The Glass Woman by Caroline Lea | Book Review

The Glass Woman by Caroline Lea
Published by Michael Joseph, 2019
Rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

I was instantly hooked by this richly atmospheric tale set in 1600s Iceland. We follow Rósa as she moves to a remote village to join her new husband, Jón – a relative stranger. But Rósa is not Jón’s first wife, and the locals whisper of the mysterious circumstances surrounding her predecessor’s death, with Jón having buried her alone in the dead of night. Talk of witchcraft, strange goings on, and a locked attic soon fuel Rósa’s own suspicions about her husband’s past.

Many readers will immediately pick up on the early references to Jane Eyre and Rebecca. These are very deliberate, paying homage to the gothic classics that came before, and establishing certain expectations that Lea can enjoy indulging and subverting, keeping us on our toes throughout. Several layers of mystery and an evocative setting make the whole thing a real page turner. That said, there is also meaningful and poignant commentary on the fear of being ostracised, the damage caused by secrets and lies, and the importance of perspective in understanding the truth.

Lea also goes a great job of reflecting how hard life could be at the time, with everyone existing at the mercy of the stark landscape, the brutal weather, and each other’s prejudices.

Without spoilers, the only downside for me was the inclusion of a certain trope at the book’s end. While in many respects it feels appropriate given the narrative’s historical context, it’s an outcome we’ve seen many times before, and something a little more unexpected would have been welcome.

Still, I flew through this chunky novel, and enjoyed every moment I spent in its company.

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Endless Night by Agatha Christie | Book Review

Endless Night by Agatha Christie
Published by Harper, 1967
Rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Though this doesn’t seem to be one of Christie’s best-known or most talked about books, it quickly became one of my favourites. Hugely compelling, it has many of the hallmarks you’d expect from a classic Christie novel, including a central element of mystery, well-drawn characters, fantastic dialogue, and an intricate tapestry of clues that leads to a startling truth. Where this stands out among the rest of Christie’s work, however, is how heavily she leans into the conventions of gothic literature – complete with a grand, imposing house, and whispers of the supernatural.

We follow Mike and Ellie, a young couple from opposite ends of the social spectrum who set out to build their dream home in the country. Unfortunately for them, not all the locals are welcoming; the plot of land they’ve chosen rumoured to be subject to a historic curse. It soon becomes clear that someone or something wants them to leave.

As readable as ever, Christie builds a sense of brooding tension incredibly well, the subtly sinister undertones bringing to mind the work of Daphne du Maurier. There’s also some fantastic social commentary concerning class divides – both the freedoms and the trappings that come with money.

I won’t say much else as I don’t want to risk spoiling the experience of this little gem. Perfectly paced, the story plays out in some truly surprising ways, with Christie keeping me on my toes as much as ever. As I continue to gradually make my way through her back catalogue, I’d be thrilled to uncover some more that blend crime with elements of psychological horror as seamlessly as this.

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The Doll Factory by Elizabeth Macneal | Book Review

The Doll Factory by Elizabeth Macneal
Published by Picador, 2019
Rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Set in 1850s London, this wonderfully evocative debut looks at art, autonomy, love, and obsession. Iris makes her living painting faces onto dolls alongside her twin sister, but she longs to be taken seriously as a true artist. When she is offered the chance to model for up-and-coming pre-Raphaelite artist Louis Frost, she agrees, on the condition that he will tutor her in return. But someone else is watching Iris’s every move. Silas is a lonely collector of curiosities with whom Iris shared a brief, (and for her) quickly forgotten encounter. Entranced by her unique beauty, however, Silas’s longings for friendship will soon develop into something decidedly more sinister.

This is such a brilliantly gothic read. Macneal’s writing is lush and intoxicating; the sights, scents and sounds of Victorian London practically leaping from the page. Much of the novel is technically a slow-build, and yet the pace never lags, the sense of mounting tension handled perfectly. And though the nature of the final act is arguably predictable (indeed, there is a lot of deliberate foreshadowing), it is no less chilling and gripping when it finally arrives.

