#1 <NEW YORK TIMES <BESTSELLER &bull; Discover the word-of-mouth hit hailed by Ann Patchett as &ldquo;A cause for celebration&rdquo;&mdash;an intimate novel about the transformative power of the written word and the beauty of slowing down to reconnect with the people we love.

**&ldquo;<The Correspondent< is this year&rsquo;s breakout novel no one saw coming.&rdquo;&mdash;<The Wall Street Journal<

&ldquo;I cried more than once as I witnessed this brilliant woman come to understand herself more deeply.&rdquo;&mdash;Florence Knapp, author of <The Names<**

LONGLISTED FOR THE CENTER FOR FICTION FIRST NOVEL PRIZE AND THE ANDREW CARNEGIE MEDAL &bull; A BEST BOOK OF THE YEAR: NPR, <The Washington Post, Boston Globe, Elle, Christian Science Monitor, She Reads<

<&ldquo;Imagine, the letters one has sent out into the world, the letters received back in turn, are like the pieces of a magnificent puzzle. . . . Isn&rsquo;t there something wonderful in that, to think that a story of one&rsquo;s life is preserved in some way, that this very letter may one day mean something, even if it is a very small thing, to someone?&rdquo;<

Filled with knowledge that only comes from a life fully lived, <The Correspondent< is a gem of a novel about the power of finding solace in literature and connection with people we might never meet in person. It is about the hubris of youth and the wisdom of old age, and the mistakes and acts of kindness that occur during a lifetime.

Sybil Van Antwerp has throughout her life used letters to make sense of the world and her place in it. Most mornings, around half past ten, Sybil sits down to write letters&mdash;to her brother, to her best friend, to the president of the university who will not allow her to audit a class she desperately wants to take, to Joan Didion and Larry McMurtry to tell them what she thinks of their latest books, and to one person to whom she writes often yet never sends the letter.

Sybil expects her world to go on as it always has&mdash;a mother, grandmother, wife, divorcee, distinguished lawyer, she has lived a very full life. But when letters from someone in her past force her to examine one of the most painful periods of her life, she realizes that the letter she has been writing over the years needs to be read and that she cannot move forward until she finds it in her heart to offer forgiveness.

Sybil Van Antwerp&rsquo;s life of letters might be &ldquo;a very small thing,&rdquo; but she also might be one of the most memorable characters you will ever read....

Autorentext

Virginia Evans is from the east coast of the United States. She attended James Madison University for her bachelor’s in English literature, as well as Trinity College in Dublin, Ireland, for her master’s of philosophy in creative writing. Now she lives in Winston-Salem, North Carolina, with her husband, two children, and her Red Labrador, Brigid.

Klappentext

#1 NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER • OVER TWO MILLION COPIES SOLD • Discover the word-of-mouth hit hailed by Ann Patchett as “A cause for celebration”—an intimate novel about the transformative power of the written word and the beauty of slowing down to reconnect with the people we love.

**“This novel is a complete and utter joy.”—Ann Napolitano, author of Hello Beautiful
“Quietly dazzling.”—The New York Times
“I cried more than once as I witnessed this brilliant woman come to understand herself more deeply.”—Florence Knapp, author of *The Names

In development as a major motion picture

WINNER OF THE WOMEN’S PRIZE FOR FICTION • LONGLISTED FOR THE CENTER FOR FICTION FIRST NOVEL PRIZE AND THE ANDREW CARNEGIE MEDAL • A BEST BOOK OF THE YEAR: NPR, The Washington Post, Boston Globe, Elle, Christian Science Monitor, She Reads

“Imagine, the letters one has sent out into the world, the letters received back in turn, are like the pieces of a magnificent puzzle. . . . Isn’t there something wonderful in that, to think that a story of one’s life is preserved in some way, that this very letter may one day mean something, even if it is a very small thing, to someone?”

Filled with knowledge that only comes from a life fully lived, The Correspondent is a gem of a novel about the power of finding solace in literature and connection with people we might never meet in person. It is about the hubris of youth and the wisdom of old age, and the mistakes and acts of kindness that occur during a lifetime.

Sybil Van Antwerp has throughout her life used letters to make sense of the world and her place in it. Most mornings, around half past ten, Sybil sits down to write letters—to her brother, to her best friend, to the president of the university who will not allow her to audit a class she desperately wants to take, to Joan Didion and Larry McMurtry to tell them what she thinks of their latest books, and to one person to whom she writes often yet never sends the letter.

Sybil expects her world to go on as it always has—a mother, grandmother, wife, divorcee, distinguished lawyer, she has lived a very full life. But when letters from someone in her past force her to examine one of the most painful periods of her life, she realizes that the letter she has been writing over the years needs to be read and that she cannot move forward until she finds it in her heart to offer forgiveness.

Sybil Van Antwerp’s life of letters might be “a very small thing,” but she also might be one of the most memorable characters you will ever read.

Leseprobe
Felix Stone

7 Rue de la Papillon
84211 Gordes
FRANCE

June 2, 2012

Felix, my dear brother,

Thank you for the birthday card, the fountain pen, and the book, which I started the day it arrived (Thursday) and finished today. It was exactly as you described. Unlikely and electric, inventive, and right up my alley. Seventy-three feels the same as seventy-two for what it’s worth, arthritis, constipation, and trouble sleeping, and I’ve decided to stop dyeing my hair. I don’t care much for my birthday, as you know, though it’s always nice of you to acknowledge it. Trudy and Millie of course came for appetizers and cards. The children both contacted me—Bruce had a strawberry tart delivered from a bakery (he’ll be up next weekend to clean out my gutters anyway), and it was awful, so I threw it out. Probably cost him a fortune. Fiona called from London. She said she won’t come home again until Christmas because work is keeping her jumping and now she is designing something in Sydney, for heaven’s sake, so she’ll spend a month in Australia. She assured me Walt doesn’t mind how often she is gone, but I’ll tell you, I don’t know how their marriage will make it. She’ll certainly never be able to have children at this point. (They’re not even trying. At least she hasn’t told me if they are. When I bring it up she chastises me.) Theodore Lubeck down the street brought me cut roses from his bushes, as he does every year, which is good of him, even if he is a renegade from the lawless fringe of the American West.

How is France? How is Stewart? What are you writing? Thank you for the invitation to visit, you’re always good to refresh it. Yes, I loved The Chateau, but that was a novel, and as much as I would love to see your new house, no, I’ll not come. Just as a summer afternoon is gorgeous from inside air-conditioning, and you step into the day, hot, muggy, miserable, a postcard of France with all the lavender and sunflowers, I imagine, is far more alluring than the place …