Strictly Lit! (I mean it this time!)

So here's the thing: I've posted several entries, and none of them have much to do with literary interests. Before my loyal readers (lacking in that department currently, but just you wait) abandon me for false advertising, I plan to unsully my name by providing my ingenious perspective on an actual book for once. Here goes. Let's talk The Thirteenth Tale by Diane Setterfield. I love this book with a fierce passion that extends beyond childish fancies or critical appreciation. I love the book for its fantastical nature and its scholarly, yet lyrical wording. It impressed me, astonished, frightened me, and at times ensnared me in a deathhold. There are few adjectives that I could use to describe its affect, and at times I wonder just what drew me to this type of story. Then I cradle the book in my palms and reread my favorite passages. And, just like that, I remember.

The story is rather complex and intertwined, so I will only briefly explain it here. The book follows the perspective of Margaret Lea, a young biographer who was raised in a bookstore, literally. Her father owns an antique bookshop, which shelves rare and classic novels, almanacs, references, and so on. From her experiences in this store, she has developed a fervor for the written word above human beings, a fervor aptly described by Setterfield. The language she uses to intimate reading could only be written or even appreciated by a reader. To continue, the story begins when Margaret is sent a letter from the mysterious Vida Winter, the top living writer in the world. Winter has fabricated countless stories of her life for years, and now she is finally ready to tell the truth. Struck by Margaret's understanding of siblings in her previous work, Winter is willing to tell her story only to her. Margaret is then free to do with it what she wishes. Margaret agrees and is whisked away to Winter's estate.
But this is mere backstory. The plot proper begins with the tale itself, a sordid mystery involving dysfunctional siblings, a governess, and a terrible fire. To complicate things, some aspects of Winter's life mirror Margaret's own, so she has vested interest in how this story turns out. The rest I leave for you to discover.

Setterfield coaxes out her story with affection and takes her time with every passage. The story is long but also intense, so it never feels drawn out. I often relished the more verbose scenes, because they offered a needed break from the pulse-pounding drama of Winter's recollections. Even when you are given information, however, it is just enough to keep you immersed in the story. Nothing is as it seems. The most straightforward element in the story is quite twisted. There is so much that you don't know, but until the end, even you are not sure that you don't know it. This book is a game, a wicked but brilliant game. And the prize? If the twist itself is the trophy, fully understanding said twist's implications is the prize money. It is the reader's job to figure out which one he or she values more. For me, the jury's still out. Any excuse to reread my new favorite book of all time. I will warn you: falling in love with this novel will lead you into a voracious search for new material from the author. Unfortunately, her next novel is still in progress; regardless, I expect only great things from Mrs. Setterfield.