The House 'Round the Corner — Themes and Context
Edition facts
For The House 'Round the Corner — Themes and Context, the stored edition analysis reports 69,403 words, 5 hr 2 min estimated reading time, and 7 detected text sections.
The text analysis averages about 14.8 words per sentence, while the detected sections provide another way to judge how the source is divided.
Project Gutenberg metadata also associates the work with “Mystery fiction,” connecting these edition facts with the source record’s subject description.
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- Description quality20 pts
- Title & short description10 pts
- Source metadata20 pts
- Text length15 pts
- Chapters / structure15 pts
- EPUB file integrity20 pts
Total of 100 points, scaled to a 2.5-5.0 range. Editions with an empty description or a missing EPUB file are not scored.
Read the Text
Nuttonby was not so metropolitan that it failed to detect a new face, even on Wednesdays; but his style and appearance were of the gentry; Nuttonby decided that he had strayed in from some "big" house in the district.
Walker & Son, it would seem, were auctioneers, land valuers, and probate estimators as well as house agents. Their office was small, but not retiring. It displayed a well-developed rash of sale posters, inside and out. One, in particular, was heroic in size. It told of a "spacious mansion, with well-timbered park," having been put up for auction--five years earlier. Whiteness of paper and blackness of type suggested that Walker & Son periodically renewed this aristocrat among auction announcements--perhaps to kindle a selling spirit among the landed gentry, a notoriously conservative and hold-tight class.
A young man, seated behind a counter, reading a sporting newspaper, and smoking a cigarette, rose hastily when the caller entered.
"Yes, sir," he said, thereby implying instant readiness to engage in one or all of the firm's activities.
"Are you Mr. Walker?" said the newcomer.
"Ah! I thought you might be the son."
"Well, I am, if it comes to that. Do you want my father?"
Walker, junior, was a Nuttonby "nut"--a sharp young blade who did not tolerate chaff.
"I want to rent a furnished house in or near a quiet country village, where there is some good fishing," was the answer. "Now, you can determine whether I should trouble Mr. Walker, senior, or not?"
"No trouble at all, sir! He'll be here in ten seconds."
Walker, junior, had nearly made the same mistake as the ticket-collecting youth; however, he estimated time correctly. He went out, put his head through the open window of the "Red Lion's" bar-parlor, and shouted: "Dad, you're wanted!" Thus, within ten seconds, the stranger saw the firm!
He repeated his need, and there was a great parade of big-leafed books, while the elder Walker ascertained the prospective client's exact requirements. Whittled down to bare facts, they amounted to this: A house, in a small and remote village, and a trout stream. The absolute seclusion of the village and its diminutive proportions were insisted on, and property after property was rejected, though the Walkers were puzzled to know why.
This distinguished-looking man wished to find a dwelling far removed from any social center. His ideal was a tiny moorland hamlet, miles from the railway, and out of the beaten track of summer visitors. Suddenly, the son cried:
"Elmdale is the very place, dad!"
Dad's face brightened, but clouded again instantly.
"You mean--er--the house 'round the corner?" he said, pursing his lips.
"I'm afraid it wouldn't suit."
"Why not?" put in the stranger. "I rather like the name."
"I didn't mention any name, sir," and Walker, senior, still looked glum.
"You described it as the house 'round the corner--an excellent name. It attracts me. Where is Elmdale?"
The head of the firm pointed to a map of the North Riding hanging above the fireplace.
"Here you are," he said, seizing a pen and running it along the meandering black line of a stream. "Eight miles from Nuttonby, and thousands from every other town--on the edge of the moor--about forty houses in the village--and a first-rate beck, with trout running from four ounces to half a pound--but----"
"The house, sir. You won't like the house."
"What's wrong with it?"
"Nothing. It's comfortable enough, and well furnished."
Yet again he hesitated.
"Why, it appears to be, as your son said, the very place."
Walker, senior, smiled drearily. He knew what was coming.
