#WWII – Page 6 – Avonna Loves Genres

Blog Tour/Feature Post and Book Review: The Last of the Seven by Steven Hartov

Hi, everyone!

Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for THE LAST OF THE SEVEN by Steven Hartov on the HTP Books Summer Historical Fiction Blog Tour.

Below you will find 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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About the Book

A spellbinding novel of World War II based on the little-known history of the “X Troop” – a team of European Jews who escaped the Continent only to join the British Army and return home to exact their revenge on Hitler’s military.

A lone soldier wearing a German uniform stumbles into a British military camp in the North African desert with an incredible story to tell. He is the only survivor of an undercover operation meant to infiltrate a Nazi base, trading on the soldiers’ perfect fluency in German. For this man is not British born but instead a German Jew seeking revenge for the deaths of his family back home in Berlin.

As the Allies advance into Europe, the young lieutenant is brought to Sicily to recover, where he’s recruited by a British major to join to newly formed “X Troop,” a commando unit composed of German and Austrian Jews, training for a top-secret mission at a nearby camp in the Sicilian hills. They are all “lost boys,” driven not by patriotism but by vengeance. Drawing on meticulous research into this unique group of soldiers, The Seventh Commando is a lyrical, propulsive historical novel perfect for readers of Mark Sullivan, Robert Harris, and Alan Furst.

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/59438962-the-last-of-the-seven?ac=1&from_search=true&qid=cCpCAFzThG&rank=4

The Last of the Seven

Steven Hartov

On Sale Date: August 9, 2022

Hardcover

$26.99 USD, $33.50 CAD

Fiction / Historical / WWII

368 pages

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My Book Review

RATING: 5 out of 5 Stars

THE LAST OF THE SEVEN by Steven Hartov is an emotionally intense WWII historical fiction story featuring the fictional portrayal of a member of the historical “X Troop” who were a group of European Jews trained for covert operations by the British Army and sent behind enemy lines.

Lieutenant Bernard Froelich stumbles upon a British military camp wounded, dehydrated and barely alive after having escaped a Nazi camp in North Africa. He has traveled across the desert on an unbelievable journey. He is the only survivor of an undercover operation.

This is the story of Froelich’s odyssey of survival, loss, love, and vengeance as a Jew of German origin during WWII. The author paints beautiful and at times stark word pictures of every location of Froelich’s journey. I felt as though I was right along with him in every location and in every harrowing scene were he could have been killed. The author’s extensive research is evident throughout the story. I felt this story is important for readers to realize that there were Jewish commandos fighting the Nazis even as they faced antisemitism from some in the British army they served bravely.

I highly recommend this historical fiction based on an amazing troop of men during WWII.

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Excerpt

CHAPTER ONE

North Africa, Spring 1943

In the Sahara, the sun could make a man bleed.

It was hard to believe at first, especially if you’d ever trekked a frigid winter landscape somewhere, boots slogging through alpine snow, limbs shivering and aching bone deep. It was a challenge to imagine it, such a murderous sun, when December memory recalled teeth chattering like a Morse code key, toes and fingers numbed and raw, eyebrows stiff with frost, till all at once that blessed star emerged from charcoal clouds to save the day.

The sun was a holy thing then. The breath of God on your frozen face.

Ah, but in the vastness of that empty desert, when spring fell prey to cruel summer, when the cloudless sky was nothing but a silver mirror, the sand an iron griddle, and there was not a tree or cave or cactus to throw a shadow’s sliver. Nowhere to run from the sun. It was then that heaven’s jewel became a hunting thing, its furnace eye unblinking, merciless, and pounding.

You could shade your skull with a cap, drape your blistered neck with burlap, but still you had to see your path as your squinting eyes filled with flies who’d found the only liquid in the land. The lancing light bounced off the dunes to slowly broil your face, lips turned plaster white and split, and the oils of your nose and cheeks fried patches there like poultry on a spit. And then, the crow’s-feet wrinkles at the corners of your bleary vision turned to brittle parchment, until at last they cracked, and the most unnatural happened…

The man across the dunes was weeping tears of brine and blood. But they were not of sorrow or self-pity, for all of his emotions had hollowed out so many weeks ago. They were simply the last vestiges of all the fluid he had left, squeezed from the ducts by that relentless sun.

He was small there in the distance, and nearly weightless now, though from the way he moved it seemed he wore a yoke of iron. He was no more than an upthrust child’s thumb against the umber sands, shimmering in the steaming light of the fata morgana, an illusion where horizon met the sky.

