The Correspondent by Virginia Evans

Last Sunday night I picked up Virginia Evans’ The Correspondent. I’ve seen this book everywhere. It is a book that everyone seems to be raving about. It just came out last year, and yet it has been receiving the kind of hype that makes you feel like you’re late to the party if you haven’t already read it. I have to admit, I don’t normally gravitate towards the book everyone is talking about. Part of me thinks, “Everyone else is reading it. I don’t have to.” For whatever reason, if a book sees this kind of popularity I am less inclined to read it. In normal circumstances, I would have given The Correspondent a miss, or else waited a decade before picking it up. But my friend Leslie, who goes by the handle @readerlyjoy over on Instagram, gave this book a glowing review back when it first came out. I trust Leslie’s judgment. If she loves a book, then it is more than likely I will too. And so I started reading this book on Sunday night, just expecting to dip into it before bed, and ended up reading most of it in one sitting. I’m a slow reader. It was a late night. But from the moment I started reading, it was as though I had entered some sort of fugue state. I came to on page 153 to realise I had left a candle burning that should have been extinguished hours ago. Whoops! Perhaps, make sure all open flames have been extinguished before you start reading this book. 

The Correspondent tells the story of Sybil Van Antwerp through letters, mostly ones that she has sent herself, but we are privy to a few of the replies she receives, as well. The letters start 2 June 2012 and end on 15 January 2022, though she has been writing letters her entire life. I have the same hesitancy over epistolary novels as I do short story collections. I seem to think that with each letter I have to recommit to the book. I’m not sure I’ve ever read an epistolary novel that actually made me feel that way. (I guess I must have done. Because how else could I have gotten this crazy idea in my head?) But this most assuredly was not my experience with The Correspondent. See the candle incident.

On Monday, Wednesday, and Friday mornings Sybil sits down to write her letters. She writes for an hour or two at a time, and if she hasn’t finished her correspondence by the end of the week, she writes on Saturdays, too. She writes to her brother, her best friend, her daughter (sporadically), the president of the university where she wants to audit courses, the customer service representative of a DNA testing company, the authors of her favourite books, and she writes an ongoing letter to an unknown person which is never sent. In her professional life Sybil was the clerk to a judge who has recently died. She has been retired for some time, but it’s clear she still misses this part of her life. Long divorced from her husband, she lives alone and rarely sees her two children. Letter writing has always been her preferred way of communicating, helping her to make sense of the world. She reaches out to people many of us would never consider writing to, like Joan Didion, Ann Patchett, and Larry McMurtry.

In a letter to a young girl who interviews Sybil for a school project, she writes, “I write to anyone that strikes me. Friends, lawmakers, editors, teachers, diplomats, authors. Authors are my favorite.” (122)

What I love about this book is that Sybil, who is in her early seventies at the start, is still in the process of becoming the best version of herself. She grows as a person, as a mother, she finds her way to forgiving others, and, so importantly, she finds a path to forgiving herself for something that she has spent decades punishing herself for. This is a book about grief, friendship, falling in love, community, and family, complicated relationships and all the things we try to tell ourselves “don’t really matter”, but in fact matter very much indeed. Sybil isn’t always a likeable person—who is?—but throughout the course of this book she grows. Her life gets bigger. The other lovely thing is that she is surrounded by all of these beautifully flawed people who are figuring it out, too. No one has it all figured out. Not in real life, and not in this book. Communicating, however we can, is a start to forming relationships, but to build bridges sometimes we have to meet people halfway, and be willing to get the words wrong once in a while.

