The Thirteenth Tale by Diane Setterfield

I have been neglecting Book Club reads for the last two months, ashamedly.  Instead, I've been indulging in yet another re-read of the Harry Potter series (which never fails to hook, line and sink me into reading oblivion).  Since I went to Cuba, however, I took with me this month's pick: The Thirteenth Tale by Diane Setterfield. 

In a neat blend of Victorian and Gothic literary styles (a hated and beloved genre, respectively), The Tale is quite the surprise.  I had expected a Zafón-esque adventure; I had expected a Brooks-ian love letter to readers.  What I got was a little of both and much more: a romantic mystery, full of plot twists and shocks, that were satisfying and terrifying.  When I read "beneath my fingers, the handle to the third room began to turn of its own accord" (p.133), my breathing went distinctly shallow.  Not since James' "The Turn of the Screw" have I been equally enamoured and petrified by the words I was reading.

I have very little to critique.  The plot is engaging, the characters grotesquely real, the diction compelling.  And yet, if I must find something to criticise, I would say that it is Setterfield's determination to leave no thread unknotted, applying reality and fantasy in equal measure to answer burning question.  Would I have left something out?  Would I have liked some stone to remain unturned and therefore tantalisingly mysterious?  I don't know - we shall have to discuss at Book Club.  Clearly, it is a novel that stays with you, as even I can see echoes of it in my own prose.

Read it!  Especially if you are visiting the Moors!