My rating: 4 of 5 stars
When I was in high school, I began writing letters to Emily Dickinson. I felt a deep connection to her through her poetry. I needed someone to listen, to hear my troubles, so I chose her. I seem to recall that I mimicked her style, and my letters from then on, to anyone, became rife with dashes peppered throughout, as pauses, as emphasis –
Micahaela MacColl’s book, Nobody’s Secret, came to me as an ARC at ALA Midwinter meeting in January of 2013. An awful lot was happening then, and I read a few of the books I got, read and loved and shared about them. But several, including this one, languished in a pile.
What a delight it was last week to pick up this book, which so deftly captures the Emily who grew in my own imagination, the Emily to whom I wrote my letters.
Not only does MacColl capture the characters, the essence of period and place, she weaves a baffling and intriguing mystery throughout, which disturbed and captivated in equal measure.
I didn’t want to put this book down, but at the same time, I wanted to savor every page. I’m only sorry I waited so long to enjoy it.
I support indepent book sellers. You can, too: http://www.indiebound.org/book/978145…