I write slowly. A letter might take me an hour or more. I do not rush. I think through each sentence. My hand does not get tired. You mustn’t rush. When you rush you pen things you didn’t mean and you tire. It takes patience to say exactly what one means, to think of the right word. Sometimes I write a draft and mark it up, then write a clean copy to send. I believe one ought to be precious with communication. Remember: words, especially those written, are immortal. Sometimes, Caroline, the easiest inroad is to begin with a thank you, for a gift or a kindness or a letter, you know, and then take it from there. Answer every question they’ve asked, and ask your own, and you will have created a never-ending circuit of curiosity and learning. (123)

It’s an undeniably romantic way of looking at letter writing, but in some cases Sybil’s preference for writing over other forms of communication keeps people at a distance, as she finds out at the book goes on. We aren’t meant to always find the right word. Being able to communicate is undeniably precious, but we shouldn’t be precious with our communication. Holding our words close is problematic. As someone who can obsess over being properly understood, I can sympathise with Sybil. I also know that keeping my words close has only ever led to greater misunderstanding, in part, because even when you find the right words there is nothing to say that they will be understood in the way you intended them. But that is, perhaps, a conversation for another time. 

A year or so ago when I was considering starting a YouTube channel I heard another creative give some advice that resonated with me. I’ve since heard the same idea put a number of different ways, but the gist is, “If your first try is perfect, you waited too long.” I think the same holds true for communication. It’s always lovely to feel you expressed yourself clearly the first time. But if you are constantly seeking perfection in yourself, chances are you are going to expecting it from others, too. And you have got to think, if your primary means of communicating with your friends and loved ones is through letter writing, not just the written word, but letters sent through the post, then it is going to be really hard to get at the deeper issues, as they come up. When one is curating their thoughts into such a tidy narrative, how much is getting left out? Likely all the difficult, messy bits. In the mess lies a certain beauty and quite often the truth of ourselves can be found buried deep below. If we aren’t exposing the mess, we might never find the treasure hiding underneath. At the end of the book, Virginia Evans beautifully handles what this looks like. And it wasn’t until I sat down to write this review that I got that. So yeah, I appreciate this book even more now.

I’ve been away from social media for about five months now to grieve the death of my dog Clark, so I’ve only just discovered The Correspondent won the Women’s Prize for Fiction this year. Unlike some years, I haven’t read all of the titles on the Women’s Prize for Fiction Longlist this year, nor the Shortlist, so I cannot weigh-in on the other books, but I will say that I'm not at all surprised The Correspondent won such a prestigious award. It is a remarkable book.

Now, I must hurry off to the library because there are about 103 people queued up for this book. I will be adding The Correspondent to my list of books I want to add to my personal library, because this is one I’ll be returning to, for sure. 

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Marcia Willett Wednesday: Happy Birthday Marcia!

Marcia Willett was born on 6 August 1945. Working as a ballet dancer and teacher earlier in her life, she was 50 years old when her first novel, Those Who Serve (1995), was published. Over her writing career she wrote 31 novels, and an additional four under the pseudonym Willa Marsh. Sadly, she died on 30 June 2022 at 76 years old. The novella, Christmas at the Keep (2022), and the short story collection, Christmas at the Keep and Other Stories (2024), were both published posthumously. 

Though she was born in Somerset, she spent her time as a writer living in Devon, capturing the West Country of the UK so beautifully. I dream of visiting the haunts of my favourite characters, and exploring the countryside that Willett has brought to life. A little car, sturdy shoes, sandwiches, a few biscuits, and the ever present flask of hot coffee are all essential features of a Marcia Willett day. Bonus points if you have a dog riding in the back seat, ready to hop out as soon as you’ve parked in a lay-by.

I found my way to Willett when I did an Internet search for writers similar to Rosamunde Pilcher. It was a few years ago, and I had just finished reading The Shell Seekers (1987), the last of her four long novels that I had left to read, and was feeling at a loss. The search turned up an article from a library website, that I am almost certain was in Australia, but I have since gone back to try to find the article and I have come up empty. That library had a list of authors that they claimed were similar to Rosamunde Pilcher. Well, I’ve had mixed success with that list as far as comparisons go, but through it I found Maeve Binchy, Elizabeth Buchan, Penelope Lively, and of course, Marcia Willett. My library had Second Time Around (1997) available, and after reading the first page in bed on 2 May 2022, I knew I was in good hands. Shortly after, I started the hashtag #MarciaWillettWednesday over on Instagram. It was with more excitement than sense, however, as I failed to consider how small my personal Marcia Willett collection was at the time. I am slowly growing my collection and I hope at some point I will be back to posting at least a monthly Marcia Willett post on Wednesdays.

