The Anchoress

by Robyn Cadwallader

England, 1255: Sarah is only seventeen when she chooses to become an anchoress, a holy woman shut away in a small cell, measuring seven paces by nine, at the side of the village church. Fleeing the grief of losing a much-loved sister in childbirth and the pressure to marry, she decides to renounce the world, with all its dangers, desires and temptations, and to commit herself to a life of prayer and service to God. But as she slowly begins to understand, even the thick, unforgiving walls of her cell cannot keep the outside world away, and it is soon clear that Sarah's body and soul are still in great danger...

Robyn Cadwallader's powerful debut novel tells an absorbing story of faith, desire, shame, fear and the very human need for connection and touch. With a poetic intelligence, Cadwallader explores the relationship between the mind, body and spirit in Medieval England in a story that will hold the reader in a spell until the very last page.

Genres: Historical Fiction, Fiction, Historical, Medieval, British Literature, Religion, Audiobook

293 pages, Kindle Edition

First published January 1, 2015

About the author

Robyn Cadwallader has spent much time and energy teaching creative writing and all kinds of English literature at university, with a special interest in medieval literature. She writes poems and short stories, and her novel The Anchoress won the Varuna LitLink NSW Byron Bay Unpublished Manuscript Award in 2010. Her PhD thesis about female virginity and agency, Three Methods for Reading the Thirteenth-Century Seinte Marherete, is a study of the story of St Margaret of Antioch, patron saint of childbirth, who was swallowed by a dragon and burst out its back, proclaiming herself a hero.

Reviews

[Jülie ☼♄  · Rating 4 out of 5]

"The Anchoritic Life
Medieval anchorites, as strange as it may seem to us, sought to withdraw so radically from the world that they had themselves sealed into cells for life. In fact, the word anchorite comes ultimately from the Greek verb anacwre-ein, which means "to withdraw." Anchorites (both men and women) withdrew from the world not only to avoid physical temptation, but to engage in the kind of spiritual warfare practiced by desert saints like St. Anthony (the founder of Western monasticism), who around 285 A.D. wandered into the Egyptian desert searching for God through complete solitude and who attempted to tame the wickedness of the body with physical suffering and discipline".

This was a really fascinating and insightful read about the life of an Anchoress.
I had heard of religious women and men choosing to live a life of solitude, in caves and such, but I had never heard of Anchorites before this.
I was so intrigued with this particular story that I kept stopping to go and look up more information on the subject.
Not just this subject but also about St.Margaret, which all in all gave me a very enlightening and fascinating reading experience.

The story tells of a devout seventeen year old Sarah who, after a losing her beloved sister, and facing the prospect of a forced marriage to a man she is intimidated by, decides that her best course would be to devote herself to a solitary life of prayer.

As an Anchoress she would commit herself to a life of prayer and solitude, locked away from the outside world in a small purpose built cell which has been built into the side of the church.
There she would spend all her days in prayer, only speaking her confessions to her priest through a small slit in the wall which was covered with a black curtain and set at an angle to prevent any physical or visual contact.
She has her book of rules and a prayer book.

Apart from her priest, she was only allowed women visitors who came seeking her assistance in the form of prayers. Again they would communicate through the same methods as the priest.
No person could look at her, nor she them, except for her two maids who prepared her meals and took care of her daily needs, they had access via a small internal door.

Sarah believed that choosing this life would keep her safely locked away from the world and immune to the mortal concerns that were haunting her.

Can those four small walls really keep the world out and keep Sarah safe?

I really enjoyed this book and all the extra information it led me to find out about.
Not only was it informative in its telling, but the author has considerately listed many of the research sources of information in the back.

Recommended reading for lovers of historical and medieval fiction 4★s

[Stef Rozitis · Rating 5 out of 5]

I knew I would find this book disturbing and difficult to read, that it would be about some of my really big fears like being locked in a room, deprived of things, self-harm all that sort of stuff. All of that was in there as well as rape which I also find difficult to read about (so that's a warning for people I guess) but what surprised me was the richness of possibilities in the anchoress' life, that while many aspects of the time and the life were problematised, this was done without coming up with a dreary, depressing book.

The anchoress' life was problematised yes, but in a balanced way that looked at the intersection of class and gender. Were other women of her time really any freer than she was? Were men of all walks of life free? While I read this book I also read Mysticism and Prophecy: The Dominican Tradition which is about Dominican spirituality but looks at some of the writings from the great Christian mystics, it seemed to mesh with the Anchoress' conflicts over her own supposed sinfulness, the status of women and her deep (yet suspect) desire for God and Godliness.

What also meshed for me was Language and Power and Foucault who I have started dipping into, and the book seemed rich in all sorts of references to both non-freedom and yet also agency- the people in it navigated their "unfree" states (Sarah's being the most obvious) with a dignity that was for me hope-inspirint.

A lot of what I want to say, I can't without spoilers, but I have to say I felt sick at the suggestions she had "desire" issues around Thomas, I think this sort of idea is not just a cliche but a damaging one. in part that strand was redeemed by how the rest of the plot unfolded and the ending when it comes to Thomas was quite suggestive...oh I am itching to say more but there are some major spoilers in that! I did like that Thomas never became the centre of her motivation and that in fact sexuality was one of the many complex desires in the book but not one that was allowed to take over from the fuller sense of embodiment and sensuality represented by everything from the pictures on a page, the feel of wind or sun on skin, the tang of herbs, the scents and sounds. Being in the body (as I have been separately reflecting against old wise thinkers that counsel us to try to repress, ignore or punish the body)is a multi-modal experience. Sex has become in our society a sort of a fetish for all sorts of other things that are also parts of bodiliness and I thought the book steered that course well.

