Books have always been my way of both learning about the world and escaping from it. When I was young, they were a lifeline from an unbearable reality; now they’re my stress relief, the way others might turn to movies or TV. This made me connect immediately with Opaline, whose love of books guided every choice she made.
The story surprised me more than once. I half‑expected Armand to be behind the worst of it, so I was shocked to see just how cruel Lyndon turned out to be. Having Opaline committed, and then lying about her baby, was unconscionable. The asylum scenes were the hardest to read, not because they were unrealistic, but because they rang so true to how women have been treated throughout history.
The book blends magical realism with a strong feminist undercurrent. The enchanted bookshop felt like a quiet promise that anything was possible, that these women could overcome abuse, control, and societal expectations to find their own way. Opaline’s trousers may seem like a small act of rebellion, but in her time it was a bold statement of agency.
The male characters are a mixed bag. Armand dripping with contempt, Lyndon a tyrant, Henry casually undermining Martha (though I’m certain she’d set him straight). It underscores how little has truly changed: women now have legal rights our grandmothers could only dream of, but we still fight for equal pay, equal power, and simple respect.
Some lines lingered long after I closed the book:
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“What is something you create, even if you do nothing? The answer was a choice.”
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“Being a woman was akin to a performance… I knew how I was supposed to act and what I was supposed to say, but I wasn’t exactly sure if I wanted to.”
The author handled heavy topics like domestic violence, war, addiction with honesty, and I admit I was perfectly fine watching Shane take a tumble down the stairs. (Women have been coached forever to say, “I fell,” right?)
Even the cracks spreading across the basement walls of 12 Ha’Penny Lane felt purposeful, like Martha herself, growing, branching out, refusing to be contained.
This is a book about belief, resilience, and refusing to be silenced. The magical bookshop doesn’t appear to everyone, only to those open to change and willing to grow. I loved that.
This book left me hoping that someday our society will move further toward true equality, that women will finally have the full autonomy we deserve as thoughtful, intelligent human beings. The Lost Bookshop may be fiction, but its themes are painfully real, and its magic is a reminder that change begins with believing it’s possible.
