As Bright as Heaven by Susan Meissner

When the coronavirus swept across the country at the beginning of March, I became fascinated with the Spanish flu pandemic of 1918. I learned that schools and campuses shut down just like they did here (although the closures didn't last as long--generally one to three months). I learned that the disease was violently fast: you could be fine when you woke up one morning and be dead by the next. I learned that the young were hit much harder than the older population; apparently, there had been a less severe strain that had passed through several decades before, which made many older people immune to the more virulent strain. I learned that the flu hit in three waves and wasn't officially over until 1920. I learned that the Spanish flu was one of the deadliest diseases in world history and killed an estimated fifty million people.

But most importantly, I learned that life eventually returned to normal. I clung to this fact during the first couple of months of the pandemic. It was very reassuring to know that even though it might take years, the virus would eventually run its course and let us move on with our lives.

When I found out As Bright as Heaven takes place in 1918, I immediately ordered a copy of it (our library wasn't open at the time, but even if it had been, my impatience to read it might have forced me to buy it).

One of the book club questions at the back of the book said, "What do you think it would be like to live in a city experiencing a pandemic, as Philadelphia did with the flu?" Little did the author know that in just a couple of years, she would be having first-hand experiences that would have helped her write a more emotionally accurate novel. And indeed, for me as a reader, I felt a deep commiseration with the Bright family as so many of their thoughts and feelings paralleled my own. There was a kinship there that made me instantly connect with the novel.

The story opens at the beginning of 1918. The Bright family is mourning the death of their beloved baby son/brother whose heart wasn't strong enough to carry him through life. An offer comes from Uncle Fred: he runs a mortuary in Philadelphia and wants to know if Thomas wants to learn the trade and eventually inherit the business.

The new start is just what the family needs to ease their grief; Thomas and Pauline pack up their belongings and embark on a different life with their three daughters: Evelyn, Maggie, and Willa. Life in the city is an adjustment, as is being in a home that houses and cares for the deceased, but overall it seems like a good change.

Pauline is immediately drawn to the embalming room. She has felt a closeness with Death ever since she lost her son, and she is soon in charge of all of the cosmetic tasks as the bodies are prepared for burial.

Evelyn, at fifteen, is studious and mature. She works hard at school and spends much of her time in Uncle Fred's extensive library.

Thirteen-year-old Maggie is drawn to the neighbor boys across the street: Jamie, who is about to head off to war (and who Maggie has a not-so-secret crush on, even though he is seven years older than her), and his younger brother, Charlie, who is mentally slow but so kind and sweet.

And then there's Willa. She is only six years old and is forbidden inside the embalming room. She is at once both innocent and selfish.

The story is told from the perspectives of these four characters. The point of view was somewhat random as the author often chose to tell about an event from a secondary, rather than the primary, person. This often provided a more objective, well-rounded view of things, which I liked.

The Spanish flu hit Philadelphia in October 1918, just after Thomas Bright left to serve in the war. The disease ripped through the city and quickly overwhelmed Uncle Fred as bodies filled up the embalming room and mortuary and were illegally dropped off on his doorstep in the middle of the night. The flu was unpredictable, taking some family members and leaving others. Maggie said,

"It's as if Philadelphia has been cut in two like an apple, and one side looks just the way the inside of an apple should and the other side is dark and wormy and makes you gasp when you see it. That side isn't an apple at all anymore but something sinister and wrong. And the worst thing is, no one's sure which side of the apple they're going to get." 

The Bright family is not spared, but just before the illness sneaks its way into their house, Maggie and Pauline are out delivering soup to the many souls who are suffering. Pauline leaves Maggie outside while she goes inside one of the infected homes, and Maggie's attention is drawn to the sound of a baby in deep distress. She ventures inside a nearby row house, and finds a baby soiled and starving and screaming. She peaks into a bedroom and sees the baby's mother, who is obviously dead. A little girl, the boy's sister, is also in the home, and her glassy eyes tell Maggie that she is also near death. Maggie picks up the baby, locks eyes with the girl, and whispers, "He's safe with me" before rushing out of the house.

The baby helps pull the Bright family through more tragedy. He is a distraction for them as they put all of their energy into caring for him. Evelyn said,

"The world doesn't stop. It just keeps spinning, with all its troubles, yanking us into its wild revolutions. There is no stepping into mourning, all secluded with nothing but much-warranted sorrow for company. Instead it's as if the train we're all on switched tracks at full speed and now we are racing forward in a completely new direction with no time to think about the destination we'd been headed toward before and now will never see." 

This description resonated with me. Even though we haven't experienced the same kind of loss as Evelyn and her family, there has been the rush of primal life--basic needs that must still be met, even as we struggle to catch our breath with the many changes that are constantly being thrown in our path. This story resonated with me in a way that it wouldn't have six months ago. I know what it feels like to have life come screeching to a halt all while it incessantly keeps pushing forward.

The story eventually jumps ahead seven years to 1925, but I can't share any more of it without giving away big things: moments that were beautiful and heartbreaking and brought me to tears.

As an interesting side note, my dad comes from a family of morticians. His great-grandpa and grandpa owned a furniture store that doubled as a funeral home. My dad's mom went to college and received a degree in English, but she had also always had a dream of following in the path of her father and getting her embalming license. So in 1944, at the age of 29, she enrolled in the College of Mortuary Science and did just that. Even though she only used her license for a few years, she was very proud of it. I can still remember visiting her in the nursing home during the last years of her life and seeing it prominently displayed above her bed.

Because of my grandma's deep interest in serving as a stepping stone between the living and the dead, this book held a different kind of appeal for me. In reading about the Bright family's experience caring for the dead, I felt a little closer to my own heritage.

I read the last fourth of the book on a beautiful summer's day when my family and I had gone to the cabin for the day. With my kids all occupied in various activities, I sneaked away to the hammock hanging between the trees. I read (and then reread) what ended up being my favorite scenes in the book, and I think I'll always associate this book with happy memories, which is one of the best ways to enjoy a story.

I have since given my mom a copy of this book for her birthday and convinced my sister to read it as well. It could not have been a more perfect book to read at this crazy time, and it gets all the praise from me.

Sweep: The Story of a Girl and Her Monster by Jonathan Auxier

Have you ever read a book and, upon finishing it, thought, Where is all the praise for this book? Why has no one been talking about it? Why has it not won any awards?

That's how I felt after reading this book. It was so beautifully written, well-researched, and brilliantly crafted that it seemed like it must have somehow been tragically overlooked the year it was published.

I personally took notice of it, not because anyone else had mentioned it, but simply because it was written by Jonathan Auxier, and I have been a major fan of his ever since reading Peter Nimble and His Fantastic Eyes several years ago.

But even with this selling point, it still took me over a year to pick up a copy because the title didn't interest me. I didn't think I had much use for a book about monsters.

Little did I know that the "monster" was only one to those who didn't know him. To Nan, he was a golem, birthed from a little piece of glowing char she'd had in her possession for a long time.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Nan is a climber in 1875 London. She works for Mr. Wilkie Crudd, better known as "The Clean Sweep." Her job is to clean people's chimneys, not by pushing a broom up into them à la Mary Poppins, but by pushing herself up into them. Because of her small frame, she can go where no adult can--small shafts that are literally no bigger than a 9-inch square (I feel a little ill just writing that out).

Nan hasn't always worked for Wilkie Crudd. When she was very young, she moved around London with her Sweep. He was tall and thin and quietly protective. He told stories and invented possibilities and made even bad things seem exciting. Under his hand, she learned to read and think for herself. But one day he disappeared, leaving behind only his hat and a warm piece of char.

Nan keeps thinking her Sweep will come back, but in the meantime, her only option is to climb chimneys and collect soot.

But then one day, the unthinkable happens. While Nan is crawling through a tiny tunnel in a school for young ladies, she gets distracted by a conversation going on in one of the rooms below. She doesn't pay attention to her position, and she gets stuck. When a climber gets stuck, there are only a few options, and none of them are pleasant.

The one that Nan's rival, Roger, decides to try is called the Devil's Nudge, and it involves lighting a fire in the hearth under her. The idea is that with the right motivation, Nan will do anything, including breaking her own bones, to free herself.

But something happens when Nan is stuck inside that flue--something that Nan can't explain or even figure out for herself. The little piece of char she has carried in her pocket for years ignites and blasts her out of the chimney, and when she regains consciousness, she realizes that everyone thinks she's dead, and her char has turned into a little baby golem she affectionately names Charlie.

Together, they hide away and make an unusual, but very pleasant, life for themselves. No one but Nan's friend, Toby, knows about Charlie, and that's probably for the best since it only takes a few weeks before Charlie is no longer the size of a pebble but a big and lumbering (but just so naively adorable) golem.

