A Rather Over-the-Top Love Letter to Wilkie Collins’ The Woman in White

Let me start by saying this: if The Woman in White were a person, I’d be hopelessly smitten. Truly, I’d marry it on the spot – or, at the very least, I’d buy it a drink, slide closer, and hope for the kind of long, dramatic romance that novels like this are made of. From the very first page, I knew I was in for something spectacular. Wilkie Collins didn’t just write a novel – he crafted a literary rollercoaster, all wild twists and stomach-flipping turns, the kind that left me clutching the pages like my life depended on it.

The plot? Oh, the plot. Where do I even begin? I could practically feel myself tangled in its glorious mess, like I’d wandered into a Victorian maze, equal parts Gothic horror, courtroom drama, and forbidden romance. The second Walter Hartright met Anne Catherick – the mysterious woman in white herself – on that eerie, moonlit road, I swear I felt the hair on my neck stand up. That moment sucked me in like quicksand, and from then on, I was doomed. This book isn’t just a story; it’s a full-blown melodrama on the verge of hysteria. And I loved every second of it.

But let’s talk characters, shall we? Marian Halcombe. I feel like we’re best friends now. Honestly, if I could invite her round for tea, I’d roll out the good china. Marian isn’t just clever – she’s whip-smart, steel-spined, and unflinchingly loyal. Every time she entered the scene, I found myself grinning, thinking, ‘Yes, here comes the woman who knows how to get things done‘. Yes, Collins can’t stop reminding us that she’s not conventionally beautiful, but honestly, who cares? If heroines were cocktails, Marian would be a double whisky: no frills, strong enough to knock you sideways, and absolutely unforgettable.

And then there’s Laura Fairlie. Look, I tried. I really did. She’s sweet and kind and very, very pretty, but bless her, she’s about as useful as a lace umbrella in a rainstorm. It drove me mad how she spent the entire novel either fainting, weeping, or being locked up while Marian did all the actual thinking. If Laura were furniture, she’d be one of those overly delicate chaise longues – nice to look at but entirely impractical. And yet, despite her utter lack of utility, I couldn’t help feeling oddly protective of her.

Now, let me gush about the villains, because honestly, they stole the show. Count Fosco – what a man! The audacity! The flair! He’s like the lovechild of a stage magician and a pantomime villain, with his pet mice scuttling about and his grand, moustache-twirling monologues. And yet, somehow, I found myself rooting for him, even as he plotted dastardly deeds. How could I not? The man’s so flamboyantly evil, it’s as if he knows he’s in a novel and wants to make sure we’re all paying attention.

And Sir Percival Glyde – oh, the slimy snake. Every time he appeared, I felt like I needed to wash my hands. His Big Secret, when it’s finally revealed, left me somewhere between gasping in shock and giggling at the sheer lunacy of it. Honestly, it’s the kind of twist you only find in the best Victorian dramas, where subtlety takes a back seat and audacity drives the carriage.

The structure, though. I have to admit, it tested my patience at first. Collins gives us multiple narrators, each with their own distinct voice, and for the first few chapters, I felt like I was being handed too many threads to weave together. But once I got the hang of it, oh, how marvellous it was! Each voice felt like a piece of the puzzle, slotting into place until the bigger picture emerged. I started cheering every time Marian’s diary popped up – she’s got the kind of juicy detail that makes me want to write ‘Dear Diary, why aren’t you this dramatic?‘

And the drama oh, the drama! By the time the story reached its fever-pitch finale, I was completely swept away. Women escaping asylums! Villains burning incriminating evidence! Long-lost letters and thwarted inheritances! Honestly, it’s a miracle I didn’t faint right along with Laura. I think I physically leaned forward at one point, as though that would help me absorb the chaos faster.

If you haven’t read The Woman in White yet, let me beg you – beg you – to dive in. It’s thrilling, bonkers, and utterly addictive. It’s the kind of novel that makes you laugh, gasp, and occasionally shout, “Oh, come on!” at the page. And when it’s over, you’ll miss it, like a guest who overstayed their welcome but was so entertaining you couldn’t bring yourself to kick them out.

And if you don’t love it as much as I do? Well, I suppose we can still be friends, but I’ll have to assume you’re secretly in league with Count Fosco.