Ghost Novel Review: Long Lankin by Lindsey Barraclough

Folklorists trace the origins of the Long Lankin legend and ballad to 15th century Scotland. Later the Scots brought the tale to the US when they settled in Appalachia during the 18th century. There is also an English version of Long Lankin that flourished in Northumberland.

The folklore of Long Lankin is interesting because there are so many interpretations, both Scottish and English. Essentially, Lankin is a mason stiffed by a nobleman for services rendered who then exacts revenge by killing said nobleman’s wife and baby. Because of the double meaning of Lord Wearie (nobleman or devil), Long Lankin is sometimes considered the devil incarnate. If you’re interested in the history of folklore and ballads, check out this informative article by Nick Caffrey. According to Caffrey, the silver bowl used for catching the noble blood also lends itself to multiple interpretations; i.e., Lankin was a leper who bathed in noble blood to cure himself, the blood embodied the noble lady’s soul, noble blood spilled from a silver bowl would portend ill fortune, etc.

In her novel set in the late 1950’s, Lindsey Barraclough skillfully merges strands of Long Lankin lore into a composite with a sort of demon ghost. The book opens when a negligent father sends intrepid, willful Cora and her vulnerable young sister Mimi to “visit” Great Aunt Ida in the English countryside.

The children’s arrival chills Aunt Ida to the bone who fears history will repeat itself. In her own youth, two beloved young sisters disappeared without a trace. People whispered that Long Lankin still lurked near the church graveyard capturing unsuspecting children, but others dismissed the idea as mere superstition. Nonetheless, in the graveyard, Cora catches glimpses of a grotesque figure as well as the tormented faces of children long dead. Like a young sleuth, Cora and her new friend Roger decipher ancient writing and track down reluctant witnesses to unravel the mystery of the Long Lankin legend.

Taboo surrounds the mystery of Long Lankin. Yet the hushed adult whispers, rather than frighten the children, pique their curiosity even more. The author captures perfectly the stubborn disinclination of children to obey; the phrase “Don’t go in the old church” is exactly what sends these inquisitive youngsters to the site of their undoing. A sort of perverse ironic fate similar to the way Oedipus’s efforts to avoid marrying his mother leads him directly to her. The closer Cora comes to the truth, the more she imperils her frail sister until the climactic final pages of the book.

Just like the adage of too many cooks, in this novel too many narrators spoil the creation. No sooner had I oriented myself to a “speaker” when whisk, I found myself in someone else’s head—sometimes for just a page or two. At times I felt I was watching a badminton game, my head whipping from one character to another. My guess is the author believed this vignette technique would impart a sense of immediacy to the tale, but it had the effect of pulling me out of the narrative flow. As a reader, I would have been more immersed in the suspense and characterization if Cora had been the sole narrator. I once studied with a writing teacher, Charlotte Cook, who used to ask, “Whose story is it? Who should tell the story? In both cases, the answer is Cora.

Narration choices aside, the author does a stellar job of bringing centuries old folklore to the modern world. She creates a compelling atmosphere replete with dark portraits, hidden messages, and cobwebbed cellars.