But of course things don't stay happy and comfortable. Nan finds out that Wilkie Crudd doesn't believe for an instant that she died in that fire ("Nan Sparrow, felled by the Devil's Nudge? Maybe another climber, but not [her]"). And as she attempts to hide from and outsmart him, she learns more about golems. Miss Bloom, a teacher from the young ladies' seminary, tells Nan that golems are created for a purpose and that "once a golem has fulfilled its purpose, it must die."

This story was the perfect mix of history, fantasy, and emotion. If one of those elements had been removed, it wouldn't have worked, but blended together, they were a magic combination.

I learned so much about the tragic life that was the reality of so many children during the Industrial Revolution.  At the back of the book, Jonathan Auxier shared a few historical facts and said, "By some estimates, the average life span of a climber was just five years." Five years. He talked about how horrific this was, especially given the fact that a mechanical brush had been invented almost a century before, but many homeowners didn't want sweeps to use it, "claiming that the brushes did not do as thorough a job as young climbers."

These dire facts might have overwhelmed the story if not for the fantasy aspect. Charlie lightened up the story considerably. Not only were his little questions and statements so innocent and funny ("Oh yes, you are doing privacy"), but knowing that he would protect Nan at all costs made it seem like the story would somehow turn out right. It was also fascinating to learn about the history of golems within the Jewish tradition.

But what really made this story jump up to the next level was that it had this undercurrent of love and compassion and hope. By the end, I cared deeply for Nan and Toby and Miss Bloom and Newt and, of course, Charlie.

At one point, Nan and Toby were eating amaretto ice on top of a roof (yes, there were still some very idyllic moments, in spite of the hardship). Nan confided her fears regarding Charlie: "I'm afraid . . . What if I can't protect him?" Toby answered, "That's what it is to care for a person. If you're not afraid, you're not doing it right."

I read this book out loud to my kids, and although it was a little bit difficult for 6-year-old Clark to follow, it was a completely immersive experience for the rest of us. We were wrapped up in Nan and Charlie's adventures, and as we got to the climax, we literally could not pull ourselves away from the story.

During one particularly tender moment, I couldn't keep the tears from leaking. Maxwell looked at me and said, "You're crying. You're actually crying." I've cried at the end of many other books, but for some reason, he seemed to take more notice of it this time. He has brought it up a couple of times since then ("Mom actually cried at the end of that book"), and I think it was maybe the first time he realized the power of a good story and how much it can make you feel.

Toby told Nan, "We save ourselves by saving others," and that was true for so many relationships in this book: the Sweep to Nan, Nan to Charlie, Miss Bloom to Nan . . . as well as one beautifully unexpected one that I won't spoil by sharing. But if there's one lesson I hope my kids took away from Nan's story, it was exactly that: We save ourselves by saving others. Isn't that so completely true?

Marilla of Green Gables by Sarah McCoy

If I had seen this book on a library display stand, I would have passed it by without so much as a second glance. I have never been drawn to fan fiction. I prefer to just stick with the real thing and leave the rest of the story up to my own, not someone else's, imagination.

And in the case of my beloved Anne Shirley, that is even more true. How could anyone possibly try to get inside L.M. Montgomery's creativity and flesh out a backstory? The very idea seemed impossible, not to mention almost sacrilegious.

But it was my friend who read it first. Her love of Anne runs deep as well, so I felt like I could trust her when she said, "It was actually really well done. I think you would like it."

So I decided to take a chance. And I was pleasantly surprised.

The story was anchored in familiarity while still standing uniquely on its own. It was delightful to have Marilla introduced to "the White's daughter" and realize with a start that it was none other than Rachel Lynde. Or watch Marilla head the fundraising of the Ladies' Aid Society's by selling bottles of homemade raspberry cordial. Or notice a certain lovely amethyst brooch pinned on Marilla's dress.

But then there were new things never before considered: unconventional Aunt Izzy who chose to remain a spinster in order to pursue a career and a life outside Avonlea; the death of Marilla's mother, which forced Marilla to grow up early; an underground abolitionist organization to help protect runaway slaves. These things propelled the story forward in its own way without being tied to events and details from the future.

In spite of all of these good things however, the story was actually quite painful.  This had nothing to do with the writing (which was really quite lovely and, thankfully, did not attempt to mimic L.M. Montgomery's lavish descriptions) or the pacing (which surprised me with an intense climax at the end).

No, it was painful because, at its center, there was John Blythe with his self-assured smile and strong opinions, and he was just so gosh darn likeable. It broke my heart over and over again because I knew how it was going to end before it even began. I couldn't enjoy his tutoring of Marilla or his slow clap after her speech at the town debate (reminiscent of another slow clap after a striking performance of "The Highwayman") or his sweet kiss after falling into the stream. Each tender moment was like a jab to my heart. I wanted to will the story to go one way, all while knowing there was absolutely no way for it to work out.

And that begged the question, Did I actually want their romance to be reconciled? If there had been a Marilla and John, then there would never have been an Anne and Gilbert, and that would have been even more tragic.

In the end, it was Marilla's fierce loyalty to her father and brother that kept her from John, but the sad irony was that they would have given her their blessing over and over again. Matthew as a young man was just as you might imagine him to be--quiet but very kind and mostly keeping his opinions to himself.

At one point, he was in a bit of a political argument with John. Marilla, who was listening in on their conversation, couldn't stand the way John seemed to be pushing Matthew around. She rushed in to defend Matthew and put John in his place.

Matthew was not one to reprimand Marilla or tell her what to do, but after John left, he said, "I have a voice just as much as you do. It's a choice we make every minute--what truths are important enough to say aloud and what ones are important just to know." It was that quiet knowing that really defined Matthew's character--both in this book and later on with Anne, and the author captured it so well.

I kind of thought Anne might show up at the very end in an epilogue, but she didn't. Instead, Sarah McCoy chose to end it twelve years before Anne's arrival at Green Gables when Marilla's hope for a child was still just a wish in the grass.

But even though Marilla didn't know what was on her horizon, I did. And knowing that Anne would be coming in just a few years made me happy--and made me want to reread the books and rewatch the movies because of course that's the only possible logical next step after reading a book like this.

Lovely War by Julie Berry

The last book review I wrote was at the end of July, over six months ago.

 

I can't believe it has been so long since I have graced this blog with my deep thoughts after finishing a book.

But this is a book worth breaking my silence for. It is difficult to write a review of a book I hated (or had mixed feelings about). But it is exhilarating to talk about a book where I loved every single page. And that's what I get to do this time.
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The basic premise of the book might sound a little strange at first, but stay with me. I promise it works beautifully.

The story begins in 1942 in a hotel room in New York City. Aphrodite (the Greek goddess of love) has just been caught by her husband, Hephaestus, having an affair with his brother, Ares (the Greek god of war).

Ensnared in an incriminating golden net, Aphrodite pleads guilty but begs for a chance to explain. She says, "Do you want to see what real love looks like? Do you want to hear about my favorites? Some of my finest work?"

When Hephaestus relents, Aphrodite begins, "I'll tell you the story of an ordinary girl and an ordinary boy--a true story. No, I'll do one better; I'll tell you two."

And with that, she takes her audience back in time to London in 1917 where Hazel Windercott meets James Aldridge at a parish dance, and it is as close to love at first sight as one can get. Their romance is adorably sweet and innocent but lasts only a few days before James reports for duty in the Great War.

The second love story involves Colette Fournier (a Belgian who lost her entire family when her village was massacred) and Aubrey Edwards (an African-American pianist/soldier).

There are so many things I could tell you about this book and why I loved it so much, but I’ll just share three.

First, it was eye opening to learn more about the Great War, especially how black American soldiers were treated by their fellow countrymen. This paragraph, told in Apollo’s voice, sums up the tragedy of it:

"Another week, and tensions will overflow. The army, hoping to prevent a race riot, will decide there's no good place in the states to put them [black American soldiers], and no English-speaking outfit anywhere along the Western front that will serve beside them. So they'll hand them off to the French army like a goodwill offering. No, toss them like a hot potato. No, lob them . . . like a hand grenade."

I often feel proud of the sacrifice made by my country to bring about the end of both world wars, but learning more about the prejudices and violence within the American army because white soldiers weren’t willing to fight with black soldiers was so disheartening, it made me feel sick. It’s so easy to focus on the unity that is felt when a country comes together in the same cause, but this is one time where differences were not overlooked, and the army suffered greatly because of it.

Second, I loved both romances so much, and, if pressed, I don’t think I could choose a favorite between the two couples. The writing was gorgeous and never seemed trite or cheesy (which was such a relief since I had tried another World War I book a few weeks before but gave up on it because the writing seemed so mediocre). Also, this is a book I would feel comfortable recommending to anyone—the romances were so sweet and innocent.

Third, I loved seeing this story through the perspective of the gods. Some friends I talked to said they didn’t really feel like the gods added much to the story, but I felt like they helped me see love and war and talent and beauty and heartache and death in a completely different light.

Here’s one favorite example of this (but be warned that it contains spoilers).

Spoilers ahead . . .