Bodies are about power and agency, about the senses and about presence, relationship and birth and blood and needs and pains and ecstasy. Celibacy in an of itself is not always the problem (nor the solution). I thought there was some subtlety to the book in that way as well as really loving the gender and class intersections portrayed. All that stuff about enclosing the commons which was both historically accurate and metaphorically apt and also.....to avoid that spoiler I really want to talk about I better stop writing. Anyone who read the book and wants to talk about that pm me ;)

[RitaSkeeter · Rating 4 out of 5]

What would lead you to leave your life, your world possessions, even your sense of self behind, and enter a cell nine steps wide for the rest of your natural life?

Sarah, fresh from the grief of her sister's death, made the decision to enter the anchorage, and states Here, inside these walls, Christ would heal me of my grief, help me let go of my woman's body, it's frailty and desire.

To find God and to let go of her grief, Sarah needed to remove herself from all earthly concerns and lock herself away. She spends her days praying, and examining whether the level of deprivation is sufficient, or whether there is more she can do. And so, in pursuit of light, Sarah is locked in darkness - literally and metaphorically. We don't see Sarah obtain rapture, enlightenment, or understanding for her prayer. Instead we see her, for a period, fall into a hallucinatory turmoil from which she struggles to free herself. But still Sarah continues her self-imposed imprisonment, despite challenges from a child who told her,
I can think of God in the sun. It's easy. I just close my eyes.

I have the impression that Sarah did not enter the anchorhold for a truly religious purpose. I believe Sarah entered hoping the prayer, the deprivation, and being removed from people would save her heart from further grief. Sarah, listen to me. Protect your heart by protecting the senses. Deny your body, deny its pleasures. Deny your belly. Ultimately, it is further grief that frees her and allows her to be at peace with her final decision. The author is not explicit, however, regarding Sarah's internal motivators for entering the anchorhold, and the reader is left to draw their own conclusions.

The author has deft skill in imparting information without heavy information dumping, but for a 21st century reader, this book is likely to ask more questions than answer them. Can we, in this day and age, truly understand the call to willingly enter a cell, inflict extreme deprivation on our selves, and do so for the rest of you life - never to leave except in death? I don't understand it, really I don't. My failure to understand is not, I think a failing of the book, but rather a natural response of someone in the 21st century responding to something so very foreign.

But for all the difficulties understanding Sarah's decision to enter, people are people regardless of the century. We see people seeking connection, support, help. We see women be victims of men with no escape. We see Sarah try to lock herself away from this, only to see that she can't, and as much as the village needs her - she needs them as well.

We see Sarah grow from someone who is selfish in her faith. All must meet Sarah's needs, and standards of behaviour. We see her refuse to help people, such as a leper. But by the end, we see her acknowledge her place in the village, and to want to serve them.

Something that would have assisted when reading this book, would have been a floor plan of the cell and pictures of some of the features, such as a squint, that were mentioned. I was able to gain some idea through Google images (https://www.google.com.au/search?q=an...), however I'm not sure I still really understand the relationship of Sarah's cell to the 'parlour' she mentions and so on. In guessing that most readers, like me, wont know a great deal about this subject matter, explanatory notes and images would have been very useful.

[Julie · Rating 1 out of 5]

1/10

An anorexic walks into a bar...

An anorexic nun walks into a cloister ...

An idiot walks into a village. She finds what she has been seeking all her life.

There, that's better.

I can hardly find words to describe the shallowness of this book. Truth be told, I even looked into my thesaurus to see if there was some word which escaped me at the moment, and which would adequately cover it. None exists.

The closest approximation I can muster is that this is a medievalist's Eat, Pray, Love, which is more moth-eaten than a cashmere sweater in storage.

Cadwallader has somehow managed to shape an anchoress into a figure of contempt, scorn and ridicule in one of the most boring, drawn-out and tortured pieces of literature in the genre. Reading very much like the Harlequin version of "how to become a holy person, in ten easy steps", we follow Sarah through her pallid, pathetic existence, and wish only that she would die an early death.

A confirmed egotist, Sarah adopts the cloistered life in a vain attempt to purge her mind, body and soul of the evils of this world, and find redemption and salvation through prayer. (As one can imagine, most narcissists will have a hard time achieving redemption through self-flagellation and prayer.) By denying her body's essential needs, while starving herself, she spins off into an hallucinatory haze wherein she discovers God, god-hood, and goodness. Finding spiritual apotheosis at the end of a hunger strike would seem like a foregone conclusion, even to those who weren't seeking it. It comes with the territory, I would think.

As an anchoress, she fails utterly. These women were intended, in medieval society to "anchor" the church or cloister with which they were associated, and pray for the spiritual development of the congregation. Separated from the community by a cloistered cell, they were nonetheless part of that community, offering prayer and guidance, for the rest of their physical days. Devoted, and devotional were the fundamental ethics of this role/this rule.

Instead, we find an egocentric little flibberty-gibbet who has no more sense of true devotion than the toad in the road. (The toad-in-the-road, in fact, has likely more moral compass.) She is self-indulgent to a fault, and selfish beyond imagining -- especially for one willingly taking a religious role. Mostly, she ignores those whom she is there to serve, and indulges in self-contemplation. There's a lot of gasping and clucking by the attendant maids and village women who worry (unnecessarily) over Sarah's health; a lot of (mostly imaginary) sins being confessed to; a lot of faux-penance being imposed; more than a little sexual titillation and lots of "woe is me" as Sarah struggles with her own banalities. She is not someone who would have passed the rigorous spiritual tests required of those who adopted this role.

This book makes a total mockery of the Ancrene Wisse and turns the lives of such eminent anchoresses as Julian of Norwich, into a total burlesque, if one were to take this book as an example of the cloistered religious life.

Once again I bemoan the fact that Goodreads doesn't offer a negative-star review.

