Unselected Admiration for Emma and Co.

S ince September 17, I’ve done little else but read almost everything Beth Brower has written, starting with the witty, charming, and rather profound Unselected Journals of Emma M. Lion.

Let me introduce you all properly.

Emma M. Lion (whose middle name I can’t wait to discover) is a young woman in Victorian England, 1883 to be precise, with a zest for life rivaled only by Anne Shirley and a devotion to books and writing of which Jo March would be envious. Before you roll your eyes, dear reader, and think that this is yet another cheap, modern take on Victorian romance with overly sentimental prose and a staid (or steamy) plot, wait. Emma’s world, the whimsical neighborhood of St. Crispian’s in London, is like nothing you’ve experienced.

Our heroine is an orphan and, like many orphans, has suffered some rather hard knocks. After three years under the thumb of a “dragon” (a.k.a. Cousin Mathilde), Emma has finally returned to London and her inheritance — a charming house in St. Crispian’s named Lapis Lazuli. Her plan? Buy books, own a cat, and study to her heart’s content. Alas, due to the machinations of a malicious relative, these dreams are shattered, and Emma is set on an entirely different path — one that pulls the most fascinating characters into her orbit. We walk with Emma as she lives her life and experience her people and places through the pages of her journal.

There is a balance to Brower’s writing, a grounded realism that knows sorrow, but woven throughout are the mundane bits of daily life that make up living but as seen through poetic eyes. Not romanticized eyes, mind you. Brower’s Emma has seen much grief. But she has a view of the world that lifts the soul and makes one look around to see the charm in a lovely dish or a stray conversation or a brief smile. There is a touch of whimsy in Brower’s tale, a fine line between magic and reality that is walked with care and creativity. I’m also convinced she’s part psychologist, given how she handles the various relationships throughout the books. Most important, though, is the love and respect Brower has for her characters, and it is undeniably obvious how much they mean to her.

Take Emma. She comes across as a real person, not a book character. How do I mean? Honest, not overdone, aggravating, impulsive, kind but occasionally thoughtless, outspoken, witty, compassionate, grieving; she’s multifaceted, just as we all are. I spent most of book 5 wildly aggravated with her, but mainly because my heart hurt for her and all she was enduring, and I could see she was handling it poorly.

Not only does Brower love her characters, even the Reprobates and scoundrels, she has the goods when it comes to writing them. Her prose is well-crafted and honed, full of lovely phrases and thoughts. The manner in which she deftly weaves in poetry, classic literature, and scripture shows that Beth Brower knows of what she writes. She doesn’t just quickly search for a quote or a Bible verse to shove into a chapter, hoping to sound wise or literary. No, she has clearly spent time in the land of the Israelites and wrestled with Shakespeare — and she breathes poetry. Her love of glorious words (through her characters) is infectious, to the point that I’m now reading poetry, something I rarely did before, and working my way through Julius Caesar. My students have even caught the bug and now beg to memorize Shakespeare. Her observations, both of people and situations, make you look up and notice those around you and remind us that daily life isn’t some grand drama, but about all the in-between moments and how we receive them.

Besides my struggle to write earnestly and honestly about these books that I’ve come to love, it’s also difficult not to spoil anything about the plot while also enticing new readers. And there is a robust plot in this series. Currently, there are eight volumes out, and my Emma-obsessed mother, family friend, roommate, and I haunt Brower’s Instagram and Substack, waiting for an announcement about book 9. In total, the series will have around 24 installments (give or take). The idea, according to Brower, is a kind of TV series in literary form: Each journal will cover two months, and the whole series will cover four years. Each book and each year will have its own arc, while there is of course an arc to the entire series. Ambitious? Definitely. Will I stick around for the entire saga? Without a doubt.

There is a part of me that worries someone will try to make the books into a film or actual TV series, which I believe would ruin the charm. Emma is so much her own person that I wouldn’t want anyone trying to embody her. And besides, Hollywood would ruin the friendships and make the romances and relationships steamy somehow, which they are not.

While I do draw the line at movies, audiobooks are another beast altogether. The ones for this series, narrated by Genevieve Gaunt, are probably the best I’ve ever heard (said as someone who’s listened to thousands of hours of audiobooks in her life). They just started to come out this past August, and what an absolute delight. Gaunt’s voices are incredible, and her treatment of the text draws you into the characters and spaces so fully.

To be completely honest, I almost didn’t want to write about these books — the Journals or anything else of Brower’s — because they’ve taken up such a spot in my heart and imagination that I simultaneously want to preach the Gospel of Emma M. Lion worldwide while also hiding away in my room rereading them. Dramatic as it sounds, I don’t believe I’ve been this invested in a book series since racing through Trenton Lee Stewart’s The Mysterious Benedict Society series, and not this laudatory of an author since someone last asked me how I feel about Louisa May Alcott. But it is a silly reaction, holding something dear to oneself. It will only crush what deserves to be free and loved by others as well.

After all this praise, I really should have some sort of critique, but after reading all eight Emma books as well as two others by Brower (The Q and The Beast of Ten, equally compelling and engaging), I really only have one: No woman of my acquaintance has three (and possibly more) eligible men vying for attention in her life, as does Emma. Ah well.

A chronic worrier, I do sometimes fear that I’ll die tragically before Brower finishes the series. But I have a hope that God will understand and that He’d be only too happy for Brower’s stories to grace my desired celestial bookshelves. They certainly deserve a place there.