The Turn of the Screw for Managers At first blush, this might seem to be a highly unsuitable text to recommend, because the style is so opaque, convoluted, and old-fashioned, quite unlike modern managerial style, which is not at all old fashioned. Nevertheless, James's famous story contains several important lessons. In the first place, the whole novella, having been written originally as a part work, illustrates beautifully the managerial art of pot-boiling. The sequence of short chapters, each ending with a cliffhanger, and with most of the action designed to keep the reader involved without actually saying very much, is an excellent model for any young manager required to write a series of policy papers. Follow James and do not simply tell the story, but see how long you can actually procrastinate before anyone protests (ad infinitum, because no-one ever reads policy papers). James also provides an excellent example for anyone interested in the unsung art of masterly inaction. The characters in the novella seem to be strangely reluctant to communicate with each other, which enables a sustained deferment of any actual resolution of the problems they face. As with many problems managers deal with, a short, clear and frank discussion would have cleared up the matter in an afternoon, but both managerial and literary art must transcend the pragmatic. James has a number of plausible reasons for his characters' reluctance, in that they seem particularly concerned with the impact of what they might say on other people; the governess does not wish into break the protected circle of her beloved child charges, much as a manager often feels it better to keep the work force's innocence in mind when concealing information that will only bring them rudely into the real world and destroy their simple faith for ever. Similarly, neither of the main adult characters wishes to frighten or force the other into precipitate action. As a result, they are bound together into the kind of collusive secrecy and inaction that many managers will find instantly familiar -- equals will die rather than embarrass each other, many a subordinate will want to avoid presenting a superior with information that might have to lead to action, and, conversely, superiors will wish to choose subordinates that will not threaten them in such a way. As with the governess and the housekeeper, a single word, or half-completed sentence, will often suffice to inform and warn. The dangers of written communication, at the other end of the spectrum, are clear: letters lead to severe unhappiness for Miles on two occasions, and the writers bitterly regret having been so foolish. Above all though, James's story depicts possible threats and enemies in a particularly chilling and effective manner. As he himself says in a commentary on the story, a vague and unspecified threat can work on the mind to both involve the reader and to deepen the horror. Only the individual reader (or underling) knows what really frightens them best, and any specific description by the writer is bound to look insignificant by comparison. This should be borne in mind when invoking threats to the organisation in the interests of encouraging solidarity and loyalty among the work force. By all means keep a sense of constant crisis and external danger alive when necessary, but do not supply the timorous with precise details and leave the horrors nameless. Let them worry about what threatens their career and livelihood; academics are particularly good at worry, and are bound to think of far more frightening possibilities than even the best manager could devise. After all, they are the ones who are going to face the threat, in whatever shape they imagine it, whether that threat is redundancy, public humiliation, students and parents finding out what is really going on and demanding their rights, or ill-health. Use your imagination, announce that you have clearly seen the spectres, and let the punters fill in the details.