Seduced by her employer’s son, Evangeline, a naïve young governess in early nineteenth-century London, is discharged when her pregnancy is discovered and sent to the notorious Newgate Prison. After months in the fetid, overcrowded jail, she learns she is sentenced to “the land beyond the seas,” Van Diemen’s Land, a penal colony in Australia. Though uncertain of what awaits, Evangeline knows one thing: the child she carries will be born on the months-long voyage to this distant land.
During the journey on a repurposed slave ship, the Medea, Evangeline strikes up a friendship with Hazel, a girl little older than her former pupils who was sentenced to seven years transport for stealing a silver spoon. Canny where Evangeline is guileless, Hazel—a skilled midwife and herbalist—is soon offering home remedies to both prisoners and sailors in return for a variety of favors.
Though Australia has been home to Aboriginal people for more than 50,000 years, the British government in the 1840s considers its fledgling colony uninhabited and unsettled, and views the natives as an unpleasant nuisance. By the time the Medea arrives, many of them have been forcibly relocated, their land seized by white colonists. One of these relocated people is Mathinna, the orphaned daughter of the Chief of the Lowreenne tribe, who has been adopted by the new governor of Van Diemen’s Land.
In this gorgeous novel, Christina Baker Kline brilliantly recreates the beginnings of a new society in a beautiful and challenging land, telling the story of Australia from a fresh perspective, through the experiences of Evangeline, Hazel, and Mathinna. While life in Australia is punishing and often brutally unfair, it is also, for some, an opportunity: for redemption, for a new way of life, for unimagined freedom. Told in exquisite detail and incisive prose, The Exiles is a story of grace born from hardship, the unbreakable bonds of female friendships, and the unfettering of legacy.
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Elise’s Thoughts
The Exiles by Christina Baker Kline brings to life five women in nineteenth century Australia. All faced similar hardships struggling for redemption and freedom in this new society. They were mistreated and taken from a culture they knew. These women were all brought to their new lives against their will but showed strength and courage.
Evangeline, orphaned after her Vicar father died, found a job as a Governess. But the stepson living in the manor seduces her and shows her affection by giving her a family heirloom ring. The maid, Agnes, finds it and accuses her of stealing it. To make matters worse, she pushes Agnes and is now also accused of attempted murder. Found guilty she is sentenced to fourteen years in an Australian prison.
Olive, also a prisoner, befriends Evangeline. Accused of stealing, she received a sentence of seven years and transport to the Australian prison. She was street wise and knew what was needed to survive.
Hazel, a sixteen-year-old, was accused of stealing a silver spoon and sentenced to seven years in the Australian prison. She is a skilled midwife and herbalist, bartering her skills for goods and favors.
All three women are transported to Australia on the ship, Medea. They must struggle with sea sickness, avoiding sailor’s advances, and the harshness of the journey. Evangeline also must deal with being pregnant, the father being the stepson. She knows she will give birth to her baby while at sea.
Mathinna, the Aboriginal native, an orphaned daughter of the Chief of the Lowreenne tribe, has been adopted by the new governor of Van Diemen’s Land the setting for the Australian prison. She is used by the Governor’s wife as an experiment in civilization, trying to make her into a “lady.” Her life intersects with Hazel’s about two-thirds of the way through the book. Although Mathinna is not a convict, she like the other women is a prisoner with no control over their life.
Caleb Dunne is the doctor on the ship. Because of a misdiagnosis of a prominent woman, he decided to escape and signed up for the ship. Shy and feeling out of place he first forges a friendship with Evangeline, both enjoying the discussion of books. But later he and Hazel become friendly after he realizes her worth as a mid-wife. Their relationship becomes stronger as the story progresses.
The story fascinatingly allows the reader to follow the lives of these women in 19th Century Australia as they forge a new life with new opportunities. People will have their eyes open to pieces of history that are still pertinent today. It is obvious the author did her research and intertwined it into a riveting novel. Readers’ take a journey with these women and root for them as they gain strength and resilience.
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Elise’s Author Interview
Elise Cooper: How did you get the idea for the story?
Christina Baker Kline: I was inspired by a small article I read in a newspaper about criminal ships. The point of the article is how convicts then had it harder than today. I thought how parts of my life intersected with this story. I had a life-changing six-week Rotary fellowship to Australia. I taught in women’s prisons. I also wrote a book with my mother about the second wave of the women’s movement. A lot of the issues in this book are relevant today including the needed reform of the criminal justice system and the role of women in society. I think it is a hopeful story.
EC: Why the map in the front of the book?
CBK: I wanted to show the route from London to Van Diemen’s Land, renamed Tasmania. It is from the mid 19th Century. I hope readers get a sense of the wide-open places including the placement of the ports, an understanding of the geography. This is the setting where the convict women stayed.
EC: Why the Lowreenne Tribe?
CBK: I went to Australia and Tasmania before Covid. I learned when I arrived about the Aboriginal people who were essentially being pushed into open air concentration camps. By the late 1860s there was no full-blooded Aboriginal people left in Tasmania, out of thousands. I felt it would be irresponsible if I did not address it. Mathinna was a real person who died tragically at the age of seventeen. Everything I described in the novel actually happened to her.
EC: How would you describe Evangeline?
CBK: She was the perfect person to lead the reader into the story, in some ways a stand-in for the reader. Evangeline was naïve and emersed herself in books. The convict world was a shock for her. She was inquisitive, thoughtful, brave, and very lonely. She did not know how to survive as a convict because she was not tough so depended on Olive and Hazel.
EC: How about Hazel?
CBK: She had this “superpower” of healing; a knowledge learned as a mid-wife. Hazel knew how to balance things really well. She was savvy, caring, and angry at being abandoned. I think she goes through a change in the novel. At first, she was a mistrusting teenager, betrayed by her mother. As the story unfolds, she begins to trust more people and comes to love the baby, Ruby.
EC: How would you describe Olive?
CBK: Funny, irreverent, a comic relief, and does what it takes to get by in prison.
EC: What about the relationship between Dr. Dunne and Hazel?
CBK: He is called the “hot doctor.” As with Hazel, he also changes over time. He went on the convict ship because he needed work. At first, he befriends Evangeline who is more like him. Yet, over time Hazel and he realize they share an interest in medicine. He comes to respect her. All the class restrictions fall by the wayside.
EC: How would you describe the doctor?
CBK: A complex character. At times he could appear to be a jerk because he was dismissive, a snob, but overall caring.
EC: What was the role of the Quakers?
CBK: They believed the convicts were worthy of redemption. Elizabeth Fry was a real person who helped them. She was very judgmental because she thought they were sinners. She gave them a sense of dignity and treated them as human beings but was never 100% accepting.
EC: There are similarities with today’s topics?
CBK: Most of these women sent to Australia committed crimes of poverty. They stole to feed themselves and their family since there was no social safety net. These women fell through the cracks. The criminal justice system was brutal then. Back then the poor had no rights and were considered expendable. Legal counsel was only for the rich and the poor had no recourse. Evangeline was an example of someone without allies, resources, and representation.
