Algernon Blackwood's 'The Willows'

A review for Halloween

I often laugh at my fifteen-year-old male cat who will dart back into the house after he’s been out for only a few minutes. My wife says wolves must be after him. Yet last night after a cloudy Fall day of rain and falling temperatures, I sat in my favorite chair reading Algernon Blackwood’s novella, “The Willows,” and finally understood what a thirteen-pound cat must sometimes feel encountering that lonely, terrifying heart of nature, also known as my backyard. Not a large dog, coyote, or bear, but something forming just above the treetops, or perhaps felt in a gust of wind, or some unknown scent that has the power to send my feisty old cat into a panic.

“The Willows” begins with two fellas canoeing on the Danube, just inside Hungary. The river rises from summer flooding, losing itself in an enormous marsh of rushing channels and sandy islands full of low willows. Wind and water continually erode and reform the swampy expanse. (The dwarf willows pictured at the back of my pond are the shrubs dominating this universe.)

It’s a summer night, the wind raging, and I fear for the main character collecting fire wood on their small island of shifting sands. Will he step onto another small island via a tiny land bridge that crumbles moments after his crossing and lose his way back to his friend? Or will their canoe and island be ripped away from them as they sleep?

Here’s a story reminding us that our short breath of life is surrounded by the supernatural. Blackwood’s story truly frightened me, unlike most stories of ghosts and evil influences.

“The Willows” chills us, and profoundly entertains the reader about existence itself. This is a story to savor during our Halloween to Christmas journey.