly ruins what would have otherwise been a superb reading experience. In the first place, the sermon is completely unnecessary. The book would have created a powerful and lasting impression of mystery without the last chapter, and been much the stronger for it. It seems to be an example either of an author who doesn't know what not to put in, or an editor who doesn't know what to take out. Stridently delivered in all-caps (shades of Irving's Owen Meany) it is a hymn not to a better God, but a much, much worse one. God has taken quite the beating already in the past century; one has to wonder whether this isn't a case of beating the dead horse.
Slade's sermon, an intense--to the point of caricature--screed blaming God--yes, God!-- for all the sins of man, invokes a wrathful, vengeful, completely self-involved Old Testament deity to explain the many machinations of the plot- at least, that is, from the point of view of the deeply corrupted and debauched Rev. Slade, whose judgment on many things, including the value of human lives, clearly can't be trusted in the first place. Why the reader ought to be left, as the last taste in their mouths, with something as sour and even repulsively rancid as this is as uncertain as Slade's reasoning, which fails to adhere to its own internal logic. The temptation, in fact, is to dismiss his rant as a fatally narcissistic cartload of horse puckey--which is largely the way it reads to a discerning mind.
God, it appears, wants evil to exist in order to drive men towards him; God, we learn, is in fact actually evil, along with all his angels, or, at least, the ones whose relatively immaterial presences we are treated to in the book.
Given the nature of Slade's transgression (which is nearly impossible for the average reader to miss figuring out long before the curtain is officially drawn back) if God is truly as Slade says he is, then God ought most definitely to have congratulated and even rewarded Slade when they first meet, holy-countenance-to-face; after all, he apparently desires evil, even celebrates evil; and if so, Slade's actions are commendable, not in the least worthy of conferring a curse upon him... which, unfortunately, is the entire mechanism upon which the plot of the book turns.
To have the legs of the book's main premise so thoroughly kicked out from under it makes a mess of the ending. Ms. Oates gives us a universe whose moral roles are reversed: the temporal, human, and natural is positive, the Godly and divine negative. This somewhat pointless message is, in fact, a possibility in the range of philosophical options available to us for consideration; yet one isn't sure why, if at all, books ought to be written about it; even ones as good as this.
Ms. Oates may enjoy presenting us with the negative--an arguably perverse habit in the first place--but we needn't have our faces rubbed in it in this manner, especially when the rest of the book is so finely crafted. She has taken what might have ended with a sweet air of mystery, and served carrion instead. While this may satisfy some primal urge of hers, it did not satisfy this reader.
Plus, it’s a Modern gothic—“Modern” in the sense that Oates employs the “mask” of a limited-perspective narrator, whose voice and sensibilities are clearly not her own and who, despite his chronological remove from the plotline and despite his careful “objectivity,” must be seen as one of the novel’s main characters—for his prim remove can obscure as much as it illuminates (the reader, then, must judge independently of him: the historian is part of the problem, you see, when we try to apprehend the past—it’s a Schrodinger’s cat thing); and “gothic” in the sense that The Accursed takes form and tone from such 18th and 19th century megaliths as Melmoth the Wanderer and The Monk—which means it’s, slow, episodic, often other-worldly, and always coiling with sexual tension.
And yet I think The Accursed is mostly a comedy. It’s certainly ”comedy” in the classical sense; and most of Oates’s historical portraits are caricatures; and at times The Accursed is even a farce: she names one of her prominent male characters “Pearce van Dyck”—which, obviously, could be the name of a campy male porn-star. This Pearce van Dyck is far from a stud—in fact, he’s a hyper-intellectual prude—but he vents his frustrations in such metaphors as: “If only I could PENETRATE this forest of clues” (emphasis added). If that sort of concatenation is up your alley, then The Accursed is probably for you.
In any case, it’s not a “historical novel.” Yes, Oates has set it in a certain place (Princeton, NJ) and at a specific time: just between the Spanish American and First World Wars. And some of the events it depicts presumably “really happened”; and Upton Sinclair and Woodrow Wilson both play major roles, and numerous other celebs of that day—Jack London, Sam Clemens, Grover Cleveland, Teddy Roosevelt—even “Sherlock Holmes”—all make key, cameo appearances. However, The Accursed is not “about” them: Oates doesn’t show us, for instance, the “turning point” in any of their careers, nor do we see them develop here in novelistic ways. Rather, they all (except Wilson) have already attained their full celebrity, prior to the novel’s first chapter; and they now all seem largely stuck in ruts and incapable of, for instance, epiphany. In short, Oates is just using them all: they’re elements of the verisimilitude and, more importantly, they’re all poster boys: each represents a particular, historically valid male attitude.
