Once upon a time there was a man who forbade his wife from touching his books…

The Book Collector is a gothic fairy-tale set in a time of corsets and carriages. Violet, the second wife, settles into her new mansion home, idly wondering about her husband’s first wife and whether he loves her still. There’s a smack of Rebecca and Jane Eyre here. One day Violet finds a strange book of fairy tales and becomes consumed with the idea that her life is a fairy tale and if she could figure out which one, she could avoid a grim ending.

Their romance had been like a fairy tale. She felt that if only she could work out which fairy tale it was, it would somehow help her. 19

Violet is drawn to anatomical books and studies the female form beneath its skin. There is a play throughout the novel of appearance versus reality, of things beneath the surface, of masks and guises. And crucially, for Violet, of reality and delusion - and who has the power to call it.

The language is dispassionate and distant, eschewing gothic voluptuousness. Sentences are short, diction simple. I found it hard to close the gap and truly care for Violet. She was most alive when most vulnerable: struggling with post-natal depression, overpowered in the asylum.

There’s violence, gore, and grisly details here too. Gothic content is present, but not the lusciousness of gothic prose. The insect scene was my favourite: a truly vivid, distressing moment.