I first picked up The Thirteenth Tale on the recommendation of a close friend whose literary tastes I trust implicitly. She knows I adore gothic fiction and atmospheric tales that transport you to another world. “You have to read this book,” she insisted, pressing the well-worn paperback into my hands. “It will haunt you in the best possible way.” Intrigued, I dove in that very evening, not quite knowing the journey I was about to embark upon.
From the opening pages, I was captivated by the voice of Margaret Lea, the novel’s protagonist and narrator. An amateur biographer who works in her father’s antiquarian bookshop, Margaret is a kindred spirit – a lover of books and stories, more at home in the company of pages than people. When she is summoned by the famous and reclusive novelist Vida Winter to pen her life story before she dies, Margaret is hesitant but undeniably drawn in. Vida is known for fabricating her past in interviews, but this time, she promises to reveal the truth about her mysterious childhood at Angelfield, a crumbling estate that houses dark secrets.
As I followed Margaret’s journey to unravel the truth behind Vida’s past, I found myself equally enthralled and unsettled. Setterfield masterfully creates an atmosphere of gothic intrigue, complete with a governess, a ghost, and the tragic, intertwined lives of the March family twins who grew up at Angelfield. The story-within-a-story structure works beautifully, blurring the lines between truth and fiction, past and present. I was reminded of my favorite classic gothic tales like Jane Eyre and Rebecca, and the ways in which The Thirteenth Tale both pays homage to and subverts those beloved tropes.
One of the novel’s greatest strengths is its exploration of the power of stories – how they shape us, haunt us, and help us make sense of our lives. As Vida shares her tale and Margaret tries to unravel the truth, both women grapple with the ghosts of their pasts and the stories they’ve told themselves to survive. There’s a moment when Vida reflects, “There is something about words. In expert hands, manipulated deftly, they take you prisoner. Wind themselves around your limbs like spider silk, and when you are so enthralled you cannot move, they pierce your skin, enter your blood, numb your thoughts. Inside you they work their magic.” This passage gave me chills, perfectly encapsulating the novel’s own bewitching power.
Setterfield’s prose is indeed spellbinding – lush, evocative, and haunting. She conjures the crumbling halls of Angelfield and the misty moors of Yorkshire with a specificity that made me feel as if I were there. Her descriptions are vivid and often unsettling, like this depiction of Margaret’s first glimpse of Vida: “Her face was a perfect oval, her skin white, her lips pale pink; her eyes alone were dark. She was bald, her skull as bald as a baby’s, and she wore a black dress that went right up to her neck. It was an extraordinary face, a face to make you afraid.” Passages like this one showcase Setterfield’s gift for creating indelible images that linger long after you turn the page.
As much as I adored the atmospheric writing and intricate plotting of The Thirteenth Tale, I did find some of the novel’s twists and revelations in the final act a bit overly dramatic and straining credulity. Without venturing into spoiler territory, there were a couple of moments that felt more sensational than earned. However, this was a minor quibble in an otherwise captivating read. The novel’s strengths far outweighed any weaknesses.
What will stay with me most from The Thirteenth Tale are its characters, who are so vividly drawn and psychologically complex. Margaret and Vida are both haunted women, grappling with loss, loneliness, and the weight of the past. Their unlikely connection and the way their stories intertwine is profoundly moving. And the tragic tale of the twins, Emmeline and Adeline, will linger in my mind like a half-remembered dream – unsettling and heartbreaking in equal measure. Setterfield has a gift for capturing the most intimate, painful parts of the human experience with empathy and insight.
On a personal note, I saw shades of my own childhood fascination with stories in Margaret. Like her, I was a quiet, bookish child who preferred fictional worlds to the real one at times. Reading The Thirteenth Tale reminded me of that younger self and the ways in which stories have shaped my life. It made me reflect on the narratives we construct about our own pasts, the secrets we keep, and the liberating power of finally telling the truth about ourselves.
In the end, my friend was right – The Thirteenth Tale haunted me in the best possible way. It’s a novel I won’t soon forget, one that I’ve pressed into the hands of several friends with the same fervent recommendation I received: “You have to read this book.” If you’re a fan of gothic fiction, complex characters, and stories that grapple with the power of narratives to shape our lives, then I cannot recommend The Thirteenth Tale highly enough. It’s a beautifully crafted, emotionally resonant novel that showcases the enduring power of stories to captivate, move, and transform us. I know I’ll be returning to its pages again and again, like a cherished ghost story that reveals new secrets each time it’s told.