[Issicratea · Rating 3 out of 5]

The subject matter of this book is distinctly intriguing. Anchorites and anchoresses were a subclass of religious hermits, who lived entirely enclosed lives, in locked cells adjoining churches. They were cut off from the physical world to an extent ominously symbolized in the rituals surrounding their enclosure, which incorporated a burial service, signalling the anchorite’s or anchoress’s living “death.”

It was this unusual subject matter that attracted me to Robyn Cadwallader’s novel, together with the fact that she has a PhD in medieval literature, so I knew the history would be sound. I was intrigued, also, by the technical challenges presented by a novel set in a cell with barely room to swing a cat in and with a protagonist whose scope for agency is virtually nil.

In fact, one of the things I liked best about the novel was Cadwallader’s minute rendering of the mechanics of an anchoress’s enclosure: the cell; the spyhole or “squint” (excellent term!) that allows her to look into the adjoining church during mass; the parlor window through which she communicates with her confessor and with the serving women who cater to her material needs. Quite a lot of the novel is occupied by scenes of the young anchoress, Sarah, alone in her cell: thinking, praying, meditating on Christ’s passion with the aid of a cruxifix that is the room’s only “décor”; mortifying the flesh in various unedifying ways; and generally quietly crawling up the walls.

I liked almost all of these passages. There are some good Gothic details, like Agnes, the dead former anchoress buried beneath the cell floor, who acts as a kind of ghostly superego for Sarah, urging her to more and more extreme forms of self-mortification. Yet Cadwallader is never tempted to play the scenario as a medieval horror-show. Although she is fairly forthright about the extent to which anchorites’ extreme practices of asceticism reflect morbid fears of sexuality and the body that we would tend to understand now in psychological, or psychiatric, terms, she treats Sarah’s spiritual impulses sympathetically and doesn’t deconstruct them entirely. Quotations from the Middle English Ancrene wisse (The Anchoress’s Rule) and some bit-part appearances from illuminated manuscripts recall the more attractive elements in medieval Christianity; and we are constantly reminded of the hardships of medieval life, in which the transcendent impulses of medieval mysticism are rooted.

What I liked less about the novel was, ironically enough, the elements I imagine Cadwallader introduced as relief from the claustrophobia of Sarah’s cell-bound life: the visits from women from the village; Sarah’s memories of her much-loved dead sister and of her fraught relationship with the rather stereotypical bullying lord of the manor, Sir Thomas; the secondary plotlet involving Sarah’s young confessor, the uptight Father Ranaulf and his gradual humanization through contact with her (don’t think that counts as a spoiler!) None of these narrative elements really came alive for me, and I could feel the dead hand of didacticism hanging over the novel at points, with characters and scenarios seemingly invented to illustrate points about medieval power structures and the predicament of women, rather than having any independent imaginative life. The writing is a little variable, as well. It’s generally good and sometimes striking, but it can get a little formulaic and overwritten at times, especially in its descriptions of bodily responses (‘my heart lurched hot and heavy”; “a sharp hum ran through my arms and legs”; “a millwheel turns inside my head, swishing water against my ears.”) Still, a good first novel, comparable in many ways with the far more lionized Burial Rites.

[Jenny (Reading Envy) · Rating 4 out of 5]

I received a copy of this in exchange for an honest review

Publisher summary:

England, 1255: Sarah is only seventeen when she chooses to become an anchoress, a holy woman much like the one who taught Saint Hildegard of Bingen, shut away in a small cell, measuring seven by nine paces, at the side of the village church. Fleeing the grief of losing a much-loved sister in childbirth as well as pressure to marry, she decides to renounce the world—with all its dangers, desires, and temptations—and commit herself to a life of prayer. But it soon becomes clear that even the thick, unforgiving walls of Sarah’s cell cannot keep the outside world away, and her body and soul are still in great danger.

I didn't know much about the anchoress life, and I feel like I learned a lot about that from this book. Church mystics who withdraw and have ecstatic experiences are pretty fascinating, and I think the author felt the same way. I do wish the writing had varied a bit more - in around 200 pages the word "throb" was used 16 times, to such excess that I noticed it and went looking. There are some questions raised (in my mind) of the line between mental illness and spiritual devotion/ecstasy. I thought the connection of the church to the village was interesting too. So much depends on how a person survives, and that makes it more complicated than a person shutting herself up in a room.

[Jeanette · Rating 5 out of 5]

When I first started reading this book, I was reminded of one I read many years ago, Cave in the Snow, the biography of Tenzin Palmo, a British woman, who became a Tibetan Buddhist monk at an early age. In an attempt to seek enlightenment, she endured twelve years in solitary isolation in a barren cave.

While the story of Tenzin Palmo, Buddhist has different religious ideologies, the cell of St Juliana, England 1255 for seventeen year old Sarah bears resemblance, that is deliberately taking a course of action of shunning normal life for one of solitary isolation in the hope of achieving Christian enlightenment and holiness, an Anchoress.

Her cell measures only nine paces by seven paces with small shuttered and heavily draped windows. This is in direct contrast to her former life where she has had more privileges than most of this era. Her father is a cloth merchant, she is able to read and has had servants. However, due to precipitating effects from childbirth by her mother and sister, life is precarious and with the death of her mother and then her sister, Sarah, still suffering grief takes this course of action even against her father's wishes who has long experienced poor relations with Sir Geoffrey who will act as her Patron financially supporting her and her two maids. In return, Sarah in her perpetual isolated enclosure will pray for his life and for his life after death. Her enclosure will also prevent any romantic liaison with his son, Thomas who has declared his love for Sarah. Sarah's decision has fitted well into Sir Geoffrey's plans as he has other ideas for his son and his marriage.

