Musings of a reading addict

Keywords: Irish Mythology, Magical Realism, Books About Books, Family Secrets, Small Town Mysteries, Folklore Inspired, Comfort Reads, Bookish Fantasy, Hidden Stories, Evie Woods

Genre: Fiction

Length: short medium long

Country: USA, Ireland

Review

“You made your plans, but life had other ideas and somehow you had to make peace with that. Find the meaning in it and let it change you. Fighting to stay the same was the problem.”

If you’ve spent more than five minutes on my blog, you already know the kind of books I usually reach for: literary fiction, heavier themes, historical novels that dig into the marrow of difficult pasts, the so-called “serious topics.” That’s my comfort zone. But every once in a while, even I need to step away from wars, generational trauma, and emotional excavation. Sometimes you just want something casual, something you read simply because reading feels good.

That’s exactly the spirit in which I picked up The Story Collector. A break. A palate cleanser. A “let me unwind and not have to think too hard” type of book. And honestly? I don’t regret it. It is enjoyable. But let me be clear from the start: this is absolutely a “read with your heart, not your mind” type of story. If you try to apply logic… well, you and the book will not be on speaking terms.

Let me tell you about it.

The novel opens with Sarah, our protagonist, waiting for her flight from New York to Boston so she can go home for Christmas. Perfectly normal beginning … until, in one of the most improbable plot decisions I’ve seen, she gets drunk and boards a flight to Ireland. Accidentally. Yes. Ireland. Because obviously Boston and County Clare are basically neighbors and the price difference is negligible, and someone responsible enough to arrive hours early to the airport will, out of nowhere, hop on an international flight without realizing it.

Anyway. She ends up in Europe, entirely confused about why Boston suddenly looks very… green. She needs a place to stay, and so she arrives at Butler’s Cottage — and that’s where things start to take shape. While exploring, Sarah finds a diary from 1910 written by a young woman named Anna Butler. This discovery splits the book into two storylines: Sarah in 2010, and Anna a century earlier.

Sarah’s story is as cliché as they come — and I’m not even sure you can call anything in it a spoiler, because you can see every major beat coming from the moment you hit page 30. She’s grieving a major loss, her marriage is falling apart, she’s untethered, and (of course) someone interesting will cross her path. It’s familiar territory. Not necessarily bad — just very predictable. And even though we’re told she has family, their presence barely registers in the story, aside from scattered mentions.

On the other hand, Anna’s story is more engaging. Through her diary, we learn about Thornwood House, which — at least for me — carried a touch of Wuthering Heights energy: old estates, local legends, unsettling histories, and whispers of madness. We also meet the actual “story collector,” Harold Griffin Krauss, an American researcher who comes to Ireland to study Celtic folklore and needs a bilingual guide. This particular thread hooked me more than I expected, especially because I’d recently reviewed The Good People, another book about Irish fairies and local lore. I liked seeing those parallels.

Musings on The good people by Hannah Kent

Anna’s plotline, while also leaning into cliché, felt heavier and more emotionally grounded than Sarah’s. She falls for the wrong boy, slowly realizes another one has been right there all along, and gets caught in the darker, more urgent atmosphere of Thornwood House.

“But my mother would argue that to lose one’s intellect is akin to letting seeds wither and die in the dark ground, and she routinely wins the argument.”

Compared to Sarah’s very modern, very predictable arc, Anna’s felt richer and, honestly, a little sadder. Her ending has real weight to it, even if I’m not entirely sure it fits perfectly with the rest of the narrative. There’s a slight imbalance between the two stories, as if one wanted to be something deeper while the other wanted to stay light and comforting.

Still, despite the clichés, the bizarre premise, and some unevenness, I can’t say the writing itself is bad. The prose is pleasant, easy to follow, very visual. It’s the kind of book you can fly through in a couple of evenings. Nothing to analyse, nothing to wrestle with and that’s a good thing when you want a break.

And honestly, with the holidays coming up, when everyone is running around, cooking, cleaning, shopping, hosting, managing family chaos — a book like this is exactly the kind of companion you might want. It asks for a bit of empathy, sure, but it doesn’t overwhelm you. You don’t have to brace yourself or dig deep. You just read, enjoy, and breathe.

If you do pick it up, I recommend going for the audiobook. It pairs well with the general “unwind and relax” vibe, and it’s ideal for those moments when you want to read something without fully committing your brain cells to the cause.

So yes — The Story Collector might not be groundbreaking, but it’s a genuinely pleasant, casual read. And sometimes, that’s all you need.