Written in the great tradition of Edgar Allan Poe and H. P. Lovecraft, The House on the Strand is a gripping and masterfully written tale of history and horror with a fresh approach to time travel.-
When Dick Young's friend, Magnus, offers him an escape from his troubles in the form of a new drug, Dick finds himself transported to the Cornish manor of Tywardreath in the fourteenth century. As Dick witnesses the intrigues of the court there, he becomes fixated with Roger and the captivating Isolda Carminowe, and withdraws from the modern world to spend more and more time in the past. But his attempts to change history bring terror to the present and throw his own life into the balance.
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Like many of Daphne Du Maurier's books, The House on the Strand is set in Cornwall, and that is precisely where I read this book, whilst holidaying near Padstow in the North of Cornwall. I always love how Du Maurier describes the atmosphere of her favourite place, with the beautiful rugged countryside, craggy coasts and that general ethereal and mystical feeling that I can never quite put my finger on but somehow seeps into my consciousness when I am there.
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Initially, I was a bit dubious about the whole travelling back in time via a few drops of a mysterious drug/potion, but I soon overcame that and got wrapped up in the story. Daphne Du Maurier was always outspoken about how she detested the silly and pointless tourist attractions that kept springing up over her beautiful Cornwall, and in a way by allowing her characters to travel back to a more simpler time during the 14th century, I feel it was her retreat from the challenges of contemporary life. I did have slight difficulties with keeping track of what was going on and who was who in that time period, but I soon realised that that wasn't important because Dick is the character I should be following.
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Dick is married to a sophisticated American woman called Vita. It is quite obvious from the start that Dick is married from a sense of obligation and not love and sees her as a hindrance. Therefore he uses this new time travelling drug to escape from his increasing lack of patience and responsibility with Vita and her two sons and diminishing interest in his own life. He continually tries to find ways to get rid of them for the day so he can follow the vivid lives of people from long ago that he is quickly becoming addicted to. However, it is never really made clear whether this drug actually allows time travel or is just a powerful illusion formed from some hallucinogenic properties of the drug. Anyway Dick is only ever an observer in the 14th century and never a participating partner.
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Magnus, the exuberant, eccentric professor and scientist that concocted this drug is an interesting character. A brilliant madman that uses his old chum as a guinea pig. He is both selfish and a bit childish but also knows it and doesn't care one iota. He encourages Dick with his escalating obsession and captivation with the past. However this is because he is just as addicted to travelling back in time. I wouldn't say its for the same reasons as Dick though who uses it as an escape. For Magnus it seems as if it is more for reasearch, and as usually happens with scientists he gets too wrapped up in the excitement and knowledge of a new discovery or break through.
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The ending of this book was possibly the strangest I have ever read. I actually went to a bookshop to look at another copy, just to make sure that was how it actually ended and I hadn't happened to buy a book with the last few pages missing! It finished so abruptly and unexpectantly and I did feel it was a bit anticlimatic.
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This book definitely isn't about the scientific or slightly hard to believe time travelling aspects but more about the pshcyological portrait of the characters. I found it was actually the present day parts that kept me reading. A very engrossing and chilling read that envelopes you in the mystery and eventual horror of this curious new drug and leaves you speculating on what actually happened or could have been.
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Random Passage: It was Otto Bodrugan climbing the hill, followed by his son Henry, and when he raised his hand in greeting, so instinctive was the gesture that I raised mine in answer, and even smiled, but I should have known the futility of my action, for farther and son brushed past me towards the entrance gate of the house and Roger the steward came forward to greet them. He must have been standing there watching them approach, but I had not seen him. Gone was the festive air or yesterday, the mocking smile of the would-be go-between; he wore a dark tunic, as did Bodrugan and his son, and his manner was as grave as theirs.
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