EC: Why did the British courts sentence these women to prisons in Australia?
CBK: The goal of the British government was to populate Australia. It had a ratio of nine men to every woman. They were sent there under flimsy pretenses. Today, 20% of Australian descendants come from convicts. The Australian personality was forged within their convict past: irreverent, willing to take changes, and never took themselves very seriously. When out of prison, these women had opportunities they would never have had in Britain.
EC: Why the drowning scene?
CBK: I wanted to show how no life is sacred. I read books on drowning. Sebastian Junger who wrote the non-fiction book, The Perfect Storm describes in detail how someone drowns. This was very helpful to me with those scenes in the book.
EC: A powerful quote, “People we love live inside us, even after they’re gone.” Please explain.
CBK: In my novels I often talk about this. In Orphan Train the book begins with the line, “I believe in ghosts. They are the ones who haunt us. They are the ones that left us behind.” With both quotes I thought about the tree metaphor. I love the idea of years that pass, giving us a core of strength. The convict women were alone and had to draw on what they had internally. Even though they lost someone they still had a piece of them in their memories.
EC: What about your next projects?
CBK: My next book, probably out in 2023 will be set in the Civil War era in North Carolina. This novel has been optioned for a TV series by Bruna Papandrea. I will be an executive producer.
THANK YOU!!
BIO: Elise Cooper has written book reviews and interviewed best-selling authors since 2009. Her reviews have covered several different genres, including thrillers, mysteries, women’s fiction, romance and cozy mysteries. An avid reader, she engages authors to discuss their works, and to focus on the descriptions of their characters and the plot. While not writing reviews, Elise loves to watch baseball and visit the ocean in Southern California, with her dog and husband.
Today I am once again on the Harlequin Trade Publishing Historical Fiction Summer 2021 Blog Tour and I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for RADAR GIRLS by Sara Ackerman.
Below you will find an author Q&A, an about the book section, my book review, an excerpt from the book, an about the author section and the author’s social media links. Enjoy!
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Author Q&A
Q: What do you think drives authors to continue to find stories to tell set around WWII?
A: Perhaps it’s because there are still so many amazing untold stories out there? There are so many individuals with unique experiences during the war, all over the world, that the books could just keep coming. Also, I know for myself, while I’m researching for a novel, I often stumble upon something that makes me sit up and think, Wow, that would make a great story! And then I file it away for future consideration. This happened while I was researching for The Lieutenant’s Nurse, my second novel, and first heard about the Women’s Air Raid Defense. It’s how Radar Girls was born!
Q: How are you hoping readers will relate to Radar Girls?
A: I hope that readers will see a little bit of Daisy Wilder in themselves. I think it’s human nature to put yourself in the shoes of the characters and wonder about how you would react in a crisis. Would you rise to the occasion?
In Radar Girls, we have one woman trying to make her way in the world. Daisy is special in her own way, but no different than you or I, really. And then in one day, everything changes. Through her lens, we experience what it was like firsthand to live in wartime Hawaii, a very dark and scary time. We go along for the ride as she overcomes obstacles, deeply connects with other WARDS, falls in love, and proves herself as an important member of a critical command center Pearl Harbor. We feel her hopes, dreams and fears. As a reader, when I feel the humanity of a story, it makes me care. And when I care, I want to keep turning the pages. I hope that as readers turn the pages of Radar Girls, they will feel empowered and inspired and proud.
Q: What’s something that you connected with personally as you researched and wrote Radar Girls?
A: When I was reading about the real WARDs, the thing that stood out to me the most was how these women quickly became a sisterhood. And I know that many were still close and kept in touch until their dying days. I have a band of friends who I love like sisters, so this really resonated with me. I greatly admire how the WARDs held each other up and maintained such grace under pressure, as well as a great sense of humor throughout. It was so inspiring to me, and made me want to hug all of my friends.
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About the Book
WWII historical fiction inspired by the real women of the Women’s Air Raid Defense, RADAR GIRLS follows one unlikely recruit as she trains and serves in secrecy as a radar plotter on Hawaii. A tale of resilience and sisterhood, it sees the battles of the Pacific through the eyes of these pioneering women, and will appeal to fans of Kate Quinn and Pam Jenoff.
An extraordinary story inspired by the real Women’s Air Raid Defense, where an unlikely recruit and her sisters-in-arms forge their place in WWII history.
Daisy Wilder prefers the company of horses to people, bare feet and saltwater to high heels and society parties. Then, in the dizzying aftermath of the attack on Pearl Harbor, Daisy enlists in a top-secret program, replacing male soldiers in a war zone for the first time. Under fear of imminent invasion, the WARDs guide pilots into blacked-out air strips and track unidentified planes across Pacific skies.
But not everyone thinks the women are up to the job, and the new recruits must rise above their differences and work side-by-side despite the resistance and heartache they meet along the way. With America’s future on the line, Daisy is determined to prove herself worthy. And with the man she’s falling in love with out on the front lines, she cannot fail. From radar towers on remote mountaintops to flooded bomb shelters, she’ll need her new team when the stakes are highest. Because the most important battles are fought—and won—together.
This inspiring and uplifting tale of pioneering, unsung heroines vividly transports the reader to wartime Hawaii, where one woman’s call to duty leads her to find courage, strength and sisterhood.
RADAR GIRLS by Sara Ackerman is an engrossing historical fiction story featuring young women on the island of Hawaii after the attack on Pearl Harbor who are enlisted and become the Women’s Air Raid Defense (WARD). This is a standalone historical fiction novel with a romance subplot set on a beautiful island with plenty of real life drama and intrigue.
Daisy Walker is more comfortable around horses than people and is working on the Montgomery Ranch to support herself and her mother. Then the attack on Pearl Harbor throws the island and the entire country into a panic. The men are needed for the front and Daisy is recruited with many other young women to be trained to take over their jobs in the newly formed Women’s Air Raid Defense (WARD) to protect the Pacific coast and help pilots find their way back home.
For the first time in her life, Daisy builds bonds with other women who like and respect her. The women are a diverse group who learn a strategic top secret skill and learn to work together even through their differences in education and social status. As the women bond, it is not all work, as the group gets caught up in several schemes and adventures. Daisy also learns about relationships from her friends and begins to fall for her neighbor who has always seemed out of reach.
Set between the attack on Pearl Harbor and VJ Day, this historical fiction drew me in immediately and I was sorry when it was over. Ms. Ackerman did amazing research not only on the time period and location during the early 1940’s, but on radar and all the skills the women needed to learn and do their jobs. Daisy is a memorable and strong lead character who matures and grows in confidence in herself as the story progresses. She also learns how strong the bond can be between female friends. The romance subplot between Daisy and Walker was realistically paced and intertwined with her relationship growth with the other women. All the secondary characters were believably written and Daisy’s female friends stood out. All of the story elements kept me turning the pages.
