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From the award-winning author of In the Shadow of Blackbirds comes a stunning new novel—a masterfully crafted story of love, loss, and second chances. Set during the fear and panic of the Great Influenza of 1918, The Uninvited is part gothic ghost-story, part psychological thriller, perfect for those who loved The Thirteenth Tale by Diane Setterfield or The Vanishing by Wendy Webb.
Twenty-five year old Ivy Rowan rises from her bed after being struck by the flu, only to discover the world has been torn apart in just a few short days.
But Ivy’s life-long gift—or curse—remains. For she sees the uninvited ones—ghosts of loved ones who appear to her, unasked, unwelcomed, for they always herald impending death. On that October evening in 1918 she sees the spirit of her grandmother, rocking in her mother’s chair. An hour later, she learns her younger brother and father have killed a young German out of retaliation for the death of Ivy’s older brother Billy in the Great War.
Horrified, she leaves home, to discover the flu has caused utter panic and the rules governing society have broken down. Ivy is drawn into this new world of jazz, passion, and freedom, where people live for the day, because they could be stricken by nightfall. But as her ‘uninvited guests’ begin to appear to her more often, she knows her life will be torn apart once more, but Ivy has no inkling of the other-worldly revelations about to unfold.
The Uninvited is an atmospheric, haunting, and utterly compelling novel.
368 pages, Kindle Edition
First published August 11, 2015
Mama paled. "Are you saying that you and Peter killed a man tonight?"
"No." Father shook his head. "That wasn't a man. He was a German."
“The world’s about to end. I can feel it in the marrow of my bones."
["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>“There is a pain in me. A knife blade”—I balled my hand against my stomach—“wedged in my gut. I want to be rid of it. I want to finally live.”
"The head makes war, but the heart makes peace. And thankfully, the heart ends up ruling more than not."
"Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all..."

The head makes war, but the heart makes peace and, thankfully, the heart ends up ruling more than not.

‘If you celebrate Bach, Beethoven and Brahms, you are celebrating German culture. We will question anyone caught singing or playing enemy music. Influenza or no influenza, we are still fighting Prussian devilry twenty-four hours a day. Germans- not germs- remain our greatest adversary.’
“Are you saying that you and Peter killed a man tonight?”
“No.” Father shook his head. “That wasn’t a man. He was a German.”

"Are you saying that you and Peter killed a man tonight?"
"No," Father shook his head. "That was not a man. He was a German."
Mama paled. “Are you saying that you and Peter killed a man tonight?”
“No.” Father shook his head.
“That wasn’t a man. He was a German.”
“Ach.” He reached out and tucked a stray strand of my hair behind my ear. “Du begehrst mich.”
"Ach. You desire Me."
“The head makes war, but the heart makes peace. And, thankfully, the heart ends up ruling more than not.”
"It belonged to us, and nothing could take it away—even though those cruel years of war and disease seemed to have stolen everything else that once was ours."
“I admit, I had seen a ghost or two.”
