The Correspondent by Virginia Evans

I first heard about The Correspondent by Virginia Evans on Sarah's Bookshelves Live, which is a book podcast I can reliably count on to tell me what current books are going to be right for me.

Then, the librarian who handed it to me sort of whispered to me that she had this one on hold and couldn't wait to read it. Any recommendation from a librarian is a recommendation I take seriously.

Sybil Van Antwerp is a retired lawyer, a mother, grandmother, and has been divorced for thirty years. She's a bit cantankerous and has spent her entire life writing and receiving letters. This is a snippet of her writing life. This is an epistolary novel in which we watch Sybil as her relationships shift over time, we watch as she deals with grief from the past and grief from her current life, we watch as she learns who she is and who she isn't. We also get to see hysterical letters she writes to authors and journalists. She writes about literature, day-to-day life, and huge life events. 

There's something of a sense of relief I get in reading books with characters who are older and who are still living and learning and being jackasses and making apologies and learning lessons. When I was younger, I thought that surely I would have life figured out by X age (and let me assure you, that X was indeed a number smaller than that which was the number of candles I last saw) and it's comforting to me that no one has it all figured out.  

Sybil is in her seventies when this book starts and she's older than that when it finished. I feel like this is a population we don't get to read a lot about and I am excited that it was done so lovingly and delicately here. Huge thumbs up from me. I read it in less than 24 hours. 5/5 stars

Lines of note:

There is an articulation of life one hears again and again. People will say, 'oh, this is only a season.' You know what I am referring to, don't you? I mean how if someone is in difficulty they'll say 'it's only a season' Or if someone is having a new baby and in the sleepless nights, an older woman will comfort with this idea that the expanse of time is a season - a winter, I suppose? (rather, a hurricane season!) - and the season will change eventually to something sunnier. I take issue with this. There are, by definition, four seasons that repeat in measured pattern year after year. As there is no such rhythm in the human life, I have to think that when it comes to seasons we all get one round. We are born and grow throughout 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...(page 27-28)

I can't tell if this is bleak or encouraging. Discuss among yourselves. 

The mind was not created for idleness. Golf, drinking, staying in one's pajamas until late in the morning, stretching oneself to find ways in which to pass the days is the way we were meant to spend our vacation weeks, not decades of our lives. (page 81)

But let's be honest and say that we all wish we were sort of idle, right?

When she came to the house in sweatpants about five sizes too large and her wet hair thrown up in a mess on top of her head I though, well, she looks about as bright as a root cellar, but she asked me good questions, as a matter of fact. The child knew something about government and politics. I did enjoy thinking about everything again. She recorded the conversation as if she was Bob Woodward. She took it seriously... (page 108)

Sybil is tough but fair. 

The grief that must fill the world is incomprehensible. Our small dose felt as large as the sun, didn't it? And it persists. (page 113)

It's tough out thee. 

I believe one ought to be precious with communication. Remember: words, especially those written, are immortal. (page 123)

I feel like it's hard in 2025 to talk about written communication. We are in the minority, those of us still typing out on blogs, writing letters and postcards, and trying to prevent AI slop from infiltrating our very beings. Soon it will be impossible to tell what was written by a human and what was from a computer and everything dated 2024 and after will be looked at with suspicion. I am sad for the future. 

Things I looked up:

Elizabeth Franklin (page 16) - I don't know. According to the book, a woman sued her children because they duped her into selling her house and put her in a facility that was dirty and abusive. I can't find anything to indicate if this was a real person or fictional. 

I am writing in regards to the article printed on page 2 of the Life section this morning, June 10, 2013, regarding the death of the young girl in Timonium. (page 58) - I can't find a record of this, either. 

2016 bridge collapse in Pittsburgh (page 168) - I can't find anything here, either. The incidents are so specific in the book, though, that it seems crazy that they are made up. 

Bergamo (page 222) - A city in Italy.

"Quarantine" by Eavan Boland (page 226) - You can see the whole poem here. 

Hat mentions (why hats?):

The way he's dressed like it's still 1978, and that European hat of his...(page 179)

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What's the last epistolary novel you read?