Aphrodite calls Hades as one of her witnesses, and hegives his own accounts of a few of the characters. I always tensed up a little when it was his turn, knowing that someone was probably going to die.

During one scene, Hazel and Collette were on a train together traveling to meet James when it is hit by an explosion. Hazel is killed when she throws herself over Collette to save her friend’s life. When this happened, I actually had to turn off the book (P.S., I listened to this, and the audio is excellent). I was in shock, and I said to myself, “No. No, no, no, no. That did not just happen.” When I finally drummed up the courage to turn it back on, Hazel was having a conversation with Hades (not a good sign). She asked to go back, and, surprisingly, Hades agreed to let her.

Some might say that this was too happy (and unrealistic) to have happened, but for me, it made the gods not only an entertaining part of the story but an essential one. It made sense that one of them would work out a deal with Hades, and I loved that that person was Hazel.

End of spoilers.

One of the big themes in the book is that everyone is broken by war, and because of that, everyone has some grief that they are carrying. At one point, Aubrey and Collette are talking, and Aubrey is apologizing because he is so torn up and devastated by the death of one of his friends (and feels quite a bit of survivor’s guilt because of it), but he knows Collette has suffered so much more loss than he has. Collette quiets him and says, “Grief is not a contest,” and I thought about how easy it is for us to compare our grief when really, grief is grief; a loss is a loss; heartache is heartache. It is all real and painful, and it’s okay to feel it.

I'm trying to remember when the last time was that I read a book where I got so much pleasure from the actual reading and also felt so incredibly satisfied when it was over. It’s been a long time, and I’m glad I can now add this book to that small and very exclusive list.

The Hired Girl by Laura Amy Schlitz

Sometimes I put off reviewing books I loved because it feels to daunting to try to condense all of my overflowing gushing into one little post.

And that is precisely why it has taken me over three weeks to write about this book.

It cannot be denied that even though 2019 has not been a huge reading year for me so far in terms of quantity, it definitely has been in quality. I have loved almost everything I've read.

But at this point, this book probably tops the list for me. It just checked every single one of my boxes: it was historical (just after the turn of the century--one of my very favorite time periods); it was written as a journal (my favorite way to read a first-person narrative); the story was sweet and innocent (a true young adult novel--although I'd probably still hold off giving it to a young teenager (I'll explain why in a minute)); the ending did not disappoint me (and I was so scared that it would!).

But most of all, it made me want to keep reading. I found myself sneaking in a few pages here and another few pages there. Any chance I could get, I was back with Joan, unfolding another bit of her story. And even though I've read so many good books this year, none of them have compelled me to keep reading the way this one did.

I loved it so much.

Joan Skraggs is a bright, intelligent young woman, but her potential is literally being snuffed out by her belligerent, hard-hearted father. He pulls her out of school and relegates her to the life of a chore woman on the farm. In a panic, Jane envisions her life stretching before her and realizes that she is trapped. Nothing will ever change. This will be her life forever.

But then by chance, she sees an advertisement in the newspaper for a hired girl. It promises six dollars a week, and that sounds like a fortune to Joan. She knows she has to at least try. It is what her mother would have wanted for her. Donning a (hideous) new dress, adding a few years to her age (from 14 to 18), and giving herself a new name (Janet Lovelace), she takes the train to Baltimore, burning her tracks behind her.

Baltimore is big and noisy and crowded, and Joan is completely overwhelmed when she arrives late at night without a single reference. She has all but resigned herself to sleeping on a bench in what appears to be a well-to-do, safe neighborhood when Solomon Rosenbach happens upon her and insists that she follow him home to meet his mother.

And that is how she ends up as a hired girl for the Rosenbachs--a Jewish family made up of Mr. and Mrs. Rosenbach, married daughter Anna, sons Solomon and David, young daughter Mimi, and long-time housekeeper Malka.

Joan's voice is vibrant and authentic, and she is impossible not to love. She has a little bit of Anne Shirley in her but is still very much her own self. She is dramatic and emotional. Her entries sway wildly between ecstatic and despairing, and, for the most part, it is completely endearing.

One of the really brilliant aspects of the writing is the conflict between Joan's pretended age of eighteen and her real age of fourteen. Sometimes I forgot she wasn't really eighteen. After all, she had left home, was earning her own wages, and was very responsible. But then I'd think, "Why is she acting like a lovesick teenager?? Oh yeah, because she is only fourteen, and this is literally the first crush she has ever had on a boy!" It really would have been so easy to just make her grow up really fast or not at all, but both ages were very much a part of who Joan was as she came into her own self.

On that subject, I'll just add one word of caution. The story is very mild and innocent (refreshingly so!), but there was one scene towards the end where Joan's emotions overcome her better judgment and she makes a rash offer. Nothing comes of it, and for an older teenager, I think it would actually be somewhat enlightening because you can see how quickly you can lose all sense of reality when you think you're in love. But personally, I don't know if I would be totally comfortable with a younger teenager (say, under fourteen) being confronted with this mature situation. But then, you know I usually fall on the very conservative side of things.

One of the things I loved about this story was the juxtaposition of two very different religions. The Rosenbachs are orthodox Jews while Joan tries to be a devout Catholic. Being a part of the Rosenbach household, Joan learns very quickly about kashrut (which foods are acceptable and the appropriate ways to prepare and clean up after them), the rituals surrounding Shabbos, and the inexcusable condition of anti-Semitism. As Joan studies Catholism with Father Horst and prepares to be confirmed, she has deep conversations with Mr. Rosenbach about the differences in their religions, and I loved these discussions. At one point, Joan says, "Mr. Rosenbach, have you ever gone off by yourself and tried to feel that Jesus Christ is your Savior? Maybe if you were to go somewhere quiet, and sit still and open your heart to Him, you might be saved from damnation. Don't you think it might be a good idea to try?" And Mr. Rosenbach (kindly but with laughter behind his eyes) counters with, ""Miss Lovelace, have you ever gone off to a quiet place, and sat very still, and tried to imagine that Jesus Christ is not your Savior?" Joan is at once horrified at the very idea, and I thought it was the perfect way to demonstrate that we all try to follow the feelings in our hearts as best we can, and that is going to look different for everyone.

I began recommending this book before I'd even finished it, but I did it with a caveat: "It's so good, I'm loving it so far, but the ending might ruin it." And indeed, as I got closer and closer to the end, I was convinced it really was going to all come crashing down, and I was going to hate it. But I'm happy to say that the ending was perfect, and I have no need to retract any of my premature recommendations. In fact, now I would give it my wholehearted stamp of approval.

I leave you with a little taste of Joan: "[Mrs. Rosenbach] said, 'I'm sure you don't mean to be rude, Janet, but I'm afraid you're rather impetuous.' I nodded agreement and tried to look penitent--though I like the idea of being impetuous. It sounds like a heroine. I'd rather be impetuous than placid any day."

Two Recent WWII books: The War I Finally Won and Salt to the Sea

Not that anyone is looking for more World War II books to read, but if they were, these two are definitely topping my list right now.

The War I Finally Won by Kimberly Brubaker Bradley

I loved The War That Saved My Life so much that I immediately put the sequel on hold (and if you know anything about me and my track record with sequels/series, then you'll know what high praise this is). I've heard some readers say they liked this one better than the first one, but if I was forced to choose, I think I'd put my vote with the first one.

That isn't to say there was anything wrong with this one. Just, to me, it seemed like the story kind of stalled out a bit. It still has most of the same characters: Ada, Jamie, Susan, Lady Thornton, and Maggie, with the addition of Ruth (a young Jewish woman who has come to study math with Susan). In many ways, Ada's story has come full circle as demonstrated in this scene where she is riding Maggie's brother's horse, Oben: "I kicked again. I whooped. His speed increased until his stride began to feel as smooth as rushing wind, as effortless as flowing water. I moved with him, effortlessly. On the day I was evacuated, I'd looked out the window of our train and seen a girl galloping a pony, racing the train. Now I was that girl, galloping, laughing, my head thrown back, the wind tugging my hair. I'd become the person I'd longed to be."

But "becoming the person she'd longed to be" came with a price, which was that Ada was gripped with an intense need to control everything and keep anything bad out of her life--a task that is impossible at the best of times, let alone during a war.

She was also confronted with the question of, "If I've already become who I want to be [the girl riding the horse], what comes next?"

It's those two things (Ada's internal anxieties and her hopes for the future) that really drive the plot of this book. But even though big things happened (the Thorntons experienced a tragedy, Susan became very ill, Ada helped warn the village about a bombing), the pacing itself felt slow. To be fair, it wasn't any slower than the first book, but I think the difference was that in the first one, I was getting to know the characters at the same time, but here I already knew the characters really well, so the quiet moments dragged.