I highly recommend this historical fiction story!
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Excerpt
2
The Bust
Their shack, as Daisy referred to the house, was nestled in a cluster of bent ironwood trees, all by its lonesome. Set back far from the beach to protect it from a direct blast of onshore winds, it still took a constant battering and the salty air and elements had done a fine job reclaiming it. Windowpanes had been blasted opaque, you could see through the back wall, and flowers had taken up residence in the gutters. The siding had gone from forest green to pale green to peeling gray, the roof turned to rust.
When he had first started working up at the ranch, Daisy’s father had somehow persuaded Mr. Montgomery to sell him the small parcel of beachfront property for the price of a bag of sand. Most likely because it was in no-man’s-land between Waialua and the ranch. And because her father had been the best horse trainer in Hawai’i and everyone knew it.
She flung open the front door and ran inside. “Mom?” she called.
All quiet. She tiptoed across the lauhala mat in the living room, avoiding the creaking floorboards. Her mother spent much of her life in one of two states—sleeping or staring out to sea. The bedroom door was cracked and a lump lay under the blankets, pillow over her head. There was no point in trying to wake her, so Daisy ran back outside, hopped on her bike and rode for the stables.
The air was ripe with burnt sugarcane and a scratchy feeling of dread. She bumped along a dirt road as fast as her old bike would carry her. That plume of black smoke above Schofield caused her heart to sink. So many Japanese planes could mean only one thing. An attack or invasion of some kind was happening. But the sky remained empty and she saw no signs of ships on the horizon.
By the time she reached the stables, she had worked out what to tell Mr. Silva—the only person at the ranch who was even close to being a friend—and beg that he help her find Moon. Whether or not he would risk his job was another story. Jobs were not easy to come by, especially on this side of the island. Daisy counted herself lucky to have one. When she rounded the corner by the entrance, she about fell over on her bike. Mr. Silva’s rusted truck was gone and in its place sat Mr. Montgomery’s shiny new Ford, motor running and door open.
As far as old Hal Montgomery was concerned, Daisy was mostly invisible. She had worked for him going on seven years now—since she was sixteen—but she was a girl and girls were fluffy, pretty things who wore fancy dresses and attended parties. Not short-haired, trouser-wearing, outdoorsy misfits. And certainly not horse trainers and skin divers. Nope, those jobs belonged to men. There was also the matter of her father’s death, but she preferred not to think about that.
Should she turn around and hightail it out of there before he caught sight of her? He’d find out eventually, and he would be livid. Daisy pulled her bike behind the toolshed and slipped around the back side of the stables, peering in through a cloudy window. The tension in the air from earlier had dissipated and the horses were all quiet. A tall form stood in front of the old horse—Ka‘ena—she was supposed to ride. It was hard to tell through the foggy pane, but the man looked too tall and too thin to be Hal Montgomery.
Horsefeathers! It was Walker, Montgomery’s son. A line of perspiration formed on the back of her neck and she had the strong urge to flee. Not that Daisy had had much interaction with Walker in recent years. He was aloof and intimidating and the kind of person who made her forget how to speak, but he loved Moon fiercely. Of that she was sure. Just then, he turned and started jogging toward the door. His face was in shadow but it felt like he was looking right at her. She froze. If she ducked away now, he would surely catch the movement. She did it anyway.
She had just made it to her bike when Walker tore out of the tack room with a wild look in his eye. He had a rifle hanging across his chest, and he was carrying two others. He stopped when he saw her. “Hey!” he said.
“Oh, hello, Mr. Montgomery.”
He wore his flight suit, which was only halfway buttoned, like he’d been interrupted either trying to get in it or trying to get out of it. His face was flushed and lined with sweat. “Don’t you know we’ve been attacked? You ought to head for cover, somewhere inland.”
He was visibly shaken.
“I saw the planes. What do you know?” she said.
“Wheeler and Schofield are all shot up, and they did a number on Pearl. Battleships down, bay on fire. God knows how many dead.” His gaze dropped to her body for a moment and she felt her skin burn. There had been no time to change or even think about changing, and she was still in her half-wet swimsuit, hair probably sticking out in eleven directions. “What are you doing here?” he asked.
“I was worried about the horses,” she said.
“That makes two of us. And goddamn Moon is not in his stall. You know anything about that?”
Taking Moon had been about the dumbest thing she could have done. But at the time, it seemed a perfectly sane idea. The kind of thinking that got her into plenty of trouble over the years. Why hadn’t she learned? She looked at the coconut tree just past him as she spoke. “I have no idea. Perhaps Mr. Silva has him?”
“Mr. Silva went to town last night to see his sister,” he said.
She forced herself to look at him, feeling like she had the word guilty inked onto her forehead. “Looks like you have somewhere to be. You go on, I’ll find Moon. I promise.”
Her next order of business would be scouring the coast and finding that horse before Walker returned. There would be no sleeping until Moon was safely back at the stables.
“I sure hope so. That horse is mighty important to me,” he said.
Tell him!
She was about to come clean, when he moved around her, hopped in the car and slammed the door. He leaned out the window and said, “Something tells me you know more than you’re letting on, Wilder.”
With that, he sped off, leaving her standing in a cloud of red dirt and sand.
In the stables, the horses knew the sound of her footsteps, or maybe they smelled the salt on her hair. A concert of nickers and snorts erupted in the stalls. Daisy went to the coatrack first, and slid on an oversize button-up that she kept there for chilly days. It smelled of hay.
“How is everyone?” she said, stopping at each one to rub their necks or kiss their noses. “Quite a morning, hasn’t it been?”
Peanut was pacing with nostrils flared, and she spent a few minutes stroking his long neck before moving on. Horses were her lifeblood. Feeding, grooming, riding, loving. She only wished that Mr. Montgomery would let her train them—officially, that was. Without being asked as a last resort by Mr. Silva when everyone else had tried. Lord knew she was better than the rest of the guys. When she got to Moon’s stall, all the blood rushed from her head. The door had been left open and two Japanese slippers hung from the knob. She had hidden them in the corner under some straw—apparently not well enough.
Damn.
Just then she heard another car pull up. The ranch truck. A couple of the ranch hands poured out, making a beeline to the stables. Mr. Montgomery followed on their heels with a machete in his hand and a gun on his hip. Daisy felt the skin tighten on the back of her neck. His ever-present limp seemed even more pronounced.
When he saw her, he said, “Where’s Silva?”
No mention that they were under attack.
“In town,” she answered.
“What about Walker?”
“Walker just left in a big hurry,” she answered.
One of the guys had his hunting dog with him. It was a big mutt that enjoyed staring down the horses and making them nervous, as if they needed to be any more nervous right now. Daisy wanted to tell him to get the dog out of there, but knew it would be pointless.
“The hosses in the pasture need to be secured,” Mr. M said.
“Do you need my help?” she offered.