Iris is an excellent heroine: talented, ambitious, headstrong, and determined to succeed in a man’s world. The book has really great things to say about the limitations placed on women at the time. With so much emphasis placed on physical beauty, Iris, who has a malformed collar bone and a slight hunch caused by complications during birth, and Rose, her twin sister who is heavily scarred from a near fatal case of smallpox, would both be considered “damaged goods”, unlikely to find a husband. The complex mix of fierce love and bitter resentment between the sisters adds a really interesting aspect to the narrative. That their only real prospect of bettering their station would be through marriage; that they would never earn enough as women to gain true independence; that Iris risks being disowned by her family and disgraced by society for agreeing to model (the act being seen as akin to prostitution at the time); and that despite her talent Iris must rely on the guidance and approval of men are all in for subtle though well-handled critique.

These latter points are explored particularly well. Macneal highlights the fact that using her body, either through prostitution or modelling, was one of few ways for a woman to earn decent money, and yet she would face social ruin as a result. The hypocrisy that men believed they should be able to admire and use women’s bodies while simultaneously vilifying them for it as a means of belittling their worth is both accurately handled from a historical fiction perspective and frustratingly resonant within the current patriarchal society in which we live. Its look at the art world also chimes true with the fact that to this day, far more paintings of women hang in galleries than paintings by women. I love that Iris wanted to prove she had every right to do both; that she was both beautiful enough to model for Louis and talented enough to one day get a piece of her own into the Great Exhibition.

As is usually the case within the gothic tradition, there is a romantic subplot throughout, as Iris and Louis grow increasingly close to one another. While not often a fan of such subplots, the chemistry between the two was so well realised, and permitted to develop organically over time, that I was completely won round. There are several great supporting characters too. I particularly adored Albie, a young orphaned lad who lives in a brothel with his sister, gathering dead animals to sell to Silas to try and raise enough funds to better their lives. When he begins to suspect that Silas may pose a threat to Iris, he determines to help her. His point-of-view chapters also do an excellent job of further exploring the stark contrast between the lives of the rich and poor.

I just loved every moment I spent with this book. It completely absorbed me as both a richly layered piece of literary fiction and as a compelling story. It’s true I felt the denouement was a little abrupt, but with prose, atmosphere, themes, characters, and a setting that were all so vividly drawn, this was just the gothic romp I needed; a fantastic look at womanhood, freedom, and resilience in the face of madness.

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The Confessions of Frannie Langton by Sara Collins | Book Review

The Confessions of Frannie Langton by Sara Collins
Published by Penguin, 2019
My rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Frannie Langton has been called many things throughout her life. ‘Mulatta’, slave, whore, seductress. And now murderer. Facing the death penalty for the supposed killing of her white master and mistress, Frannie vows she remembers nothing of the fateful night in question, though maintains she could never have murdered Mrs Benham, the woman with whom she was deeply in love. This novel is her testimony, taking us all the way from her birth on a plantation in Jamaica to her incarceration in London, as she attempts to make sense of the life she has lived, and to prove her innocence – to the jury as much as to herself.

Frannie is a phenomenally well-drawn character. Complex, intelligent, passionate, and unfalteringly human, Collins has created a character whose flaws make her all the more compelling. As we learn ever-more about her chequered past, Collins explores the burden of internalised shame and trauma, and asks us to consider where we draw the line on culpability. She does so by laying bare the trappings of race, class, gender, and sexuality, and the admirable though often morally ambiguous fight to gain autonomy in a world that will only ever see you as lesser.

Collins’ prose is also fantastic. She evokes the balmy heat of Jamaica and the opium-fuelled musk of Georgian London with equal aplomb. Visceral and transporting, I was drawn into the rich, seedy world of her heroine from the very beginning; the beauty of the writing itself serving as the perfect foil for the pain of Frannie’s story.

There is also a wonderfully playful, meta element to the book. The whole thing is written in the second person, addressed to the lawyer defending Frannie in court. She sees this as her literal confession, and hopes he may one day be able to get it published. As a woman of colour, she is well aware that her story will be twisted to fit existing narratives informed by misogynistic, racist stereotypes. This is Frannie reclaiming her story; the implication that we are now holding that successfully published manuscript adding a deeply poignant layer of realism to the reading experience.

