Neo-Victorian Voices: Victorian Psycho, Virginia Feito (2025)

Realism is as synonymous with nineteenth century-set novels as petticoats and corsets, but Virginia Feito’s 2025 Victorian Psycho isn’t a “realistic” tale of a serial killer governess. 

Instead, the novel, the latest I’m reviewing as part of my Neo-Victorian Voices series, is a sort of historical fever dream of the most gruesome kind, that relies on its period setting, unlikely murderer/protagonist, and vulnerable victims (many of them infants) for its shock value. The result is a highly readable novel that will make you laugh and ask, “did she really go there?” unless, of course, you’re squeamish—in which case, I’d give this one a miss. 

Winifred Notty arrives at Ensor House to act as governess to Drusilla and Andrew Pounds. But don’t be fooled—she’s no Jane Eyre! We quickly learn unsavory details of Winifred’s previous posts and become aware of her violent and unusual appetites, but the real reason she’s now targeting the Pounds family is a later revelation. 

The more “usual” problems of a Victorian governess—e.g., unpleasant charges and a lecherous employer—soon give way to dilemmas like where Winifred should hide the mounting bodies and whether anyone will notice bloodstained baby clothes. The tension at Ensor House ratchets up, leading to a bloodbath of a denouement, timed to coincide with Christmas, of course, and a conclusion reminiscent of my dissertation about nineteenth-century sensation fiction, in which I argued that female characters who “act the part” of the middle-class Victorian heroine can literally get away with murder.

A film adaptation is already in the works and Victorian Psycho definitely reads like it was written with a view to the big screen. As someone who loves both horror movies and the nineteenth century, I’ll definitely be watching, and I’d recommend the book to anyone who sits at the center of this Venn diagram, like me!

What novels should I consider reviewing next as part of my Neo-Victorian Voices series? Let me know—here, on Facebook, on Instagram, or by tweeting @SVictorianist. Want monthly updates from my blog? Sign up for my email newsletter here.

Film Review: The Wonder (2022)

Back in 2018, I reviewed Emma Donoghue’s 2016 nineteenth-century-Ireland-set novel, The Wonder, for this blog—check out my full review here. Today, five years on, I’m back with a post about the book’s film adaptation.

The Wonder (2022) is remarkably true to Donoghue’s novel and doesn’t resort to Hollywood theatrics to enhance the story. It stars Florence Pugh as the English nurse, Lib, and she’s the ideal actor to pull off the role. Despite the slight plot and limited setting, Pugh’s facial expressions alone are enough to keep our interest for nearly two hours. The filmmakers also do a great job conveying the moody atmosphere, which makes the genre of the movie initially difficult to pin down. Are we in a horror film or is this psychological horror? movie watchers might ask themselves in the first thirty minutes.

One result of the faithful adaptation is that my original criticisms of the novel still hold. The romantic subplot is underdeveloped, and Lib never sways in her rational beliefs, although I would have loved to see Pugh grappling with whether to accept a supernatural explanation for her patient’s lack of appetite. The movie also introduces a new problem—a slightly bizarre and meta frame story, that reminds us that we are watching actors, not real people. This was a strange choice, but these short opening and closing minutes do little to detract from what is an entertaining watch.

Overall, I’d recommend The Wonder to fans of costume dramas and Pugh, and anyone with an interest in nineteenth-century Ireland. I loved how the film emphasized the trauma of the Great Famine, placing a disturbing story about one child who refuses to eat in a wider cultural and historical context. Writers may also wish to compare the novel to the screenplay to understand how small changes can play to different media.

What nineteenth-century film would you like the Secret Victorianist to review next? Let me know—here, on Facebook, on Instagram, or by tweeting @SVictorianist. 

Film Review: Emily (2022)

As the author of a novel inspired by the scandalous lives of the Bronte siblings (Bronte’s Mistress), I’ve fielded a lot of questions recently about Emily, the 2022 biopic about the most mysterious Bronte sister, which only came to theaters in the US last month. Have I seen it? Do I like it? Is it accurate??

In this blog post I’m finally breaking down my response to the movie into two sections—highlights and lowlights. I’d absolutely love to hear your opinions too!

