I went into The Correspondent already intrigued by its premise, but I wasn’t prepared for just how deeply it would impact me. Told entirely through letters and emails (my second epistolary book in a row, after I just finished The Killer Question by Janice Hallett), the novel follows Sybil, a seventy‑something woman who still believes in the quiet power of written correspondence. It sounds like a format that could feel slow or limiting, yet it becomes the very thing that makes the story feel so intimate. Reading Sybil’s letters feels like being invited into her private world, one envelope at a time.
The plot unfolds gradually as Sybil writes to family, friends, acquaintances and, occasionally, famous authors who have caught her attention. Through these exchanges we learn about her past, her fractured relationships, her grief and the secrets she has carried for decades. There is a thread of unease running through the book as Sybil begins receiving unsettling messages linked to her former work in the courts, and this adds a quiet tension that balances the emotional weight of the story.
What struck me most was how fully realised Sybil is. She is sharp, funny, stubborn and sometimes infuriating, yet always human. I found myself laughing at her boldness in one moment and wiping away tears in the next. Her reflections on ageing, fading eyesight, loneliness and the fear of losing the ability to read or write are handled with such tenderness. The novel also explores adoption, motherhood, forgiveness and the complicated ways we love the people closest to us. It is not afraid to sit with the heavier themes, so readers should be mindful of the trigger warnings, which include cancer, child loss and suicide attempt among others.
The epistolary structure is both the book’s greatest strength and, at times, a small hurdle. The sheer number of correspondents can feel overwhelming early on, and I occasionally had to pause to remind myself who was who. Still, once the rhythm settles, the format becomes a beautiful way to watch Sybil grow. Her voice shifts subtly as she reconnects with old friends, confronts past mistakes and allows new people into her life. Even the letters she never sends reveal something raw and honest about her inner world.
What worked especially well for me was the emotional layering. The humour is sly and warm, the heartbreak is genuine and the moments of connection feel earned. I also loved the literary references sprinkled throughout, which made my bookish heart glow. If you enjoy character‑driven stories that unfold quietly but leave a lasting impression, this one is for you.
In the end, The Correspondent is a sad, funny and heartwarming meditation on what it means to be known. It reminded me why I love epistolary novels and why the act of writing to someone can feel like an offering. I read the final page feeling moved, grateful and a little in awe that this is a debut.