I flew through this novel in a mere few sittings. There are as many unexpected turns in the narrative as there are tragically inevitable ones, and a consistent thread about the power of books to impart knowledge – and offer escapism – that I adored. Frannie is a heroine I know will continue to haunt my thoughts for quite some time; Collins an author whose career I can’t wait to follow.

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You can pick up a copy of The Confessions of Frannie Langton with free shipping from Book Depository by clicking here.

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Let’s Recommend | Gothic Fiction

I’ve recommended gothic reads in the past, and I stand by those recommendations. But since it’s my favourite genre, and autumn/winter is the perfect time to indulge in some unsettling, atmospheric, and immersive reads, I thought I’d recommend a few more. In case any catch your eye, I’ve linked to each book on Book Depository. And as always, I encourage you all to share your own recommendations in return!

The Corset by Laura Purcell

Described as a Victorian chiller, The Corset follows two young women in very different circumstances. Ruth is a teenage seamstress awaiting trial for murder. Dorothea is a wealthy socialite, whose fascination with phrenology leads her to Oakgate Prison, where she hopes to uncover the truth behind Ruth’s case. An air of mystery and threat bubbles throughout, with the book exploring notions of female autonomy, the horror of poverty, and the psychological impact of trauma. Flirtations with the possibility of something supernatural are handled incredibly well, elevating this gothic gem to the heights of subtle literary horror.

A Spell of Winter by Helen Dunmore

Written in sumptuous, evocative prose, A Spell of Winter is a strangely beguiling tale that explores forbidden love, the burden of secrets, and the struggle to escape the cloying inheritance of family. Set largely in the build up to WWI, we have many hallmarks of the gothic genre, including an imposing manor home, a family cutting themselves off from the outside world, and dangerous secrets that threaten to tear them all apart. Tense and quietly eerie without ever boiling over, I was utterly enthralled.

House of Glass by Susan Fletcher

Clara, a young woman with a rare brittle bone condition and a passion for botany, is invited to establish a glasshouse at Shadowbrook, an infamous country home. Upon arrival, she finds an owner conspicuous by absence, and residents terrified of a supposed haunting. Clara soon sets her practical mind to solving the crumbling manor’s mysteries. In many ways, this is a book of opposites; of truth versus lies, logic versus faith, and reality versus the supernatural, as we follow the unravelling of long-held secrets, and examine the devastating ways women’s lives were ruled by scandal, rumour, and reputation. This is gothic historic fiction at its best, and is easily one of my books of the year so far.

Dracula by Bram Stoker

There’s no one reading this who hasn’t heard of Dracula. It’s one of those books that is so iconic, we tend to think we know all about if before we even read it, leaving us to wonder if it’s worth the time and effort. Having finally picked it up for myself last year, I can confidently say that it absolutely is. So much more nuanced than I expected, I loved its fascinating take on gender roles, the Victorian fixation with bodily and sexual corruption, and the timeless fear of the unknown. As a lover of gothic and horror fiction, it was really fun to see many of the foundations upon which those genres would flourish being set down. There is some very interesting use of queer coding to examine too, but above all else, it remains a gripping, atmospheric page turner.

The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson

It’s worth pointing out that this is very, very different from the recent Netflix adaptation, which only shares the book’s name and generally creepy nature. Jackson’s novel is a masterclass in the less is more approach to horror, completely forgoing gore or jump scares. Far more psychological than its screen counterpart, it creeps beneath your skin, forcing you to question what is real and which characters can be trusted. A rumination on the invasive influence of storytelling and fear, and the dangerous power of the imagination, themes of suppression, sisterhood, and belonging simmer to reach a breathless fever pitch. Intelligent, understated, and downright unsettling, this take on the classic haunted house narrative is all the better for its ambiguity.

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Have you read any of these? What gothic reads would you recommend?

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A Spell of Winter by Helen Dunmore | Book Review

A Spell of Winter by Helen Dunmore
Published by Penguin, 2019 (first published in 1995)
My rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Told in gorgeous prose, A Spell of Winter is a strangely beguiling tale that explores forbidden love, the burden of secrets, and the struggle to escape the cloying inheritance of family.

