A group of strangers, passengers on a day-boat that runs aground, are
washed up on an island. Shaken and sodden, they nonetheless make quick
work of the situation at hand. But what is the situation? They've
invaded the closely protected enclave of an eminent art historian, but
their presence seems to rouse in the historian's assistant a
long-ripening hunger for company. Certainly the grounding of the boat
was an accident, but one of the passengers seem to know the professor
and to have an air of purpose about him. Why as their day on the island
progresses, do they seem to inhabit a series of weighty tableaux? And
who is the man who moves among them as both spectator and player, the
nameless, seemingly haunted narrator whose sensibility is the sometimes
clarifing, sometimes distorting lens through which we view the action?
Invoking all lost souls and enchanted islands, Ghosts gives us a
brilliant mix of gaiety and menace to tell a story about the failures
and triumphs of the imagination, about time's passage, and about the
frailty of human happiness. It is an exquisitely written novel - stately
and theatrical - by one of the most widely admired and acclaimed writers
at work today.