He wore a Bedouin burnoose, tight about his oily blond curls and rough against his bristled jaw. His German staff sergeant’s tunic was girded with white salt lines of evaporated sweat, a single bandolier of ammunition, and the lanyard of a camel skin water bladder, now shriveled like an ancient’s scrotum, nothing left. One Feldwebel rank was on his collar, his Afrika Korps palm-tree shoulder patch was bleached into a ghost, and in one pocket were two lizard tails he’d chewed from time to time, though all the meat was spent. The right waist of his tunic was punched through with a bullet hole, its fringes black with dried blood, and in the left thigh of his trousers was another one just like it, the reason for his crooked limp.

In his dangling right hand, below a ragged sleeve, he clutched a German MP40 Schmeisser machine pistol, barrel down, its leather strap dragging through the sand. His left hand held nothing, the nut-brown fingers capped with broken nails with which he’d tried and failed to dig some water from the heart of a dying oasis. His breaths rattled like an asthmatic’s, yet he came on, another half an hour, another mile.

A pair of British soldiers from Montgomery’s Eighth Army watched him. They knelt behind a berm of sandbags, Tommy helmets buckled tight, sleeves rolled up and neat, shorts revealing sun-browned thighs above knee socks and tanker’s boots. They were alone, the western guards of a garrison south of Medenine, Tunisia, and they raised their bayoneted Enfield rifles to bear down on the stranger, like twins who often read each other’s minds.

At twenty feet the German sergeant stopped, unmoving, only breathing. The Cockney Tommy on the left aimed the rifle at his chest.

“Drop the bloody Schmeisser.”

The German jolted, as if surprised to hear a voice aside from his own mutterings to himself, unsure if these two Brits were real or cruel mirage. Yet he obeyed, as after all he knew it didn’t matter. The machine pistol was choked with grit and only the first shell would have fired. He opened his fingers and let the gun slip, like the hand of a dying lover, and it fell to the sand and was still.

The Tommy on the right said, “Hände hoch.” Hands up. He was a Scot and it came out as “Handerr hook.”

The German tried, but he couldn’t raise his arms higher than his waist, and his leather palms fluttered there above the sand like a maestro urging his musicians to play the passage pianissimo. His cracked lips formed a trembling “O,” though no sound emerged, and he mouthed Water, and then again—a goldfish with its face pressed to the glass of an aquarium. The Scot, keeping his Enfield trained, pulled a tin canteen from his battle harness.

“Don’t go near him, Robbie,” warned the Tommy on the left.

The Scot pitched the water bottle, cricket-style, where it pinged against a rock before the German’s boots. But the man could hardly bend his wounded leg and leaned in half a fencer’s lunge, snatching the canteen two-handed. He unscrewed the cap and brought it, shaking, to his mouth, and raised his face to heaven as the water gushed into his swollen gullet and dribbled from his filthy beard. His body trembled, and he looked at the two men and said, in nearly perfect British English, “I am not a German.”

The Tommies glanced at one another, then back at their intruder.

“You don’t say, Klaus?” the Cockney said to him.

“Looks like a bleedin’ Jerry to me, Harry,” the Scot growled to his partner.

“He’s bleedin’ all right, mate,” said Harry sideways. “Got a couple of nicks.”

“Nicks?” Robbie snorted. “Coupla hefty caliber holes. Can hardly see `em for the flies.”

Cockney Harry craned his neck to peer beyond the German’s head.

“You all alone, mate?”

“Six others,” the German managed in a brittle whisper.

“Don’t see ’em.”

“All dead.”

“Right,” said Robbie. “And where’d ye come from then?”

The German dropped the canteen. His fingers wouldn’t hold it.

“Borj el-Khadra, by way of Tobruk.”

“Bollocks,” Harry spat. “That’s three hundred miles.” He thrust his buckled chin above the sea of endless dunes. “Across that.”

For a long moment, the trio regarded one another like drunkards sizing up opponents for a brawl. The Tommies watched the German’s hands, for they hadn’t searched him yet, while for his part he struggled to stay upright. Cockney Harry gestured at Robbie the Scot, but only with his head.

“Fire the Very pistol, Robbie. Green flare, not red. Let’s have the captain up here for a chat.”