Sarah has a male overseer, her confessor, who in the first instance is Father Peter, now an old man who suffers terribly with aged related complaints for which shortly after Sarah's enclosure Father Ranaulf is appointed as her confessor. Father Ranaulf, a scribe, has moved to the young Priory of St Christopher to take charge of it's manuscripts. He is appointed as Sarah's confessor in lieu of Father Peter. This is something he has no training or interest in and is quite dismissive of the young Sarah who is desperate for guidance. She has two maids to meet her needs, organising supplies, cooking and the removal of waste from the cell, in turn she has the obligation of religious instruction to the two women. Louise is the older woman who has experience regarding her obligations to the Anchoress while Anna is quite young and rather simple who has been sent from the Manor house to assist Louise. For Sarah her instruction goes unnoticed by Anna which eventually puts Sarah's situation at risk.

For Sarah her isolation is hardly effective due to the fact that the cell forms part of the church and village for which the sounds of everyday life, worship and festivities still seep into her very being and memories. She is desperate to become a holy woman, even following her Rules that she has been given and her constant prayers, self harm and starvation for which she hallucinates communication with the previous Anchoresses Agnes and Isabella her efforts other than gaining respect from the villagers go unfulfilled. Adding to all this her Patron dies leaving his son,Thomas now Sir Thomas as her Patron.

Her Rule states that she is not to communicate with any males, other than the clergy this is to avoid any sexual thoughts compromising her virginity of impure thoughts. However Sir Thomas now as her Patron seeks to do just that but when he is denied he takes out his frustration on young Anna.

[Jill · Rating 3 out of 5]

Most historical fiction novelists don't make the effort to steep their stories in the mores of the time and culture where they're set. They simply take a set of modern characters and plop in them in the days of auld lang syne. There's something to be said in favor of this approach. It presents the human condition as immutable and constant, and for me at least, there seems to be an undeniable truth as well as a comfortable warmth to the idea that humans, as a species, are more or less the same; it's only the conditions of our lives that cause difference.

But that brings me to the contradictory argument. If humans are part and parcel of the conditions in which they live, historical fiction that doesn't profoundly transcribe these conditions into its characters is nothing more than fiction with petticoats and togas and chainmail for panache.

The Anchoress is a rare novel of historical fiction where the protagonist is barely recognizable to contemporary readers. Written by a medieval historian, it is grounded in a zeitgeist that indeed seems like fiction when compared to today. But it's a rare achievement to read from the perspective of a character in the Middle Ages and feel as though these could be her actual thoughts rather than thoughts that a writer circa 2000 CE thinks she would think.

In all fairness, the exceptional versimilitude in The Anchoress makes for a rather dull read. Turns out that young wealthy medieval women don't think of much other than God and sex. The protagonist Sarah has chosen to become an anchoress, a recluse who agrees to a life in captivity devoted to prayer and meditation. Her days are marked by the ringing of bells calling her to prayer. When she's not praying, she's either reading a religious text or having an existential crisis about maintaining her purity and virginity as a holy woman, though, of course, she does not have concepts like misogyny or religious tyranny to put words to these thoughts.

My oh my, life was not easy for women in the 13th century. They were locked in boxes and not even given the most rudimentary tools to break out of them, indeed even to think of breaking out of them.

For the modern writer, temptation to hand such tools to their characters is beyond enticing. Fortunately, Cadwallader is an expert, both historian and author, and evades such a trap. The ending she grants her characters is quieter than what the reader may want and expect, but it's far truer than any alternative.

[Nicholas Perez · Rating 5 out of 5]

Maybe one of the best novels I've read that represented one aspect medieval religious life accurately. The author herself did her PhD on medieval religious concepts of virginity and her effort can definitely be seen here. I related so much to Sarah for wanting to withdraw form the world after everything that she had gone through. Some might be alarmed by that, but I find it both fascinating and reasonable. This story is a beautiful display of a young woman who is able to hold her own without losing herself. I really enjoyed that this book avoided both virgin shaming and slut shaming among its female characters and their choices. Those who love studying about medieval religious women will loves this!

[Irene · Rating 4 out of 5]

In 13th century England, 17 year old Sara encloses herself in an anchorage. Some painful life events combine with a naturally pious spirit to cause Sara to desire to run from the world, fearing the evil it holds. But, the world encroaches on her seclusion. Through the visits of the villagers, the lives of her maids, the advice of her confessor and the discipline of her prayer, Sara learns that sanctity does not come from fear and the safety of isolation, but from freedom and the willingness to love which is never safe.

[Cass Moriarty · Rating 3 out of 5]

Historical fiction is an opportunity to learn much about a particular time in history, and you can tell when an author has spent many, many hours (months? years?) researching their topic. So it is with The Anchoress (4th Estate 2015), the debut novel by Robyn Cadwallader. Set in England in 1255, the story seems at first to be a simple one, with a simple setting: Sarah, the 17-year-old daughter of a cloth merchant is wracked with grief after the death of her beloved sister in childbirth, and so makes the decision to become an anchoress, a holy woman of God, locked in a small cell in order to devote the rest of her life to prayer, fasting and the contemplation of religious instruction.
Initially I wondered how the author would manage to sustain our attention - let alone a sense of narrative tension and pace - when the entire book is set in a dark room measuring 9 paces by 7 paces. But she does, with the clever insertion of passages comprising Sarah's memories of village and family life before she entered the cell, and also by the inclusion of alternate chapters from the point of view of Ranaulf, her priest and confessor. Ranaulf is one of only two men (the other being the Bishop) allowed contact with Sarah during her seclusion. Her daily needs are met by her two maids, who are able to pass food, candles and firewood through a small window. She also has access to a squint which allows her to see through to the church on the other side of the wall. Her conditions are sparse, and meant to inspire devotion through clarity of mind and by denying the body. The story is interlaced with snippets of gossip she gleans from the women who come to seek her counsel, combined with her memories, her talks with her confessor, and her knowledge of the goings-on in the village, all overseen by the lord, Sir Thomas, a rather sinister figure who is not well-loved by anyone.
During the 12 months or so detailed in the book, Sarah has her faith tested again and again by events outside her control, and persistent and troubling thoughts. Her story is intertwined with that of previous anchoresses to have occupied her cell; their stories add a haunting aspect to the novel.
The most interesting aspect of this tale is the meticulous research and the myriad of small details that have been included as a result. We learn about foods and games and traditions that were popular at the time; we learn much about the art of the scriptorium at the abbey, where the monks faithfully copy church doctrine and rules; we can picture the peasants tending their fields - all that is involved with intensive agriculture and farming. And of course we learn much about the religious customs and precepts of the time, and how they governed daily life. The story is also a meditation on the role of women at that time, and the role of the men who surrounded them.
I would describe The Anchoress as a quiet book - it is not one driven by plot or setting, but it does move forward thanks to the central characters themselves, their very quietude, humility and grace drawing us into their confined world, and enabling us to see the similarities with ourselves, despite their very different circumstances.

