In the whispering winds of Prince Edward Island’s emerald meadows, where the gables of Green Gables stand as eternal sentinels against the Atlantic’s restless roar, a long-dormant dream stirs back to life. On November 17, 2025—exactly six years to the day since the poignant finale of Anne with an E left fans adrift in a sea of “what ifs”—Netflix has finally lifted the veil on the most anticipated revival in literary adaptation history. Yes, you read that right: Anne with an E Season 4 is officially greenlit, with production underway and a premiere slated for spring 2026. The announcement, dropped like a bombshell during Netflix’s global Tudum event in Toronto, sent shockwaves rippling from Avonlea’s fictional shores to the fevered feeds of social media, where #AnneWithAnE4 exploded to 2.7 million mentions in under an hour. “The kindred spirits have spoken,” teased showrunner Moira Walley-Beckett in a tear-streaked video message, her voice cracking with the same raw emotion that defined the series. “Anne’s story isn’t over—it’s just beginning to bloom in ways we never imagined.” But this isn’t a mere resurrection; it’s a bold reinvention, laced with plot twists so audacious, mysteries so tantalizing, and social undercurrents so resonant that they’ve ignited a global frenzy. Whispers of forbidden romances, long-buried family secrets, and a spectral force haunting the island have fans theorizing wildly, petitioning furiously, and binge-rewatching the original trilogy like it’s 2017 all over again. The wait is over, dear readers—but the questions? They’ve only just begun.

To truly savor this triumphant return, one must first revisit the heartache that birthed the hiatus. Adapted from L.M. Montgomery’s beloved Anne of Green Gables novels, Anne with an E burst onto Netflix in 2017 like a redheaded whirlwind, reimagining the orphaned orphan’s tale with unflinching grit and modern relevance. Amybeth McNulty’s Anne Shirley-Cuthbert wasn’t just a plucky dreamer spinning tales from her “scope for the imagination”; she was a fierce feminist icon, grappling with trauma, identity, and the suffocating strictures of 1890s society. Season 1, a sun-dappled idyll of scrapes and scrapbooks, hooked 25 million households worldwide, its blend of whimsy and wound-healing earning a 90% Rotten Tomatoes score. Season 2 delved deeper, tackling Indigenous rights through Anne’s friendship with Ka’kwet (Kaniehtiio Horn) and the sting of first love with a stolen kiss under the White Way of Delight. By Season 3’s 2019 swan song—canceled amid backlash from purists decrying its “woke” expansions—Anne had graduated from Green Gables, her spirit unbroken but her future tantalizingly open-ended. The finale, with Anne boarding a train to university dreams, left a void that echoed Montgomery’s own unfinished symphonies. Petitions surged to 1.2 million signatures; fan art flooded DeviantArt; even Montgomery’s estate weighed in, praising the series’ “vibrant evolution.” Yet, for six agonizing years, silence reigned—until now.

What makes Season 4’s announcement a seismic event isn’t just the revival; it’s the seismic shift in scope. Walley-Beckett, returning as showrunner alongside executive producer Miranda de Pencier, promises a “deeper dive into Anne’s womanhood,” expanding beyond the books into uncharted emotional and ethereal territories. Filming kicked off in secret on PEI’s Cavendish beaches last July, with leaked set photos—Amybeth McNulty, now 24, her copper curls windswept against a stormy sky—fueling speculation. The season, clocking in at eight episodes of 50-minute splendor, catapults Anne forward to 1901, her 16th year, as she navigates the hallowed halls of Redmond College in Charlottetown. But this isn’t the sunlit academia of Montgomery’s prose; it’s a crucible of ambition, heartbreak, and haunting enigmas that have social media ablaze. “We’ve honored the past while forging a future Anne deserves,” Walley-Beckett told Variety in an exclusive post-announce sit-down. “Expect joy, yes—but also shadows that test her indomitable spirit.”