That said, I think it's partly the slow pace that makes Ada's growth seem so authentic. Her problems are not solved overnight. She has opportunities where she gets the best of her demons and other times when they get the best of her, but her overall motion is upward and forward. This quote from the end might sum it up best:

"I'd known the right thing to do, and I'd done it. I'd helped take care of Lady Thornton the way she'd helped take care of me. I'd stood in the steeple while bombs and even an airplane had fallen past me out of the sky. I'd felt afraid but I hadn't come undone. My foot would never be all the way right, but I could walk and climb and run. My feelings might never be all the way right either but they were healed enough.

There were many things I liked about this book--it was definitely a worthy and satisfying sequel (and there is even a sweet moment of closure for Susan at the very end). But I guess what I'm trying to say is that it maybe matched the first one a little too well in tone and pacing and drama, so it didn't have quite the same impact on me.

Salt to the Sea by Ruta Sepetys

This book is evidence to my suspicion that no matter how many books are written about World War II, we will never run out of new material for another one. More than anything, I think that attests to the sad reality of how vast and all-encompassing that war really was.

This story centers around four characters: Emilia (a young Polish girl) Florian (a secretive Prussian), Joana (a Lithuanian nurse), and Alfred (a German private). As the war neared its end, thousands of Eastern Europeans fled before the Russians. These four characters boarded the infamous Wilhelm Gustloff for a short voyage across the Baltic Sea.

Infamous, except that I'd never heard of it before hearing about this book. If that's you too, then here are a few facts: the Wilhelm Gustloff was torpedoed in the Baltic Sea on January 30, 1945. It was carrying over 10,000 people, nearly 9,400 of whom perished in the frigid waters (and an unbelievable 5,000 of those losses were children). To give you some comparison, the Titanic lost 1,600 lives and the Lusitania lost 1,200. The sinking of the Wilhelm Gustloff dwarfed these other tragedies in every way, but for some reason, it has not been given the same amount of attention.

Set against this horrific backdrop, the stories of these four people were fascinating and heartbreaking. I listened to this book, and the audio used four different narrators, which made it easy to differentiate between the characters right from the beginning. As is so often the case with stories told from multiple points of view, this one was rich and multi-layered as I witnessed the same event from different perspectives and pieced together all of the details.

The writing is exquisite. Even simple sentences like this one, "She held her breath in one hand and her suitcase in the other," vividly meshed together the physical and emotional details. I also loved this one, which gave a stark image of the effect of the war: "War had bled color from everything, leaving nothing but a storm of gray."

In the midst of this terrible tragedy, the writing had a way of bringing in little forgotten details that just made my heart twist. For example, as Emilia is traveling through the woods, she often sings a little nursery rhyme from her childhood: "All the little duckies with their heads in the water, heads in the water . . . " Later, as she looks over the water at the destruction all around her, the nursery rhyme, once innocent, comes back unbidden with frightening accuracy, only it is no longer referring to ducks.

Two characters deserve special mention: the shoe poet because I loved him so much and Alfred because he was so unbelievably awful.

The shoe poet, as everyone referred to him, might have been my very favorite. He was a man without guile who had a keen sense of observation and shared his wisdom through shoe metaphors (hence, the nickname). He was especially kind to the wandering boy, a young child who had come unmoored from his family. I loved their trusting and loving relationship in the midst of so much despair.

Then there was Alfred who was an egotistic narcissist but also a bumbling idiot (depending on the point of view at the time). I loved the other three main characters so much and felt a connection with each one. But even in his pathetic wretchedness, I couldn't drum up even the least bit of sympathy for Alfred. I had to wonder if this was what the author intended or if I was at least supposed to feel somewhat sorry for Alfred or if she purposely created an unlikeable character because she knew we would need someone to hate.

I'm always on the lookout for the title of the book to be embedded in the story somewhere. It usually sheds some light as to why the author chose it for the title and makes it more poignant. In this case, the title came from Joana as she drifted in the middle of the sea: "I wanted my mother. My mother loved Lithuania. She loved her family. The war had torn every last love from her life. Would she have to learn the grotesque details of our suffering? Would news make it to my hometown . . . ,  to the dark bunker in the woods where my father and brother were thought to be hiding? Joana Vilcus. Your daughter. Your sister. She is salt to the sea."

I'm grateful that I have yet another book to add to my list of worthwhile and appropriate young adult novels. Because even though the subject matter is dark and heavy, the actual content was quite clean and sensitive. I'll leave you with this final bit of wisdom from Emilia, which highlights the resiliency of the human spirit and that even in the darkest moments, we can find the good: "Nature. That was something the war couldn't take from me either. The Nazis couldn't stop the wind and the snow. The Russians couldn't take the sun or the stars."

Review x 2: The War That Saved My Life and Betsy and Joe

Guess what? The following books were both ones I picked on my own, for pure pleasure, with no expectations or strings attached. It felt so good, and I enjoyed both of them immensely.

The War That Saved My Life by Kimberly Brubaker Bradley
This book rekindled my love for middle grade novels. It was just so good, and I immediately put the sequel on hold, which is saying something since I'm not usually one to want to read the next book so quickly after the first. But I just really want more of Ada and Susan.

I also thought I was kind of tired of World War II books, but apparently I'm not. Ada's story begins just as Great Britain is on the cusp of joining the war against Germany. Having been confined to a one-room apartment her entire life, it is a beginning, both literally and figuratively, for Ada when her mam decides to send her little brother, Jamie, away to the country with the other school children to avoid the bombs that London is anticipating. Ada decides to leave with him. She doesn't ask permission; she just goes.

For years, Ada's mother has told her that she is worthless, disgusting, and embarrassing because she was born with a club foot. She doesn't deserve to be seen or educated. The cupboard under the sink is the place for her. For a brief few hours, as the train takes them far away from London, Ada puts that behind her as she exhilarates in her freedom. But it all comes rushing back when she and Jamie, grubby and unpleasant and her with a bleeding, throbbing foot, are not chosen by a single adult, and the teacher has to call up and force Ms. Susan Smith to take them.

The character development in this book is phenomenal. Ada's feelings are so complicated. She quickly falls in love with Susan's pony, Butter, and learns to ride him on her own. She makes friends with Lady Thornton's daughter, Maggie, and their stable hand, Fred. But her relationship with Susan is fraught with all of the feelings. She knows Susan didn't want them, and so any overtures of compassion and love from Susan are rejected. She reminds herself often that this is a temporary situation, and she won't let herself get used to Susan's attention. She has horrible flashbacks where all of the details of her previous life in London overwhelm her and make her frantic for escape. She is desperate for her mother's approval and constantly thinks, Maybe if she sees me doing [fill in the blank], then she will love me.

But slowly, her wounds heal, and she becomes capable, strong, and healthy. For Susan's part, having the children in her home begins to heal her of her own deep grief. Susan is wise and forward-thinking and reacts to the children's anger and rejection in a way that is both insightful and commendable. Ada has a complete meltdown on Christmas Eve, triggered by a gift from Susan--a beautiful green velvet dress. Instead of going to the Christmas Eve services at the church as they had planned, Susan wraps Ada up tight in a blanket and holds her until she is finally exhausted from her crying. The next morning, they go down for presents, but Jamie is sure Ada won't get anything because she was "bad" the night before. Susan says, "Not bad. Not bad, Ada. Sad, angry, frightened. Not bad." But Ada thinks, "Sad, angry frightened were bad. It was not okay to be any of those." The way that Susan was able to define Ada's outburst as actual feelings instead of making a blanket diagnosis was beautiful and touching.

This book won a Newbery Honor in 2016, and so I feel like I'm a little late getting to the party. But I'm here now, and this is going on my list of must-recommend reads.

Betsy and Joe by Maud Hart Lovelace
If pressed to choose a favorite Betsy-Tacy book, I think I would have to pick Betsy and Joe. Rereading it did nothing to change my opinion. I love this book so much.

For one thing, it has all the best scenes with Joe. You spend all of the high school books hoping for more of Joe, and you're finally rewarded in this, their senior year. By this point, he is set on Betsy and doesn't try to hide it. For her part, Betsy is thrilled. She spent the whole year previous wishing for Joe's attentions, and now she has them. Only problem is, Tony, who has always been like a brother to Betsy, now cares about her in a new way. Betsy is so happy to have Tony staying close to home and not jumping freight trains to hang out with older boys that she can't tell him she doesn't care for him in that way. But having two beaus is exhausting and anxiety laden, and eventually, Joe's pride can't handle it anymore: Either she goes with him exclusively or she doesn't. And without giving Betsy a chance to explain, he sticks out his chin in that defiant way of his and leaves her to Tony, which breaks her heart.

This series is closely tied to Maud Hart Lovelace's own life, and it makes me happy to think that all of the high school drama and festivities (the essay cup, the senior picnic, the dances), as well as the lovely home life (singing around the piano, sandwiches on Sunday, letters from Julia) were based on truth. (The one thing that isn't true? Maud and her future husband, Delos, didn't even know each other in high school, so even though Joe's character is based on Delos, their friendship with one another during that time is fictionalized.)