“Nah, you should get out of here. Get home. Fuckers blew up all our planes and now paratroopers are coming down in the pineapple fields. Ain’t no place for a woman right now.”
Daisy wanted to stay and help, but also wanted to get the hell away before he noticed that Moon was not here. “Yes, sir.”
He stopped and sized her up for a moment, his thick brows pinched. “You still got that shotgun of your old man’s?”
“I do.”
“Make sure it’s loaded.”
On her way home, Daisy passed through Japanese camp, hoping to get more information from Mr. Sasaki, who always knew the latest happenings. A long row of cottages lined the road, every rock and leaf in its place. The houses were painted barn red with crisp, white trim. On any given Sunday, there would have been gangs of kids roaming the area, but now the place was eerily empty.
“Hello?” she called, letting her bike fall into the naupaka hedge.
When she knocked and no one answered, she started pounding. A curtain pulled aside and a small face peered out at her and waved her away. Mrs. Sasaki. She was torn, but chose to leave them be. With the whispers of paranoia lately, all the local Japanese folks were bound to be nervous. She didn’t blame them.
This time when Daisy ran up to the shack, her mother was sitting on the porch drinking coffee from her chipped mug.
She was still in her nightgown, staring out beyond the ocean. When she was in this state, a person could have walked into their house and made off with all of their belongings and her mother would not even bat an eye.
Daisy sat down next to her. “Mom, the Japanese Army attacked Pearl Harbor and Wheeler and who knows where else.”
Her mother clenched her jaw slightly, took a sip of her coffee, then set it down on the mango stump next to her chair. “They said it would happen,” she said flatly.
“This is serious, mom. People are dead. Civilians, too. I don’t know how many, but the islands are in danger of being invaded and there are Japanese ships and planes all around. They’re telling us to stay inside.”
A look of worry came over her mom’s face. “You should go find a safer place to stay, away from the coast.”
“And leave you here?”
“I’ll be fine.”
“I’m not leaving you.”
Her mom shrugged.
She knew Louise couldn’t help it, but a tiny part of Daisy was waiting for that day her mother would wake up and be the old Louise Wilder. The mother of red lipstick and coconut macaroons, of beach bonfires and salty hugs. The one who rode bikes with her daughter to school every day, singing with the birds along the way. The highs and lows had been there before, but now there were only lows and deeper lows.
After some time, her mother finally spoke. “Men, they do the dumbest things.”
“That may be true, but we’re at war. Does that mean anything to you?” Daisy said, her voice rising in frustration.
“Course it does, but what can we do?”
She had a point. Aside from hiding in the house or running away, what other options were there? Used to doing things, Daisy was desperate to help, but how? Their home was under attack and she felt as useful as a sack of dirt.
Louise leaned back. On days like these, she retreated so far into herself that she was unreachable. You could tell by looking in her eyes. Blank and bottomless. Mr. Silva always said that you could see the spirit in the eyes. Dull eyes, dull spirit. That Louise looked this way always made Daisy feel deeply alone. The onshore winds kicked up a notch and ruffled the surface of the ocean. She knew she should stay with her mom, but more than anything, she wanted to go in search of the horse. Moon meant more to her than just the job. She loved him something fierce.
Only one thing was clear: their lives would never be the same.
USA Today bestselling author Sara Ackerman was born and raised in Hawaii. She studied journalism and earned graduate degrees in psychology and Chinese medicine. She blames Hawaii for her addiction to writing, and sees no end to its untapped stories. When she’s not writing or teaching, you’ll find her in the mountains or in the ocean. She currently lives on the Big Island with her boyfriend and a houseful of bossy animals. Find out more about Sara and her books at www.ackermanbooks.com and follow her on Instagram @saraackermanbooks and on FB @ackermanbooks.
THE WOMAN WHO SMASHED CODES: A True Story of Love, Spies, and the Unlikely Heroine Who Outwitted America’s Enemies by Jason Fagone is a historical fiction novel which brings to light the major contributions of the amazing female half of a married couple who both invented many aspects of the modern science of cryptology.
Elizebeth Smith wanted a job in literature. She is hired by an eccentric millionaire who brings the best minds of 1916 together on a large farm outside of Chicago and tells them to be the best they can be. Elizebeth becomes disillusioned with the project she was hired to work on, but she is intrigued with the young man, William Freidman she meets who is helping with the project.
The two get married and begin working together on breaking coded messages that are brought to them from various government and law enforcement agencies. They soon build a reputation and are instrumental in building the strategic texts for codebreaking that they and others use throughout WWI, Prohibition and WWII while William is in the Army and Elizebeth works for the Coast Guard.
While history hails William’s accomplishments of being a groundbreaker and innovator in cryptology and at breaking the Japanese version of Enigma, there is little praise given to Elizebeth’s own contributions from breaking Prohibition gangsters’ codes to breaking the Enigma code German spies were using all over South America.
This book brings Elizebeth’s accomplishments and contributions to light. Mr. Fagone brings Elizebeth to life from her professional publications and personal writings. I was truly amazed by how her and her husband’s brains worked to decode so many secret code systems without using mathematics or having the use of the just being invented computer. The only problem I had with the book was the inclusion of some codes that were used and/or broken by the duo because while I know some would work to solve the puzzles, it just interrupted the flow of the story for me. Otherwise, Elizebeth’s personality comes alive in this story and her story just leads you to wonder how many other brilliant women have been overlooked by history.
I recommend this historical fiction of a brilliant mind and woman!
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Author Bio
I’ve written about science, sports, and culture for Wired, GQ, Men’s Journal, Esquire, NewYorker.com, The New York Times Magazine, The Atlantic, Slate, Philadelphia, and the 2011 edition of The Best American Sports Writing. A few years ago, I wrote a book called “Horsemen of the Esophagus,” about competitive eating and the American dream. For the last three years, I’ve been working on my next book, “Ingenious,” which will be published this November. It’s about inventors and cars. I live outside of Philadelphia with my wife and daughter.
Today I am posting on the Harlequin Trade Publishing Summer 2021 Historical Fiction Blog Tour. I am excited to be sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for THE WARSAW ORPHAN by Kelly Rimmer.
Below you will find an author Q&A, an about the book section, my book review, an excerpt from the book, an about the author section and the author’s social media links. Enjoy!
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Author Q&A
Q: Tell us about The Warsaw Orphan in your own words.
A: The Warsaw Orphan is a novel about two teenagers living in Warsaw during the occupation. Elzbieta Rabinek lives a sheltered life with her adoptive parents in an apartment a few blocks from the Warsaw Ghetto. After she stumbles upon her neighbor’s resistance activities, Elzbieta becomes involved in a scheme to smuggle children out of the Ghetto to be placed with Catholic foster families on the other side of the wall. Through this work, she meets a young Jewish boy, Roman Gorka, who is trapped in the Ghetto with his family.
Q: What do you think drives authors to continue to find stories to tell set around WWII?
