The Thirteenth Tale (book review)

Margaret Lea loves books. Old books. Books whose authors have been dead for many years. A one-time amateur biographer, she says, “I like to disinter lives that have been buried in unopened diaries on archive shelves for a hundred years or more. Rekindling breath from memoirs that have been out of print for decades pleases me more than almost anything else.” Almost anything, that is, until she receives a letter (“A letter. For me. That was something of an event.”) from the eminent and elderly novelist Vida Winter that bids her to her home and her life story, something that has never been offered up truthfully to any biographer, professional or otherwise. Confused as to why Winter would seemingly choose her at random to pen a tale long sought and never obtained, Margaret ends up learning a great deal about the fine line between truth and fiction, the endurance of blood lines, the enigmatic and somewhat supernatural bonds between sisters, and the mystery behind a collection of unfinished stories that has perpetually baffled Winter’s adoring public.

“The Thirteenth Tale” is a bit slow to start, but don’t let that deter you. After a deliberate and slightly torturous first 40 pages, the chapter entitled “Meeting Miss Winter” is the dram of water to a reader’s mad thirst for a story and characters that ensnare. The encounter that follows between storyteller and biographer is even more spellbinding, Winter every bit the three words the author uses to impress upon the reader the intensity of her voice alone (imperious, declamatory, magisterial). The larger-than-life raconteur’s simple moniker is rich with symbolism; the extremes of life and death that construct her nom de plume serve as a constant theme of the book. All of Setterfield’s characters have experienced the pain of loss: one is a conjoined twin whose sister died following their separation shortly after their birth; one witnesses death many times throughout her life, suffering a spiritual death herself at one point and being reborn in a way she didn’t anticipate; the whole of the Angelfield family often meets untimely and tragic ends. Setterfield even concludes her novel with two deaths.

The book’s form is advantageous and keeps the narrative at a moderate and steady flow; its division into four parts sets the reader up for a strict chronology of the tale, the author avoiding a betrayal against her character’s resolute desire to tell the story in proper order and entirety (“…All stories have beginnings, middles and endings; it is having them in the right order that matters.”). Past and present consistently commingle and Setterfield’s transitions from now to then and back are smooth and systematic. The book could be considered lengthy at 406 pages but this is hardly noticeable once one gets sucked into the narrative and allows themselves to be consumed by its grand albeit slightly ostentatious method of storytelling, the methodical disclosure of long-buried and dexterously layered secrets, and characters that bear a silent mutual grief, one that inexplicably and irrevocably connects them.

And yes, the characters. Setterfield’s cast is plentiful: Margaret Lea, her protagonist; Vida Winter, a woman who bore neither wealth nor name and gave herself both; the Angelfield family, with its suicidal patriarch, mentally disturbed siblings Isabelle and Charlie, Isabelle’s polarized twins Emmeline and Adeline; John-the-dig, the slightly crotchety groundskeeper who only feels warmth toward the Missus, Angelfield’s long-suffering housekeeper; Hester Barrow, the meticulous and diligent governess who whips Angelfield and its inhabitants into shape only to mysteriously pack and up leave one day after seeing something she cannot explain; Aurelius Love, a delightful baker and caterer who befriends and warms the remote Margaret. There are also minor characters that slip in and out of the story and though the introductions are many, Setterfield keeps it organized and detailed to avoid confusion.

Margaret provides the book’s first-person narration but Vida Winter is the more multidimensional of the two female leads, her steely front gradually giving way to the frightened and fragile woman underneath who evaded questions on her personal history in order to protect herself and those she loved. Margaret is a bit cold and distant herself, her interests in the antiquarian intense (perhaps boring to some) and a convenient distraction to her strained relationship with her mother, something which is as much a conundrum to her as it is to the reader. In Vida she initially finds the same frustrating inability to communicate or connect, the emotional distance all too familiar. In her attempts to breach the stronghold of Winter’s mind, Margaret’s own private fortress comes tumbling down and she finds herself opening up first to a perfect stranger (who later becomes a person of significance) and then to Winter, their newfound bond the catalyst to other momentous connections.

Though Setterfield manages to tie up most loose ends, there are a few questions left unanswered. At one point in the story, a character is found clawing at the ground, digging for something…or someone. The reader is left to assume who or what is being searched for – the author sows the seed of inference and never out-and-out confirms. What’s also left up for grabs is who the spirit is that supposedly haunts the Angelfield house, and whether it is just a shadow, a trick of the light through the fog, a figment of Margaret’s imagination. But I think it rather keen that there aren’t answers to these questions – what would be the fun in knowing everything? The greater delight was being fooled by both the author and her character; I was never able to guess the truth about Winter, and when I thought back to the clues I had been given, I couldn’t help but admire the degree of subtlety with which they’d been placed in the story.

Bottom line: It’s difficult for me to be objective when critiquing “The Thirteenth Tale” – there is so much about it that I like that I hardly see any reasons not to like it (there are echoes of “The Distant Hours” by Kate Morton, another book I really enjoyed and highly recommend). When you read so many books, it’s easy to get caught up in technical detail, but I chose to let the story take me away, and take me it did, providing a wonderful escape into a world where I sat down with a famed author and had the privilege of being privy to her dark and tragic family history. Setterfield has made quite an impression on me with this first novel. I hope she can exceed expectations with the next, because I’m really looking forward to it.