When Joe finally swallows his pride and Betsy finally realizes that she only wants Joe, it is in his aunt and uncle's general store in a tiny rural town. (Coincidentally, it was in this same general store that Betsy first met Joe nearly four years before.) Betsy has spent the week with friends, and her hair is straight and plaited instead of curled and puffed. Joe says, "Do you know, I like your hair straight," and Betsy thinks "if he had looked through all the poetry books in the world, he couldn't have found a better compliment." I could read this scene over and over again. I love it so much.

My other favorite scene is when Betsy is perfectly miserable on Christmas Eve because things have just fallen apart with Joe, but she chooses to put on a happy face and put her whole heart into all of the family traditions. In reflecting on the day, she says, "'It's a wonder I braced up for Christmas Eve. I'm glad I did.' She knew she had helped the family, and as a matter of fact, she had been happy. That, she realized, was because she had stopped thinking about herself." I think it's this one scene that makes the reader see how far Betsy's character has come over her four years of high school. She is willing to set aside her own personal misery for the good of the family, and that's admirable.

I don't know if I'll continue reading the series. To be honest, I kind of like to keep Betsy and Joe at this magical age where they're right on the brink of adulthood and madly in love with each other. The next two books lose a little bit of that because they have to grow up. But I might read Carney's House Party, one of the companion books to the Betsy-Tacy series, which I never read when I was younger.

What I Read in July

July was a good reading month for me, both in terms of quantity and quality. I was satisfied and content in every way.

1. America's First Daughter by Stephanie Dray and Laura Kamoi
This was my favorite read from July, in part because it suited the month so perfectly (and you all know how I feel about a good, seasonal read).

It is a fictionalized account of Martha "Patsy" Jefferson (Thomas Jefferson's daughter). Her mother passed away when she was just ten years old, but not before securing a promise from Patsy that she would always take care of and protect her father. The promise itself seems fairly innocent on the surface--her father had just lost the love of his life; of course she would want to look after him and help him--but it has far-reaching consequences. Patsy is her father's secret keeper, pushing forward the image that the new nation expects and covering the human foibles that would turn people against him. She gives up her own heart to protect his.

Much of the story is embellished and dramatized for the sake of entertainment, but I found the author's note at the end of the novel to be completely fascinating (and impressive). Every care was taken to make the story as historically accurate as possible, but where facts were not known (in part probably because Patsy herself erased portions of incriminating history), plausible details were inserted. Regardless of what is or is not true, Patsy's life was a tragic one, and at times, the heartache is almost too much to bear.

I listened to this during our trip through the midwest last month (more on that in my next post) and found that this long novel (over 20 hours) was the perfect companion, especially because our trip went over the 4th of July holiday and ended at Mt. Rushmore where we all got a good look at Thomas Jefferson's stony features. In spite of its length, it was a compelling novel that I couldn't seem to listen to fast enough. For those who love historical fiction or emotional drama, I can't recommend it enough.

2. The Willoughbys by Lois Lowry
The Willoughbys are an old-fashioned family of father, mother, three sons, and one daughter. But they are not a happy family. The parents cannot stand the children (they "frequently forgot that they had children and became quite irritable when they were reminded of it"), and the children's feelings are mutual. Thus, they both devise plans to get rid of each other: the children suggest a vacation the parents can't turn down (volcanoes, alligator infested lakes, frozen mountain peaks--all perfect ways for them to meet their end), and the parents sneakily sell their house out from under the children while they're away.

With that brief introduction, I'm sure you can see that this is a morbid, irreverent, and even dastardly wicked plot. Being big fans of Roald Dahl, it's just the kind of book my kids and I love, and it certainly had a lot of potential going into it. However, it lost some momentum for me when it introduced a whole bunch of sub-characters (an abandoned baby, a grief-stricken candy inventor, a no-nonsense nanny, an organizational freak, a lonely boy, and a love-sick postmaster). It was wildly entertaining to see how the different plot lines all eventually entwined with one another, but I think my interest waned because I didn't love some of the characters, but I felt forced to pay attention to them so I wouldn't get lost.

Still though, my kids loved it from beginning to end and always begged for me to read and then keep reading. There's also a delightful glossary (with explanations such as, "Irascible means having outbursts of bad temper. I myself had a very irascible third-grade teacher and it made for a miserable year.") and a bibliography of famous books at the end of the book. And it's Lois Lowry. So you know that even if I'm complaining about the plot, it isn't all bad. Not by a long shot.

3. Jean and Johnny by Beverly Cleary
As a teenager, I remember reading Fifteen by Beverly Cleary and loving it, so I wanted to try one of her other young adult novels (in part, to help fulfill my goal of reading three pre-1970 young adult novels).

I honestly don't know what today's teenager would think about this book. I'm sure they would find it a little bit cheesy and a lot old-fashioned (because I myself kind of felt that way about it), but I wonder if they'd also be able to see past some of those things to the lessons of the story:

• Jean makes almost all of her own clothes because, even though she is just fifteen, her parents expect her to furnish her own wardrobe and handmade clothes are so much cheaper than ready made garments. Even though it would be just the opposite today (I speak from experience that you cannot save money by making your own clothes), the principles of frugality, contentment, and gratitude are still needed.
• Johnny is a real jerk. At first, I thought Beverly Cleary was actually casting him as the perfect male lead, and I was absolutely disgusted. (When Johnny takes Jean out for a soda and makes her listen to his entire radio program with himself as host, I laughed at how ridiculous it was.) But Beverly Cleary comes around, and so does Jean, and I think it would help all teenage girls see through the phoniness of so many boys.
• Jean refuses a kiss on a first date. As someone who held my kisses close, I gave a silent cheer for Jean's level head.
• The family dynamic in Jean's home is sweet: her father and mother sit around in the evenings, meeting their daughters' dates; Jean looks up to her older sister, Sue, and seeks her advice, but then rejects it when it doesn't fit with what she wants to do. It all feels very realistic while at the same time feeling just a little too good to be true.

In spite of my initial reservations, I ended up enjoying this story and wish it was the kind of book teenagers wanted to read today. It is the very definition of wholesome.

4. Wonderstruck by Brian Selznick

This was the book we settled on for our little family book club, and it was a big success. Even Mike, who hasn't read a physical book in probably a couple of years, really liked it and was actually the first one finished with it.

It's definitely a book that must be read, not listened to, because half of the story is told through pictures. Ben's story takes place in 1977, beginning in Gunflint Lake, Michigan and ending in New York City, and is told through words; Rose's story begins in 1927, beginning in Hoboken, New Jersey and also ending in New York City and is told through pictures. It is an interesting format, one that moves along at a rapid pace because you read two pages and then you look at the next twenty. 

When we had our book club meeting, I asked everyone to tell us about their favorite moment. Mine was easy. It was the part where the two stories collided, and I turned the page and saw Ben's face for the first time. I think I actually gasped. I probably can't tell you about each person's favorite moment without giving away major parts of the plot, but almost all of them were pictures, which I found so interesting especially since they told me they liked Ben's story (the one told in words) better than Rose's. I think pictures lodge in our memories a little more easily and maybe trigger emotions faster as well.

There are some mature themes with this one, not the least of which is that Ben's mother and father were never married (and Ben never even met his father). Mike and I were a little concerned about this, mostly because six-year-old Bradley was reading it, and we didn't know if we wanted to get into any hard explanations. But adults see very different things than kids, and because this relationship was merely alluded to without going into any sort of detail, it went right over his head. And we let it. Instead we focused on Ben and his adventures in the Museum of Natural History (think From the Mixed Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler) and Rose's loneliness in her quiet, protected world, and we marveled at this masterful storytelling. 

5. Courage to Be You: Inspiring Lessons From an Unexpected Journey by Gail Miller
I'm going to be completely honest with this one (even though I'm sure many readers will not share my opinion): the overall message was good, a few of the stories were interesting, and there was a smattering of memorable insights, but from the beginning this felt like a trite and formulaic inspirational read that was only selling copies because of who the author was (wife of Larry H. Miller). Whew, that was a long sentence, but sometimes it's best to just get it all out in one fell swoop.

The writing itself was overly simplistic and bland (despite being co-authored by Jason Wright) and was filled with many self-deprecating statements such as, "My marriage wasn't perfect; I'm not perfect; I might look like I have it all figured out, but I don't." I'm not saying that these statements weren't sincere; they probably were. But the tone just struck me as a little bit lofty even while she was trying very hard not to be.

My favorite chapter was, "Love to Serve--Serve to Love," where she shared this thought, "The only people I don't love are those I don't know yet." That alone was worth reading the book for, and I wish I could keep this statement at the forefront of my mind and really internalize and live it. In spite of not loving this book, I think Gail Miller really exemplifies this and the other principles she attempted to teach, as did her husband, Larry.

6. The Boy on the Porch by Sharon Creech
This was recommended to me by a friend a couple of years ago, but it wasn't until I was searching for an audiobook that was available for immediate download (an increasingly difficult feat) that I remembered it and finally listened to it.