[Julia Tulloh Harper · Rating 5 out of 5]

For a while I didn’t buy this book as I was put off by the cover: it has a bird on the front, and I had assumed it was another novel using birds as a metaphor for life (‘learning to fly’, ‘leaving the nest’, ‘migrating’) which I am well and truly sick of. However, the blurb sucked me in. The Anchoress is about a woman in the 12th century who chooses to live in an enclosed stone cell for life. I was totally intrigued, partly because I’ve always been fascinated by the middle ages, and partly because I wondered whether a story set entirely in a tiny stone room could be sustained in an interesting way over a whole novel.

Turns out it totally could! It’s pretty full on. Sarah, the protagonist, is only seventeen when she becomes an anchoress and the opening scenes describe the door of her cell being nailed shut, the crushing darkness, the way it feels like death. Historically, anchoresses were real women who chose to cut themselves off from world and all the sensory temptations within it, in order to spend their lives in prayer and contemplation of God. They literally can’t leave: food is handed to them through a window and people chat with them through another window, usually curtained. Anchoresses would also speak regularly to village women, who would confide in the anchoress of their town, pray with them, and turn to them for spiritual guidance. This is Sarah’s life.

Though it sounds like an oppressive life (and was, in many ways, since the church at the time was intensely patriarchal – also, Sarah literally lived in stone prison) the story as a whole is one of quiet liberation. While Sarah’s faith in God remains constant, her motivations for remaining in the cell change from wanting to indulge in self-loathing and punishment (for her own purported sins, which she doesn’t quite believe God has forgiven, and grief at the death of a family member) to a desire to serve, care for and become friends with the people in the local village community. There are intense scenes of self-flagellation and other bodily punishment, but also wonderfully touching scenes of human connection.

But this isn’t a story of ‘angry’ woman becoming meek and caring and catering to traditional and restrictive gender stereotypes – rather, it’s the story of a woman who learns to find freedom in her own choices and in her ability to define her job on her own terms. Through her friendship with her male mentors (the local ministers) she challenges the medieval idea of the time that women were incapable of complex philosophical thought, and helps begin to shift the men’s views about women. She also empowers local women by giving them advice and someone to listen to, and somewhat changes the role of anchoress by redefining the parameters of her job so that she can do it more sustainably (I won’t go into detail as I don’t want to spoil the plot too much, but basically she takes charge of the job rather than being totally in control of the dudes).

Cadwallader does a great job of illustrating Sarah’s complex feelings about her role: I really felt Sarah’s self-induced suffocation in the cell, and I also felt her joy when she began to feel truly purposeful and free in her role. Cadwallader has a PhD in medieval studies, so the history feels real and convincing. The prose is simple and clear – it’s never mind-blowing – but Cadwallader certainly develops character really effectively and completely drew me into the story. I also really liked that even though the male-dominated church was critiqued, Christianity itself wasn’t: I loved that Sarah was strong enough to remain in her faith despite the flaws of the human-made institution that organised it. I really enjoyed this story. There was a little bit of a bird/flying metaphor that could have been completely cut, but otherwise, great book, especially for a debut novel – the story has really stayed with me.

from juliatulloh.com

[Tweedledum · Rating 5 out of 5]

Robyn Cadwallader takes us deeply inside the medieval mind and then takes us deeper again into the mind and life of an anchoress. A woman who chose to live literally sealed into a tiny room away from the world cared for only remotely by a maidservant or two whom she could not see.

Why?

I have certainly asked myself that question in a desultory way on the odd occasion when the fact of the anchorite life has been drawn to my attention. But it has been a moment's thought. Rapidly dismissed, forgotten.

But for Robyn Cadwallader the question remained, must have been asked again and again, thinking, dreaming, researching until finally Sister Sarah came into being.

And from that deep contemplation has come this book.

The Anchoress is a beautifully written story with great emotional and philosophical depth that also had me on the edge of my seat a few times. Surprising? After all Sister Sarah is enclosed. She sees no one. What dangers can she possibly face?

Then there is after all the mystery. Why did she make this choice? How was it possible for women to even make such choices. And, having done so, having the door to their cell literally sealed shut....what then?

Then too comes the question... Why did the Church or abbey permit it? And here was the surprising thing for me.... They benefited from such sacrifice.... So long at least as the anchoress remained alive...

We follow Sarah through her first harrowing year as an anchoress. A lot it turns out can happen in a year and while these things are happening outside the walls of her tiny cell they nevertheless have a profound influence on her.

This is Cadwallader's first novel. It is quite uniquely brilliant. What can she possibly follow it with?!

[Tessa · Rating 4 out of 5]

A thought-provoking read. I think this book gives a true window into a different time (13th-century Britain) without applying modern sensibilities. Challenging to read at times, but also gratifying. I think that I'll be pondering on this book for a long time.

[MargaretDH · Rating 4 out of 5]

I'm so impressed with this. I picked it up because the idea of exploring the motivations of an anchoress were interesting to me - what could convince someone to lock themselves away in a tiny cell for the rest of their life? And Cadwallader created a character that I could understand and relate to, but that wasn't anachronistic.

