Checkmate — Reading Companion

Nocturnal Journeys and Thresholds

The excerpts repeatedly stage crucial scenes at night or during transitions between day and dark. David Arden's drive to Mortlake is described as a 'transition from the glare and hurly-burly of the town to the shadowy and silent woodlands,' emphasizing the shift from public to private, from known to uncertain. The journey itself becomes a narrative device: the cab ride, the moonlit avenue, the arrival at the hall door—each step builds anticipation. Le Fanu uses these movements to control pacing, slowing the narrative at thresholds to heighten suspense. The 'still night' and 'segment of the moon' are not mere decoration; they create a visual rhythm that recurs throughout the text, linking physical travel to emotional and moral crossings.

Recurring Images: Moonlight, Shadows, and Neglect

Le Fanu's descriptive passages rely on a limited but potent set of images. Moonlight appears repeatedly, silvering edges of trees and urns, casting imperfect light on scenes of memory and distress. Shadows are equally prominent: David Arden pursues a 'dark shadow'—both literal and figurative—and the narrative follows characters who move through darkened halls and avenues. The neglect of Mortlake Hall's grounds—'those neglected scenes, his playground in boyish days'—adds a layer of decay that mirrors the unresolved past. These images are not static; they evolve with the plot. The 'forsaken old friend' chestnut tree, standing 'without a stir,' becomes a silent witness to the unfolding drama, linking the present to childhood memories of a lost brother.

Structure Through Letters and Summons

The excerpts show that Le Fanu uses letters and urgent summons to drive the plot forward and to shift scenes abruptly. Alice's note to her uncle—'I must implore of you to come to Mortlake'—triggers the journey described in detail. The letter itself is a miniature narrative: it establishes distress, urgency, and a plea for aid. This device recurs throughout the novel, as indicated by chapter titles like 'A Letter and a Summons' and 'The Reason of Alice's Note.' These written messages function as structural pivots, moving characters from one location to another and revealing information piecemeal. The telegram, mentioned in chapter XI, likely serves a similar purpose. By embedding these summons within the narrative, Le Fanu creates a rhythm of expectation and response, each message propelling the story toward its next confrontation.

Voice and Interiority: David Arden's Perspective

The excerpts offer a sustained view of David Arden's consciousness, revealing how Le Fanu uses interior monologue to deepen character and suspense. David's thoughts as he drives to Mortlake blend memory, guilt, and determination: 'I'll follow this clue to the end... if it ends, as others in the same inquiry have, in smoke, I shall, at least, have done my utmost.' This internal debate—between hope and resignation—gives the narrative a psychological weight beyond the external action. His recollection of his brother Harry, whose laugh he imagines in the trees, introduces a personal loss that motivates his quest. The voice is measured, almost legalistic in its self-examination, contrasting with the gothic atmosphere. This tension between rational reflection and eerie setting is a hallmark of Le Fanu's style, evident even in these partial excerpts.

Readers attentive to Le Fanu's structural choices will find that the novel's power lies not in sudden revelations but in the gradual accumulation of detail across scenes. The movement between candlelit interiors and moonlit exteriors, the recurrence of letters and journeys, and the careful modulation of David Arden's voice all contribute to a narrative that feels both deliberate and haunted. Approach Checkmate as a work where setting and structure are as important as plot—each threshold crossed, each shadow described, carries the weight of what remains unseen.

There’s a moment in Checkmate where moonlight turns a familiar hallway strange, and I found myself thinking of another book entirely. That same quiet unease, the sense of secrets hiding in plain sight beneath a vast, indifferent sky, lingered in The Angel of the Gila: A Tale of Arizona — A Closer Reading. Different deserts, but the same shadow falling over the heart.