It's a short book, which sometimes makes a story somewhat forgettable, but this one had a sweet poignancy that I think will stay with me. That said, I wouldn't have minded hanging out with the characters for a little longer.

When middle-aged couple, John and Marta, find a boy on their porch one morning, they are surprised and also a little disturbed. Try as they might, they can find no information about the boy save for a cryptic piece of paper from someone (his parents? a guardian?) that says they'll be back for him. What's more, the boy can't (or won't) talk, and so John and Marta are left to deduce as much as they can. Although the whole situation is strange, they both have big hearts that have been longing for a child to love. And so their relationship grows quickly and easily, until one day, when they've begun to assume it will go on like this forever, it comes to an abrupt end.

This novel took an unexpected turn toward foster parenting that I absolutely loved. My cousin and her husband have been foster parents for several years, and after I finished this book, I immediately told her about it. Even though it's a middle-grade book, John and Marta's self-sacrifice and non-judgmental warmth will touch the hearts of children and adults alike. Foster parenting is a roller coaster ride of emotions and is not for the faint of heart. This book celebrates those courageous individuals who are willing to share a piece of their hearts with others.

What have you been reading lately? Have you read any of these books? Tell me in the comments!

Jefferson's Sons by Kimberly Brubaker Bradley

I put Jefferson's Sons on my to-read list right after Janssen reviewed it . . . in 2012. But whereas some books get added and gradually lose their appeal, Jefferson's Sons continued to look interesting to me, so I finally made time for it, and it was well worth it.

It is one of the greatest ironies of history that the man who wrote the memorable words, "All men are created equal," also owned slaves. But even more ironic is the fact that some of those slaves were his own biological children.

This book follows two of them, Beverly Hemings and Madison Hemings, as well as a third slave, Peter Fossett. Even though the book is a work of fiction, every character in the story was a real person, and nothing was included that was in direct disagreement with the facts. In other words, it is as historically accurate as possible and every story and conversation could, in theory, have really happened.

Before I started the book, I was really worried that it would make me hate Thomas Jefferson. Or just that it would be so jaded, I would feel forced into a certain opinion. But it did neither of those things.

Beverly and Maddy's mother was Sally Hemings. She was actually half-sisters with Thomas Jefferson's wife, Martha Wayles. While there are many things we don't know about her relationship with Thomas Jefferson, it appears that there wasn't anything between them until after Martha's death in 1782. At least, Sally didn't have her first child until 1790. It also seems likely (or at least this is the way this particular author portrays it) that Thomas Jefferson did in fact love Sally Hemings and was also a victim of the constraints and laws of the times, which wouldn't allow a white man to marry a black woman. He made sure his children were always well provided for (all while never acknowledging that they were actually his) and eventually gave them their freedom when they turned twenty-one.

That said, Thomas Jefferson still owned slaves--a lot of them. And although the house slaves were treated well, the field hands experienced many of the depravities and abuses common to that time. At one point in the story, one of the slaves runs away. When he is eventually caught and brought back, he is whipped, and all of the slaves are forced to watch. Beverly is young at the time and idolizes his father and can't believe he would have ordered the whipping. But Beverly's mother explains, "All James Hubbard did was try to get free. Running away is against the law, but it's not wrong. Sometimes laws are wrong. Master Jefferson told the overseers to whip James Hubbard. They wouldn't have done it otherwise. They wouldn't have dared."

Thomas Jefferson might have been a more humane slave owner than some, but he still treated his slaves as property--something that could be bought or sold just like a horse. In fact, the book ends soon after his death as his slaves are being auctioned off to pay the enormous debts he has incurred due to unwise financial decisions. He took care of his own flesh and blood but left his other slaves to the mercy of those who came after him. One of those slaves is little Peter Fossett, and the ending is quite chilling.

The book is written for a middle grade (8-14 year-old) audience. Although it spans about twenty-five years, it follows Beverly first, then moves onto Maddy, and ends with Peter, thereby keeping the thoughts and feelings and experiences focused on a child while still letting us see what happens to the others as they grow up.

One thing I really appreciated was the way the author nudged the reader into thinking about difficult issues. It wasn't blatant or heavy-handed. I didn't feel like I was being preached to. But many of the conversations that happened in the Heming's cabin made me think. It's impossible to know if they really had such deep discussions on the morality of slavery, but it seems likely. We know that Sally was well-educated, and it's obvious that many of her actions were prompted out of a love for her children and wanting to give them their best possible chance at a decent future. And with their father being who he was, how could they not help but see the deep unfairness of their situation?

But the author was slow to pass judgment. For example, when Sally tells her children about their great-grandma, who was kidnapped in Africa, Beverly asks if the men who took her were white or black. Sally responds, "I don't know. Might have been either, or both. Evil comes in all colors." And I know if we looked at the entire history of the world, we would find that to be the case. One race isn't more evil than another. We all have the capacity to be good or bad.

There is one really tender scene in the book. It's in Maddy's section. Maddy is smart and loves to read. He doesn't blindly love his father the way Beverly does, but he still craves little moments of attention. When Mama tells him that Master Jefferson's mockingbird died, Maddy and his best friend, James, set out to catch another one. They're successful, and they take the bird to Master Jefferson. He is so pleased with the new bird that he gives each boy fifty cents. Maddy should be thrilled with the money, but he's not. Instead he thinks, "That bird had been free, and now it was a slave. From now on it had to live where Master Jefferson wanted it to live, eat what Master Jefferson gave it to eat, even whistle the songs Master Jefferson wanted it to sing. He, Maddy, had sold that bird into slavery."

In my book club, we read a different genre each month. One of those genres is adolescent literature, and we originally chose this book for that month. We ended up changing it because we'd already read a couple of books that explored similar issues, but I'm kind of sad about it because there would have been so much to discuss. I really love books like this that don't paint everything as strictly black and white (even on issues such as slavery that seem obvious) but introduce the many shades of gray that are a result of the culture of the times and the foibles of human nature.

Everyone Brave is Forgiven by Chris Cleave

So far, 2017 is not the year of the audiobook for me. This is the only book I've listened to, and it took me nearly two months to finish. At this rate, I'll be lucky if I make it through six audiobooks this year, which is a far cry from the years where at least half of my reading was done by listening. I blame podcasts, knitting vlogs, and my noisy children for the drop in numbers.

All that said, even though it took me an agonizingly long time to listen to, I thoroughly enjoyed it. There have been a bunch of WWII bestsellers lately; besides this one, I've also read All the Light We Cannot See and The Nightingale, but I have to say, I liked this one best: the setting, the plot, the characters, and the treatment of hard subject matter were all just really well done.

The book jacket claims that this is a "novel about three lives entangled during World War II," but I would argue that it's really about just two: Mary North and Alistair Heath. I think the third character the summary refers to is Tom Shaw, who is Mary's boyfriend and Alistair's best friend, but although he certainly plays a critical role in both of their lives, the story is never really told from his perspective, whereas it travels back and forth between Mary and Alistair. If Tom is noted as a main character, I feel like you also have to mention Hilda (Mary's best friend) and Zachary (a young student whom Mary tutors).

But really, I'm getting ahead of myself since I haven't actually told you anything about anyone.

The story opens with this line (which I quite like): "War was declared at eleven-fifteen and Mary North signed up at noon." Mary lives in London and comes from a wealthy family. But I love that opening sentence because I think it sums up Mary so perfectly: she's feisty; she doesn't think twice when it comes to making a decision; she's willing to work hard and fulfill her duty; and she doesn't care much about propriety or social standards.

Mary is hoping she'll be assigned as a liaison, or possibly even a spy, but instead she gets sent to a school. It's not quite as glamorous as she was hoping for, but she discovers that she really enjoys teaching children. However, just a few days into her responsibilities, the children are evacuated to the countryside, and the headmistress dismisses Mary from her post: "I like you, Mary. Enough to tell you that you will never be any good as a teacher. Find something more suited to your many gifts." And so, just like that, Mary has nothing to do, and she's rather embarrassed about it.

Meanwhile, on the other side of London, Tom Shaw and Alistair Heath are good friends and flatmates. With everyone enlisting, there aren't many young men left in London, so Tom, a teacher, has recently been put in charge of a school district (most of the children have been evacuated, but there are a few left--mostly those who, for one reason or another, are unwanted by families in the country). It's to Tom that Mary goes for help finding a new position, and he eventually finds one for her, teaching a small class of outcasts and misfits. Alistair, on the other hand, is not content to stay in London, just waiting to be drafted, and enlists almost immediately. Within weeks, even before he's seen any real fighting, he's seen enough to know this war will change him forever.

Mary and Tom begin dating very soon after meeting each other for the first time, but then, she meets Alistair on his first leave back to London, and, even though he was actually set up with her best friend, Hilda, she begins secretly writing him.