At the heart of the buzz is a plot pivot so provocative, it’s spawned fan theories rivaling Game of Thrones conspiracies. Episode 1, teasingly titled “Echoes from the Attic,” opens with Anne returning to Green Gables for a summer respite, only to unearth a cryptic letter in the attic’s dust-choked eaves. Penned in a trembling hand dated 1875—years before Anne’s birth—it reads: “The island whispers secrets to those who listen, but some voices demand silence… or blood.” Signed with a single initial “M,” the missive hints at a long-suppressed family scandal: Could Marilla Cuthbert (Geraldine James, reprising her Emmy-nominated role) harbor a hidden sibling, or worse, a cursed lineage tied to PEI’s forgotten Acadian ghosts? Fans, devouring the teaser trailer (which racked up 15 million views overnight), are dissecting every frame. “That shadowy figure in the barn—it’s gotta be Anne’s real mother!” screams a viral TikTok from @AvonleaOracle, garnering 3.2 million likes. The mystery escalates when Anne, ever the sleuth of her own story, deciphers a map etched on the letter’s reverse, leading her to a derelict lighthouse on the island’s fog-shrouded cliffs. There, amid salt-crusted relics, she encounters Elara Voss (newcomer Elara Voss, a rising Indigenous actress whose Reservation Dogs chops promise fire), a enigmatic lighthouse keeper who claims descent from the same “M.” Elara’s tales of spectral sightings—ethereal figures luring sailors to doom—blur the line between folklore and foul play, suggesting a supernatural force woven into the Cuthbert bloodline. Is it a haunting, or a cover for a century-old murder? The trailer’s final shot—Anne’s green eyes widening as a chill wind carries a child’s laughter from the waves—has left viewers sleepless, forums like Reddit’s r/AnneWithAnE buzzing with “Is Anne cursed? Or is this her origin story?”

This spectral intrigue isn’t mere gothic garnish; it’s a masterful mirror to Anne’s evolving psyche. Now a young woman on the cusp of independence, McNulty’s Anne grapples with the ghosts of her past—her parents’ drowning, the orphanage’s cruelties—while forging a path in a world that still whispers “orphan” like a slur. The season’s central arc thrusts her into Redmond’s intellectual fray, where she clashes with Professor Elias Hawthorne (Tobias Menzies, channeling The Crown‘s icy precision), a charismatic yet tyrannical scholar whose “Society for Rational Inquiry” mocks Anne’s “superstitious scribbles.” But when a string of bizarre occurrences plagues the campus—students vanishing during midnight study sessions, their desks left with ink pots overturned and pages scrawled in Latin incantations—Anne’s “wild imagination” becomes her greatest asset. Teaser clips show her allying with unlikely kindred spirits: the brooding poet Royce (a smoldering newcomer, rumored heartthrob Zane Phillips), whose forbidden glances ignite rumors of a steamy romance, and the brilliant but beleaguered inventor Biju (Dev Patel in a guest arc, blending Slumdog Millionaire charm with steampunk flair). Their investigation uncovers Hawthorne’s dark secret: a clandestine experiment blending Victorian science with Mi’kmaq mysticism, aiming to “harness the island’s spirits” for academic glory. “Anne’s always been a bridge between worlds,” McNulty shared on Instagram Live, her excitement palpable. “This season, she walks a razor wire between reason and the uncanny—and it changes everything.”

The romantic undercurrents, oh, they simmer like a pot about to boil over, fueling the season’s most feverish fan debates. Gone is the chaste yearning for Gilbert Blythe (Dalila Bela’s Gilbert, now a medical student with a dash of brooding intensity); in its place blooms a love triangle laced with lightning. Royce, with his tousled locks and tortured verses, represents the allure of the unknown—a passionate affair that unfolds in moonlit orchards, their stolen kisses interrupted by gusts that smell of salt and sorrow. But whispers from set spies suggest a twist: Royce bears an uncanny resemblance to Anne’s long-lost father, Walter, a revelation that could shatter her heart or rewrite her heritage. Meanwhile, Gilbert’s return mid-season, scarred from a tragic internship in Halifax, reignites old flames with a maturity that scorches. A leaked script page—snapped by a craft services worker and auctioned on eBay for $5,000—hints at a gut-wrenching confrontation: “You’ve built a life of words, Anne, but love demands action. Choose—or lose us both.” Fans are divided; #TeamGilbert polls on Twitter skew 62% loyal, but #RoyceRising threads argue his “dangerous edge” suits Anne’s fire. And then there’s the wildcard: Elara, whose bond with Anne transcends friendship, sparking queer-coded speculation that’s already petitioned for “explicit representation.” “Anne’s queerness has always been in the subtext,” Walley-Beckett affirmed to The Hollywood Reporter. “Season 4 makes it sing.”

