In an era when women were expected to exist rather than truly live, Madeline Martin weaves a compelling tale of rebellion disguised as afternoon tea. The Secret Book Society arrives as Martin’s latest offering in historical fiction, following her acclaimed works The Last Bookshop in London and The Keeper of Hidden Books. This time, she ventures into the gaslit streets of 1895 London, where three women discover that forbidden literature can become the most powerful form of resistance.
The Architecture of Oppression
Martin demonstrates her mastery of atmosphere from the opening pages, crafting a Victorian London that breathes with authentic menace. The novel follows Eleanor Clarke, Rose Wharton, and Lavinia Cavendish—three women whose lives intersect through a mysterious invitation from the enigmatic Lady Duxbury. Each character represents a different facet of feminine subjugation: Eleanor, the devoted mother suffocating under her husband’s tyrannical control; Rose, an American “dollar princess” struggling to conform to aristocratic expectations; and Lavinia, an artistic soul haunted by her family’s dangerous secrets.
The author’s research shines through in her portrayal of women’s restricted literary diet during this period. While men freely indulged in whatever reading material struck their fancy, women were relegated to etiquette manuals and household management guides. Martin captures this injustice with surgical precision, making the reader feel the suffocating weight of these invisible chains.
Lady Duxbury: An Enigma Wrapped in Mourning Silk
The novel’s greatest achievement lies in its portrayal of Lady Duxbury, the thrice-widowed countess whose husbands’ mysterious deaths have sparked whispers throughout London society. Martin crafts this character with remarkable complexity, revealing her past through a hidden diary that Eleanor discovers during their secret meetings. The gradual unveiling of Lady Duxbury’s history—from a seventeen-year-old girl fleeing an unwanted engagement to a woman who has endured unimaginable abuse—creates genuine sympathy for her questionable actions.
The author skillfully maintains ambiguity around Lady Duxbury’s role in her husbands’ deaths. While the diary entries suggest clear motives for wanting these men gone, Martin never definitively confirms whether the countess is a victim who found deadly solutions or simply unlucky in love. This moral complexity elevates the novel beyond typical historical fiction territory into something more psychologically challenging.
The Power of Forbidden Friendship
Where Martin truly excels is in depicting the transformative power of genuine female friendship. The scenes where these women gather in Lady Duxbury’s library, discussing Jane Eyre and Aurora Leigh, pulse with authentic emotion. The author captures how literature can serve as both mirror and window—reflecting women’s own struggles while offering glimpses of different possibilities.
Eleanor’s character arc proves particularly compelling. Her journey from a woman who chooses clothing colors based on her emotional state to someone capable of confronting her abusive husband showcases Martin’s understanding of how courage grows in incremental steps. The nightshade vial that Lady Duxbury provides Eleanor becomes a powerful symbol—not necessarily of intended murder, but of having options when the world offers none.
Literary Craftsmanship and Historical Authenticity
Martin’s prose flows with the rhythm of Victorian sensibilities while maintaining accessibility for modern readers. Her dialogue captures the formal politeness of the era without feeling stilted, and her descriptions of London—from the opulent drawing rooms of Mayfair to the desperate poverty of Whitechapel—create vivid, immersive scenes.
The novel’s structure, alternating between present action and diary entries, maintains suspense while providing necessary context. However, this technique occasionally feels mechanical, particularly when diary entries arrive precisely when plot clarification is needed. The pacing sometimes suffers from this predictable rhythm.
Shadows in the Narrative
Despite its many strengths, The Secret Book Society isn’t without flaws. The mystery element, while intriguing, occasionally feels secondary to the character development, resulting in some plot threads that don’t fully resolve. Lady Meddleson’s role as antagonist, for instance, feels underdeveloped—more plot device than fully realized character.
Additionally, some of the historical details feel slightly forced, as if Martin is working too hard to educate readers about Victorian women’s restrictions. While the information is fascinating and important, the delivery sometimes lacks subtlety.
The novel’s treatment of domestic violence, while handled with sensitivity, occasionally veers toward the sensational. Cecil’s abuse of Eleanor feels almost cartoonishly evil at times, which undermines the more nuanced portrayal of systemic oppression that Martin otherwise achieves.
The Verdict: A Flawed but Compelling Testament
The Secret Book Society succeeds as both entertainment and social commentary. Martin has created a world where books become instruments of liberation, where friendship serves as armor against oppression, and where women discover that sometimes survival requires desperate measures.
The novel works best when focusing on the intimate relationships between its protagonists. The scenes of the women sharing their thoughts on literature, supporting each other through crises, and gradually revealing their deepest fears ring with authentic emotion. Martin understands that revolution often begins in quiet moments—over tea, between the pages of a forbidden book, in the safety of unexpected friendship.
While the mystery elements don’t always satisfy and some historical details feel heavy-handed, the novel’s core message resonates powerfully. In our current era, when women’s autonomy faces new challenges, Martin’s reminder that literature has always been a form of resistance feels particularly relevant.
For Readers Who Enjoyed
Fans of Martin’s previous works will find familiar themes explored with increasing sophistication. The novel pairs well with:
The Invisible Bridge by Julie Orringer – for its portrayal of survival under oppressive circumstances
The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo by Taylor Jenkins Reid – for its complex female protagonist with mysterious past relationships
The Silent Companions by Laura Purcell – for Victorian Gothic atmosphere with strong female characters
The Miniaturist by Jessie Burton – for its exploration of women’s restricted lives in historical settings
The Birth House by Ami McKay – for its focus on women’s knowledge and secret societies
Final Thoughts: An Invitation Worth Accepting
The Secret Book Society ultimately succeeds in its primary mission: creating a compelling argument for the revolutionary power of literature and friendship. Martin has crafted characters who feel real in their struggles and authentic in their growth. While the novel may not achieve the page-turning suspense of a true thriller, it offers something perhaps more valuable—a thoughtful exploration of how women have always found ways to resist, survive, and ultimately thrive.
The book’s greatest strength lies in its understanding that sometimes the most radical act is simply refusing to remain silent. In Martin’s capable hands, a secret book society becomes a metaphor for all the ways women have carved out spaces for themselves, even in the most restrictive circumstances.
For readers seeking historical fiction with substance, complex female relationships, and just enough mystery to maintain intrigue, The Secret Book Society offers a satisfying escape into a world where books truly can change lives.