A: Authors keep returning to the era for the same reason readers do — these periods where the whole world was in chaos have so much to teach us about human nature. I feel like I could research and write a thousand books set during this period and still be shocked by the depths humanity sank to during that time, and amazed by the stories of resistance and courage.
Q: How are you hoping readers will relate to this story?
A: For me, the wonder of historical fiction is that it gives us the chance to experience history ourselves as we journey through a story. I hope the readers find Elzbieta and Roman relatable characters, even if the circumstances they live through are very different to ours.
Q: What’s something that you connected with personally as you researched and wrote this story?
A: I was particularly inspired by the story of the city of Warsaw as I researched and wrote this book. Warsaw was left in ruins by the end of the war, with 85-90% of the city reduced to rubble. Today, Warsaw is a vibrant, thriving metropolis. The Polish people rallied and rebuilt the city, just as they rebuilt their lives, and ultimately their nation. This is a story of resilience that I found particularly inspiring, and a timely reminder of the strength of the human spirit, as we live through chaotic times ourselves.
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About the Book
With the thrilling pace and historical drama of Pam Jenoff and Kristin Hannah, New York Times bestselling author Kelly Rimmer’s newest novel is an epic WWII saga and love story, based on the real-life efforts of two young people taking extraordinary risks to save their countrymen, as they try to find their way back to each other and the life they once knew.
Following on the success of The Things We Cannot Say, this is Kelly Rimmer’s return to the WWII category with a brand new novel inspired by Irena Sendler, the real-life Polish nurse who used her access to the Warsaw ghetto to smuggle Jewish children and babies to safety.
Spanning the tumultuous years between 1942 and 1945 in Poland, The Warsaw Orphan follows Emilia over the course of the war, her involvement with the Resistance, and her love for Sergiusz, a young man imprisoned in the Jewish ghetto who’s passion leads him to fight in the Warsaw Uprising. From the Warsaw ghetto to the Ravensbruck concentration camp, through Nazi occupation to the threat of a communist regime, Kelly Rimmer has penned her most meticulously researched and emotionally compelling novel to date.
THE WARSAW ORPHAN by Kelly Rimmer is an emotional historical fiction story featuring a young Polish girl and her family and friend’s struggles to survive set in occupied Warsaw during WWII.
Elizbieta Rabinek is living with her mother and father just outside the ghetto walls in Warsaw, Poland. She has a secret. Her mother and father have adopted her and are keeping her safe after the murder of her father and brother by the German’s for helping Jews. She befriends a nurse named Sara who lives in the apartment across the hall and discovers that Sara is doing more than just public health rounds in the ghetto.
Sara and fellow public health workers are smuggling children out of the ghetto and Elizbieta is determined to help. Sara is trying to help the Gorka family and this is when Elizbieta meets their son, Roman. Roman is at the youth center when his family is rounded up and sent on the train to the camp. All Roman feels is hate and he is set on the path of revenge.
From the German occupation through the Russian invasion Elizbieta and Roman fight to survive and reclaim the life they once knew.
This is a well written story of family, survival, hope and love in a time of atrocities, starvation and war. Elizabieta has such courage throughout this story to face what she sees and experiences during the several years covered in this book. All of the characters in this book are diverse, fully developed and believable. The author’s research is evident in the plot and storyline.
I recommend this historical fiction novel and the author.
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Excerpt
1
Roman
28 March, 1942
The human spirit is a miraculous thing. It is the strongest part of us—crushed under pressure, but rarely broken. Trapped within our weak and fallible bodies, but never contained. I pondered this as my brother and I walked to a street vendor on Zamenhofa Street in the Warsaw Ghetto, late in the afternoon on a blessedly warm spring day.
“There was one right there,” he said, pointing to a rare gap in the crowd on the sidewalk. I nodded but did not reply. Dawidek sometimes needed to talk me through his workday but he did not need me to comment, which was fortunate, because even after months of this ritual, I still had no idea what to say.
“Down that alleyway, there was one on the steps of a building. Not even on the sidewalk, just right there on the steps.”
I fumbled in my pocket, making sure I still had the sliver of soap my stepfather had given me. Soap was in desperate demand
in the ghetto, a place where overcrowding and lack of running water had created a perfect storm for illness. My stepfather ran a tiny dentistry practice in the front room of our apartment and needed the soap as much as anyone—maybe even more so. But as desperate as Samuel’s need for soap was, my mother’s need for food eclipsed it, and so there Dawidek and I were. It was generally considered a woman’s job to go to the market, but Mother needed to conserve every bit of strength she could, and the street vendor Samuel wanted me to speak to was blocks away from our home.
“…and Roman, one was behind a big dumpster,” he hesitated, then grimaced. “Except I think we missed that one yesterday.”
I didn’t ask how he’d come to that conclusion. I knew that the answer was liable to make my heart race and my vision darken, the way it did sometimes. Sometimes, it felt as if my anger was simmering just below the surface: at my nine-year-old brother and the rest of my family. Although, none of this was their fault. At Sala, my boss at the factory on Nowolipki Street, even though he was a good man and he’d gone out of his way to help me and my family more than once. At every damned German I laid eyes on. Always them. Especially them. A sharp, uncompromising anger tinged every interaction those days, and although that anger started and ended with the Germans who had changed our world, it cycled through everyone else I knew before it made its way back where it belonged.
“There was one here yesterday. In the middle of the road at the entrance to the market.”
Dawidek had already told me all about that one, but I let him talk anyway. I hoped this running commentary would spare him from the noxious interior that I was currently grappling with. I envied the ease with which he could talk about his day, even if hearing the details filled me with guilt. Guilt I could handle, I probably deserved it. It was the anger that scared me. I felt like my grip on control was caught between my sweaty hands and, at any given moment, all it would take was for someone to startle me, and I’d lose control.
The street stall came into view through the crowd. There was always a crush of people on the street until the last second before seven o’clock curfew. This was especially the case in summer, when the oppressive heat inside the ghetto apartments could bring people to faint, besides which, the overcrowding inside was no better than the overcrowding outside. I had no idea how many people were inside those ghetto walls—Samuel guessed a million, Mrs. Kuklin´ski in the bedroom beside ours said it was much more, Mother was quite confident that it was maybe only a hundred thousand. All I knew was that ours was not the only apartment in the ghetto designed for one family that was currently housing four—in fact, there were many living in even worse conditions. While the population was a hot topic of conversation on a regular basis, it didn’t actually matter all that much to me. I could see with my own eyes and smell with my own nose that however many people were trapped within the ghetto walls, it was far, far too many.
When the vendor’s table came into view, my heart sank: she was already packing up for the day and there was no produce left. I was disappointed but not surprised: there had been no chance of us finding food so late in the day, let alone food that someone would barter for a simple slip of soap. Dawidek and I had passed a store that was selling eggs, but they’d want zloty for the eggs, not a tiny scrap of soap.
