I live next to a cemetery. James G. Blaine, Maine's most famous senator, sleeps at the top of the hill. Just down from him is the Turner family, resting together. The youngest Turner, Page, was born on my birthday in 1889. She would have visited the original Lithgow Library during her lifetime. But she didn't live very long. Page died in 1906, just shy of seventeen. It seemed so sad to me that someone named Page Turner should die before her life really got started. So I wrote a book for her. A little austenesque, a little steam punk, a little weird, Page in my book is defined by her name. All...