This is the fascinating exploration of the inner life of an intelligent and sensitive young woman who makes the choice to wall herself up into a room seven paces by nine to forsake the world for a life of prayer and contemplation, and to provide occasional counsel to the women of the village of her anchorhold. Of course, she cannot flee the world that easily, and her memories follow her inside, but this is as much about her spiritual reckoning as much as earthly.

Cadwallader has a doctorate in medieval history and wrote a dissertation about medieval understandings of virginity, and it is so clear as you read that Cadwallader know her subject intimately. Everything that her characters struggle with are grounded in historical understandings and realities, and she illuminates the inner lives of people from 765 years ago.

If you like historical fiction, I would highly recommend this. It's well-written and well researched, and was a pleasure to read.

[Jennifer (JC-S) · Rating 4 out of 5]

‘This was to be my home – no, my grave – for the rest of my life.’

In the English Midlands in the middle of the 13th century, Sarah, the daughter of a cloth merchant, chooses to become an anchoress at the church of St Juliana in the village of Hartham. This choice requires Sarah to be walled up in a cell – nine paces by seven paces – adjoining the church. The cell, known as an anchorhold, has a window, an aperture which allows Sarah to see the altar – only – of the church. The cell door is nailed shut. If Sarah were to leave, the bishop has told her, ‘it would be a grievous sin against our lord, and grievous sin against the church.’

Sarah is the third anchoress to occupy this particular anchorhold. The first occupant, Agnes, has been buried beneath it. It’s less clear what happened to Isabella, the second occupant. In the cell, with her needs attended by two maids, Sarah gives her life to contemplation and prayer.

‘This is an anchorhold, Anna. Do you understand that I vowed to die to the
world? That this is a living death, here, in this cell?’

But why has Sarah chosen this life? What were the alternatives available to her? Why choose an anchorhold instead of a convent? Is Sarah’s choice motivated by religious belief, or by avoidance of other possibilities, such as marriage and childbirth?

From my reading, Sarah’s choice is a retreat from the world, from the usual choices of mediaeval women. She has seen her sister Emma and her mother die, in or after childbirth. Her father, after losing a valuable cargo at sea, wants Sarah to marry. A local lord is interested.

In her anchorhold, the only man Sarah speaks with is her confessor. The only news of the world outside Sarah receives is from her maids and from some of the village women. But even in an anchorhold, the world cannot be kept totally at bay. As Ranaulf (her confessor) tells her:

‘Don’t come to God and ask to be safe, Sister.’

I found Ms Cadwallader’s portrayal of Sarah’s choices interesting, and her description of the medieval world in which Sarah lived thought-provoking. Ms Cadwallader provides quite a detailed description of how an anchoress lived and was supported by the community and the church. We see, too, a broader depiction of the role of women through the events recounted by the village women, through the views of Ranaulf and the actions of the local lord.

Well worth reading.

Jennifer Cameron-Smith

[booklady · Rating 4 out of 5]

Surprisingly unmodern for a contemporary novel about a medieval anchorite. Robyn Cadwallader’s novel, The Anchoress didn’t entirely ‘take me back’ but I liked it very much. The plot will no doubt seem stark and bare to readers unfamiliar with the era, yet it actually moved too quickly IMNSHO.

I read it in one long night and finished it up the next morning, but that isn’t the reason I think the story was rushed. Everything which happens to the protagonist, Sarah, occurs during the space of a year and really should be spaced over several, even many, years. It would take her at least that long to learn and mature as she does. There is a great deal of time compression. But still a very enjoyable and interesting book. Don’t think I’ve ever read another on this topic. Glad I can add this to my shelf!

Updated 11/18/2025 for grammatical errors.

[Kirsten · Rating 2 out of 5]

To borrow from the religious vernacular that features heavily here, THANK GOD I FINALLY FINISHED THIS. What blessed relief.

That's not to say that I hated this book. It's beautifully written but frustratingly slow paced. Perhaps evocative of the passage of time when you have chosen to be locked in a small, dark cell for the rest of your days.

This has been impeccably researched and the imagery is quite striking but the flaws in the plot made it hard for me to enjoy it. Even when the drama inexplicably picked up in the last part of the book.

2.5/5

[Kathrin Passig · Rating 4 out of 5]

Im letzten Drittel hat es mich weniger interessiert, aber das liegt nur daran, dass es eigentlich alles richtig macht. Ich hatte mir nur gewünscht, dass mehr und dramatischere Dinge passieren, aber über die hätte ich mich dann auch wieder beschwert.

[Bridget · Rating 4 out of 5]

Have you ever seen a more beautiful cover on a book. (It is far more beautiful in person than it looks in the image on here.) The cover is what attracted me to this in the first place, but it is a tale of medieval times and I really like reading about that period of history. I'm so pleased I picked it up. Inside that lush cover is a story of sacrifice. Sarah, a young girl reeling from the grief of her sister's death and the lascivious advances of the son of the local Lord, decides to become The Anchoress and devote her life to God. The Anchoress lives in a tiny room attached to the church, nobody can see her and her meals, such as they are, are passed through a tiny window to her by her serving maid. She is completely alone in her tiny stone hewn room. Her only contact with the outside is with the visiting priest who is responsible for her and her servants and the occasional visit from a woman or child from the village.

Sarah spends her time praying and doing devotions, her life is quiet and serene but even within the confines of her tiny space there is much to think about and ponder. Sarah has removed herself from the world, yet worldly concerns encroach upon the space. Concerns she discusses with her priest, Father Ranaulf, a serious man who is employed at the priory to write manuscripts. His conversations with Sarah worry him, her concerns for things beyond her walls bother him, he is not a worldly man and he finds her confessions troublesome.

