A Book Review: The Correspondent

A Book Review: The Correspondent by Virginia Evans

I want to start by saying I read this book in two days, that is the fastest time I have ever read a book. I was so engulfed by it, every page turned I was falling deeper in love with it. I am SO moved by this book and I think it's one of my favourite books of all time.

The book is written as a series of chronological letters sent back and forth between the main character and the different people in her life. Sybil is a woman in her 70s, divorced, a mother to three children, one of whom died at the age of eight (before the book begins).

Every person who appeared in her correspondence carried a different story, a different set of raw human emotions. This book articulated the most complex emotions in such a profound way. Every human experience we find difficult to put into words was interwoven into these letters and stories.

So many themes were explored, from the grief of losing a child, to feeling like you quite literally do not belong anywhere in this life, being lost and found, losing a parent, going blind, being a refugee, divorce, cancer, daughter-mother relationships. As I said, quite literally every human experience intertwined in the stories of fictional characters that exist in our everyday lives, in us.

Every letter, or in fact every word written in this book, felt intentional and carried serious weight and impact. I found myself crying, laughing, being angry all at once while reading it. I thoroughly enjoyed the way it was formatted into letters/emails. It made reading it a lot easier for me.

Like Sybil, I'm also someone who loves writing letters, and I find it easier to express myself in the written form. I find the words racing to come out of me and when they land on the page, they align with who I am in a way I could never articulate when I speak.

There was a letter specifically expressing how Sybil views life.

The quote goes:

"I have to think that when it comes to seasons we all get one round. We are born and grow through childhood in spring. We live those glorious, lively, interesting years of our twenties, thirties, forties in summer. We settle into ourselves in autumn, that cool but not yet cold time, rich and aromatic. And in winter we age (brutally) and die. One turn of the seasons per person, unless it's cut short, like it was for Gill, and like it was for Quintana Roo. I suppose, on this schedule, we'd say your John had made it to fall. My mother died in her summer."

I have never heard anyone describe life in that way, and while I don't know what my personal stance on the matter is, I loved reading it and thinking of life in that way.

I do think of childhood as spring, but I think there are some fortunate people who live in spring far longer than what is considered childhood institutionally. While I do not think my personal childhood resembles spring in any way, I do think the notion of viewing the world with innocence and magic is spring-like.. and that notion persevered with me, even into adolescence. Of course, it took intentional effort. So many people and experiences attempted to eat away at my innocence and wonder, and I fought really hard to protect it. I wonder if I have any left now at this age.

There's this other quote I read as well that touched me in ways I do not know how to accurately describe.

"There is a quote from one of my friend Joan Didion's essays. It's from the last essay in The White Album. The quote is: 'What I have made for myself is personal, but is not exactly peace,' and then it goes on, and then, 'Most of us live less theatrically, but remain the survivors of a peculiar and inward time.' This feels like the truest thing I have ever read. I guess there's no bottom to a person, but I feel you have left fewer stones unturned than anyone else who's ever passed through, and it's taken me some time to recognize how knowing you has been like coming in from the cold, lonely road to find a warm fire and a table laid, so thank you for that, Theodore."

I agree wholeheartedly with Sybil. It is one of the truest things I have ever read too. There are so many battles I have won and many I have exited with my hand on my heart, bleeding, losing not only the battle, but chunks of myself that no one saw except me. I personally put a lot of effort into concealing my pain, even to myself sometimes. It is the way I have learned to survive, to literally delusion myself and others into thinking I am fine until I believe it. I am optimistically delusional and it has worked for me thus far.

And the way she describes knowing Theodore is the way I would describe meeting my husband. I couldn't have said it better myself. As I'm writing this about him, I think he helps me maintain whatever of my spring is left. Being with him is one of the only times in my life I have felt solely taken care of.

There are so many quotes and pages I could extract, and so many I have highlighted, and some I felt so strongly about I had to read out loud to my husband.

I'm writing this review just as I closed the last page, so everything I'm writing here is fresh, the words dripping onto this blog rawer than usual, and I have a feeling I will have more to say retrospectively when I have more time to sit with it. It being the immense impact this book has left on me. I feel the physical weight of it, like a ton of bricks has been dropped on my heart. It's both a sombre and magical feeling, I feel so sad and yet seen after completing this book.

Some books entertain you, some books teach you, some books confuse you. This book did all of that and more for me. It made me see myself more clearly. Is this a personal experience, or will it do the same for you?

If it's not clear enough, I HIGHLY RECOMMEND.