I always hesitate to compare Marcia Willett with Rosamunde Pilcher, because I think they both have their own strengths and their writing is certainly not interchangeable. Pilcher’s earlier books are more straightforward romances and her last four long books are much stronger and more complex. In contrast, I have found Willett’s earlier books are some of her best. I’ve read 26 of her books so far, and a number of them I have already reread. Sometimes it’s because I have needed a Marcia fix and only had access to so many titles through my library or my own collection. Second Time Around I have read twice because I wanted to capture that first moment of discovering her writing again. When I went back for thirds it was to discover that my library had junked their copy. The cover was a little bent. Clearly, it had been checked out and loved. In a library that allows its patrons five book requests per month, something has got to give, and that means old paperbacks get tossed. Yes, tossed. If the book is not in pristine condition, it will not make it to their annual library sale. Such a waste! But one person’s book treasure is another person’s trash, I guess.

When making a Willett recommendation, I always tell people to start with her Chadwick Family Chronicles. The first three Looking Forward (1998), Holding On (1999), and Winning Through (2000) are evidence of Willett at her best. They follow the Chadwick family from the summer of 1957 through to the spring of 1998. Looking Forward begins when three children, Fliss, Mole, and Suzanna, arrive at Staverton Station in Devon. Their parents and elder brother have been killed in Mau Mau and the children have come to England to live with their grandmother at her home, The Keep. The books centre around this South Devon generational home of the Chadwicks, a family who made their money in china clay, and follows the lives of the family, their friends, and the people employed to help in the running of the home, who become more like family as the years go on and the older generation of servants are given refuge at The Keep.

One of the things I appreciate about these books and about Willett’s books generally is that faith is present in many of her characters’ lives. I think prayer and a belief is handled with a soft touch, and is no less effective for it. In the Chadwick series, Theo’s quiet faith influences every part of his life, perhaps especially in his relationship with his sister-in-law, Freddy, who has failed to find comfort in Theo’s spiritual counselling in the past. Now, he knows the best he can do for her is to love her.

He did the only thing that ever helped him to come to a difficult decision: he emptied his mind and prayed silently for help. It came swiftly. He saw clearly how the time might not only be too early but also and just as fatally—too late; that in continuing to wait for the right moment, this love they shared might disintegrate, go bad on them, even die. He knew a brief confident certainty but Freddy was already turning away. 

“I shall come,” [Theo] said—and she turned back to him, radiant with delight and surprise.

The books in this series each cover the four seasons, though not in the same year, and so we see life at The Keep over time in all its different phases. I love this festive scene from Looking Forward.

The old grey church was ablaze with candlelight and, when they came out, a cold white moon hung in a starry sky. Their breath smoked in the freezing air and the frost crunched beneath their feet.

As the car pulled into the courtyard, the front door opened and the light from the hall streamed down the steps and across the grass. Freddy stood waiting for them, tall and slim in her high-necked blouse and long velvet skirt, with a shawl about her shoulders.

‘The children are in bed at last, stockings hung up,' she said, 'waiting for Father Christmas. Fox has made up the fire and Ellen has just brewed some hot coffee. Come in and get warm. And a very Happy Christmas to us all.'

They stood for a moment, listening to the Christmas bells ringing out across the quiet countryside, smiling at one another, and then they all went inside and closed the door behind them.

I take particular pleasure in the way Willett describes the natural world. Dogs often feature in her books, and their humans take them for walks in the countryside. As a human who needs her daily walk even more than her dog appears to, I get great enjoyment out of walking vicariously through the West Country alongside Willett’s characters. 