One thing that almost all of my friends have mentioned after reading this book is the smart and witty dialogue, and that was definitely one of my favorite parts as well. Between the daily bombings in London and the horrible assault on Malta (where Alistair is stationed), the devastation and heartache in this story is tremendous. Lives are stamped out so quickly and with so little fanfare, it sets you reeling trying to grasp it and keep track of it all. But then there's the dialogue, which, in stark contrast to the awful scenes, is light and often quite amusing. These conversations don't downplay the grave situations, but they do provide the right kind of balance to help the characters (and the reader) survive.

The title of the book was actually one of my favorite parts, and I don't often say that, mostly because it's usually pretty obvious why a book bears a certain title. But in this case, I didn't really understand the title until I was about halfway through the book, and then things started clicking, and I just thought, Oh my goodness, how beautifully tragic.

At one point, Mary herself uses the line. She writes, "I was brought up to believe that everyone brave is forgiven, but in wartime, courage is cheap and clemency out of season," meaning, everyone has to be brave so showing mercy doesn't even matter.

And yet, it does.

As the book progressed, and the costly and fatal mistakes began to pile up, I really saw the truth in the sentiment, "Everyone brave is forgiven." In spite of what Mary said, perhaps the need for bravery and accompanying forgiveness is more apparent during war than any other time. Decisions have to be made, and usually those decisions involve death on one side or the other, making the decisions impossibly impossible.

I wanted to list a few of those devastating decisions from this book, for my own memory, with the warning that spoilers will follow, so please stop reading now if you haven't read the book.

(I'm not kidding--major spoilers ahead.)

Here are just a few of the instances where some of the characters had to overcome the intense guilt brought on by their decisions and forgive themselves, all while hoping others would show the same mercy: 

• Zachary leaves the school basement in the middle of a bombing raid (all of the parents are in attendance because the children are performing the school Christmas play). Mary sends Tom after him, and then she soon follows. A bomb hits the school, killing everyone inside. Tom, on the outside, is hit by flying debris and is also killed instantly. Mary and Zachary are the only survivors.
• Alistair leaves the comfort and warmth of a truck to help a fellow army buddy walk back to camp. On the way, his friend steps on an unexploded artillery shell and is killed mid-sentence.
• While helping on an ambulance crew, Mary nearly dies when her leg becomes trapped by a fallen beam and pins her down while the water level in a basement steadily rises. She's given morphine to ease the pain while she heals but becomes addicted to it and makes some poor choices because of it.
• Alistair is bitten on his hand by a dying German and ends up losing his arm.
• Alistair restores a painting for a local church. He takes great pride in it and wants to deliver it before he returns to London, so he convinces his friend, Briggs, to drive him to the church. They have no other reason to be out (and Alistair has to lie and say they're delivering maps to some other camps in order to have the request approved), but during the drive, a host of shells fall on them, one of which kills Briggs.
• Alistair's good friend, and commanding officer, Major Simonson, pulls a few (unapproved) strings in order to bump Alistair ahead of some of the other soldiers waiting for a flight home.

With each of these situations, I could see the goodness and courage twisted up among the final consequences. Perhaps Alistair said it best when he receives a letter from Mary's friend, Hilda, informing him (quite bitterly) about Mary's addiction to morphine. She paints Mary in a very unfavorable light, and Simonson says, "If half of what she says is true then you are best off without Mary, and this Hilda has done well to warn you." But Alistair replies, "I should like to know Mary's side of the story."

And ultimately, that's what this book is: it's this side of the story and then that side of the story, and looking at all these different sides reveals the great complexity of human choices. As much as we like to think that decisions are clear-cut and black and white, many times they're not at all. We do the best we can with the information we have. We reap the consequences, as awful as they might be. We give our best and hope that it's enough.

And it is. Because, in the end, everyone brave is forgiven.

Content note: Mild language (I don't remember any f-words, but there might have been one); one pre-marital sexual scene (not descriptive); the usual violence associated with war.

The Nightingale by Kristin Hannah

When I had The Nightingale checked out from the library the first time, I didn't put a high enough priority on it in my reading queue, and so I was only on page 96 when it had to go back to the library (I know this because I made a note of it so I'd know where to pick it back up when I got it back). Being a very popular book, I had to wait through another long list of people before it was finally my turn again. And you better believe that when I had it in my hands again, I made a point of finishing it.

Obviously I found the first ninety-six pages interesting enough that I was willing to return to it after a month-long break, in part because a couple of my friends knew I was reading it and asked how I liked it and I wanted to be able to talk to them about it, but it wasn't completely gripping. Once I finally got it back though, I found the final three hundred pages much more engrossing than the first hundred and flew through the rest of it.

I wouldn't necessarily say I came away feeling satisfied, but it was one of those books I enjoyed being in the middle of (apparently, since I was technically reading it for two months).

The story centers around two French sisters, Vianne and Isabelle. Although most of the story takes place during World War II, the reader gets some back story (mainly about their strained relationship after their mother dies and their father sends them away) and some glimpses into the future in 1995 when one of the sisters (it's not clear at first which one) is confronted with the past she's tried so hard to forget.

Vianne and Isabelle were never close--not in age (there's a gap of about ten years), temperament, or ability. When their father basically stopped being a father, Vianne met Antoine, whom she later married, and Isabelle got passed around from boarding school to boarding school, after getting kicked out of each one. When they hear the first rumblings of war, Vianne's first reaction is to pull her husband and daughter close and never let them go whereas Isabelle wants to join the resistance and let Germany know that they can't have France without a fight.

The war changes both of them. Vianne is forced to billet a German officer and suffers extreme deprivation as the war gradually strips the country of all its resources. Turns out, she's much tougher than she realized. Isabelle, meanwhile, joins an underground group distributing anti-Germany propaganda and eventually earns the nickname "Nightingale" as she smuggles downed Ally airmen over to Spain where they can rejoin their armies. She is extremely brave but also vulnerable.

At one point, Vianne visits Mother Superior at the convent because she is so worked up with guilt over a decision she made that negatively impacted one of her dearest friends. I love the advice Mother Superior gives her: "Don't think about who they are. Think about who you are and what sacrifices you can live with and what will break you."

This idea of choosing your sacrifices definitely becomes a theme throughout the book. As you can imagine with WWII as the backdrop, there are some (actually, a lot of) hard, heavy moments. Over and over again, Vianne and Isabelle make decisions that risk their own safety and that of their loved ones. The options they're given are usually impossible choices: they have to risk one thing to protect something else which in turn puts something else at risk. These choices are completely overwhelming, and I kept wondering what I would do in their place; the very thought made me sick.

Unfortunately, as with many WWII books, this one left me feeling weary and depressed. The story gets progressively darker, and by the end, I couldn't handle anymore. There isn't a lot of actual warfare, but the way the German officers took advantage of the French people and the unwarranted violence and arrests and the horrendous treatment of Jews and the sickening torture meted out to prisoners of war was plenty difficult to read without going onto a single battlefield. When I have enough space between books like this one, I forget the details of WWII and how many people were senselessly killed. So then when I pick one up again, it's like I'm learning about it for the first time all over again, and I honestly can't believe that these kind of atrocities happened on such a wide scale and not very many decades ago.

I have such conflicted feelings about this particular story. I loved the perspective of both sisters and seeing how they served their country in very different, but equally courageous, ways. I thought the love story between Isabelle and Gaëtan was sweet but also very dramatic, especially at the end. I also thought there were a few too many coincidences at the very end when the story moves back to 1995. Too many characters miraculously showed up, and it felt a little unrealistic.

Shortly after I finished this book, I watched the movie Life is Beautiful for the first time. It's one of Mike's very favorite movies, but I kept resisting because I knew it would be too sad. He kept assuring me, "No, no, it's inspiring. There will be some sad parts but overall, it's really uplifting." So I watched it and by the end, my tears were flowing without restraint (that little boy with those bright eyes!), and I don't think I would have used the word "uplifted" at all. This book had nothing in common with that movie except that they're both heartbreaking, and that's what you have to expect from a WWII story. That war touched millions of lives with sadness.

Content note: Violence, immorality, and rape are all a part of this story. It could have been a lot more graphic, but it's still there and very disturbing. There's also a little bit of language.

Hazardous Tales: One Dead Spy by Nathan Hale

I'm one of those strange people who feels freed, rather than restricted, by goals. Take this book, for example.

I first heard about Nathan Hale's historical fiction series a few years ago. At the time, I hadn't yet overcome my fear of graphic novels, and so I wasn't interested in trying it. A few months later, I heard about them again and thought they might be good for Aaron at some point down the road. And then awhile after that, they popped up again, and this time I knew Aaron would like them (he's really been into comics lately), but I thought I'd like to give them a try too . . . if only I had the time.

And then I remembered: Wait, I have a goal for that: "Read six books with Aaron." That was all I needed; I had the first book in the series checked out the next week.

