Working with books has made me a bit jaded about the magic of literature; it’s much harder for me than it once was to be deeply impressed with a book, or to feel transported, or to view it separately from its status as a consumer product. (Yes, I’m depressed about that, too, and I hope that I can get past it in time.)

But Sarah Perry made all of those things happen for me in Melmoth, which examines centuries of guilt and self-punishment within an atmospheric Gothic frame. It hooked me with things I love, snowy Prague and historical documents and old libraries, then showed me things and took me to places I didn’t expect. It presents moral ambiguity and refuses to wrap things up with easy answers or to descend into utter hopelessness and nihilism. It invites the reader to consider how we treat those who are different from us, how we parse the differences between what is lawful and what is truly right, and how we live with ourselves when we fail or act with cruelty.

In these ways, Melmoth is sort of timeless and inextricably tied to this specific moment in history. Besides all that, it’s a great read, brimming with beautiful language, images that made me wish I were a filmmaker, and deftly-written meta interludes. A book that I will remember, and likely revisit.

Read this thing.