I love this passage from Postcards from the Past (2013).

There are two moons tonight. The round white shining disc, brittle and sharp-edged as glass, stares down at its reflection lying on its back in the black water of the lake. Nothing stirs. No whisper of wind ruffles the surface. At the lake's edge the wild cherry tree leans like an elegant ghost, its delicate bare branches silver with ice, yearning towards the past warmth of summer days. Tall stands of dogwood, their bright wands of colour blotted into monochrome by the cold brilliant light, guard the northern shore of the lake and cast spiked shadows across the frosty grass.

This passage from Winning Through (2000) is a perfect example of one of Willett’s characters taking a walk with a readily available dog, and finding the answers to life’s questions while appreciating their surroundings.

Later that evening, as Fliss walked on the hill behind The Keep with Rex, Susanna’s question echoed in her head. “And do you still love him?’ Long shadows, indigo and purple, were stretching across the hill and two rooks flapped homeward with a steady, rhythmical beating of wings. The sun sank gently into an armada of curded, cushiony clouds, towering up from the west, and suddenly, as she watched, molten, brilliant, dazzling gold streamed along their fluffy, fluted edges, flooding and drenching them in colour. Fliss, who had seized Caroline’s padded jacket from the peg by the back door, slid her arms into the sleeves, and sighed with pleasure. She had watched the sunset from this hill on countless occasions but the endlessly changing pageant, season by season, year by year, never ceased to enthral her. This was her place, this ancient hill fortress where her ancestor had built The Keep from the granite of the old fort; this was where she belonged. 

While the Chadwick Family Chronicles is the only series among her books, many of her books contain reoccurring characters. So if you read one of the following titles I am about to recommend, and enjoy it enough to pick up another, you might consider reading her books in chronological order by publication date. If you tend to forget specific things like character names shortly after reading a book, then feel free to disregard this advice and carry on your merry way. Hattie’s Mill (1996) and The Children’s Hour (2003) both left a big impression on me. I would also recommend Thea’s Parrot (1995), The Courtyard (1995), The Dipper (1996), and A Week in Winter (2001). All of which, I think, are particularly strong. But as I say, I have not yet read all of her books. I have 11 of her 35 novels left to read. I anticipate there are more favourites just waiting to be discovered among them.

The more I learn about Marcia Willett, the more impressed I am by her. Not just as a writer, but as a person. She really was a lot like her most likeable characters, with quiet faith, a love of the outdoors, dogs, and people. A very inspiring person, indeed. Happy Birthday, dear Marcia.

Additional resources:

Marcia Willett’s website

A Companion to the Novels by Marcia Willett

This is a wonderful website created by Marcia’s husband, Rodney, with photos of their research trips, family trees of Marcia’s characters, and background on Marcia and her writing. Rodney’s death preceded Marcia’s, and so the website does not contain information on her books beyond 2015.

Marcia Willett’s complete bibliography*

Novels:

Those Who Serve (US title: First Friends) (1995)

Thea’s Parrot (US title: A Friend of the Family) (1995)

The Courtyard (1995), US paperback

The Dipper (1996)

Hattie’s Mill (1996)

Starting Over (1997)

Second Time Around (1997), US paperback

Looking Forward (Chadwick Family Chronicles 1) (1998)

Holding On (Chadwick Family Chronicles 2) (1999)

Winning Through (Chadwick Family Chronicles 3) (2000)

A Week in Winter (2001)

Forgotten Laughter (US title: A Summer in the Country) (2002)

The Children’s Hour (2003)

The Birdcage (2004)

The Golden Cup (2005)

Echoes of the Dance (2006)

Memories of the Storm (2007)

The Way We Were (2008)

The Prodigal Wife (Chadwick Family Chronicles 4) (2009)

The Summer House (2010)