The novel begins with a train arriving at Nuttonby, a market town whose 1911 census count of 3,005 inhabitants is noted with dry precision. The first-class passenger, absorbed in a book, is startled by the crowded platform and a porter whose brown-stained appearance suggests a life of labor. This stranger, carrying fishing rods and heavy boxes of books, is immediately marked as an outsider by the locals. The house he is about to rent, known only as 'the house 'round the corner,' is introduced through its effect on others: even before he enters, the porter's tone implies the building has a reputation. The narrative voice, alternating between detached observation and wry commentary, sets the stage for a mystery rooted in place and perception.
A House with a Way of Its Own
The opening chapter establishes the house as a character in its own right. The new tenant, whose name is not immediately given, is warned by the porter's surprise that he is getting out at Nuttonby. The house's 'way of its own' is hinted at in the chapter title and reinforced by the porter's reaction. Later, in Chapter IX, the house is described as having 'witnessed strange scenes played by stronger actors' and being 'trusted to deal sternly with this popinjay.' This personification suggests that the building holds memories and influences events. The reader is encouraged to watch how the physical setting—the Grange, its rooms, and its corners—shapes the characters' actions and suspicions.
Voices of the North: Dialogue and Dialect
Tracy uses dialogue to distinguish social classes and regions. The porter's speech is marked by contractions and colloquialisms: 'Aren't you gettin' out, sir?' and 'By gum!' when lifting heavy boxes. The traveler, by contrast, speaks in polished, measured sentences. In Chapter IX, the farmer Burt is shown 'watering his stock before completing the hay-making operations,' and the narrative notes that 'in the bleak North the agriculturist wastes no time when the weather is propitious.' These details ground the story in Yorkshire's rural rhythms. The contrast between the educated protagonist and the blunt locals creates tension and humor, and the reader should listen for how each character's language reveals their background and intentions.
The Unreliable Telegram and the Buried Past
In Chapter IX, Armathwaite sends a long telegram to York to hire a car, a passage that reveals his methodical yet desperate planning. The telegram's precise wording—'I send ten pounds as guarantee'—shows his need for control. More telling is his subsequent realization that the 'really effective means of burking inquiry' is to deny that Stephen Garth is alive. He considers coaching Marguérite to call her earlier statement 'a sheer invention, a species of joke inspired by the worst possible taste.' This moment exposes the fragility of the official story and the characters' willingness to manipulate truth. The reader should note how documents and messages—telegrams, letters, rumors—become tools for concealment and revelation.
Percy Whittaker: A Man of Action or a Popinjay?
Percy Whittaker is introduced in the chapter title 'Wherin Percy Whittaker Proves Himself a Man of Action,' but the narrative undercuts this claim. In Chapter IX, his telegram to his sister is described as 'confounded impertinence,' and Armathwaite dismisses it as 'awkwardly phrased.' The earlier description of the house dealing 'sternly with this popinjay' suggests that Whittaker is more bluster than substance. Yet his actions—sending the telegram, involving his sister—drive the plot forward. The reader should track Whittaker's role as a catalyst: he may not be the hero, but his interference forces other characters to reveal their hand. His name itself, with its faintly comic ring, hints at a character who is both useful and ridiculous.
As you read, pay attention to the gaps between what characters say and what they know. The house 'round the corner is not just a setting but a repository of secrets, and the narrative often withholds information that the characters themselves possess. Tracy's style rewards careful attention to small details—a porter's dye-stained hands, a census figure, a telegram's phrasing—that later prove significant. The mystery unfolds not through dramatic revelations but through the slow accumulation of discrepancies. Trust the house to keep its secrets until the final chapters.
That rainy afternoon, reading about Nuttonby’s crooked house and its buried two-year-old secret, I kept returning to how quietly a place can hold what people refuse to say. Then my hand drifted to the shelf, pulling out The Affair at the Inn — Inside the Classic, as if one hushed Yorkshire mystery had simply led me to another.
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