Set largely in the build up to WWI, the story is narrated by Catherine, a young woman who feels increasingly cut off from the outside world. Abandoned by her mother as a child, embarrassed by the mental breakdown of her father that led to his hospitalisation, and ignored by the grandfather who finds too much pain in her resemblance to his absent daughter, she clings to her brother, Rob, for comfort. Hunkering down for the winter in their secluded, crumbling mansion, their mutual misplaced need for love takes their relationship down a dark and dangerous path that will pit them against the few who remain close to them.

First and foremost, Dunmore’s prose is stunning. With her sumptuous use of words, she evokes a rich, gothic setting, and a quietly sinister and claustrophobic atmosphere that I adored. Her characters are complex, difficult to root for and yet oddly sympathetic for all their flaws. By presenting them and their often deplorable actions without judgement, she asks us to question human boundaries, allowing the reader to draw their own conclusions in many instances.

There’s a subtle yet deftly handled thread throughout that explores the construct of society, and how quickly we can revert to basic animal instincts when removed from its grasp. Though the house has a dominating presence, many of the book’s key moments – instances of sex, violence, conflict, and death – all take place in the surrounding wildlands. As the book progresses, nature begins to reclaim the old mansion, and Catherine finds satisfaction and meaning through her work on the land. I thought this understated yet powerful sense that we are not so far removed from the natural world was handled really well.

I also very much enjoyed the book’s unconventional look at the idea of female autonomy. Catherine – like her mother before her – takes charge of her life in unexpected ways that defy social convention. Both arguably felt ensnared and defined by their role within the family, and both must find their own ways to break the chain of inheritance, both literal and metaphorical.

I was all set to give this book five stars throughout the first two thirds or so. The rich, lilting quality instantly captured me, its use of gothic hallmarks right up my street. In the final third, however, there is something of a tonal shift. Whilst the book retains its sumptuous edge, the coming of the war redresses the characters’ focus and priorities. Whilst this makes complete narrative sense, I was so enraptured by the air of quiet eeriness that I couldn’t help but feel a little sad to see the goalposts shift somewhat.

All that said, this is a uniquely compelling read that ticked so many of my boxes, I won’t be at all surprised if it stays with me for quite some time. With its blend of beautiful writing, gripping narrative, and cleverly handled deeper themes, it’s easy to understand why this was the inaugural winner of the Women’s Prize for Fiction. Given that she has an extensive back catalogue of work to her name, I’m excited to see what else Dunmore went on to write.

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If you’d like to read A Spell of Winter, you can find a copy on Book Depository by clicking here. If you’ve already read it, I’d love to hear your thoughts!

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The House on the Strand by Daphne du Maurier | Book Review

The House on the Strand by Daphne du Maurier
Published by Virago, 2003 (first published in 1969)
My rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

It’s such a nice feeling to return to a favourite author after a while, and to instantly be reminded why you fell in love with their work in the first place. From the very first paragraph of this book, I was transported once again by du Maurier’s lush, descriptive prose. It captures such a wonderful sense of time, place, and atmosphere, and is just a delight to read.

Initially, the story feels like a radical departure for du Maurier, given that this is ostensibly a book about time travel. And whilst it does stand out as unique amongst her work for that reason, rest assured that the hallmarks of her style (grand settings, gothic undertones, interesting characters, a touch of the sinister, and an air of mystery) are all still present. It’s also worth pointing out that her take on the time travel trope is fascinating and wholly unique in its own right.

Magnus Lane is a chemical researcher. On the quiet, he has been experimenting with a strange potion that seems to send the drinker’s mind back to the 14^th century. Able to act only as a silent observer, however, the person’s body is left behind, the two moving in tandem across the span of time. It seems Lane has cracked the secret to moving between parallel timelines. And so, he enlists his long-time friend, Richard, to serve as a guinea pig. But as Richard gets increasingly involved in the lives of those he observes in the past, and addicted to the high of the potion itself, the line between the two times begins to blur, leading to potentially devastating consequences.

The thing I enjoyed most about this was how successfully it draws parallels with the struggles of addiction. Richard becomes more and more dependant on the potion, despite the obvious danger involved, and the increasingly debilitating physical and mental side effects. With each exposure, the dose required is higher, and though he promises each time will be his last, he is repeatedly drawn back in, no matter the trouble it causes him or those around him. This was cleverly done, and very effective.

