“Once upon a time there was a fairy godmother, but the rest of the time there was none. This story is about one of those other times.” Diane Setterfield
that was thirteenth tale, for me.
Diane Setterfield gives you the discomforting fly-on-the-wall point of observation of an old mansion that houses a family as queer and as eccentric and as violent as that of the ancient manor of Wuthering Heights. A remote setting, supernatural occurrences, gothic elements, a mysterious turn of events, and every reason to turn back or put down the book, but an unnerving inability to do so.
“My gripe is not with lovers of the truth but with truth herself. What succor, what consolation is there in truth, compared to a story? What good is truth, at midnight, in the dark, when the wind is roaring like a bear in the chimney? When the lightning strikes shadows on the bedroom wall and the rain taps at the window with its long fingernails? No. When fear and cold make a statue of you in your bed, don't expect hard-boned and fleshless truth to come running to your aid. What you need are the plump comforts of a story. The soothing, rocking safety of a lie.” Diane Setterfield