Highlights

Location/Setting: The movie was shot on location, largely in the Brontes’ hometown of Haworth. It was a thrill for me to see the Bronte siblings on film in the parsonage, where they lived, and on the moors where they would have roamed. Emily is beautifully filmed, and the movie would be worth watching for the Yorkshire landscape alone.

Acting: The actors, especially Emma Mackey who played the title role, were stellar (although clearly cast for their talent rather than for any family resemblance between the siblings!).

Boosting Bronte-Mania: Critics and audiences alike seem to have really enjoyed the film, which is great news for Bronte fans (and Bronte-related authors like me). I hope it encourages even more readers to pick up Wuthering Heights and the other Bronte novels.

Lowlights

Romance: I was saddened, although not surprised, that much of the movie was given over to a fictional romance between Emily Bronte and the curate, William Weightman. I understand the film industry’s desire to add bodice ripping to every period drama. However, there was enough scandal in the Brontes’ lives without making more up and I felt the romantic focus took away from who I believe Emily Bronte really was—reclusive, introverted, and not writing from personal experience when she penned the violent passion of Wuthering Heights.

Publication History: The end of the movie was truly horrifying to me, and not because of the Bronte siblings’ speedy deaths. The screenwriters took a huge liberty in changing the publication history of Wuthering Heights and Jane Eyre and suggesting that Charlotte only penned her famous novel in response to Emily’s success.

Charlotte and Anne: Speaking of which, both Charlotte and Anne came out of the Emily biopic particularly badly. While Charlotte’s genius was chalked up to mere sibling rivalry, Anne’s writing aspirations were barely mentioned. I appreciate that this was a movie about Emily, but do we really need to keep putting Bronte sisters down to raise others up?

Sibling Relationships: Branwell, the Bronte brother, also gets a lot of screen time. What was most puzzling to me here was that the movie suggested there was most sympathy and kinship between him and Emily, presenting them as the “fun” ones, compared to an uptight Charlotte and generally useless Anne. In fact, Branwell and Charlotte were incredibly close, as were Emily and Anne—that’s why these were the pairings in which they wrote their juvenilia. There were some early references to the siblings’ childhood make-believe worlds, but this aspect of their relationships was severely underdeveloped in favor of making Emily and Branwell our bad girl/boy rebels.

Lydia Robinson: Finally, as the author of a novel all about Branwell’s affair with Lydia Robinson, his employer’s wife, I was of course intrigued to see how the movie would cover this episode. Sadly, nothing that happened at Thorp Green Hall, or the impact this had on the Bronte family, made it into the movie. Instead, there was just a brief and confusing scene featuring Branwell flirting with a married woman closer to home. Hollywood scouts, if you’re reading this, there was a real Bronte love affair, and one with the scope for multiple sex scenes—you just need to read Bronte’s Mistress. ;)

So, there you have it—this has been my take on Emily. The film is beautiful and well-acted and few of my gripes will matter if you don’t know much about the Brontes. But if you do, you might find yourself screaming at the screen like me… 

Bronte fans, do you agree or disagree? I’d love for you to let me know—here, on Facebook, on Instagram, or by tweeting @SVictorianist.

TV Review: The Tenant of Wildfell Hall (1996)

I’m a huge lover of all things related to the Brontes. In fact, my debut novel, Bronte’s Mistress, which comes out in under two months (!), prominently features several members of literature’s most famous family. However, somehow it still took a pandemic in the year of Anne Bronte’s bicentenary to make me wonder if either of her novels had been adapted for film.

Turning to IMBD, I discovered that Anne, the youngest of the three novel-writing sisters, had been overlooked on the big screen, as much as elsewhere. There are a slew of adaptations of Charlotte’s Jane Eyre and Emily’s Wuthering Heights, but Anne’s Agnes Grey and Charlotte’s other novels have yet to been given the Hollywood treatment. There is just one lone TV adaptation of Anne’s second, more controversial, novel, The Tenant of Wildfell Hall. This was made by the BBC in 1996. Thankfully for those of us in quarantine, it’s currently available via Amazon Prime Video.

