I picked this up thinking the spooky ambiance appropriate for the Halloween season, and while its ghosts weren't particularly scary and its prose lacking a certain vitality, I enjoyed it.

James' prose is undeniably elegant but his grip over language is almost too tight. A chilling scene will frequently well up in the novel, but the fussiness of his language ruin the image for me. Maybe my brain is just fried, but this sort of prose is just not my cup of tea, even if I can't deny its craftsmanship. I will admit he writes some terrific dialogue - I recall a review I read of The Bostonians where the reviewer notes James' love of symmetry in his dialogue, which amused me at the time and can see now. It's very balanced and rhythmic and somehow satisfying. It's also where so much of the famous ambiguity of this novel is.