A ghost story should begin with a time reference, according to the man widely regarded as the master of the form. “A slight haze of distance is desirable,” wrote M.R. James. “‘Thirty years ago,’ ‘Not long before the war,’ are very proper openings.”
So let’s begin: Ninety-six years ago, James learned that King George V had selected him for the Order of Merit, an honor recognizing outstanding achievement. Only 24 living individuals hold this distinction at any given time. Current members include the naturalist David Attenborough, computer scientist Tim Berners-Lee, and inventor James Dyson. Painter David Hockney was part of the club until his death in June.
In 1930, a letter from Buckingham Palace praised James for his scholarship: “your pre-eminent position as a medievalist, your unique knowledge of illuminated manuscripts, medieval literature, ecclesiastical architecture, and stained glass windows, and also your contribution as a specialist on the Apocryphal literature of the Bible.”
It contained no mention of ghost stories. Yet they are “his most lasting legacy,” writes Darryl Jones. “He is, I firmly believe, the greatest ghost-story writer there has ever been, and the single most frightening writer I have ever read.”
Jones, a professor of literature at Trinity College Dublin with extensive experience in horror fiction, authored this biography. His work combines deep insights with a light touch, resulting in a thoughtful and accessible read. “For the Dead Remember: A Life of M.R. James” is at least equal to Michael Cox’s 1983 biography.
James wrote only 33 ghost stories, compiled in Collected Ghost Stories (2011), with tales like “Canon Alberic’s Scrap-book,” “Count Magnus,” and “’Oh, Whistle, and I’ll Come to You, My Lad.’” He produced about one per year, often for an annual candlelight reading on Christmas Eve. They remain the primary reason readers today engage with James’ work.
Yet James was far more than a ghost story writer. He held prominent administrative roles at elite institutions, including “Fellow of King’s,” “Director of the Fitzwilliam Museum,” “Provost of King’s,” “Vice-Chancellor of Cambridge University,” and “Provost of Eton.” Jones chronicles this progression without getting bogged down in bureaucratic details.
James was also “the most eminent anglophone codicologist of his day,” studying ancient manuscripts. His best-known non-ghost story work is The Apocryphal New Testament, a 1924 compilation of early Christian writings that failed to enter the Bible. He published works on apocalyptic art and over 30 library catalogs.
Jones acknowledges the challenge: “writing a biography of M.R. James requires a range of expertise that no one person could possibly have.” James often delved into obscure subjects: “The lure of the marginal, the apocryphal, the irrelevant, the forgotten—or indeed the forbidden, the rejected, and the occult—would always be irresistible.”
Anecdotes bring James to life. He dreaded spiders—a fear rooted in childhood; as a boy, he read Aristophanes during cricket games. He loved cats, jigsaw puzzles, and Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show.
James mastered multiple languages: Ancient Ethiopic by age 16, later Coptic, along with Hebrew, Aramaic, Greek, Latin, French, German, Danish, and Swedish. His handwriting was described as “almost unreadable,” “illegible,” and “horrible.” He also suffered from chronic dental problems.
Jones portrays James as a potential closeted homosexual, but there is no direct evidence of any sexual relationship. James may have been gay; his closest friend believed so. However, Jones uses the term “celibate bachelor don” to describe him.
The irony lies in James’ own words: while his stories warned against curiosity, he valued it as a scholar. In 1916, as Cambridge Vice-Chancellor, he spoke about young men who had died in war: “To us Christians,” he said, “the sum of our thought about the dead is that they are alive.”
James rarely depicted ghosts as wispy apparitions but rather monstrous entities with shaggy hair. His works drew from authentic manuscripts and historical artifacts.
This tension defines his legacy: characters often summoned horror through curiosity, yet James himself thrived on it. One story warns: “A Warning to the Curious.” Another advises: “quieta non movere” (do not disturb quiet things).