The Christmas Angel (US title: Christmas in Cornwall) (2011)

The Sea Garden (2012)

Postcards from the Past (2013)

Indian Summer (2014), US hardback

Summer on the River (2015)

The Songbird (2016)

Seven Days in Summer (2017)

Homecomings (2018)

Reflections (2019)

The Garden House (2020)

Starry, Starry Night (2021), UK hardback

Collections/Novellas:

Christmas at the Keep (2022)

Christmas at the Keep and Other Stories (2024)

Writing as Willa Marsh

Novels:

Amy Wingate’s Journal (1996)

Facing the Music (1997)

Sisters Under the Skin (1998)

The Quick and the Dead (1999)

*All of the books I have not linked are out of print at the time of this post. In the cases where I have linked multiple editions, the most inexpensive copy available at Blackwell’s is the one that appears first.

***If you got something out of this post, please consider subscribing to my blog. You can find the email sign up on the right hand side at the top of this page (on desktop version only), or click on the link here. You will receive a confirmation email in your inbox (or possibly your junk folder). Once you click to confirm your email address you will receive an email notification whenever a new blog post goes up. And, of course, you can unsubscribe at any time. Feel free to email me if you have any trouble subscribing, or if you just want to chat about books. I would love to hear from you! Whether you subscribe or not, I’m thankful you are here.***

This blog post contains affiliate links for Blackwell’s. As a Blackwell’s Affiliate, I may receive a small commission, at no additional cost to you, if you decide to make a purchase through one of the links on my website. I recommend Blackwell’s because I use them myself. This helps support me in sharing—what I hope is—valuable content. Thank you for your support!

One last photo, because ideally you should have a cup of coffee in hand and a loyal dog by your side to fully enjoy one of Marcia Willett’s books.

Two-Way Murder by E.C.R. Lorac

It was not until I had finished E.C.R. Lorac’s Two-Way Murder and was reading Martin Edwards’ introduction that I learned this was a previously unpublished book. I am putting that at the start of this post because if you are a fan of Edith Caroline Rivett’s writing and had reservations about this one being not as good as her others due to it being published posthumously, fear not! I enjoyed this one perhaps even more than Murder in Vienna, and I did love that one. (You can read my review of that one here.)

On a foggy night in January, just about everyone across the countryside near Fordings is heading to the Prince’s Hall for the annual Hollydown Hunt Ball. Commander Nicholas Brent has offered a ride to Ian Macbane, who is in the area visiting his aunt and uncle. As they pass Hollydown Manor, which was recently sold, the subject of the daughter of the house comes up. Rosemary Reeve disappeared on the evening of last year’s ball and she has not been seen or heard from since. The subject quickly shifts to lighter subjects, including the young women likely to be in attendance. It becomes clear that most of the young men in the area are interested in the young and beautiful Dilys Maine.

Lucky for them, Dilys manages to put in an appearance at the ball. Although she had to sneak out of her father’s house to be there, and must get home before Alice, the family’s loyal and well-meaning servant, gets home. Alice wouldn’t mind her having a bit of fun, but Dilys thoughtfully does not want to put Alice in the position of having to lie to her overbearing and hard to mange employer. Thankfully, Nick Brent has obligingly offered to get her back in good time, and they leave the ball around midnight, setting out on the low road where the fog is not as bad. But the best laid plans do have a way of going wrong, and when Nick and Dilys come upon a corpse that is quite literally blocking the narrow road, things start to go very wrong indeed.

Quick thinker that he is, Nick suggests Dilys head home on foot, while he walks to the nearest house to call the police. Michael Reeve’s place is the closest, but upon arrival Nick realises that Michael must still be at the ball. He gains entry through a kitchen window, and calls the police to report the body. But just as he is hanging up the phone, he hears someone inside the house. He drops his torch in surprise, and just after Nick announces himself, he is set upon. After a violent struggle, his attacker leaves him knocked out and buried under a fallen bookcase.

