I struggle with this rating because Machado makes this book matter in a way that Le Fanu could not. On its own it is an old tale, weakly told. But with historical background and the occasional snarky commentary, it’s turned into a vignette of queer history, love cruelly forgotten and trampled. I want to read those letters, not Le Fanu’s bastardization of them. But I love Machado for what she did. So here we are.