Suspense novelist Beck (Bad Neighbors) fixes her sleuthing tendencies on the famously odd writer Opal Whiteley (1897–1992) and the oft-contested story of her life. In the 1920s, Whiteley, then a young woman, was a national celebrity for the mystical childhood diary she published first in the Atlantic Monthly and then as a bestselling book. Establishing her as a genius naturalist and a child prodigy, the diary also reflected Opal's doubts about her Oregon logger beginnings, suggesting that she was actually a French princess. After the diary's publication, Opal was simultaneously revered and accused of faking both the diary and her birthright, while she crossed the globe in search of her royal lineage. But as Beck documents, she also suffered a series of debilitating mental breakdowns and repeatedly charmed the people who patronized her work, only to abandon them later. This fascinating portrait of ambition and delusion implicates not only Opal's relentless desire for fame but also her fans' desire to be close to it. Today, Opal's work has been canonized into New Age and eco-Christian mythology, an achievement for which Beck seems to hold a grudging respect. The tone of her writing is skeptical, and occasionally antipathetic ("Opal was... undeniably eccentric, screaming in the night, acting manic, and worrying that strange, sinister people were following her. It is perhaps not surprising she didn't get invitations to social events"). Like many of the people she describes, Beck seems to be anything but dispassionate about her subject. Still, her research is exhaustive, spanning decades of correspondences, archived writings and newspaper coverage, making a satisfying narrative out of a bizarre, perplexing life. (Oct. 27)