Upton Sinclair, for instance, is here to represent those Americans who, just prior to the First World War, believed in and diligently worked toward American Socialist Revolution. While Oates could have invented a fictional character to represent all that, we, with our biases and easy hindsight, might have thought such a character naïve or passé. By instead indentifying American Socialism with a “personage”—an “Upton Sinclair”’—Oates effectively removes it from the realm of fiction and places it where it of course belongs, in the realm of facts. This effectively limits the reader’s ability to make one of easy, pre-polarized modern judgments about it, and that enables Oates to conjure up the ghosts of American Socialism in a way that we today can still find sincere and optimistic. In the same way, Oates uses Woodrow Wilson to represent an upper class, Protestant, establishmentarian worldview that we, today, might mistake for shallow satire, where it not housed within the stolid, “real life” Wilson.
The effect of it all is the reader can more easily imagine some of the novel’s “other” characters might also have once been “real,” and, further, that some of the novel’s more incredible events—those which comprise the “Curse” in its title—might have somehow “really happened.” Historicity, in short, becomes a solid platform from which Oates can boldly unleash a swarm of ghosts, demons, precognitive visions, mass hallucinations, and probative questions of “sanity.” Oh, and a resurrection of the dead, as well. Had she simply injected those otherworldly elements straight into our modern-day America, Oates might have given us just one more helping of dreary, Post-modern escapism. By grounding the fantasy in an “Age of Spiritualism” and by using historicity as kind of a “filter” on the reader’s perceptions, Oates has instead built a shimmering kaleidoscope.
At the risk of including a few minor SPOILERS, I should sketch the major themes: the world that Oates depicts in The Accursed is one in which biology is destiny: the men lord it over the women; and most of the men are in turn oppressed by their yearnings for power and influence. These men’s struggles are abetted by—rather than being mitigated by—their rationalistic grasping at religious or philosophical straws. Through their base contentions, Oates develops two opposing worldviews: one we can call a “liberal” or “Socialist” view, the other a “conservative” or “Protestant” view. The Accursed is, in particular, concerned with the consequences for a society—and for the individuals comprising it—of sexual suppression and gender-based oppression. The novel is set at a time when Western women were marching in the streets for suffrage. The male character Pearce Van Dyck believes there are “more urgent matters” than women’s rights—“The ‘problem of evil,’ for one,” he says—but, as noted above, van Dyck’s conception of evil is rooted in the flesh. That makes his problem, in essence, that life proceeds ONLY by way of the flesh, which makes his assertion that “nothing can be done in any of our lives until… the Curse… is lifted” nothing less than the ultimate irony: only death can deliver the freedom that Pearce imagines we need. And meanwhile, a female character confides to her diary, “Is the terrible secret of the Curse—that it surrounds us & nourishes us?” And she, of course, is right. In the end, the two opposing “Idealisms” collapse in disturbingly similar ways: the “liberal” view hits a realization that “this world is sullied almost beyond redemption in hypocrisy, lies, and outright evil. Even Socialism… is tainted…” while the Puritanical view melt-downs with a rant that includes: “THE LORD OF HOSTS… HAS FORGED A COVENANT TO DISGUISE THE WORKINGS OF EVIL…IN THIS WAY TO PROMOTE EVIL….” Thus, neither side can possibly win the fundamental argument; and we in the “real world” are, by extension to parable, cursed as well: our real-world Conservatives are doomed by a prurient prudery that drives them mad; and our Liberals are doomed because a pop star’s sensuality is finally solipsistic and self-destructive. Even so, at novel’s end, the door may yet be open for a few brave, conscientious souls to try to find a way forward—although, what’s needed, evidently, is a sea change to our concepts of “self” and “society.” What’s needed, evidently, is a sudden divorce from our comforting web of conventions and grand delusions. So, if you think this novel’s about the past and not our present, think again!
Top reviews from other countries
Vast, erudite and yet accessible, in one sense this book takes Poe's The Fall of the House of Usher with its idea of the family curse, and plays this out on a far wider canvas that expands from the sins of the Slade family, to those of the elite, conservative, privileged, self-satisfied bastion of turn-of-the-century Princeton, to America itself, still haunted by its own past: 'this accursed United State of America'. Ultimately the book offers up a vision of redemption, but one which enacts its own price.





