In her debut novel, The Anchoress, Australian writer Robyn Cadwallader tells the story of 17-year-old Sarah in 13th-century Midlands, England. Devastated by her sister's death in childbirth, Sarah chooses to devote her life to God and holiness, deciding to become an anchoress. It's a powerful, quiet story of her self-imposed confinement in a small stone cell next to a church. After she enters her room, the door is hammered shut: "I'd thrown away everything in this world and leaped into the air, lighter than I'd ever been, flying to God."
She has a pallet with straw, thin blankets, a commode, fireplace, altar, crucifix, a few prayer books, some clothes and two small shuttered windows--one to talk with Louise, who brings her food and water, the other a squint through which she can see the church's altar. Beneath her feet is buried the body of the previous anchoress, who died in the cell. For Sarah, it's a "place of life in death." Feeling guilty that she isn't being holy enough, she resorts to self-flagellation: "Slashes of red. The warm trickle of blood."
Despite Sarah being sealed away from the world, the world enters her cell often: via Louise; Father Ranaulf, her confessor; a leper who begs for food; Sir Thomas, her patron, who had wanted to marry her; even a cat that sneaks in. Like the best of religious fiction, this solemn story beautifully captures the mysterious and intense essence of one's total, unequivocal devotion to God. --Tom Lavoie, former publisher