What is it about Winterson that really reminds me of Anne Carson? I struggle to find a word - it's not "simplistic," but it is simple, and yet so allusive. Not exactly philosophical, but deeply profound. Equally plural as it is precise. 

I'm thinking about this (Carson):

And how closely it resembles this (Winterson):

In its sincerity.

I think that's the word I'm looking for:  sincere. Both women write like a heart beating, that is: rhythmic, sometimes syncopated, but sure of itself. Syntax, grammar be damned, the words will follow their own measure. You only get these with experienced writers, those who have come to trust their own instinct to create. So as a reader, you come to trust them, too. I buy every Winterson I see at the bookstore, I never look for a blurb, barely check the back cover. From such a good storyteller, I don't care what the story is. Just pick me up and whisk me away!

Lighthousekeeping is a weird one, but not for a Winterson. It's just that formally it loves to play.

Winterson has a penchant for the second person, her narrator oscillates between telling the story to you, the reader; you her mother; you her adoptive father; you her psychiatrist; you, her lover; you - herself. I love this fluidity. It reminds me of Woolf's narrators who embody a character whenever they so please.

Time is fluid in this novel, too. Analepsis and prolepsis abound. In the span of a sentence you pass through three generations. If I was being daft I'd call it magical realism, but I don't really think that's what she's trying to do...

I mean, genre? Forget about it. Is it fantasy, historical fiction, confession, romance, queer, or what? It is what the story is. That's it. If I was a narratologist I'd give myself an aneurysm trying to put it in a box.

Only a queer woman could have written something like this, because she would have embodied this fluidity all her life, so she would already have the repertoire for such an advanced practice of imagination. 

There are plenty more formal elements to add to the list of reasons why this book stands out among others: the allusions, the blatant theft of historical figures to be played with like barbie dolls, her vocabulary of pleasure; these all deserve a good looking over. But like I said I'm not a narratologist and I think that's not the point anyway. When you are sincere, you don't have to explain yourself. Sincerity is implicitly felt. Just read it, and you'll feel it, and that's that. The end. Simple as listening to the heart beating in your chest.