There is also some commentary on the risks of trying to live a double life. Unhappy in his marriage, the trips into the past serve as a form of escape for Richard, who becomes emotionally attached to the people he observes, particularly the beautiful Isolda. The more he is drawn into the high-stakes drama of the 14^th century, however, the duller his own life seems. His wife, Vita, suspects these absences are a sign of infidelity. With Richard finding it increasingly difficult to keep the two halves of his existence apart, the pressure begins to take its toll on both his body and mind.

I will say, since Richard is unable to directly interact with those in the past, there is an inherent sense of detachment where those characters are concerned. As such, it did take me a while to get to grips with who everyone was, and to feel any kind of investment in them. Though these sections are evocative, I was always far more interested in Richard’s struggles, and his attempts to deal with the fallout of the experiments back in the present day.

That said, the book was still a damn good romp throughout, with some skilfully implemented allegory. I mustn’t leave it so long until I pick up another du Maurier.

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You can pick up a copy of The House on the Strand from Book Depository by clicking here. If you’ve already read it, I’d love to hear your thoughts!

House of Glass by Susan Fletcher | Book Review

House of Glass by Susan Fletcher
Published by Virago, 2018
My rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

House of Glass is at once an enthralling gothic mystery, and a poignant piece of historical fiction that examines the devastating ways in which women’s lives were ruled by scandal, rumour, and reputation. In this respect, and many others, it is a book of opposites; of truth versus lies, logic versus faith, and reality versus the supernatural.

The story follows Clara, a young woman who spent her childhood confined to the safety of home. Suffering from a rare brittle bone condition, she is at constant threat of injury. Grieving the loss of her feminist mother, however, she jumps at the chance to finally fly the nest. Passionate about botany, she receives an invitation to establish a new glasshouse at Shadowbrook, a remote country manor. When she arrives, she is greeted by an owner conspicuous by absence, and residents terrified of a supposed haunting. Clara soon sets her practical mind to solving the mysteries of Shadowbrook.

Clara herself is a fabulous heroine. Her sheltered childhood spent in solitude, during which time she relied on the company of books, has instilled in her a voracious thirst for knowledge about people, and the world around her. This, coupled with her lack of social training, and her stubborn resilience against those who would dismiss her based on gender or disability, makes her forthright, headstrong, and proactive. If some gothic heroines flounder in the face of uncertainty, Clara moves straight for the truth, asking all the questions on the tip of the reader’s tongue.

The first half of the novel is pretty much everything I look for in an ideal read. It has a rich, vivid setting, complete with all the gothic hallmarks. The dark, brooding air of mystery swells, as do the number of delightfully ghostly and atmospheric moments. The cast of supporting characters are well established, and equally intriguing in their own ways. The looming threat of WWI in the background helps to reflect the mounting tension, and to firmly establish the story’s historical context. Fletcher’s writing itself is evocative and transporting, without ever feeling convoluted.

In the second half, the dynamic shifts somewhat, but I was no less compelled. As Clara makes discoveries about Shadowbrook’s past, and the past of those who once called it home, Fletcher begins to weave together a wonderfully intricate tapestry of secrets and lies, with everything gradually falling into place in a satisfying though devastating way. At large, this is a book about lives ruled and destroyed by the toxicity of hearsay, and the manipulative power that men held over women.

For the last 50 pages or so, there is a further shift in tone and focus that I can imagine will put it at odds with the rest of the story for some people. However, this section was still beautiful in its own way, helping to capture a very specific moment in time, when society was in a state of flux. If the coming of war interrupts the flow and significance of prior events in the novel, this is hugely reflective of the effect war has in real life, throwing a new perspective on everything. With WWI proving the catalyst for much change, particularly the role and reputation of women, it also brings an opportunity for Shadowbrook’s legacy to be rewritten, thus making complete narrative sense. Plus, by this point, I was so invested in the characters and the setting that I was just glad to be spending a little more time with them.

After all, there’s a lot to be said for picking up the right book at the right time, and the joy of a great reading experience. House of Glass was exactly what I needed right now. It completely swept me up, and I loved every moment I spent in the grips of its pages.

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You can pick up a copy of House of Glass for yourself by clicking here. If you’ve already read it, I’d love to hear your thoughts!