Aside from Robbie’s flare, which arced into the silver sky and fell to earth somewhere, the trio stayed immobile until at last a throaty engine loomed. A four-wheeled open command car appeared from the north, its peeling fuselage bristling with petrol jerrycans, pickaxes, and Bren light machine guns snouted at the sky. It spewed a cloud of dust as it hove to and an officer dismounted, his captain’s cap stained with sweat, Webley pistol lanyarded to a holster. His left hand tapped a swagger stick against his muscled calf while his right fingers smoothed a short mustache. His large driver followed close, hefting a Thompson submachine gun.

The captain ambled up and stopped, his bloodshot eyes squinting at the strange tableau. Robbie the Scot turned and dipped his helmet brim, but Harry kept his rifle trained, and there were no salutes.

“What’s all this then, lads?” the captain said.

“Captured us an Afrika Korps infiltrator, sir,” said Harry.

“Sneaky desert serpent,” Robbie sneered.

“Good show then.” The captain nodded and scanned the prisoner head to foot. “Right. Summon a firing party.”

Harry turned and looked at his commander.

“Execution, sir?”

“Affirmative, Corporal.” The captain flicked his stick toward a distant rise. “And let’s stake his corpse on that hill. Perhaps it shall keep the other vultures at bay.”

“Yessir,” said the captain’s driver, and he turned back for the car to muster up a firing squad.

The captain wasn’t barbarous, but more than worn and weary, and his men were not quite sure if he was serious or bluffing. In the past few weeks, despite the routing of the Germans in the westward push for Tunisia, spies of every kind had probed his lines, including one Bedouin woman. They were often followed by marauding Stuka fighter-bombers. He’d lost four men, most painfully his major whom he’d buried and replaced, and had a fifth now dying in a tent, legless and weeping for his mother. So much, he thought, for Erwin Rommel’s “Krieg ohne Hass,” war without hate.

“I am not a German.” The intruder spoke again, and his voice spasmed with the effort.

The captain raised his chin. His driver stopped and turned. The prisoner’s accent was British, yet with a certain Berlin curl.

“That’s quite a claim,” the captain said, “given your costume.”

“He told us that shite too, sir,” said Robbie.

“Says he hoofed it from Borj el-Khadra,” Harry said. “By way of Tobruk, no less.”

The captain raised a palm to hush his men and squinted at the prisoner.

“What are you, then?”

The prisoner tried to swallow. The water hadn’t been enough. It would never be enough. His body quaked in feverish ripples now, his ragged clothing fluttering like gosling feathers. It was the proximity of rescue, now turned to sudden death, coupled with his famish, thirst, and wounds.

“SIG,” he said, tunneling in his delirium for the words. “Combined Operations.”

The captain raised an eyebrow. Harry asked him, “What’s ess-eye-gee, sir?”

“Special Interrogation Group.” The captain stroked his mustache corners. “Top secret commando unit, attached to LRDG and SAS. Mostly German Jews, but they were all killed at Tobruk, and that was many months ago.”

“Not I,” the prisoner croaked. His right hand reached into his tunic. The captain fumbled for his Webley and the Tommies’ Enfields stiffened, as the prisoner fetched a pair of British identification disks, one green, one amber, like autumn leaves on a threadbare lanyard, and they fell against his chest.

The captain glanced at them, and at the hollow bearded face again.

“Tobruk, you say. And where’ve you been since then…allegedly?”

“Captured. Escaped a month ago, or two, perhaps, I think.”

“You think.” The captain closed his fists and put them to his garrison belt. “And why, pray tell, if you were in this uniform, were you not executed as a spy? Those are Hitler’s orders, after all.”

“Because I had tea with Erwin Rommel,” the prisoner said, yet without a hint of irony that the German field marshal would have thusly intervened.

“Had a pint meself with Churchill just last week,” the captain’s driver quipped. The Tommies laughed, but the captain didn’t. There was something in the prisoner’s eyes—a sincerity of madness, or truth.

“What’s your name and rank?” he asked.

“Froelich, Bernard, second lieutenant.” He pronounced his given name as “Bern-udd” and his rank as “left-tenant.” Then he added, “Six seven two, four five seven.”

The captain produced a small pad and pencil from his tunic pocket—ink was useless in the desert. He wrote the details down, tore the page off and flicked it over his shoulder for the driver, his eyes never leaving the desperate gleaming blue ones there before him. They were bleeding from the ducts, but he’d seen that once or twice before.

“Sergeant Stafford,” he ordered, “take this to the wireless tent and have Binks get onto Cairo. Tell them we’ll need our answer double quick.”

