Emma M. Lion entered my life in a season when I needed an escape. I was recovering from surgery and was spending a lot of time sitting on the couch staring at my tiny rectangle of constant scrolling material when my sister sent me The Unselected Journals of Emma M. Lion: Vol. 1 by Beth Brower. I consumed it in a few hours and ordered Volume 2 immediately. When my husband was gone on a months-long training cycle just a few weeks after surgery, he bought me the rest of the books and hid them, texting me directions of which package to open when I’d finished the previous volume.

The (currently) eight-book series begins in 1883, when its heroine Emma M. Lion returns to the Lapis Lazuli House in the fictional London neighborhood of St. Crispian’s. Emma is a sturdy, spunky orphan who has been passed from place to place, yet retains her wit, charm and optimism. The reader is invited into Emma’s life without much explanation or backstory, but her past, a mystery at first, is slowly revealed across subsequent volumes. It’s a bit like reading a mystery. Comical or tragic past incidents are often vaguely mentioned in her journal only to be revealed in a later volume, which builds up a mounting intrigue that forces a hooked reader to immediately order the next book.

Emma carries the weight of loss in a way that makes her both deeply human and renders her cheerful courage all the more admirable. On the 23rd of each month she lights a candle in remembrance of her father, and on a particularly dark night of the soul she writes, “am now curled up on the window seat with my burning candle, the window open to the spring night, believing there must be worse sorrows than losing my mother and my father, and the only boy who ever made up a beating part of my heart. Only I can’t think of any.” But the very next day, she is her cheery self again, out and about St. Crispian’s, enjoying tea cakes, buying stationery and pens, and chatting with her fellow residents. It’s a reminder that this is often how life goes. In the dark of night we wonder how it is possible to live through so much hurt, but the next day we take little steps to keep living: going for walks in the sunshine, buying new books or fresh flowers, and indulging in a latte and a baked good. Emma in 1883 is not so different from us today.

Emma exists among a lively cast of characters in St. Crispian’s, including her aggravating and slightly villainous cousin Archibald with whom she lives, her Aunt Eugenia and Cousin Arabella, friend Mary, childhood nemesis Roland, not to mention the handsome young vicar Hawkes, the mysterious Lapis Lazuli tenant Pierce, and the proud Duke of Islington. Her friendships tend to begin comically and unfold into something deeper—Emma and Pierce’s friendship begins with passing notes through the wall complaining about mice in the garret and results in their adoption of a cat, Tybalt. The vicar Hawkes befriends Emma after Emma’s cousin Archibald repeatedly comes to Hawkes to confess Emma’s “sins,” even though Hawkes is Anglican, not Catholic. But through these “confessions,” Hawkes is made aware of Emma’s struggles and looks after her. C.S. Lewis wrote that “friendship is not a reward for our discriminating and good taste in finding one another out. It is the instrument by which God reveals to each of us the beauties of others.” Emma excels at finding “the beauties of others.”

The books are also funny, packed with various comical incidents told through Emma’s witty point of view. I often found myself chuckling aloud at anecdotes like this one: “I cried out and fell, splashing face first into the fountain. It was not among the triumphant moments of my life.” And for those of us who enjoy budding romances with a bit more subtlety and tenderness than the modern romance novel, this series is for us. Emma’s little romances remind the reader that being known and cared for is what we should actually yearn for: scarfs draped around us when we’re cold, someone willing to step into our moments of grief and be by our side. Likewise, Emma’s tender perspective was a useful reminder to myself as I recovered from surgery for a health issue outside of my control. “I make a go of it, when I can. It’s not my disposition to… What I mean to say is, I learned a long time ago that my happiness has to be separate from the things beyond my control.”