Sarah is tormented by Thomas, who inherits the Manor, he cannot let her go and he instructs Father Ranaulf to make a manuscript on the life of St Margaret. This becomes the rubbing point for her life, her fascination with the life of Margaret, she meditates upon her life and finds so many things disturbing prompting her to have thoughts which challenge her ideas of purity and provoking more questions to the uncomfortable Father Ranaulf.

The book has a meditative feel. As Sarah thinks and prays and gradually comes to terms with her existence, she becomes braver and more able to defend her views while at the same time being so very vulnerable to the whim of the Lord of the Manor. Life progresses very slowly and the outside world intrudes into her world in many ways. This is beautifully written and so beautifully drawn. It is a lovely book.

[Sterlingcindysu · Rating 3 out of 5]

I had never heard before about an "anchoress". In Christianity, an anchoress is a woman who chooses to withdraw from the world to live a solitary life of prayer and mortification. The word anchoress comes from the Greek “anachoreo” meaning to withdraw. For all practical reasons, the woman is dead to the world, lives in a cell attached to the church and has few visitors. Here the cell measures 9 paces by 7. The door is nailed shut. There is a squint that she can see a little of the inside of the church and a window to receive visitors and food. A layout of the room would have been helpful because I didn't quite understand how the window faced the parlor--maybe the servant's quarters?

There was a movie in 1993 called The Anchoress. In fourteenth-century England, peasant girl Christine Carpenter is so attracted to a statue of the Virgin Mary that the local priest (who lusts after her) suggests she be walled up in the church as an anchoress, a holy woman with responsibility for blessing the villagers. But when the priest has Christine's mother tried as a witch, she digs herself out of her cell, a crime for which the punishment is death.

So I give it a star for new historical information to me, and another for the writing style that fits the subject--slow, measured, thoughtful. The characters were strong but the plot, not so much. There were a few storylines that were left hanging.

While this book had a happy ending I kept thinking of the waste of the anchoress' life and skills. It wasn't a good use of services in the 1500s. First, the anchoress truly did nothing (but pray), perhaps sew a bit. Yet she needed not one but 2 servants. She needed a patron to pay for her food and upkeep. In that sense it was a luxury for a church to suport and you know it wasn't anyone from the lower classes. At least nuns taught, healed, grew food, and did many things while praying.

While no man (except for her confessor) could talk to her (and there was a curtain covering her window), village women could. This medieval form of venting may have helped women whose lives were just barely existing, but that was about it because the only thing the anchoress could do was pray about any problems.

[Jeanette · Rating 3 out of 5]

This book suffers. Its core is the dichotomy of will/mind vs body/physical. The era is completely 1200's in rural England. Our protagonist is 17 and has chosen to become a vowed Anchoress within a nailed-closed stone cell of a rural chapel. Her first 18 months or so within this environment is the progression of the book. It won't be for many readers who want action and dense plots of multiple twists, that is for sure. In some ways, more than Hild or other books of enclosed women I have read, this one reminds me the most of Peony in Love by Lisa See. Completely different worldview or religious foundation- but much the same kind of intense identity for perfection fixation. Sarah has chosen this vow herself, unlike other books about Hildegard who was primarily forced as a child to accept a similar situation.

It's not an easy read, yet the language prose and artistic descriptions of the scribe's work are at least 4 star. But to me, with so much of St. Margaret and less of Sarah or Anna or Lizzie- those pages did tend to drag. But maybe that was purposeful- as an extension of the martyrdom of the personal. I enjoyed the first half of the book to a 4 star, but the last half to a 3. Our Father scribe confessor who eventually connects to Sarah on a human level put a cold water wash on the entire for me. You needed the life force and joy of Anna in juxtaposition more, IMHO. Father's intellect alone didn't do it. Just another illustration of the ultimate earthy controls (serfdom, patriarchy)that remain so fixed, despite any levels of faith or self-sacrifice.

As religious life is one whose perfection is cored in going TO rather than retreating FROM, I think this tale of a chosen living death has some impelling chapters. But is Sarah really going TOWARD her Lord? Would only those of strong God founded identity contemplate the questions Sarah poses? In this age of the machines have others just "left" in other ways?

[Martine Bailey · Rating 4 out of 5]

This is a truly intriguing premise for a novel, to examine the life of a religious recluse living a life of withdrawal in a tiny cell. It is little known that an odd arrangement of stones low down on the outside of a British church often indicates the former presence of an anchorite’s cell. There is one in the wall of a house in my hometown of Chester and its mystery does suggest the huge gap between the medieval and modern sensibility. I had long wanted to listen to this audio book, keen to discover what kind of woman would become a medieval anchoress, willingly agreeing to being bricked up into a tiny space to live a life of prayer and mortification.
Much was laudable in this intense novel about Sarah and her retreat from the world. The research and attention to detail were excellent. Yet to recreate the mind of a recluse in such a distant age and truly comprehend the power that religion held was not quite achieved for me. Possibly the rather modern, young and querulous voice of the narrator didn’t help. Also the rationale for becoming an anchoress, to escape the unwanted attentions of a powerful man who then continued to visit her, seemed less about the power of religious conviction than I had hoped.
Overall I felt it was a very ambitious and interesting novel and I would certainly seek out more by the author.

[Jacki (Julia Flyte) · Rating 4 out of 5]

In Medieval England, an anchoress was a woman who voluntarily chose to be locked in a small, windowless cell adjoining the village church where she would remain for the rest of her life, praying and studying religious texts. Her contact with the outside world would be extremely limited - a maid would bring her food, a Priest would hear her confession weekly and female residents of the village were allowed to visit her for spiritual advice.

In this novel the Anchoress is Sarah, who is only 17 when she is shut away from the world. The book takes place over the next two years as she gradually comes to terms with the decision that she has made and we gradually learn the reasons why she made it. I was fascinated and depressed by the insights into life in the Middle Ages: how literally the Bible was taken, how a woman was thought to be inherently sinful, how powerless the lower classes were and yet how people in a village supported and sustained one another.

