Sameer Gudhate presents the Book Review of The Lost Bookshop by Evie Woods

There’s something magical about walking into a bookshop, isn’t there? The soft hush of pages, the scent of ink and imagination, the sense that you’re about to stumble into a world where anything is possible. Now imagine a book that captures that very feeling — and not just captures it, but wraps it in layers of mystery, heartache, healing, and hope. That’s exactly what The Lost Bookshop by Evie Woods delivers.

Evie Woods, already known for her evocative storytelling, blends historical fiction, contemporary drama, and just a hint of magic to create a narrative that feels both timeless and timely. After the massive success of this Sunday Times bestseller, it’s easy to see why her name is synonymous with uplifting fiction that leaves readers with full hearts and misty eyes.

The plot follows three main characters — Opaline, Martha, and Henry — each at a crossroads in life. Opaline, living in the 1920s, is trying to carve her own destiny in a world that wants her quiet and obedient. Martha, in present-day Dublin, is recovering from an emotionally abusive past and hoping for a new beginning. And Henry, a charming yet slightly awkward academic, is chasing the trail of a mysterious manuscript and, unknowingly, his own transformation.

What ties their stories together is a bookshop. Not just any bookshop, though — it’s a vanishing, almost mythical one that seems to appear only when you’re truly ready to find it. I mean, how could a book lover not be intrigued?

Evie Woods has this beautiful, almost lyrical way of writing. Her prose isn’t just words on a page — it’s atmosphere. It’s that soft blanket on a rainy day or the warm mug of chai when the world feels a little too loud. Her language flows effortlessly, making the book hard to put down. She captures the smallest emotional shifts so well that at times, I had to pause and just feel the moment before moving on.

And the structure — oh, the dual timeline! It’s handled with such finesse. Alternating between past and present, she slowly unravels the secrets of the bookshop and the connections between the characters. It never feels forced or gimmicky; instead, it keeps you turning pages, hungry to understand how the stories merge.

Opaline was my favourite — fierce, smart, and unafraid to challenge the status quo. But I found pieces of myself in Martha too, especially in her quiet strength and longing for safety. Henry, with his endearing awkwardness and academic curiosity, brings a lovely balance to the trio. And Madame Bowden? She’s the kind of quirky, wise, mysterious woman we all wish we had in our lives.

Woods doesn’t just create characters; she breathes life into them. You don’t just read their stories — you feel them.

At its heart, The Lost Bookshop is about finding your voice, reclaiming your story, and believing in second chances. It also delves into deeper issues — female autonomy, domestic abuse, loss, and the power of literature to heal and connect us. And yet, it never gets heavy. There’s always a sliver of light, a sense that healing is possible.

The pacing is gentle — perhaps a tad slow at the start. I did feel a slight disconnect early on, like I was waiting for the characters to find their rhythm. But once they did, I was all in. Honestly, any minor hiccups were far outweighed by the richness of the narrative and the emotional payoff.

This book reminded me why I fell in love with reading in the first place. It made me want to revisit dusty second-hand stores and rediscover forgotten books. It whispered that even in chaos, there’s beauty, and even in silence, there are stories waiting to be told.

If you love books about books, if you believe in the magic of stories, and if you’ve ever felt lost and hoped a little serendipity would find you — The Lost Bookshop is for you. It’s charming, heartfelt, and quietly powerful.

Evie Woods, thank you for reminding us that the right book really can find us when we need it the most. And now excuse me — I’m off to hunt for a bookshop that might not exist… or does it?

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