The miniseries, which is three episodes long, was directed by Mike Barker and stars Tara Fitzgerald as runaway wife Helen Graham, Rupert Graves as her abusive husband, and Toby Stephens as Gilbert Markham, the farmer who falls for the mysterious “widow” renting nearby mansion Wildfell Hall.

I was initially sceptical about how the book would translate to film, comprised as the novel is of letters and a diary but, reader, I loved it.

There are minor plot alterations, especially related to the more streamlined cast of secondary characters, but the TV adaptation remains true to the spirit of Anne’s novel. We are closer to Gilbert’s perspective in the first and third episodes, but, when he is handed Helen’s diary, it is her voice that details her unhappy marriage.

The adaptation also does a great job of editing down some of Anne’s most didactic passages, leaving us with the best of Helen as she begs her husband to prepare for heaven, or argues that boys should be protected from vice as much as girls, directly calling out gendered double standards in Victorian childrearing.

I especially enjoyed the shots of the Yorkshire landscape and the original soundtrack (composed by Richard G. Mitchell). The Tenant of Wildfell Hall certainly has its dramatic moments but, as in Agnes Grey, Anne favours a quieter romance, and the music and setting enhanced this. Charlotte found her youngest sister’s second novel shocking because of its depictions of alcoholism and debauchery, but today we might look at the book as a heart-warming second chance romance.

If you’re a lover of costume dramas, consider checking out this lesser known adaptation. I hope that eventually Anne’s Agnes Grey makes it onto our screens (and Bronte’s Mistress, of course!).

Bronte’s Mistress is available for pre-order now. Order today and you’ll have it in your hands on release day in August. And join my mailing list for updates on events and more.

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Neo-Victorian Voices: Things in Jars, Jess Kidd (2020)

The crowded, murky streets of Victorian London. A detective. And a missing child. Pretty standard fare, you might think, for a historical mystery set in the nineteenth century, but Jess Kidd’s Things in Jars (2020), the latest novel under review in my Neo-Victorian Voices series, is anything but expected.

Things in Jars, Jess Kidd (2020)

First there’s her detective, Bridie—fearless, flame haired and ugly bonneted. Then there are the protagonist’s sidekicks—a seven-foot maid, with a penchant for a woman snake charmer, and a tattooed boxer, who may be either a ghost or a drug-induced hallucination. Christabel, the child Bridie has been employed to find, isn’t ordinary either. She has teeth like a pike. Snails, newts and other nasties trail after her. It’s said she can drown enemies even on dry land.

Things in Jars isn’t for the weak-hearted or stomached. But that doesn’t mean the novel offers only darkness. There’s a humour to the story, which is a wonderful complement to its macabre subjects, and an empathy to the shifting point of view, which plunges us into many characters’ motivations, feelings and desires, even those of a raven wheeling high above the scene. Kidd’s use of language is also astonishing. Her vocabulary is vast but her words always well chosen. Her Irish characters’ voices are expertly rendered—believable and lyrical without relying on cliché or non-standard spelling to convey dialect.

The fantastical elements of the story stood out for me in particular. I’m not a huge reader of historical fantasy, though I have reviewed a few favourites for this blog in the past (e.g. Susanna Clarke’s Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell, Sarah Perry’s The Essex Serpent, and Erin Morgenstern’s The Night Circus). But Kidd’s creatures are unique and genuinely uncanny, as unnerving as any creation straight from the pages of a nineteenth-century Gothic.

Things in Jars is a wonderful book to read if you want to stray outside your normal genre choices. The novel takes a familiar historical setting and makes it alien, gives us a satisfying conclusion to its central mystery while leaving us with more, and gives readers a creature of the ocean depths that belongs in neither The Little Mermaid, nor The Shape of Water.

Which novel would you like to see me review next as part of my Neo-Victorian Voices series, on novels written in the twenty first century, but set in the nineteenth? Let me know, here, on Facebook, on Instagram or by tweeting @SVictorianist. And if you want to read about my novel, Bronte’s Mistress, which was edited by the same editor as Things in Jars, click here and/or sign up for my monthly newsletter below.

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Theatre Review: Cheer From Chawton, 14th Street Y, New York City

Another post for Jane Austen fans! 

