The Thirteenth Tale

This was a really good book. It's by Diane Setterfield and of course I looked her up and can't find any other books by her. Isn't that always the way. Well this book was so enjoyable that I kept it from the library till it was overdue, and those of you who know me well know how EXTREMELY rare that is! Ok, Ok, here's your teaser:

"Isabelle Angelfield was odd.
Isabelle Angelfield was born during a rainstorm.
It is impossible to know whether or not these facts are connected. But when, two and half decades later, Isabelle left home for the second time, people in the village looked back and remembered the endlessness of the rain on the day of her birth. Some remembered as if it was yesterday that the doctor was late, delayed by the floods caused by the river having burst its banks. Others recalled beyond the shadow of a doubt that the cord had been wrapped round the baby's neck, almost strangling her before she could be born. Yes, it was a difficult birth, all right, for on the stroke of six, just as the baby was born and the doctor rang the bell, hadn't the mother passed away, out of this world and into the next? So if the weather had been fine, and the doctor had been earlier, and the cord had not deprived the child of oxygen, and if the mother had not died...

And if, and if, and if. Such thinking was pointless. Isabelle was as Isabelle was, and that is all there is to say about the matter.

The infant, a white scrap of fury, was motherless. And at the beginning, to all intents and purposes, it looked like she'd be fatherless, too. For the father, George Angelfield, fell into a decline. He locked himself in the library and refused point-blank to come out. This might seem excessive; ten years of marriage is usually enough to cure marital affection, but Angelfield was an odd fellow, and there it was. He had loved her more than he loved his horses, more even than his dog. AS for their son, Charlie, a boy of nine, it never entered George's head to wonder whether he loved him more or less than Mathilde, for the fact was, he never thought of Charlie at all.

Bereaved, driven half mad with grief, George Angelfield sat all day in the library, eating nothing, seeing no one. And he spent his nights there, too, on the daybed, not sleeping but staring red-eyed at the moon. This went on for months. His pale cheeks became paler; her grew thin; he stopped speaking. Specialists were called from London. THe vicar came and left again. The dog pined away from want of affection, and when it died, George Angelfield barely noticed.

In the end the Missus got fed up with it all. She picked up baby Isabelle from the crib in the nursery and took her downstairs. She strode past the butler, ignoring his protestations, and went into the library without knocking. UP to the desk she marched, and she plumped the baby down in George Angelfield's arms without a word. Then she turned her back and walked out, slamming the door behind her."

Don't you want to know what happens now? I did. Although I didn't realize the book was a mystery until the last chapter! The whole thing is one big clue! It was awesome. Enjoy.