This is a quiet book. The plot emerges slowly and I can see that it wouldn't be to everyone's taste but if you enjoyed books like Matrix or Stone Yard Devotional I think you would like this too.

[Megan · Rating 2 out of 5]

Unfortunately, I just don't think that I was in the mood for a slow-paced, character-based novel. This was a good book, but I didn't get into the story as much as I would have liked to. The concept of anchoresses is one that I find immensely fascinating, and yet I just wasn't gripped.

[larissa · Rating 3 out of 5]

not much happens but that’s the point, the audiobook is really well done

[♏ Gina☽ · Rating 4 out of 5]

Sarah is but 17 when she decides to leave the world outside her door. Tired of dealing with all the worldly temptations, grieving for the younger sister she adored who died giving birth (and a mother who also died in childbirth), Sarah decides to dedicate herself to a life of prayer.

Taking place in England in the year 1255, Sarah becomes an "Anchoress". She lives in a room only 9 x 7 paces in size, with a rough straw bed, a tiny table, a Rule book, and a small window. She has a servant who comes in to empty her waste pot, and with whom she speaks daily. However, Sarah can never leave this room. She has a book of rules that she must live by: no talking to men except for the man who hears her Confession and guides her being one of the tenants she must live by. One of her most important duties is to guide the women and girls of the village who come to her for advice and to request prayers.

The bones of the previous Anchoress lie buried near her sealed door. When they begin to speak to Sarah, she strongly questions her sanity. She fasts to the point of starvation, she freezes when it rains or turns cold and the weather seeps in through her rough stone room, and she finds the outside world isn't so easy to keep out.

I was unaware of the position of Anchoress until I read this book. Robyn Cadwallader is an expert in 11th Century England, and the book is filled with wonderful details of what life was like for the villagers, the poor, and the rich alike.

A rich, historical, and dramatic story, this is a book I can recommend.

[☆Stephanie☆ · Rating 4 out of 5]

**This book is more of a 3.5, but I always round up (they really should include half-stars on here)**

I had to read this for my ENG 380: Feminine Utopias and Dystopias class, and it wasn't bad. It was well-written and interesting. But here's where I have a problem with most "adult" literature: it was dry. It was like stale bread...it was fulfilling but if I didn't need to eat it, I wouldn't have.
The story is about Sarah, an anchoress, or one who decides to give up earthly needs and live in a cell in the church to be closer to God. A solitary and revered life, Sarah chooses this to escape memories of her past and give herself fully to the Lord. She lives in a stone room seven paces by nine, and has a window for confession/food, and a squint (a very small window-like opening) for counseling others. At first, she tries to be what she believes being an anchoress is all about: she fasts past almost starving, she deprives herself of any enjoyment, and she keeps to praying all day and night. She corrals her maids into prayer and pushes her body as far as it can go, even inflicting pain to try and leave her physical body. Eventually she starts to lose her grasp on her sanity, and her new confessor insists that she eat and not be so stubborn.
She tries to escape memories of her sister and her death in childbirth...she also tries to escape Sir Thomas, the lord of the town and the man who wanted to marry her even though she was not "marriage material" in the eyes of his father. The book gets really deep into her love of Jesus and her longing to be his "bridegroom." I won't spoil the end, but I will say that I was so used to YA endings that I was a little disappointed. But for literary fiction, it was a good read.
If you are a fan of historical fiction, especially medieval literature, then this novel is right up your alley. I didn't dislike it. It just wasn't something I would chose to read if I had a choice in the matter. But I didn't, so at least on that front it wasn't a horrible experience. It's just not my genre.
This is a strong debut for Cadwallader. I feel she has real promise in literary fiction. I'm sure she will right amazing novels if she continues to publish. I encourage all fans of literary historical fiction to give this a read. The story world is tangible: I felt I was right there in 1255, smelling the sweat and dirt around Sarah. The author has a real knack for imagery. I know others will appreciate this more than I did.
3.5 stars from me. But that's because I'm me, and it's just not my type of book. This is no fault of the author's in any way.

[Nicole · Rating 4 out of 5]

I have had a long fascination with anchorites ever since I first learned about them. It seemed then, and now, to be one of the most severe things a person could do in pursuit of a spiritual life. Walled inside a tiny room attached to the back of a church, with only a few narrow windows from which connect to the outside world--how could a person live like that? What would cause a person to choose that life? Wouldn't they go crazy? Why not just join a convent or find a remote cave somewhere and live as a hermit? At least then you could be outside. When I read a review of "The Anchoress" in the New York Times, I immediately placed a hold on it at the library, hoping it would answer these questions.

Robyn Cadwallader's novel went a long ways to answering some of my questions. "The Anchoress" is written in two voices--in first person is Sarah, the anchoress of the title, and in third person is her father confessor, an uptight priest named Ranaulf. Between the two, a rich portrait of religious culture in England during Middle Ages is delivered. Though Sarah's story had many stock elements to it, I enjoyed seeing the larger context of what life as an anchorite looked like from an intimate and well-imagined perspective. Through the protagonists, Cadwallader not only shows us in vivid detail the claustrophobic day-to-day of a person expected to be a living saint, but the relationship such a person might have with the community in which they lived, however secluded such a lifestyle may seem. With it's quasi-oblique commentary on the Church's long-held attitudes towards women, "The Anchoress" is a thoughtful, well-researched and skillfully written read that I would recommend to people not afraid of small spaces. A page-turner in its own right, prospective readers should note the subject matter, and skip "The Anchoress" if they expect an action-packed epic. If I were to base my rating on story alone, I might downgrade this book to three stars, but the treatment subject matter swept away my imagination, and for that, "The Anchoress" gets a four star rating.