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Khoula Abdullah _ — I was bitten by the want of this book back in June of last year. A small bookshop in Barcelona was the first place I had seen books in English since I had gotten to the Continent six weeks before. The Thirteenth Tale made the long trip back across the Atlantic with me in the solid company of a Spanish translation of Don Quijote, The Name of the Wind, and Carrie Fisher's un-biography. When I returned there was a flurry of activity, unpacking to do, work to get back to, and school looming ever on the horizon. I filed the book away and did not think about it for a year. This summer, after finishing two other books and looking at my overfull bookshelves wondering what to re-read, I saw it, its crisp spine beckoning. Now was the time to open the pages and see what I had waited over a year to read. I was not disappointed in the slightest. From the first few pages, the novel's old-fashioned style of writing threw me for a loop. I had to read the first two pages more than once before I was able to slip into the almost Victorian-style the author had chosen. Even in the first person, set ostensibly in the modern age, the narrator's voice is old and more reminiscent of Bronte or Austen than that of a modern narrator. But the story, a true Gothic horror in the vein of the most horrid ghost story to ever come out of the 18th and 19th centuries, needs this slow voice, this careful approach at horror. I came into this novel expecting a story and left having been given a tale. It only takes a few pages before the true, disturbing sense of creeping horror sets in, but once it does the novel is loathe to shake it off. Even in the final chapters the sense of impending evil lingers just out of sight. An excellent story woven by an expert. Excuse me while I go see what else Ms. Setterfield has written.