Sometime before one o’clock, Ian Macbane gets a ride home with Tom Hudson. They too end up taking the lower road because of the fog and come upon Nick’s empty vehicle. They see the body in the road and ascertain the person is dead, when the police arrive. 

Meanwhile, Dilys who has cut across the fields at a run with her dress bundled in her arms, has arrived home safe and sound. She is just getting ready for bed when the phone rings. It’s Alice saying she won’t be able to make it back tonight as another accident is blocking her route. While Dilys is on the phone her father, Mr. Maine, arrives home unexpectedly—he was supposed to be away for the night—looking “not only tired” but “gaunt and strained and dirty” with “a stain down one side of his face” and collar “crumpled and awry” (37). He is angry that Alice isn’t there with Dilys, and he says something about how Alice should have called earlier. Mr. Maine tells her to go to bed as it’s almost midnight. But Dilys knows it must be almost half past one at this point. She also knows her father wears a watch and is always aware of the time. Why would he want her to think he had arrived home earlier than he did? 

Speaking of the Maines, I love their servant, Alice. She is smart, methodical, speaks her mind, and looks out for Dilys as a mother or older sister would. She is certainly more effective in influencing Dilys than her father. A day or two after the incident, Nick calls up Dilys and asks if she would like a cocker spaniel from his dog’s litter, even offering to pick her up, and save her a cold walk over the downs. Dilys tells Alice about the phone call and Alice’s reply is classic her. 

“Has he indeed? Those pups are worth a lot of money—no end of prizes that bitch of his has won. They say he knows more about dogs than any of the vets do.” She looked at Dilys with her shrewd blue eyes. “All the same, maybe it’d be better not to go traipsing over there just yet. If he’s promised you a pup, he’ll keep it for you, all right. Wait a week or so, until there’s not so much backchat being handed round.” (115)

Alice suggests Dilys wait a bit to get the dog, cites the reason behind her thinking, but allows Dilys to come to her own decision. Seeing the logic behind Alice’s thinking, Dilys agrees with her. Alice is a smart woman, smarter than she lets on. This isn’t the only moment that she says a partial truth for a desired result where the full truth might have the opposite effect. 

Inspector Waring from the County C.I.D. is tasked with investigating the case. I believe Waring’s Divisional Detective Inspector, Thorn, comparison of Waring with the other officer investigating the case could equally apply to Alice.

Turner, routine-minded, concrete, his feet firmly on the ground, his method based on the ascertainable details of police evidence—times, places, prints, and all the rest of it: the methods which, admittedly, had been the foundation of police work since the force was inaugurated. And Waring— imaginative, aware, sensitive: able, by some odd quirk of his lively mind, to obtain confidences and acquire impressions which were beyond Turner’s scope. Thorn had to admit, from past experience, that Waring had a lively and unexpectedly sound judgement over people of whom his observation had been of the slightest: when Waring had said, “Seems to me there’s a connection somehow; so-and-so was being cagey…” it had often proved that there was a connection, and later in the case Waring had produced some unexpected observation which showed that his logical powers had not been in abeyance while he soaked in awareness of human nature.

“Makes you wonder what is the basis of detection, after all,” pondered Thorn. “Timetables or human nature? After all, criminals are human and maybe young Waring’s getting back to basic detection. They ought to make a good pair, Turner with his conscientious routine, Waring with his awareness of humanity.” (112-13)

And the two do make a good team. Waring reminded me a bit of the detectives in Anthony Berkeley’s Not to be Taken. Lorac does not turn her detective into a figure of fun, but Waring does seem to have a way of making people feel comfortable. Like Alice, Waring has the talent for knowing how to get the result he wants from people. But unlike Alice, Waring is a detective and most people do not offer up information to him, whereas people actively seek Alice out to share a gossip. 

I had such a great time with this one. Getting to read Martin Edwards’ introduction afterwards was an added treat.