The driver sped off amidst a cloud of dust, but his return was far from quick. A grueling fifteen minutes passed, while the prisoner teetered on his feet. He could no longer keep his head erect, and he fought to stay awake and straight. He told himself he’d stood this way before, for hours in formations, and he dredged up images of bucolic pleasures, the Danube and the Rhine, and even Galilee. He longed for rain and felt its kisses on his face, while rivulets of something else crawled down his beard and touched the corners of his mouth. But he tasted only brine, and then the armored car returned.

He raised his chin as the driver handed back the paper to the captain, who perused it, then spoke again.

“Lieutenant Froelich, if that’s you,” he said, “do you remember your last passwords?”

“I shall try,” the prisoner whispered as he stumbled through his memory, unsure if he could find the thing to save him from a bullet.

“If I said Rothmans cigarettes,” the captain posed, “what would you say?”

The prisoner’s sunburned brow creased deeply like a cutlass scar.

“I’d tell you I don’t like them, sir…that I fancy Players Navy Cut instead.”

The captain nodded, and offered his first thin smile of the week.

“That is correct.”

And Froelich slumped to his knees in the sand, a collapsed marionette, strings cut. And then he slipped from consciousness and toppled forward, knuckles in the desert, his palms turned up to the sun he hated.

“Fetch a stretcher, lads,” the captain said. “It’s him. He’s the last of them. He’s the seventh.”

Excerpted from My Last of the Seven @ 2022 by Steven Hartov, used with permission by Hanover Square Press.

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About the Author

Steven Hartov is the coauthor of the New York Times bestseller In the Company of Heroes, as well as The Night Stalkers and Afghanistan on the Bounce. For six years he served as Editor-in-Chief of Special Operations Report. He has appeared on CNN, MSNBC, CNBC, FOX, and most recently the History Channel’s Secret Armies. A former Merchant Marine sailor, Israeli Defense Forces paratrooper and special operator, he is currently a Task Force Commander in the New York Guard. He lives in New Jersey.

Social Media Links

Author website: https://stevenhartov.com/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/StevenHartovAuthor

Twitter: https://twitter.com/Steven_Hartov

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/stevenhartov_author/

Purchase Links

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Last-Seven-Novel-World-War/dp/1335050108/

Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-last-of-the-seven-steven-hartov/1140465637?ean=9781335050106

Bookshop: https://bookshop.org/books/the-last-of-the-seven-a-novel-of-world-war-ii/9781335050106

IndieBound: https://www.indiebound.org/book/9781335050106

Books-A-Million: https://www.booksamillion.com/p/Last-Seven/Steven-Hartov/9781335050106

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/the-last-of-the-seven

AppleBooks: https://books.apple.com/us/book/the-last-of-the-seven/id1584482821

Google Play: https://play.google.com/store/books/details/Steven_Hartov_The_Last_of_the_Seven?id=0S5BEAAAQBAJ

Libro.FM: https://libro.fm/audiobooks/9781488214332-the-last-of-the-seven?bookstore=ggpbooks

Indigo: https://www.chapters.indigo.ca/en-ca/books/the-last-of-the-seven/9781335050106-item.html

Blog Tour/Feature Post and Book Review: The Codebreaker’s Secret by Sara Ackerman

Hi everyone!

Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for THE CODEBREAKER’S SECRET by Sara Ackerman on this HTP Books Summer 2022 Historical Fiction Blog Tour.

Below you will find a book summary, my book review, an excerpt from the book, the author’s bio and social media links. Enjoy!

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Book Summary

Dual-timeline historical fiction for fans of Chanel Cleeton and Beatriz Williams, THE CODEBREAKER’S SECRET is a story of codebreaking, secrets, murder, romance and longing.

1943 HONOLULU

Cryptanalysist Isabel Cooper manuevers herself into a job at Station Hypo after the attack on Pearl Harbor, determined to make a difference in the war effort and defeat the Japanese Army by breaking their coded transmissions. When the only other female codebreaker at the station goes missing, Isabel suspects it has something to do with Operation Vengeance, which took out a major enemy target, but she can’t prove it. And with the pilot she thought she was falling for reassigned to a different front, Isabel walks away from it all.

1965 MAUNA KEA BEACH HOTEL

Rookie journalist Lucy Medeiras has her foot in the door for her dream job when she lands the assignment to cover the grand opening of Rockefeller’s new hotel–the most expensive ever built. The week of celebrations is attended by celebrities and politicians, but Lucy gets off on the wrong foot with a cranky experienced reporter from New York named Matteo Russi. When a high-profile guest goes missing, and the ensuing search uncovers a decades-old skeleton in the lava fields, the story gets interesting, and Lucy teams up with Matteo to look into it. Something in Matteo’s memory leads them on a hunt that involves a senatorial candidate, old codes from WWII, and Matteo’s old flame, a woman named Isabel.

