I received an advance reader copy of Lena Coakley's Worlds of Ink and Shadow while serving on the jury for the Norton Award, an honor given by the Science Fiction Writers of America to outstanding middle grade or young adult science fiction or fantasy. I picked up the book while in the middle of an arduous reading bout, reviewing multiple books per day, and starting to burn out on words. I hope you'll understand what I mean, then, when I say that Lena Coakley's book truly stood out. It pierced my over-read fog with its intricate characterization, carefully folded plot, and pragmatically evocative sense of time and place.

Worlds of Ink and Shadow is a fictional account of the teenaged Brontë siblings—the three famous sisters, Charlotte, Emily, and Anne, and their brother Branwell—growing up in relative isolation at their father's parsonage. The text is immersively rooted in genuine historical details about their lives, fantastical elements notwithstanding. Small details dangle as intriguing lures; for instance, the girls wore only silk because their father worried other fabrics were too flammable.

In one of the most memorable scenes in the book, Charlotte Brontë explains to her sister Emily how unusual their childhood has made them. She leads Emily to the nearby town of Haworth, "an ugly place" where rubbish lines the roads, and "skeletons of dried fish [litter] the riverbanks."

"I've been to school, you see." Charlotte's gray eyes seemed to plead with her, but Emily didn't know for what. "I've socialized with other people. They're not like us. We're odd. We have opinions. We've been overeducated in some things and under-educated in others. Once we leave the parsonage, we'll never truly find another home."

People familiar with Western literary history will, of course, know that the Brontës are odd—or, at least, not average. All three sisters wrote novels that are considered classics today. Charlotte's most famous is Jane Eyre, Emily's is Wuthering Heights, and Anne's is arguably Agnes Grey. From his early writing, it seems likely Branwell could have made his own contributions to the canon, making his rough life, alcoholism, and early death a particular loss to literature.

In Worlds of Ink and Shadow, the Brontës's home is a transient, unique hot house for the siblings to nurture their creativity together. The historical Brontës left a trove of juvenilia, writing fictional newspapers and adventures set in magical cities and worlds. It's easy to imagine their father's parsonage as a fragile bubble which will, soon, break. By the time the book begins, all three (fictional) Brontë sisters are aware they will probably have to become governesses, a prospect none seem to relish. Their brother is likewise burdened by the knowledge that supporting the family could fall to him, even though his erratic skillset and education leave him unsuited for most careers. The central conflict in most young adult novels is about coming of age—for the Brontës in this novel, growing up means losing their home.

The siblings' experience of the outside world is bleak. Two of the older Brontë sisters (both historical and fictional) had gone to a boarding school as small children, along with two elder sisters (Maria and Elizabeth) who contracted tuberculosis there and died.

So, within the home: childhood, magical fantasies, a fragile atmosphere of creativity flourishing among siblings. Without: adulthood, people among whom they will always be strangers, and a hostile world that has already killed their eldest sisters.

Coakley populates this historical backdrop with fantastical elements based on the trove of the Brontës's early work. A cache of spoilers follows: as young children, the grieving Charlotte and Branwell made a deal with a malevolent spirit. They would be able to open portals to worlds based on their stories—a much-needed escape—but they would have to pay for each crossing. As children, the price seemed worth it; on the cusp of adulthood, they're no longer sure. When they try to stop, however, their dead sisters come to haunt them, driving them back into their fantasies.

The central question of the novel is whether the Brontë siblings can turn away from the isolation of their dangerous, escapist worlds, and finally start processing the loss of their mother and sisters. In other words, can they find a healthy balance between their love of stories, and their real world lives? This conflict mirrors the one faced by the historical siblings. Both sets must leave familiar, isolated havens as they inevitably age—but the introduction of the fantastical element gives the fictional characters greater control. Growing up is inevitable, but the fictional siblings can choose how and when—and whether—to leave their magical retreats. Coakley does an excellent job of showing how the characters learn to understand themselves differently as they come of age, as they confront their faults, relationships, and identities.

I found the characterization of the Brontë siblings insightful, specific, and keenly rendered. I cannot say how well they reflect the historical Brontës; there may be some romanticization. However, even if it's there, the characters aren't only idealized. They have believable, interesting flaws. Charlotte is strict and inflexible; Branwell is an emotionally labile mix of arrogant and insecure; Emily is impulsive, rebellious, and sometimes selfish; Anne is unsure of herself in the wake of so many siblings with strong personalities.

The first time I read Worlds of Ink and Shadow—having received it for award consideration, not expecting to review it—I knew essentially nothing about the Brontës's lives. By my second read, I hadn't done much more—glanced over some biographical information, and read Jane Eyre (I'd hoped to read more, but my schedule defeated me). Although I was never jarred on my first read, my small bit of research gave me new layers of depth for me to discover.

For instance, returning to the scene where Charlotte walks Emily through Haworth, the "ugly place" where rubbish lines the roads, and "skeletons of dried fish [litter] the riverbanks." On my second read, in addition to appreciating its value as a moment of characterization and conflict, I also saw that it was telling me something significant about the historical Brontës. Living near the sewage-contaminated river may have contributed to the Brontës's early deaths (all died before age 40). The knowledge adds an ominous gloss to the scene.

I expect there are also many rich layers I didn't understand where Worlds of Ink and Shadow was interacting with the Brontës's novels. Some of it is overt—for instance, the book explores how the sisters sharpen their skills and develop their archetypal characters, presumably drawing on how their writing developed from their juvenilia to their published novels. There are also subtler references to images and events. Reading Jane Eyre, I caught some—an ominous, supernatural dog, which appears literally in Worlds of Ink and Shadow but Jane only glimpses; a house fire set at a climactic moment. It's very impressive for a book like this to so amply and seamlessly reward both informed and uninformed readers.

To be direct—I'm fascinated by this book. There are flaws, I suppose (the beginning is a bit slow), but I hardly noticed them, being so swept up by its multifaceted complexity. Many years ago, smart feminist critic and writer L. Timmel Duchamp told me that she believed positive reviews were an important part of the literary conversation, to discuss how and why things are wonderful. I hope that's true.

Perhaps the most significant marker of the book's success is that, when I finished my advanced reader copy, I mailed it to my twelve-year-old niece. She wrote back that it had made her want to read the Brontës. Me, too.

Rachel Swirsky holds an MFA in fiction from the Iowa Writers Workshop. She has published over seventy short stories, twice won the Nebula Award, and been nominated for the Hugo, the World Fantasy Award, and the Locus Award. Her reviews have been published in the Cascadia Subduction Zone and Locus Magazine.