The writing is crisp, despite the fact that editing must have been minimal. The author’s name on the cover sheet is “Mary Le Bourne”—evidently a pun on “Marylebone”—and the police detectives in the story are not the investigators familiar from the Lorac and Carnac series. The setting on the south coast of England is also something of a departure from the backgrounds to most of her post-war novels. Was she trying to write a different type of detective story? Might she have had in mind a distinct series featuring Waring, the likeable police officer who solves the puzzle? The answer to both questions may well be yes. (vii)

The British Library did not have a copy of the manuscript of Two-Way Murder because it had not been published. If it was not for the typescript copy supplied by James M. Pickard, this novel could very well be undiscovered still. 

I highly recommend this one to fans of classic crime with a rural setting. It would make a perfect winter read. Though, I must admit, it’s one I would welcome rereading at any time of year.

(I just wanted to note that I have linked to the UK edition of Two-Way Murder, which is published by British Library Publishing, not the American edition by Poisoned Pen Press, which is the one that I borrowed from my library and is pictured in these photos. The editions are slightly different sizes and the covers have different textures, but the contents are the same.)

This blog post contains affiliate links for Blackwell’s. As a Blackwell’s Affiliate, I may receive a small commission, at no additional cost to you, if you decide to make a purchase through one of the links on my website. I recommend Blackwell’s because I use them myself. This helps support me in sharing—what I hope is—valuable content. Thank you for your support!

The Eights by Joanna Miller

Joanna Miller’s debut novel, The Eights, was an absolute treat. I found myself trying to spin out the time I got to spend with these four women. 

It is 1920 and Oxford University has for the first time in its 1,000-year history admitted female students as full members of the university. In October, at the start of Michaelmas term, four young women move into Corridor Eight of St. Hugh’s College. They couldn’t be more different, but soon the unlikely quartet become the closest of friends. 

Not everyone is happy about women being allowed in the university and from the first day the foursome find themselves having to face opposition from a group of rowdy male freshers, who accost the women in the street as they walk to the Divinity School where they will be among the first women to matriculate at Oxford University. The incident leaves them all shaken, to varying degrees. But after a quick stop in a tearoom, they are refreshed and able to become better acquainted.

Beatrice Sparks has lived her life in the shadow of her famous suffragette mother. Oxford is her chance to finally become her own person, forge a new life, and make her own friends, something she has never had the opportunity to do, as she was an only child and did not go to school. 

Marianne Grey is making plans to abandon her course before her first day has started. The only daughter of a poor vicar, she cuts an unassuming figure in a secondhand academic gown and ill fitting shoes. A most unlikely person to have a secret so deep that it could destroy her Oxford dream if it were to be discovered.

After losing her brother, George, and her fiancé, Charles, in the Great War, Theodora Greenwood has arrived at Oxford in their place. Her mother doesn’t believe in higher education for women, but with all of the surplus women at least Dora might put her time at Oxford to good use and find a husband. Even Dora admits, “Had Charles lived, she would never have wanted to study at Oxford” (10).

Ottoline Wallace-Kerr hasn’t talked to her mother in two years, not since she refused Teddy’s proposal. Teddy is a good friend, but no. For thrill-seeking socialite Otto, Oxford is a cure to boredom. And if she is being honest, it's a way to escape the images that haunt her from her time nursing during the war. The only thing that “provides moments of absorption and calm” for Otto is mathematics (12). Eight is her favourite number. A good sign.

But they do not divulge their innermost secrets to each other all at once. Over the three terms that make up their first year at Oxford they slowly open up to each other. Some secrets run so deep that they are only revealed at the end of the year.