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/59040904-the-codebreaker-s-secret?ac=1&from_search=true&qid=ZKdjJFJ2u6&rank=1

THE CODEBREAKER’S SECRET

Author: Sara Ackerman

ISBN: 9780778386452

Publication Date: August 2, 2022

Publisher: MIRA Books

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My Book Review

RATING: 4 out of 5 Stars

THE CODEBREAKER’S SECRET by Sara Ackerman is an engaging historical fiction/mystery story told in the two intertwining timelines of 1943 and 1965 and both beautifully depicted on the lush Hawaiian Islands. This is a standalone story filled with intrigue, murder, and HEA love.

In 1943, Isabel “Izzy” Cooper has finally realized her dream to work as a codebreaker in Hawaii to avenge her brother’s death when Pearl Harbor was attacked. She meets her brother’s best-friend and pilot, Mateo Russi and as the two share their stories of her brother, they begin to get closer, but Russi has secrets of his own.

In 1965, Luana “Lu” Freitas lands her first big assignment covering the grand opening of Louis Roosevelt’s Mauna Kea Beach Hotel. Lu meets the famous Time magazine photographer, Mateo Russi who give her publishing advice as they become friends. When a famous singer goes missing and is believed dead, Lu and Russi begin to uncover secrets which have ties all the way back to Izzy and her codebreaking during WWII.

I enjoyed both timelines in this story and the mystery conclusion which tied them both together. Izzy and Lu are both strong, intelligent female lead characters. Russi is a man who has been shaped by loss and the war and I loved that he ultimately found peace and his HEA. All the characters were fully fleshed and believable. The plot starts a bit slow, but it does pick up and pulls you in so you cannot put the book down. The author does an amazing job of painting word pictures of Hawaii and the culture which makes for another layer to the story. The WWII history and the descriptions of the codebreaking failures and successes were interesting, also.

This is an intriguing historical fiction read with mystery and romance included.

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Excerpt

THE CODEBREAKER

Washington, DC, September 1942

There was perhaps no more tedious work in the world. Sitting at a desk all day staring at numbers or letters and looking for patterns. Taking notes and making charts. Thinking until your brain ached. For days and weeks and years on end. The extreme concentration drove some to the bottle, others to madness, and yet others to a quiet greatness that less than ten people in the world might ever know about. You might work for a year on cracking a particular code, only to have nothing to show for it but a tic in your eye and a boil on the back of your thigh. Failure was a given. Accept that and you’d won half the battle.

Isabel sat at her desk staring at a page full of rows and columns of five-letter groups that made no sense whatsoever on this side of the world. But on the other side, in Tokyo where the messages originated, she knew that Japanese officials were discussing war plans. War plans that were on this paper. As her eyes scanned the page, she felt the familiar scratching at the subconscious that meant she was close to seeing some kind of pattern. A prick of excitement traveled up her spine.

Suddenly, a hand waved up and down in front of her face, rudely pulling her out of her thoughts. “Isabel, you gotta put a lid on that noise. No one else can do their jobs,” said Lieutenant Rawlings, her new boss.

She forced a smile. “Sorry, sir, most of the time I’m not aware that I’m doing it. I’m—”

“That may be the case but try harder. I don’t want to lose you.”

Isabel had a tendency to hum during her moments of deepest focus, which had gotten her in trouble with her supervisors over the past year and a half while at Main Navy. In fact, she’d been transferred on more than one occasion due to the distracting nature of it. She’d worked hard to stop it, but when she went into that otherworldly state of mind, where everything slid away and the images moved around in her head of their own accord, the humming kicked back in. It would be like asking her not to breathe.

Lately, the whole team had reached a level of frustration that had turned the air in the room sour. Though they’d had success with the old Red machine, this complex supercipher seemed impossible to break. Faith was draining fast.

With her dress plastered to her back, and sucking on the second salt tablet of the day, Isabel put her head down, scribbling notes on her giant piece of paper. September in Washington burned hotter than a brick oven. Thoughts of her brother, Walt, kept interfering with her ability to stay on task. He would have turned twenty-five years old today. Would have been flying around somewhere in the Pacific about now, shooting down enemy planes, and hooting and hollering when he landed his plane full of bullet holes on the flattop. Walt loved nothing more than the thrill of the chase. Every time she thought of him, a lump formed in her throat and she had to fight back the tears. No one had ever, or ever would, love her more than Walt had.

