“Masterpiece” is a label I am quite wary to use on contemporary literature, but Lincoln in the Bardo has won me over so completely that I’m afraid I can’t avoid it. In fact, I didn’t even want to write this post. Colson Whitehead has already reviewed the book masterfully and George Saunders certainly doesn’t need our help in boosting sales for his eighth book of fiction—even though this is his first novel. But: there are books we read and enjoy for their prose or creativity in storytelling; books we enjoy while reading and then forget fairly quickly. This, for me, is no such book.