nterviewed by the watcher, to
whom he unfolds his remarkable history, and whom he mesmerises
into silence on the subject of his experiences in the haunted
house for a space of three months.

Lytton realises that it is not only what is told but what is left
unsaid that requires consideration in a ghost story. His
reticence and the entire absence of any note of mockery or doubt
secure the "willing suspension of disbelief" necessary to the
appreciation of the apparently supernatural.

In _A Strange Story_, which, at Dickens's invitation, appeared in
_All the Year Round_ (1861-2), Bulwer Lytton further elaborates
his theories of mesmerism and willpower. He explains his purpose
in the Preface:

"When the reader lays down this strange story, perhaps
he will detect, through all the haze of Romance, the
outlines of these images suggested to his reason:
Firstly, the image of sensuous, soulless Nature, such
as the Materialist had conceived it. Secondly, the
image of Intellect, obstinately separating all its
inquiries from the belief in the spiritual essence and
destiny of man, and incurring all kinds of perplexity
and resorting to all kinds of visionary speculation
before it settles at last into the simple faith which
unites the philosopher and the infant. And thirdly, the
image of the erring but pure-thoughted Visionary,
seeking overmuch on this earth to separate soul from
mind, till innocence itself is led astray by a phantom
and reason is lost in the space between earth and the
stars."

These three conceptions are embodied in Margrave, who has renewed
his life far beyond the limits allotted to man; a young doctor,
Fenwick, who represents the intellectual divorced from the
spiritual; and Lilian Ashleigh, a clairvoyante girl, who typifies
the spiritual divorced from the intellectual. The interest of the
story turns on the struggle of Fenwick to gain his bride, and to
wrest her from the influence of Margrave. The plot, intricately
tangled, is unravelled with patient skill. In spite of the
wearisome explanations of Dr. Faber, who is lucid but verbose,
there is a fascination about the book which compels us to go
forward.

In Lytton's hands the barbarity of the novel of terror has been
gracefully smoothed away. It has, indeed, become almost
unrecognisably refined and elevated, and something of its native
vigour is lost in the process. Amid all