More than anything, Isabel wanted to get to Hawai‘i and see the spot where his plane plunged into the ocean. To learn more about his final days and hear the story straight from the mouths of his buddies. As if that would somehow make her feel better. She rubbed her eyes. For now, she was stuck here in this hellhole of a building, either sweltering or shivering, depending on what time of year it was.

At 1130, her friend Nora waltzed in from a break, looking as though she’d swallowed the cat. Nora had a way of knowing things before everyone else, and Isabel was lucky enough to be stationed at the desk next to hers.

“Spill the beans, lady,” Isabel said quietly.

Nora glanced around the room, dramatically. “Later.”

Most of the team was still out to lunch, save for a couple of girls across the room, and Rawlings behind the glass in his office.

“No one’s even here, tell me now.”

Nora came over and sat on Isabel’s desk, legs crossed. She picked up a manila folder and began fanning herself, then leaned in. “I’ve heard from a very good source that the brass are tossing around names for the lucky—or unlucky, depending on how you look at it—crypto being sent to Pearl.”

Station Hypo at Pearl Harbor was one of the two main codebreaking units in the Pacific. Nora knew how badly Isabel wanted to be there.

Isabel perked up. “Whose names are being tossed?”

“That, I don’t know.”

“Should I remind Rawlings to remind Feinstein that I’m interested?”

“Absolutely not.”

“It couldn’t hurt, could it?” Isabel said.

“Sorry, love, but those men would just as soon send a polar bear to Hawai‘i as a woman,” Nora said.

“You seem to forget that one of the best codebreakers around is female. And the only reason most of our bosses know anything is because she taught them,” Isabel said, speaking softly. This was the kind of talk that could get you moved to the basement. And Isabel did not do well in basements.

“Neither of us is Agnes Driscoll, so just get it out of your head. And even Agnes is not in Hawai‘i,” Nora whispered.

“There has to be a way.”

“Maybe if you dug up a cache of Japanese codebooks. Or said yes to Captain Smythe,” Nora said with a wink.

Nora and Isabel were a study in opposites. Her short red bob had been curled under and sprayed into place, her lips painted fire-engine red. She had a new man on her arm every weekend and walked around in a cloud of French lilac perfume that permeated their entire floor.

“I have no interest in Captain Smythe,” Isabel said.

Hal Smythe was as dull as they came. At least as far as Isabel was concerned. Intelligent and handsome, but sorely lacking any charisma and the ability to make her laugh—one of her main prerequisites in a man. She had no time to waste on uninteresting men. Or men in general, for that matter. There were codes to be cracked and enemies to be defeated.

“Well, then, you’d better pull off something big,” Nora said.

THE CELLAR

Indiana, March 1925

Five-year-old Isabel Cooper had just discovered a fuzzy caterpillar in her backyard, and was bent over inspecting its black-and-yellow pattern when a wall of black blotted the sun from the sky. Always a perceptive child, she looked to the source of the darkness. Clouds had bunched and gathered on the far horizon, the color of gunmetal and cinder and ash. Wind swirled her hair in circles. Isabel ran inside as fast as her scrawny legs would carry her.

“Walter, come look! Something weird is happening to the sky,” she yelled, letting the screen door bang behind her.

Walter had just returned home from school, and was standing in the kitchen with two fistfuls of popcorn and more in his mouth. Mom had gone to the grocery store, and Pa worked late every day at the plant, so it was just the two of them home.

Walter wiped his hands on his worn overalls and followed his sister outside. From a young age, Isabel discovered that Walt, three years older, would do just about anything his younger sister asked. By all accounts he was not your average older brother. He never teased, included her on his ramblings in the woods and never shied to put an arm around her when she needed it. Outside, the wind had picked up considerably, bending the old red oak sideways.

Walt stumbled past her and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, gaping. “Jiminy Christmas!”

Daytime had become night.

“What?” Isabel asked.

“Some kind of bad storm a-brewing. Where’s Lady?” Walt asked, looking around.

Their dog, Lady, had been lounging under the tree when Isabel ran inside, but was now nowhere to be seen. “I don’t know.”

“We better get into the shelter. I don’t like the looks of this.”

“I need Lady.”

The air had been as still as a morning lake, but suddenly a distant boom shook the sky. Moisture collected on their skin, dampening Isabel’s shirt.

“Lady!” they cried.

But Lady didn’t appear.

