The Canterville Ghost by Oscar Wilde (1887): A Review

Ah, "The Canterville Ghost" – where Oscar Wilde demonstrates that even the undead can suffer from performance anxiety! This supernatural story has me laughing louder than a witch at a broom convention. Wilde, that magnificent literary prankster, takes Gothic horror and turns it on its head, leaving the ghost in need of therapy!

Reading his tales is like enjoying a three-course meal: the appetizer pokes fun at the British way of life, the main course takes a jab at the American way of life, and the dessert? Well, that’s just a parody of the Gothic genre.
Imagine the literary equivalent of a British ghost trying to haunt an American family who treats spectral chains and bloodstains like minor household inconveniences. "Blood on the carpet? There's a sale on Pinkerton's Champion Stain Remover!" The poor phantom might as well be trying to scare a brick wall with tax forms.
What truly tickles my funny bone is how Wilde dismantles Gothic conventions. Moaning spirits? Check. Ancient curse? Check. Americans completely unfazed by centuries of supernatural terror because they’re too busy comparing exchange rates? Double check! It’s like watching Dracula get defeated by someone offering him breath mints. I would give my left kidney (preferably someone else’s) for more of Wilde’s deliciously irreverent haunting! Who needs literary prestige when you’re having this much fun with the afterlife?