“Wait here a minute,” I murmured to my brother, who shrugged as he sank to sit on an apartment stoop. I might have let him follow me, but even after the depths our family had sunk to over the years of occupation, I still hated for him to see me beg. I glanced at him, recording his location to memory, and then pushed through the last few feet of people mingling on the sidewalk until I reached the street vendor. She shook her head before I’d spoken a word.
“I am sorry young man; I have nothing to offer you.”
“I am Samuel Gorka’s son,” I told her. It was an oversimplification of a complicated truth, but it was the best way I could help her place me. “He fixed your tooth for you, remember? A few months ago? His practice is on Miła Street.”
Recognition dawned in her gaze, but she still regarded me warily.
“I remember Samuel and I’m grateful to him, but that doesn’t change anything. I have no food left today.”
“My brother and I…we work during the day. And Samuel too. You know how busy he is, helping people like yourself. But the thing is, we have a sick family member who hasn’t—”
“Kid, I respect your father. He’s a good man, and a good dentist. I wish I could help, but I have nothing to give you.” She waved to the table, to the empty wooden box she had packed up behind her, and then opened her palms towards me as if to prove the truth of her words.
“There is nowhere else for me to go. I can’t take no for an answer. I’m going to bed hungry tonight, but I can’t let…” I trailed off, the hopelessness hitting me right in the chest. I knew I would be going home without food for my mother that night, and the implications made me want to curl up in a ball, right there in the gutter. But hopelessness was dangerous, at least in part because it was always followed by an evil cousin. Hopelessness was a passive emotion, but its natural successor drove action, and that action rarely resulted in anything positive. I clenched my fists, and my fingers curled around the soap. I pulled it from my pocket and extended it towards the vendor. She looked from my palm to my face, then sighed impatiently and leaned close to me to hiss,
“I told you. I have nothing left to trade today. If you want food, you need to come earlier in the day.”
“That’s impossible for us. Don’t you understand?”
To get to the market early in the day one of us would have to miss work. Samuel couldn’t miss work; he could barely keep up as it was—he performed extractions from sunup to curfew most days. Rarely was this work paid now that money was in such short supply among ordinary families like his patients, but the work was important—not just because it afforded some small measure of comfort for a people group who were, in every other way, suffering immensely. But every now and again Samuel did a favor for one of the Jewish police officers or even a passing German soldier. He had a theory that one day soon, those favors were going to come in handy. I was less optimistic, but I understood that he couldn’t just close his practice. The moment Samuel stopped working would be the moment he had to perform an honest reckoning with our situation, and if he did that, he would come closer to the despair I felt every waking moment of every day.
“Do you have anything else? Or is it just the soap?” the woman asked me suddenly.
“That’s all.”
“Tomorrow. Come back this time tomorrow. I’ll keep something for you, but for that much soap?” She shook her head then pursed her lips. “It’s not going to be much. See if you can find something else to barter.”
“There is nothing else,” I said, my throat tight. But the woman’s gaze was at least sympathetic, and so I nodded at her. “I’ll do my best. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
As I turned away, I wondered if it was worth calling into that store to ask about the eggs, even though I knew that the soap wasn’t nearly enough for a whole egg. It wasn’t enough for even half an egg here on the market, and the stores were always more expensive than the street vendors. Maybe they would give me a shell? We could grind it up and Mother could drink it in a little water. We’d done that once before for her. It wasn’t as good as real food, but it might help a little overnight. It surely couldn’t hurt.
As I spun back towards our apartment, a burst of adrenaline nearly knocked me sideways. Dawidek hadn’t moved, but two Jewish police officers were now standing in front of him. Like me, my brother was tall for his age—an inheritance from our maternal grandfather that made us look bizarre when we stood with Samuel and Mother, who were both more diminutive. Even so, he looked far too small to be crowded into the doorway of an apartment by two Jewish Police officers. That situation could turn to bloodshed in a heartbeat. The Kapo operated on a spectrum from well-meaning and kindly to murderously violent, and I had no way of knowing what kind of Kapo were currently accosting Dawidek. My heart thundered against the wall of my chest as I pushed my way back to them, knowing even as I approached that intervening could well get me shot.
For everything I had been through and for everything I had seen, the only thing that kept me going was my family, especially Dawidek. He was my favorite person in the world, a burst of purity in an environment of pure evil. Some days, the only time I felt still inside was when he and I were playing or talking in the evenings—and that stillness was the only rest I got. I could not live without him, in fact—I had already decided that if it came to that, I wouldn’t even try.
“Dawidek?” I called as I neared. Both Kapo turned toward me. The one on the left, the taller one, sized me up as if an emaciated, unarmed 16-year-old was any kind of threat. I knew from bitter experience that the smart thing to do would have been to let Dawidek try to talk his own way out of this. He was nine years old but used to defending himself in the bizarrely toxic environment of the Ghetto. All day long, he was at his job alone, and I was at mine. He needed his wits about him to survive even an hour of that, and I needed to trust that he could handle himself.
But I couldn’t convince myself to be smart, even when I knew that what I was about to do was likely to earn me, at best, a severe beating. I couldn’t even stop myself when the Kapo gave me a second chance to walk away. They ignored me and kept their attention on my brother. “Hey!” I shouted, loud enough that my voice echoed up and down the street, and dozens of people turned to stare. “He’s just a kid. He hasn’t done anything wrong!”
I was mentally planning my next move. I’d make a scene, maybe push one of the Kapo, and when they turned to beat me, Dawidek could run. Pain was never pleasant, but physical pain could also be an effective distraction from mental anguish, which was the worst kind. Maybe I could even land a punch, and that might feel good. But my brother stepped forward, held his hands up to me and said fiercely, “These are my supervisors, Roman. Just supervisors on the crew. We were just talking.”
My stomach dropped. My heartbeat pounded in my ears and my hands were hot.—I knew my face was flushed raspberry, both with embarrassment and from the adrenaline. After a terse pause that seemed to stretch forever, the Kapo exchanged an amused glance, one patted Dawidek on the back, and they continued down the street, both laughing at me. Dawidek shook his head in frustration.
“Why did you do that? What would you do, even if I was in trouble?”
“I’m sorry,” I admitted, scraping my hand through my hair. “I lost my head.”
“You’re always losing your head,” Dawidek muttered, falling into step beside me, as we began to follow the Kapo back towards our own apartment. “You need to listen to Father. Keep your head down, work hard and hope for the best. You are too smart to keep making such dumb decisions.”
Hearing my little brother echoing his father’s wisdom in the same tone and with the same impatience was always jarring, but in this case, I was dizzy with relief, and so I messed up his hair, and let out a weak laugh.
“For a nine-year-old, you are awfully wise.”
“Wise enough to know that you didn’t get any food for mother.”
“We were too late,” I said, and then I swallowed the lump in my throat. “But she said that we should come back tomorrow. She will set something aside for us.”
“Let’s walk the long way home. The trashcans on Smocza Street are sometimes good.”
