I love receiving fun mail. You know, birthday cards, postcards, the random just because correspondence.

It doesn’t happen that much anymore. Somehow on Facebook an HB with a cake emoji seems to pass for birthday wishes. It’s nice. I’ll take it, and certainly have posted something like that myself, but it’s not the same as a tangible card that someone purchased, wrote on, mailed, and that I can keep forever. Texting is just as impermanent as those social media posts.

I like snail mail. Mostly I send birthday cards and postcards. On occasions I’ll send and receive an email that could pass for a more substantive correspondence.

This must be why I knew I would enjoy the novel The Correspondent by Virginia Evans that my friend Denise recommended. Denise is the ultimate correspondent, which I’m sure the U.S. Postal Service appreciates.

The book isn’t going to be for everyone. I think you are going to have to appreciate the art of writing to someone, as well as receiving mail to enjoy this.

Sybil Van Antwerp is the main character in the book. It’s her musings between others that fills the pages through the course of several years.

What this books proves is that a collection of letters can tell the story of one’s life—the good, the bad, the sad, the parts that are shared with some and not others, the secrets (or stones as one might call them), the heartache, the joy—all the components.

I loved listening to the book because most of the characters had a different person reading what “they” wrote. The emotion and inflections, well, it was like I was listening to a play.

There is a depth to the book, because, well, there is depth to every life. It’s what we choose to share that matters. Maybe that’s the greatest take away from the book—the importance of communication, the importance of letting others in.