After finishing Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell, I was quite immersed in the world of Victorian literature, so I picked up a copy of Arthur Phillips' Angelica. I loved his previous book, The Egyptologist, so Angelica seemed like a "sure thing" for me. It was. I don't know when I've enjoyed a book more.
Angelica takes place in late-Victorian London and revolves around the Barton household: Joseph, his seemingly very neurotic wife, Constance, their four-year-old daughter, Angelica, and even their "sturdy Irish maid," Nora. Of course other sundry characters enter the picture, such as actress-turned-spiritualist, Anne Montague, Joseph's "friend," Harry Delacorte, and the lemon cake loving Dr. Miles.
Angelica is the story of many things. It's a ghost story. It's a story of the deterioration of a marriage. It's a story of child abuse and its consequences. It's a story of lust. It's a story of love. Above all, it's a story of ultimate sadness. The book, in Phillips' able hands, is perfectly written. Not one word could be replaced with one better suited. It's a perfect marriage of art and craft. Arthur Phillips proved he certainly knew his stuff in The Egyptologist, and in Angelica, he even tops himself. Missing this book would be missing the reading experience of a lifetime. And don't worry about the open ending. All the clues are there and putting the puzzle pieces together is half the fun.
A book or two more and Arthur Phillips is going to be known as one of our greatest writers ever. His work is mesmerizing.