Walt held up his arm. “See this? My hair is standing up darn near straight. We gotta get under.”

Isabel looked at her arms, which felt tingly and strange. Instead of following her brother to the storm cellar, she ran to the other side of the house.

“Lady!” she yelled again, with a kind of wild desperation that tore at the inside of her throat.

A moment later, Walt scooped her up and tucked her under his arm. “Sorry, but we can’t wait anymore. She’ll have to fend for herself.”

Isabel kicked and punched at the air as they moved toward the cellar. “Put me down!”

Walt ignored her and kept running. His skin was sticky, his breath ragged. They had only used the cellar a couple times for storms, but on occasion Isabel helped her mother change out food supplies. The place gave her the creeps.

“What about Mom? We have to wait for her,” she said.

“Mom will know where to find us.”

In the distance, an eerie whistle rose from the earth. Seconds later, the wind picked up again, this time blowing the tree in the other direction. From the clouds, an ink black thing stuck out below. Walt yanked open the door, threw Isabel inside and fumbled around in the dark for a moment before finding the light. Roots crawled through cracks in the brick walls. They went down the steep stairs, Isabel’s face wet with tears and snot.

“Come, sit with me,” Walt said, pulling her against him on the old bench Pa had built.

Warmth flowed out of him like honey, and she instantly felt better. But then she thought about Lady and her mother, who were out there somewhere. Her whole body started shaking. Soon, a rumble sent vibrations through the wall and into Isabel’s teeth. Too scared to cry, she dug her fingers into Walt’s arm and hung on for dear life. Suddenly, a frantic scratching came from above.

Isabel jumped up, but Walt stopped her. “You stay down here.”

Walt climbed to the top and opened the door. The wind took it and slammed it down hard. A loud barking ensued, and Walt fought with the door again, finally managing to get it open and bring Lady inside. The air possessed a ferocity Isabel had never seen before.

Lady immediately ran down the steps and started licking Isabel’s arms and legs, and spinning in circles at her feet. Isabel hugged the big dog with all her might, burying her face in Lady’s long golden fur. When Walt came back down, the three of them huddled together as a roar louder than a barreling freight train filled their ears. Soon, Lady began panting.

Walt squeezed Isabel’s hand. “It’s okay, we’re safe down here.”

He had to yell to be heard. And then the light went out. Darkness filled every crack and crevice. The earth groaned. The door above rattled so fiercely that she was sure it would fly off at any moment. All Isabel could think about was her mother out there somewhere in this tempest. Soon, her lungs were having a hard time taking air in.

“I can’t breathe,” she finally said.

“It’s just nerves. They act up in times like these.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I had it happen before.”

She took his word for it, because it was hard to talk above the noise of the storm, and because Walt always knew what he was talking about. Then, directly overhead, they heard a sky-splitting crack and a thundering boom. The cellar door sounded ready to cave. Isabel and Walt and Lady moved to the crawl space under the steps. The three of them barely fit, even with Lady in her lap. Lady kissed the tears from Isabel’s face.

Finally, the noise began to recede. When there was no longer any storm sounds, Walt went up the steps with Isabel close behind. He pushed but nothing happened. Pushed again. Still nothing.

“Something must have fallen on it,” he said.

“I have to pee.”

“You’re going to have to wait.”

“I can’t wait.”

Walt banged away on the door with no luck. “Then I guess you have to go in your pants. Sorry, sis.”

Isabel began to grow sure that this was where they would live out the rest of their short lives. That no one had survived the apocalypse outside and they would be left to rot with the earthworms, roots growing through their bodies until they’d been reduced to dirt. Her whole body trembled as Walt spoke consoling words and rubbed her back.

“They’ll find us soon, don’t you fret.”

Lady licked her hand, but Isabel was beyond words, shivering and gulping for air. Every now and then Walt went up to try to push the doors again, but each time, nothing happened. She vowed to herself that she would never, ever be trapped underground again. She’d take her chances with a twister over being entombed any day.

It was more than an hour before someone came to get them. An hour of dark thoughts and silence. In the distance they heard voices, and eventually a pounding on the cellar door. “Are you three in there? It’s Pa,” said a voice.

“Pa!” they both cried.

“We got a big tree down on the door up here. Hang tight, I’ll get you out soon.”

When the doors finally opened, a blinding light shone in. Pa reached his hand in and pulled them out, wrapping them in the biggest hug they’d ever had. Never mind that the old truck was upside down and one side of the house missing.

“Where’s your mother?” Pa said.

“She went to the store,” Walt said.