Last month I wrote about attending a marathon reading of Jane Austen’s 1818 Persuasion in the beautiful setting of the King Manor Museum in Queens. This month it was time for another event perfect for so-called Janeites—a one-woman play at the 14th Street Y in Manhattan.

Cheer From Chawton is a play that playwright and actor Karen Eterovich has been performing for over ten years. She’s taken it to museums and theatres, played for British and American audiences, and answered lots of questions from crowds along the way.

The conceit is that Jane Austen has been tricked by her family at their home in Chawton. They’ve left her to tackle an unrehearsed solo performance, rather than engaging in their normal amateur theatricals. ‘Jane’ relates the story of her life and changing fortunes as a novelist, giving us occasional cameos of her most memorable characters. There are even roles for unwitting members of the audience, as Eterovich pulls spectators onstage, or, in the guise of Miss Bates from Austen’s 1815 Emma, moves through the crowd, addressing us by different names.

The play is good fun, if a little chaotic. I did wonder what those who’ve never read Austen, or seen adaptations of her works, would have made of it! But, more than ten years on, the show is still finding its audience—diehard fans, who are so familiar with Austen’s oeuvre that they can move from scene to scene, and even from novel to novel, with ease.

At the close of the show, Eterovich held a brief Q&A session, fielding enquiries about her process and the places she’s taken the play. I asked her what question was the most common on her tours. She told me that she’s often asked about the feat of memory involved in learning lines of early-nineteenth-century prose. Her answer? Memorising Austen is a great way to realise how word-perfect the writing is.

I can well believe it. In an era when many first encounter Austen on-screen, in period dramas complete with lavish costumes, brilliant ball scenes, and the occasional nudity (hello Johnny Flynn in the opening scene of the 2020 film adaptation of Emma!), Cheer From Chawton still delights with few props, no visual effects and no dashing male lead. How extraordinary that Jane’s words are still echoing through the centuries.

Do you know of any other NYC-based shows the Secret Victorianist may want to review next? Let me know—here, on Facebook, on Instagram, or by tweeting @SVictorianist. And, if you’re on Team Bronte vs. Team Austen, or just love all things nineteenth-century, check out the details about my upcoming novel, Bronte’s Mistress, here.

Theatre Review: The Woman in Black, McKittirick Hotel, New York City

I first read Susan Hill’s The Woman in Black (1983) as a child when I came across the book in my local library. I’d recently “discovered” Victorian literature and had been reading lots of Brontë and Dickens. The cover first attracted me (I was already drawn to a Gothic aesthetic!) and, funny enough for someone who would go on to become a historical novelist, I was little disappointed when I realised this wasn’t a “real” nineteenth-century novel but a work from the previous decade.

Since then, I’ve experienced the story several times in different media. There was a touring production of the popular stage adaptation, which I attended at Belfast Opera House with giggling teenage classmates. We screamed at the jump scares and I marvelled at the stage effects (I’d never seen a Broadway or West End show before and loved the lighting and use of translucent curtains). When I was at university, I saw the 2012 film adaptation starring Daniel Radcliffe. A friend’s girlfriend covered her eyes for most of the movie and deemed it a horror film.

Each time, varied as these experiences were, my response has been the same. The Woman in Black has more style than substance. It’s Victoriana for those who don’t know much about the Victorians. But it’s all in good fun and can be visually compelling—just as the novel’s cover was to me many years ago.

This week I attended another production of the stage play, this time at the McKittirick Hotel in Manhattan. The McKittirick isn’t a real hotel but a performance space with drinking and dining venues. It’s also home to Sleep No More, the most popular immersive theatre experience in the city. I was excited to see what they would do with The Woman in Black.

What I didn’t expect was that, while Brits revel in how Victorian The Woman in Black is (from creepy music boxes, to face-obscuring fashions to ponies and traps), Americans really respond to the story’s Britishness. Prior to the show, attendees can dine in booths designed to resemble those of an English pub. We ate pies and drank ale. There was even HP Sauce on the table, which seemed pretty un-Victorian, until I read up on it and realised that the brand dates from 1895. The performance space also includes a bar, hence the billing of this The Woman in Black as a “ghost play in a pub.”