We were far from the only family in the ghetto who had run out of resources. We were all starving and any morsel of food was quickly found, even if it was from a trashcan. Still, I was not at all keen to return to our crowded apartment, to face the disappointment in my stepfather’s gaze or to see the starvation in my mother’s. I let Dawidek lead the way, and we walked in silence, broken by his periodic bursts of commentary.
“We picked one up here… Another over there… Mordechai helped me with one there.”
As we turned down a quiet street, I realized that Dawidek’s Kapo supervisors were right in front of us, walking a few dozen feet ahead.
“We should turn around, I don’t want any trouble with those guys,” I muttered. Dawidek shook his head.
“They like me. I work hard and don’t give them any trouble. Now that you have stopped trying to get yourself killed, they won’t bother us, even if they do notice us.”
Just then, the shorter policeman glanced towards the sidewalk on his right, and then he paused. He waved his companion ahead, then withdrew something from his pocket as he crouched low to the ground. —I was far too far away to hear the words he spoke, but I saw the sadness in his gaze. The Kapo then rose and jogged ahead to catch up with his partner. Dawidek and I continued along the street, but only when we drew near where he had stopped did I realize why.
We had been in the ghetto for almost two years. Conditions were bad to begin with, and every new day seemed to bring new trials. I learned to wear blinders—to block out the public pain and suffering of my fellow prisoners. I had walked every block of the ghetto, both the Little Ghetto with its nicer apartments where the elite and artists appeared to live in relative comport, and through the Big Ghetto, where poor families like my own were crammed in, trying to survive at a much higher density. The footbridge on Chłodna Street connected the two and elevated the Ghetto residents above the “Aryan” Poles, and even the Germans, who passed beneath it. The irony of this never failed to amuse me when I crossed. Sometimes, I crossed it just to cheer myself up.
I knew the Ghetto inside and out, and I noticed every detail, even if I had taught myself to ignore what I saw as much as I could. I learned not to react when an elderly man or woman caught my hand as I passed, clawing in the hopes that I could spare them a morsel of food. I learned not to so much as startle if someone was shot in front of my eyes. And most of all, I learned to never look at the face of any unfortunate soul who was prone on the sidewalk. The only way to survive was to remain alert so I had to see it all, but I also had to learn to look right through it. The only way to manage my own broiling fury was to bury it.
But the policeman had drawn my attention to a scene of utter carnage outside of what used to be a clothing store. The store had long ago run out of stock and had been re-purposed as accommodation for several families. The wide front window was now taped over with Hessian sacks for privacy; outside of that window, on the paved sidewalk, a child was lying on her stomach. Alive, but barely.
The Ghetto was teeming with street children. The orphanages were full to bursting which meant that those who weren’t under the care of relatives or kindly strangers were left to their own devices. I saw abandoned children, but I didn’t see them.
I’d have passed right by this child on any other day. I couldn’t even manage to keep my own family safe and well, so it was better to keep walking and spare myself the pain of powerlessness. But I was curious about what the policeman had given the child, and so even as we approached her, I was scanning—looking to see what had caught his attention and to try to figure out what he’d put down on the ground.
Starvation confused the normal growth and development of children, but even so, I guessed she was two or three. She wore the same vacant expression I saw in most children by that stage. Patches of her hair had fallen out, and her naked stomach and legs were swollen. Someone had taken her clothing except for a tattered pair of underwear, and I understood why.
This child would not be alive by morning. Once they became too weak to beg for help, it didn’t take long, and this child was long past that point. Her dull brown eyes were liquid pools of defeat and agony.
My eyes drifted to her hands. One was lying open and empty on the sidewalk beside her, her palm facing upward, as if opening her hands to God. The other was also open, slumped against the sidewalk on the other side of her, but this palm was not empty. Bread. The policeman had pressed a chunk of bread beneath the child’s hand. I stared at the food and even though it was never going to find its way to my lips, my mouth began to water. I was torturing myself, but it was much easier to look at the bread than at the girl’s dull eyes.
Dawidek stood silently beside me. I thought of my mother, and then crouched beside the little girl.
“Hello,” I said, stiff and awkward. The child did not react. I cast my gaze all over her face, taking it in. The sharp cheekbones. The way her eyes seemed too big for her face. The matted hair. Someone had once brushed this little girl’s hair, and probably pulled it into pretty braids. Someone had once bathed this child, and tucked her into bed at night, bending down to whisper in her ear that she was loved and special and wanted.
Now, her lips were dry and cracked, and blood dried into a dirty black scab in the corner of her mouth. My eyes burned, and it took me a moment to realize that I was struggling to hold back tears.
“You should eat the bread,” I urged softly. Her eyes moved, and then she blinked, but then her eyelids fluttered and fell closed. She drew in a breath, but her whole chest rattled, the sound I knew people made just before they died—when they were far too ill to even cough. A tear rolled down my cheek. I closed my eyes, but now, instead of blackness, I saw the little girl’s face.
This was why I learned to wear blinders, because if you got too close to the suffering, it would burn itself into your soul. This little girl was now a part of me, and her pain was part of mine.
Even so, I knew that she could not eat the bread. The policeman’s gesture had been well-meaning, but it had come far too late. If I didn’t take the bread, the next person who passed would. If my time in the ghetto had taught me anything, it was that life might deliver blessings, but each one would have a sting in its tail. God might deliver us fortune, but never without a cost. I would take the bread, and the child would die overnight. But that wouldn’t be the end of the tragedy. In some ways, it was only the beginning.
I wiped my cheeks roughly with the back of my hand, and then before I could allow my conscience to stop me, I reached down and plucked the bread from under the child’s hand, to swiftly hide it my pocket. Then I stood, and forced myself to not look at her again. Dawidek and I began to walk.
“The little ones should be easier. I don’t have to ask the big kids for help lifting them, and they don’t weigh anything at all. They should be easier, shouldn’t they?” Dawidek said, almost philosophically. He sighed heavily, and then added in a voice thick with confusion and pain. “I’ll be able to lift her by myself tomorrow morning, but that won’t make it easier.”
Fortune gave me a job with one of the few factories in the ghetto that was owned by a kindly Jew, rather than some German businessman only wanting to take advantage of slave labor. But this meant that when the Kapo came looking for me at home, to help collect the bodies from the streets before sunrise each day, the only other viable person in our household was my brother.
When Dawidek was first recruited to this hideous role, I wanted to quit my job so that I could relieve him of it. But corpse-collection was unpaid work and my factory job paid me in food—every single day, I sat down to a hot lunch, which meant other members of my family could share my portion of rations. This girl would die overnight, and by dawn, my little brother would have lifted her into the back of a wagon. He and a team of children and teenagers, under the supervision of the Kapo, would drag the wagon to the cemetery, where they would tip the corpses into a pit with dozens of others.
Rage, black and red and violent in its intensity, clouded the edges of my vision and I felt the thunder of the injustice in my blood. But then Dawidek drew a deep breath, and he leaned forward to catch my gaze. He gave me a smile, a brave smile, one that tilted the axis of my world until I felt it chase the rage away.