What first attracted me to this book was the time and place in history it is set. It was evident that the author did a lot of research in the writing of this book. I felt thoroughly immersed in the world. It is incredible how many rules were imposed on the women students that were not required of the men. And I loved the mentions of students Winifred Holtby and Vera Brittain, Agatha Christie receiving her degree, and Thomas Hardy getting an honorary doctorate. But what makes this such an endearing book are the friendships that form between these woman. Outside of living on the same floor at their college, these four would not likely have been attracted to each other. But the combination of living in close proximity, the common goal of getting an Oxford education, and the incident they experience just after meeting, all create the perfect circumstances to make their friendship not just believable, but feel natural and true.

I love this line from Beatrice, who starts off the year never having experienced friendship firsthand. She has, however, observed her mother with her plethora of friends. Something that Beatrice has wanted for herself.

She never imagined, though, that friendship involved so much mundanity; arranging to enter rooms together, sharing one’s daily timetable, lending and borrowing items. Not that she does not enjoy it, but mutual reliance and constant company are new concepts to her and sometimes she finds herself in desperate need of a moment alone — no doubt something her mother would consider a weakness. (43)

I appreciate Beatrice’s observations about the mundanity that often feeds friendship, and that despite her enjoyment in her new friendships, she recognises her need for alone time. Much later in the book, she expresses her concern to Otto that these feelings are not natural.

‘I do wonder if I am any good at it — friendship, I mean. It seems to come so easily to the rest of you. Sometimes I have to hide away in my room because I need to be quiet. As if I’ve eaten too much and feel uncomfortable and have to sleep it off. Is that very odd?’

Otto groans. ‘I do that all the time, you idiot. Friendship is like this quilt — cosy mainly, but it can also be utterly stifling. I can assure you, the need to escape is entirely normal.’ 

‘Oh.’

‘And for the record, you are very good at it — friendship.’ Otto takes a lace-edged handkerchief from her pocket and tosses it at Beatrice. ‘Now buck up and stop fishing for compliments.’ (290-91)

These women are never in competition with each other. They build one another up. They celebrate their wins, commiserate on their losses, and are there to lend a hand when needed. In the course of a year this group goes through a lot. Because this is set just two years after the Great War, they have all been affected by it in some way. None of them have come through the war unchanged, and most of them are dealing with loss.

One of the similarities between these four women are that they all have absent mothers. Beatrice’s mother has no use for Beatrice. When she is not busy with her causes, she is putting Beatrice down. Otto’s mother has been in America for the past two years, helping Otto’s horrible sister set up house. The two have not spoken since she left, because Otto’s mother won’t talk to her until she has left Oxford and accepted Teddy’s offer of marriage. Apparently, getting married is more important than one’s happiness. Dora’s relationship with her mother is probably the most ideal of the group, and her mother is only allowing her an education because it will put her in the path of young men. 

Lastly, Marianne’s mother died in child birth. At one point Otto comes back to the college drunk and asks Marianne if she misses her mother. Marianne puts Otto off. Despite Otto opening up to Marianne about her own mother, Marianne isn’t ready to share.

Marianne thinks about marching up to Otto and shouting in her face. I feel sick every day. I’m jealous when I see mothers with daughters. I feel like I’m half-finished, that I’m always waiting for something to happen, that I’m all alone. So, yes, you could say I miss her. (102)

It’s an emotional scene. While Marianne is the only one who does not know what it is like to have a mother, none of them know what it is to have a loving and supportive mother. None of them have been taught by their mothers about how to be friends with other women. Instead, they teach each other. And I just think that is so beautiful. 

I want to thank Kathryn (@_the_book_bug_) for bringing this book to my attention. After reading her review on Instagram I couldn’t get the book out of my head. A day later, I pre-ordered it. I’m so happy I did!

As I said earlier, so much was I enjoying my time with these women that I tried to spin out the reading of The Eights. When I finished—other than experiencing a sense of loss for not having these characters in my life anymore—I had this overwhelming need to know what happens next for these women. I do not often say this, but I would love to see a follow up book that picks up where this one left off. Perhaps, better yet, one that picks up at their degree ceremony. I’m dying to know how these women go on to light the world on fire, because I’m certain they do.

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