I admit it's kind of silly that goals grant me permission to read books I might not pick up otherwise, but hey, it works. And I've really been loving this goal in particular because it's helped me become more familiar with the books that appeal to second-grade boys.

This one, I have to admit, was pretty awesome. It stars Nathan Hale (not the author, but the Revolutionary War spy). When the story opens, he is about to be hanged because, spoiler, the British caught him. But first, he takes the reader back in time to various events in the war prior to his untimely death.

The dialogue is, of course, all made up (except for a couple of salty lines from Ethan Allen, leader of the Green Mountain Boys, which are, apparently, the real deal). And the whole account is treated with probably just a little too much humor and irreverence for something as serious as war.

But I really loved it so much. I know I'm an adult, but it honestly made this war come alive for me in a different way than it ever has before.

Take Henry Knox, for example. I've heard his name many times in various books and history texts, but if you had asked me a week ago what he did, or even which war he served in, I don't think I could have told you. Now, of course, it's fresh in my mind because I just read this book, but I honestly don't think I'll ever be able to hear his name again without thinking, Knox the Ox! That's the guy who loves guns!

And that part's true. Henry Knox really was the chief of artillery for the whole army. He really did move sixty cannons across the Hudson River in the middle of December. He really did save one of those cannons from sinking in the icy water when everyone else would have counted it as a loss. And although he didn't have all of the conversations and interactions that are portrayed in this book and probably didn't act quite so much like a ten-year-old boy with a vast number of weapons at his disposal, I have to hope that his exuberant and endlessly optimistic personality were authentic.

Everything about this book was enjoyable, even the acknowledgements at the back of the book, which were also done in a comic strip style. I mean, who even reads the acknowledgements in most books? (Okay, confession, I often do.) But these ones were downright hilarious and had me laughing out loud. (This exchange between the author and one of his baby researchers (don't ask . . . ): Baby: "You need a college degree to get the original documents. Do you have one?" Nathan: "I did a year of art school." Baby: "Wow. I'm sure the job offers just pour in." I just about died.)

I've come such a long way since I read my first graphic novel three years ago (which, interestingly, was also illustrated by Nathan Hale). I've seen how my own kids are drawn to this genre, and because I've tried it out myself, I feel like I can better guide their interest instead of trying to steer them towards other "real" books. And now that I've found a series where we can work in a little history at the same time, I have a feeling we're on our way to more good things.

Have you read any of Nathan Hale's Hazardous Tales? Know of any other great graphic novels that we should check out?

Caddie Woodlawn by Carol Ryrie Brink

I put Caddie Woodlawn on our readaloud to-read list a long time ago. I had grown up watching the 1989 Wonderworks film adaptation, and I think I'd read the book as well. It seemed like one we'd eventually enjoy reading, although I had no immediate plans for it.

But then my good friend, Sarah, read it aloud to her five-year-old daughter, and she praised it so highly that it quickly bumped its way up to the top of the list.

Caddie is something of a tomboy, growing up wild and free on the Wisconsin frontier in 1864. When her family moved there from Boston seven years before, she and her little sister, Mary, were both frail and sickly. After Mary died, Caddie's father decided Caddie needed to build up her own health in the great outdoors: "Harriet, I want you to let Caddie run wild with the boys. Don't keep her in the house learning to be a lady. I would rather see her learn to plow than make samplers, if she can get her health by doing so. I believe it is worth trying. Bring the other girls up as you like, but let me have Caddie."

And so Caddie's mother does, although she's not always thrilled about it. Caddie swims in the river, makes regular visits to the Indian camp, goes hunting with her uncle, and plows the field with her brothers, Tom and Warren.  Her father's plan works. She is happy and healthy and thinks she has the best life in the world. However, as she grows older, her mother insists on a little more propriety, which Caddie resists at first until she realizes she doesn't have to give up who she is and what she loves in order to become a lady.

We were well into the book when we found out it's based on the life of the real Caddie Woodlawn, a fact I had forgotten (or never knew). We love fiction and are often quite inspired by it, but there's something special when you realize that a character's brave and honorable acts are actually founded in fact. I guess they mean just a little bit more.

For example, let me tell you a little bit about the Hankinson family. When Sam Hankinson settled in Wisconsin, he married an Indian woman and together they had three children. As the town and surrounding area gradually grew more populated, the Hankinsons felt the harsh prejudice and judgment of the white families around them. Eventually, Sam's wife decides to leave her husband and children and return to her people (a decision that seems prompted in part by Sam's own shame of her).

She goes to the schoolhouse to tell her children goodbye, and it is one of the saddest, most heartrending scenes, both for the reader and for Caddie, who can't contain her tears and lets them fall to the book that's open on her lap.

For months, Caddie has been saving a silver dollar she received from her Uncle Edmund, and she finally knows exactly how she wants to spend it. The next day after school, she leads the three Hankinson boys to the general store and buys each of them candy, a top, a comb, and a handkerchief. She spends every last cent, and with each present, the boys' eyes light up a little more.

Later that night, Tom questions her, "But Caddie, you needn't have spent your whole dollar. You could have got them each a top or a hoarhound stick, and kept the rest for yourself."

But Caddie replies, "No, Tom, it had to be all of it. I wanted to drive that awful lonesome look out of their eyes, and it did, Tom. It did!"

It was such a sweet, poignant lesson to me (and hopefully to my kids too). Caddie stripped away all the labels and prejudices heaped upon this family (even by Caddie's own mother) and saw them for who they really were: three little boys who desperately missed their mother. The shopping spree was fun, but the attention she gave them was even more meaningful. For just a few minutes, they no longer felt like outcasts but like royalty.

Something similar happened a little later on in the book, but this time it was between Caddie and her younger sister, Hetty. Hetty is not a tomboy like Caddie. However, on occasion, she tags along with Caddie, Warren, and Tom but mostly just so she can turn on her heel at the least sign of mischief and run home to tattle to their mother. Consequently, the three adventurers avoid her whenever possible.

One afternoon though, Caddie is by herself on the quiet hill north of the house. She has picked a bouquet of flowers and is braiding the stems together while she thinks and daydreams. Then she catches sight of Hetty, and her first thought is one of irritation. She just knows Hetty is coming to disturb her peace by spreading some bit of news she's discovered.

But surprisingly, Hetty just takes a seat beside Caddie and says, "It's kind of nice to be just us two alone . . . isn't it? Without the boys. But I guess it's more fun for you with the boys."

In just those few words, quite a lot is revealed about Hetty: "It was almost as if Caddie had never seen that little face before. Suddenly she understood for the first time that Hetty was all by herself. Minnie was too young, and Tom, Caddie, and Warren had no room in their adventures for a tagging and tattling little sister. Was her eagerness to be the first to tell only her way of trying to make herself important in the eyes of all the selfish older people?"

The moment was so unexpected and sweet that it made me want to weep. For all of her energy and shenanigans, Caddie could be quite mature and perceptive. This was one of those times, and I felt like reaching through the page and giving her a hug when she said, "I think it's nicer since you came, Hetty. I really do."

But if you asked my boys what their favorite part of the book was, it wouldn't be that moment of generosity toward the Hankinson children or this sweet glimpse of sisterly bonding. No, they would most definitely say, "Tom's story about Pee-Wee." One day while Caddie, Tom, and Warren are plowing a field, they decide to take turns telling stories to each other. Tom's story is about a greedy, quick-tempered, and rather heartless farmer named Pee-Wee who uses any misfortune to his advantage. My kids thought this story was so funny and, in a moment that will surely go down in our family's readaloud history, even asked me to read it again immediately after I read it the first time.

A couple of weeks after we finished it, Maxwell brought home a paper from school detailing an upcoming assignment where they had to tell a story to the class. And what story do you think Max wanted to tell? Pee-Wee, of course. Now, as those of you who have actually read the story know, there are some rather morbid moments, which are meant to just be far-fetched and ridiculous, but which might sound rather disturbing coming out of a six-year-old's mouth. Luckily, I was saved because it took him ten minutes to tell, and he was only supposed to talk for two to four minutes (although, if you ever catch Max unoccupied, you will be in for a treat if you ask for his best retelling of Pee-Wee).

Readers are always finding new coming-of-age stories to rave about, but I believe this one could rival just about any of them. Caddie grows and matures throughout the book without losing any part of herself. She is still the same brave, fiery tomboy we started out with, but by the end of the story, she is wiser and just a little softer around the edges. This is due in large part to her father, a man who maybe edged out Atticus Finch as "best father in all of literature" for me. He is gentle and perceptive and lets Caddie know he loves her simply because she is his Caddie.

At the very end, Caddie makes this observation, "I'm the same girl and yet not the same. I wonder if it's always like that? Folks keep growing from one person into another all their lives, and life it just a lot of everyday adventures. Well, whatever life is, I like it."

Is it any wonder that we all fell in love with Caddie?

Have you read Caddie Woodlawn? What lessons did you learn? What was your favorite scene?