I feel terrible giving this book three stars, but it's accurate for the way I felt about it. I liked it, but I didn't "really like" or "love" it.
I feel bad about it because the story is important. The real people behind the story are important. They lived through a horrendous part of history and they faced it with courage and love for each other and for their country. The book is worth reading so that you can get to know them, and so that you can get a glimpse into their lives, the dangers that surrounded them and the risks they took to free France.
I loved the way this story came to Morris, the way she was introduced to the family about whom she writes in this book. I've read a lot of WW2 historical fiction (including Morris's The Tattooist of Auschwitz, Cilka's Journey, and Three Sisters), so I was excited to pick up another of her books, especially since this was set in France.
Unfortunately, as happened for me with Three Sisters, this book just does not live up to The Tattooist or to Cilka. I don't know what happened to Morris's writing style from her third book forward, but it's very juvenile sounding. I really felt like she was writing for a YA (or maybe even a MG) audience. My biggest pet peeve is the way she ramps up the drama (which doesn't need to be ramped up in these stories) and the way she refrains from really delving into her characters.
Here are some examples (no spoilers):
From chapter 7: "'I'll take the details to Colonel Pallas. He will have them dealt with,' Louis tells them. Neither Tina nor Andree need to ask what it [sic] meant by this ominous statement." Morris should have trusted her readers and not included the last sentence.
There are many redundancies, both throughout the book and within single paragraphs. For example, from chapter 9: "The charade is exhausting but necessary. Anyone could be listening. Anyone could be watching. Trust no one. Assume everyone is a collaborator until proven otherwise. These are the rules that keep them alive." This theme is hammered and hammered and hammered again. In a MG novel, I'd understand this type of repetition. In a novel for adults, it's overwrought and overdone.
The theme of music being a healer (or at least a pain reducer) carries through the book, and I like that in and of itself. It's true for many of us. But again, with Morris's heavy hand, I groaned at the overdone narrative. For example, in chapter 11: "She plays. The music fills the apartment, sweet and clear. Andree closes her eyes; lets it wash over her. Outside, a Militia might form, but inside, there's music. There's this child, playing Bach. For now. That's all they have. This moment. This day. This note, and the next, and the next. It will have to be enough." The repetitiveness of this sentiment is what made me grind my teeth. (I swear, if I never see the words "Clair de Lune" again, I won't mind.)
Morris also pulled more punches than I would have liked when it came to describing the brutality, the terror, and the pain of living in this time and place. Again, appropriate for a MG novel, but not an adult novel about the German occupation of France and the Holocaust more broadly.
As I said, this story is important and should be read for this reason. I wish it had been told differently.
I want to thank Heather Morris, Blackstone Publishing, and NetGalley for the free advance copy I received in exchange for my honest review.