I had to maintain control. I couldn’t allow my fury to destroy me, because my family was relying on me. Dawidek was relying on me.
“Mother is going to be so excited to have bread,” he said, his big brown eyes lighting up at the thought of pleasing her. “And that means Eleonora will get better milk tomorrow, won’t she?”
“Yes,” I said, my tone as empty as the words themselves. “This bread is a real blessing.”
Kelly Rimmer is the worldwide, New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of Before I Let You Go, The Things We Cannot Say, and Truths I Never Told You. She lives in rural Australia with her husband, two children and fantastically naughty dogs, Sully and Basil. Her novels have been translated into more than twenty languages. Please visit her at https://www.kellyrimmer.com/
Today is my turn on the Fig Tree Books Blog Tour for JACOBO’S RAINBOW by David Hirshberg. This is a wonderful literary historical fiction that reads as a historical memoir.
Below you will find a book synopsis, my book review, an about the author section and the author’s social media link. Enjoy!
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Book Synopsis
JACOBO’S RAINBOW is set primarily in the nineteen sixties during the convulsive period of the student protest movements and the Vietnam War. It focuses on the issue of being an outsider, an altogether common circumstance that resonates with readers in today’s America. Written from a Jewish perspective, it speaks to universal truths that affect us all.
On the occasion of the 15th anniversary of a transformative event in Jacobo’s life – the day he is sent to jail – he writes about what happened behind the scenes of the Free Speech Movement, which provides the backdrop for a riveting story centered on his emergence into a world he never could have imagined. His recording of those earlier events is the proximate cause of his being arrested. Jacobo is allowed to leave jail under the condition of being drafted, engages in gruesome fighting in Vietnam, and returns to continue his work of chronicling America in the throes of significant societal changes.
Nothing is what it seems to be at first glance, as we watch Jacobo navigate through the agonies of divisive transformations that are altering the character of the country. Coming to grips with his own imperfections as well as revelations about the people around him, he begins to understand more about himself and how he can have an impact on the world around him … and how it, in turn, will have an effect on him.
The novel can be read on three levels: 1) as a coming of age story; 2) as a metaphor for what is happening on college campuses today, in terms of the shutting down of speech and the rise of anti-Semitism; 3) as a novel about Jewish identity and what life is like for the outsider.
by David Hirshberg Fig Tree Books LLC; May 4, 2021 ISBN hardcover: 9781941493281, $19.95; e-book: 9781941493-298, $9.99 Audiobook Retail: 9781705281567; Library: 9781705281574
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My Book Review
RATING: 5 out of 5 Stars
JACOBO’S RAINBOW by David Hirshberg is a wonderful literary historical fiction novel that reads as a historical memoir set primarily during the tumultuous nineteen sixties.
Jacobo Toledano is the protagonist and the unique main character who chronicles his life in this memoir style tale. Jacobo comes from an isolated small community in New Mexico which leaves him with an unbiased view of the world and as an outsider he is the perfect storyteller for this tale.
On the fifteenth anniversary of the day Jacobo is sent to jail, he begins to write his story. He arrives at university only to be swept up by a charismatic leader of the Free Speech Movement and the protests of the Vietnam war. All the characters he writes about comes to life on the page with perceptive insights and sensitivity. His recording of these events is the cause of his being arrested.
Jacobo is given a choice, stay in jail or be drafted to fight in Vietnam. The gruesome fighting comes alive on the page and I remember watching it nightly on the news. (This was the first war to come into American homes nightly on the national news programs.) When he returns, he continues to chronicle a changing America.
This is a coming-of-age story set against the social upheaval of the nineteen sixties. It is also a tale of triumph over adversity, prejudice, lies and loss. This story and the past few years demonstrate that history can and will repeat itself if we are not ever observant and caretakers of everyone’s rights and freedom.
I highly recommend this novel and author!
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About the Author
David Hirshberg is the pseudonym for an entrepreneur who prefers to keep his business activities separate from his writing endeavors. As an author, he adopted the first name of his father-in-law and the last name of his maternal grandfather, as a tribute to their impact on his life. His first novel, My Mother’s Son was published in 2018 and won nine awards. Reviewers have compared Hirshberg’s writing to Michael Chabon’s and Saul Bellow’s, among others.
Today I am excited to be sharing my Feature Post and Book Review on the Blackthorn Book Tour for SINNER’S CROSS: A Novel of the Second World War by Miles Watson.
Below you will find a book description, my book review, an about the author section and the author’s social media links.
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Book Description
In 1944, Sinner’s Cross was just a point on a map: a muddy track through shell-torn German woods. Worthless…except to the brass on both sides of the war, who are willing to sacrifice their best men to have it. Men like Halleck, a tough-as-nails Texan who traded driving cattle for driving soldiers; Breese, a phenomenal actor who can play any part but hero; and Zenger, the Nazi paratrooper who discovers Hitler’s Germany is a lousy place to grow a conscience. Their lives and deaths will intersect at the place called Sinner’s Cross.
Trigger warnings: Realistically reflects war conditions: graphic violence; death; physical and emotional suffering
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My Book Review
RATING: 5 out of 5 Stars
SINNER’S CROSS by Miles Watson is a historical fiction book set in 1944 during the Hurtgen Forest campaign in WWII. There was no tactical advantage to this campaign and yet it was the longest campaign fought and the least successful. This is an amazing, dark, gritty, realistic look at war through the eyes of the three main characters.
This book is a depiction of the horrors of battle in graphic detail following three main characters; the battle-hardened Sgt. Halleck, a Texas cowboy and Lt. Breese, fresh from college, who wanted an acting career, but ended up in a meat-grinder field of combat and then there is the Nazi Major Zengy, Parachute Battalion. Their lives and deaths all end up intersecting at Sinner’s Cross.
This story’s main characters are diverse and yet the war brings them all down to basic survival and a kill or be killed mentality at Sinner’s Cross. But the author has also written into his characters thoughts of duty versus doubt and the overall conflict over the senseless loss of life over useless ground.
I feel as though the author has given me a glimpse into a small part of the past lives of my uncles and father that they never talked about except to other veterans. I have watched the movies “The Battle of the Bulge” and “Saving Private Ryan”, but somehow reading this book was even more intimate and chilling. I did have to put this book down a couple of times due to the intense feelings it provoked, but I also could not stop reading it because I had to know the outcome of each character.
I highly recommend this book for its exceptionally realistic depiction of war on the average man and the thought provoking motives of decisions made throughout.
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About the Author
Miles Watson was first published at the age of 17 and has never looked back. He is now an eleven-time award winning author of three novels, a short story collection and several novellas, and has vowed to write in every genre before he’s finished. When not at the typewriter, he has worked as everything from a law enforcement officer to a Hollywood make-up effects artist, and divides his time between the West and the East Coast.
As well as Awards for Sinner’s Cross, listed above, Miles Watson has also won multiple awards and citations for his other books:
