This is one of the best books I’ve read, ever. It’s simply beautiful, a work of art that transcends its genre. The author’s journey exemplifies cartoonist and MacArthur Genius Grant recipient Lynda Barry’s contention that “We don’t create a fantasy world to escape reality. We create it to be able to stay.”

How does the author keep going when she loses everything that makes her life meaningful and worth living? She chooses as her Twitter avatar Portrait of an Elderly Lady painted by Frans Hals (Dutch, 1582-1666) and happily, this seemingly random choice brings forth the life-giving, kind and witty Duchess Goldblatt, a persona of immense healing power.

“Part memoir,” the back cover says, “and part joyful romp through the fields of imagination, Becoming Duchess Goldblatt is two stories: that of the reclusive real-life writer who created a fictional character out of loneliness and thin air, and that of the magical Duchess Goldblatt herself, a bright light in the darkness of social media.”

Everything about this book is artful: its wry charm; the writing; the gradual entwining of Anonymous with Duchess, and Duchess with Anonymous. Spending time with Anonymous is to love her delicacy, brilliance, vulnerability, humor, extraordinary use of language, and grit. Her unwavering commitment to transcend despair is an inspiration. She is a hero. Spending time with Duchess is to be in the Presence Of Loving Kindness that is enigmatic, subversive and pithy, with hidden depths. “The only way to be reliably sure that the hero gets the girl at the end of the story,” she says, “is to be both the hero and the girl yourself.”

It is a privilege and a pleasure—oh! It hurts so good—to keep company with these two on a pilgrimage of discovery and healing. But enough of the menu. How about a few bites of the meal? I thought so.

Duchess Goldblatt:

“Slide a piece of waxed paper between the left side of your brain and the right side to keep them from squishing together and confusing you.”

“When I edit, I remove the words that don’t want to be there, hand wash them in warm water, and lay them flat to dry. I might use them later.”

“What kind of feelings taste best raw? I like regrets on the half shell. Serve them on a bed of crushed ice with lemon wedges and Tabasco.”

“Try getting a variance for a metaphorical ledge that can support a narrative with two people who need talking down. The engineers go nuts.”

“I’m thinking of a little Etsy shop selling a beautiful boxed set of imaginary friends.”

Anonymous:

“One day it occurred to me it would be funny if Duchess Goldblatt established a prize in her own name. Of course she considered it a very prestigious literary prize. She thought it the equivalent of the Pulitzer Prize or the Booker Prize or the National Book Award. Maybe a little more important than the Booker Prize, now that I think about it; she thinks her taste is better and her brand, frankly, a good deal stronger.

I (or, to be clear, Duchess) mentioned it in a private message to her friend Jon, a professor of film studies in New York. Jon—who feels to me a friend, because he loves Duchess, but actually doesn’t know me at all—suggested they might put a real group of judges together to give the prize some credibility.

It would be funnier, I thought, if there are neither real-world judges, nor criteria, nor submissions, and the only credibility derives from Duchess’s say-so. She claims there’s a group of judges in Crooked Path sequestered for weeks at a time, voting on a secret long list, but, really, I’m just picking books I love. I only give it to American fiction, new or newish, from writers who follow Duchess. Of course, there are other authors whose work I love who don’t read Duchess Goldblatt, but I figure they wouldn’t get into the spirit of a pretend award. Duchess doesn’t give the prize to nonfiction—she says nonfiction is only for sociopaths, children, and the criminally insane—that’s her having her little sly fun at my expense because I’m a nonfiction writer. I’m the only one who knows she’s really making fun of me, and it always makes me laugh to myself, even though I’m, technically, the one doing it.”

Give yourself Becoming Dutchess Goldblatt for the holidays. You deserve it.