Slightly disappointingly, these pre-show bells and whistles, reminiscent of the pie dinner I enjoyed prior to the Barrow Street Theatre’s production of Sweeney Todd a couple of years ago, were the most innovative part of the production. Otherwise the play will be familiar to those who’ve seen it at other venues, despite the McKittirick’s fabled reputation.

There are only three actors (and one is the unspeaking ghost). Some props and even a dog are make-believe, with the script rhapsodising on the power of audiences’ imaginations. It’s all very meta and the Gothic tropes (empty rocking chairs, abandoned toys, descending mist) are so hackneyed they verge on cliché.

I ended the night with the same feeling The Woman in Black has always left me with—disappointment that I didn’t enjoy it more, given my love of Victorian Gothic, but also some satisfaction that the period of literature I’m most fascinated by continues to have such mass appeal. There’s something about the preoccupations, fashions, and stories of the nineteenth century that audiences keep coming back to—and that’s great news for a historical novelist like me.

If you’re looking for a fun night out and like your pie, consider checking out the production at the McKittirick. But at $100+ for the whole experience, I’d caution against breaking the bank to attend.

What NYC-based theatre production would you like to see the Secret Victorianist review next? Let me know—here, on Facebook, or by tweeting @SVictorianist.

If you want to learn more about my debut novel, Brontë’s Mistress, check out my website here. Historical novelist Jeanne Mackin writes, “Anyone who has ever thrilled to a Brontë novel needs to read this glorious historical novel about the Brontë sisters and their brother, Branwell, and his affair with the outrageous, scandalous woman who broke all conventions.”

Abridging A Christmas Carol

It’s been quite a year for the Secret Victorianist, and 2020 is set to be even more exciting, with the publication of my forthcoming novel, Bronte’s Mistress. Happy Christmas and, whether you’re new here or have been following along since 2013, thank you for reading!

In keeping with the festive season, in this post I recount a conversation with Jesse Kornbluth, a writer who recently took on abridging a seasonal classic—Charles Dickens’s A Christmas Carol (1843).

Jesse is the writer behind Head Butler, a website that aims to be your cultural concierge, covering books, movies, music and more. His abridged version of A Christmas Carol, created with children and those listening to the story aloud in mind, is now available on Amazon.

Me: Jesse, what made you want to take on the (formidable!) job of abridging one of the English language’s best-loved novelists?

J: I remember Arthur Bliss Perry, the aged and legendary headmaster of Milton Academy, reading A Christmas Carol to us in a dimly lit library before we left school in December. He didn’t read the entire story. Fifty years later, when I tried to read it to my daughter, she couldn’t bear it after five minutes. So I decided to do what Mr Perry did (and what Dickens himself did when he performed his stories): I abridged it.

Me: What was your overall approach?

J: I kept all the dialogue, but streamlined the description. Thanks to movies, readers already have a picture of what Victorian London looked like. Dickens would have been a terrific screenwriter. He moved the story forward with no digressions.

Me: Speaking of films, do you have a favourite adaptation of A Christmas Carol?

J: Hmm, it has to be one of the black-and-white films—probably the 1951 version, with Alastair Sim. [Note: This was released as Scrooge in the UK.]

Me: And any favourite Dickens quotes?

J: Yes, but from Bleak House, not A Christmas Carol: “Dead, men and women, born with Heavenly compassion in your hearts. And dying thus around us every day.”

Me: What is it do you think about Dickens, and A Christmas Carol in particular, that continues to resonate with readers, listeners and viewers today?

J: I think we all want to believe that there’s no evil in the world—only damaged people who can be healed. And if there is evil, we want to believe in a magical cure. That’s what A Christmas Carol offers.

Me: Thank you, Jesse, and merry Christmas!

If you’re interested in learning more about Jesse’s project, then check out his website. And if you have any ideas/requests/suggestions for content from the Secret Victorianist in 2020, let me know—here, on Facebook or by tweeting @SVictorianist.

I’ll be updating you on my publication journey here on my blog, but check out my author website to read early praise for Bronte’s Mistress and, if you want to receive news straight to your inbox, sign up for my email newsletter below.

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