Edward Boyne, on numerous occasions, preferred to remain in his library. Within his business, “Blue Mine Star”, he collaborated with Robert Elwell, one of his colleagues. Alas, Elwell perpetrated suicide due to Boyne’s avarice that razed his financial abundance.
Thought-provokingly, Wharton designated the library to be the primary whereabouts of the paranormal emergence of Elwell’s specter, and the inexplicable disappearance of Boyne’s body.
The library, obviously, is a collection of information sources—a place for the curious to engage in the explorations of new knowledge. Furthermore, such properties reflect the pecuniary advantage, by deception, of Boyne, as his personal treasury of books signifies his opulence. It is evident that the prosperous could have the wherewithal for a library, in contradistinction to the penurious Elwell.
A significant irony is apparent, too, with the fact that the library is heaven for those who seek knowledge, yet is portrayed—by a seeker of knowledge, Mary Boyne—as the most mysterious region within the house; it is the hidden territory of an untold conundrum, as Mary Boyne states, “The books on the shelves had seen his face… but the revelation never came.” In short: the library’s purpose is to provide answers, yet it merely provides questions.
Books are written records of events. The words within the pages enable readers to cruise into the oceans filled with the chronicles of the past. Hence, the library is a portal to new worlds. But in this horrific tale, Elwell entered the physical, natural world, while Boyne entered the supernatural world. The life of Elwell had been accounted, not through the letters within the books, but a letter left by Boyne.
Boyne had authored, without penmanship, a story of a wraith. The story came to life, and it endures in his library, akin to the books within it.