I am visiting the central Oregon coast, in an old house at the mouth of a river bay where forty degree temperatures, frilled waves, shifting clouds and tidal rhythms govern the days—an ideal environment for reading. My selections exhibit no special logic. They range across literary fiction, nonfiction, biography, memoir, and scholarly studies. I read less fiction than I intend, often satisfying my love of story by reading history. Nevertheless, my January reading began with The Correspondent by Virginia Evans (New York: Crown 2025), recommended to me by a new friend and a veteran of the book trade whose taste I trust. Her enthusiasm for this novel snagged me. And I love the cover.
Having ridden the New York Times bestseller list for fifteen weeks and holding the number one spot for hardcover fiction, The Correspondent has already captured wide attention for successfully manipulating narrative suspense with an epistolary structure. The novel’s protagonist, Sybil Van Antwerp, unreels her story selectively, narrating the same events somewhat differently in letters to various recipients. Meanwhile, readers of the novel piece together Sybil’s story based on both what Sybil discloses and what she conceals from each addressee.
The correspondent’s letter writing serves as a figure for shaping one’s character in real life and for the range of a writer’s choices when crafting a fictional narrative, suggesting that, in both cases, story is all—the ultimate artwork in literature and life. The novel raises questions: is a person more than her story? Does one’s life story hold the same freedom of choice available to an author of a fictional story? Can story redeem a life?
Sybil the correspondent initially hides, then slowly reveals, her painful past and her regret for having handled it badly. Finally, Sybil apologizes to those she has wronged and accepts the love of a caring person whom life places in her path. The novel implies that Sybil took these final steps precisely to craft a suitable end to her life’s story. Sybil refuses to allow her losses and mistakes to speak the final word. Having controlled her story throughout her life with letter writing, Sybil was determined to shape its conclusion. The Correspondent left me with a desire to do the same: to place the art of writing at the service of my life’s story, trusting its redemptive power.
Postscript
Sybil’s letters often include postscripts (and she always spells out the word). I will follow her lead here and mention my favorite feature of the novel. Sybil closes each letter she writes to her best friend Rosalie with the question, “I’m reading [the name of a book]. What are you reading?” Rosalie responds in the same way.
I love the thought of a friendship that needs to know the other’s reading list; where such knowledge is at least as important as knowing each other’s coffee order. Sharing The Correspondent with a new friend has amplified my enjoyment of the book, so I have chosen to make this blog post the first in a series about what I’m reading. I hope you will respond like Rosalie.