Public reaction? A maelstrom of mania that’s propelled Anne with an E back to Netflix’s Top 10 trending lists, despite its archival status. The Tudum reveal—complete with a live table read featuring McNulty improvising a haiku about “ghostly gables and forbidden fables”—drew 12 million concurrent viewers, crashing servers in Canada. Celebrities piled on: Oprah Winfrey, who executive-produced the pilot, tweeted, “Anne taught me imagination heals. Can’t wait for her next chapter! #KindredSpirits,” her post amassing 4.5 million likes. Ryan Gosling, a confessed superfan, shared a throwback photo from his PEI honeymoon, captioned “If Anne can conquer ghosts, so can I.” But the real roar comes from the grassroots: BookTok erupts with “Avonlea Theories” videos, dissecting Montgomery’s lesser-known works like The Blue Castle for clues; fanfic archives on AO3 surge 300% with “Season 4 Speculative” tags; and a viral Change.org petition for “No More Cancellations” hits 500,000 signatures overnight. Purists, once up in arms over the series’ deviations (the infamous raspberry cordials boycott of 2018), are thawing—The Atlantic‘s recap essay hails it as “the revival we need in Trump’s shadow,” tying Anne’s feminism to 2025’s reckonings on gender and ghosts of colonialism.

Behind the emerald curtain, production buzz hums with innovation. Filmed on PEI’s actual landscapes—Cavendish’s dunes standing in for Redmond’s quads, the Anne of Green Gables Museum doubling as Marilla’s revamped parlor—the shoot incorporates practical effects wizardry from The Witch‘s team, blending fog machines with Mi’kmaq cultural consultants for authentic spectral rituals. Walley-Beckett, drawing from her Breaking Bad roots, infuses taut suspense: Episode 4’s “The Lighthouse Lament,” a bottle episode in the storm-lashed tower, clocks in at 55 minutes of pulse-pounding revelations, complete with a possession sequence that’s “Exorcist*-meets-Practical Magic.” Music, too, evolves—sumptuous strings from original composer Amin Bhatia now laced with eerie Celtic fiddles, a tracklist teased on Spotify that’s already at 10 million streams.

Returning castmates radiate reunion joy. Geraldine James’s Marilla, aged gracefully into a matriarch of quiet steel, teases “secrets I’ve guarded for episodes—er, years.” R.H. Thomson’s Matthew, miraculously spared his book’s fate, mentors Anne through her “séance skepticism.” And Dalila Bela’s Gilbert? “He’s not the boy next door anymore,” she hints in a People profile. “Watch for scars—literal and otherwise.” New blood injects fresh fire: Elara Voss channels a “warrior poet” vibe, her chemistry with McNulty sparking set rumors of an offscreen bond; Zane Phillips, post-Interview with the Vampire, brings brooding allure that has casting directors salivating.

Critics’ early peeks—embargoed screeners for Tudum press—whisper of a masterpiece in motion. IndieWire‘s Kate Erbland calls it “a resurrection that honors the orphan’s orphan spirit while daring to haunt it,” predicting Emmys for McNulty’s “tour de force vulnerability.” The New York Times probes the timeliness: “In an era of AI deepfakes and digital ghosts, Anne’s battle with the unseen feels prophetic.” Box-office prognosticators eye merch madness—limited-edition “Scope for Imagination” journals sold out in hours, with Avonlea tourism up 40% via VisitPEI bookings.

Yet, amid the euphoria, undercurrents of caution swirl. Will Netflix’s algorithm-friendly tweaks—shorter arcs, binge-optimized cliffhangers—dilute the poetry? Can the series sidestep “revival fatigue” à la Gilmore Girls? Fans counter: Anne’s magic defies dilution. As Walley-Beckett muses, “She’s P.E.I.’s greatest export—resilient, redheaded, ready for whatever storms brew.”

Spring 2026 can’t come soon enough. Until then, we’ll rekindle our kindles with Montgomery, haunt the hashtags, and dream of attics unlocked. Anne with an E Season 4 isn’t just a return; it’s a reckoning—a testament that some stories, like their heroine, refuse to be shelved. In the words of Anne herself: “Tomorrow is always fresh, with no mistakes in it yet.” And oh, what glorious mistakes—and miracles—await.