“The Daring Girls of Guernsey” is absolute tripe. I don’t say that lightly. I’ve read some bad books in my time, but this one made me question not just publishing, but literacy itself. It’s like someone fed ChatGPT a K-Mart gift card and a vague memory of "The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie" Society and said, “Write something for people who find Call the Midwife too intellectually demanding.”
This is terrible. What a shit, trite ending. I honestly thought it was a parody. The last chapter lands with the force of a damp tissue. I stared at the page in disbelief, wondering if my copy had skipped a few chapters or if the author had simply given up and decided to resolve the trauma of war with a group hug, a selection box and the least believable twist I’ve ever read, and I’ve read Nicholas Sparks.
The timeline is a train wreck. Guernsey, in this version of history, seems to double as a wellness retreat for time-travelling Wehrmacht soldiers. They’re back from the Eastern Front years before Germany invaded the Soviet Union, taking tea and scones before heading off to invade Poland again. It’s all over the shop. The only consistent thing is the author’s complete indifference to dates, logic, or reality.
The characters? Jesus wept. Catherine is a professional whinger, Helen drags everyone into a half-baked disaster that makes zero moral sense, and Betty cops it for daring to shag a German. That’s not tragedy, it’s misogynist nonsense dressed as moral purity. The women aren’t people, they’re paper dolls. You could swap their dialogue and no one would notice.
And the writing. Christ almighty. The dialogue sounds like it’s been translated from English into porridge and back again. “We must be brave, Catherine.” “The war will end soon, Helen.” It’s like listening to a school play written by the head girl’s nan. The resistance subplot is purely decorative, a nice backdrop for people to feel noble about. Resistance as aesthetic, not ethics.
Then we get to the 1997 timeline, which might be the single worst framing device I’ve ever seen. Helen’s granddaughter faffs about trying to uncover a “family secret” that was already boring in 1941. It’s a total momentum killer. In technical terms, it's fucking bullshit.
The historical detail is laughable. Feels like the author read a couple of Wikipedia entries and thought, “Close enough.” She treats the occupation like a backdrop for a brunch menu. There’s no grit, no danger, no consequence. Just tidy resolutions and characters forgiving each other over cocoa. The trauma of war solved by chocolate, tea brewed from local wildflowers and a stiff upper lip.
And look, I’m not usually one for conspiracy theories, but have you seen the reviews here on Goodreads? Dozens of glowing five-star raves from what appear to be actual humans, but I don’t buy it. Either the bots have developed a taste for literary garbage or there’s an army of Kindle aunties high on rose wine writing this nonsense. Nobody with working eyes could think this is a good book.
I finished it out of spite. That’s the only honest reason to get to the end. “The Daring Girls of Guernsey” is for readers who think history should be soothing and resistance should come with a manicure. It’s idiotic, lazy, and insulting. One star, and that’s only because zero isn’t an option.