Pa’s face dropped clear to the ground. “Which store did she say she was goin’ to?”

“She didn’t say, but she left just as soon as I got home from school,” Walt said.

Only half listening, Isabel spun around in disbelief at the chaos of branches and splintered wood and car parts and things that didn’t belong in the yard. Sink. Baby carriage. Bookshelf. It appeared as though the edge of the tornado had gone right over their place, leaving half the house intact, and obliterating the rest.

“Son, stay here with your sister. And stay out of the house until I get back. It might be unstable,” Pa said, running off to his car.

“Mom will be okay, won’t she? The store is safe, isn’t it?” Isabel asked.

“Sure she will. Pa will be back with her soon,” Walt said.

They wandered around the yard, dazed. This far out on the country road, the nearest neighbor, old Mr. Owens, was a mile away. Drained, Isabel sat down and pulled Lady in for a hug. Pa didn’t return for a long time, and when he did, they could tell right away that something was wrong. His eyes were rimmed in red, like he had been crying. And Pa never cried.

“Kids, your mom isn’t coming back.”

That was the first time Isabel Cooper lost the most important person in her life.

***

Author Bio

Sara Ackerman is a USA TODAY bestselling author who writes books about love and life, and all of their messy and beautiful imperfections. She believes that the light is just as important as the dark, and that the world is in need of uplifting stories. Born and raised in Hawaii, she studied journalism and later earned graduate degrees in psychology and Chinese medicine. She blames Hawaii for her addiction to writing, and sees no end to its untapped stories

Social Media Links

Author Website: https://www.ackermanbooks.com/

Facebook: @ackermanbooks

Twitter: @AckermanBooks

Instagram: @saraackermanbooks

Purchase Links

Blog Tour/Feature Post and Book Review: The Librarian Spy by Madeline Martin

Hi, everyone!

Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for THE LIBRARIAN SPY: A Novel of World War II by Madeline Martin on this HTP Books Summer 2022 Historical Fiction Blog Tour.

Below you will find a book summary, my book review, an excerpt from the book and the author’s bio and social media links. Enjoy!

***

Book Summary

From the New York Times bestselling author of The Last Bookshop in London comes a moving new novel inspired by the true history of America’s library spies of World War II.

Ava thought her job as a librarian at the Library of Congress would mean a quiet, routine existence. But an unexpected offer from the US military has brought her to Lisbon with a new mission: posing as a librarian while working undercover as a spy gathering intelligence.

Meanwhile, in occupied France, Elaine has begun an apprenticeship at a printing press run by members of the Resistance. It’s a job usually reserved for men, but in the war, those rules have been forgotten. Yet she knows that the Nazis are searching for the press and its printer in order to silence them.

As the battle in Europe rages, Ava and Elaine find themselves connecting through coded messages and discovering hope in the face of war.

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/58787295-the-librarian-spy?ac=1&from_search=true&qid=VNeCPKaWp8&rank=1

The Librarian Spy

Author: Madeline Martin

ISBN: 9781335427465

Publication Date: July 26, 2022

Publisher: Hanover Square Press

***

My Book Review

RATING: 5 out of 5 Stars

THE LIBRARIAN SPY: A Novel of World War II by Madeline Martin is an emotional historical fiction story featuring two young women, one American and one French during WWII who understand the power of the written word during a world gone mad. The author does not shy away from the sacrifice, tragedy, and horror of the war, so keep the tissues close.

Ava loves her job in the Rare Books department in the Library of Congress. Fluent in English, French and German, she is offered a position by the US military in the Lisbon embassy gathering periodicals, copying them to microfilm and sending them back to Washington D.C. to be disseminated. With her brother in the Army, she feels a duty to help in any way she is able.

In Lyon, France, Elaine discovers her husband has been keeping a secret from her. She has fought with him to allow her to help the Resistance. When he is arrested, she learns the truth. Elaine is willing to do anything to help so she is taught how to use the printing presses that put out the truth of their occupation. Rigid curfews, starvation rations and the possibility of arrest, imprisonment, deportation, and death are ever present.

The two cross paths through Elaine’s paper as she asks for help in a coded message to assist a Jewish mother and child escape. Ava feels for the refugees and after not being able to help an older man she becomes fond of; she is determined to assist this mother and child. Amongst all the loss and death, Ava and Elaine’s stories become intertwined.

I loved this book! Both Elaine and Ava understood the importance of what they were doing even with the terrible loss of friends and family during a horrific time in history. All the characters in this story were realistically portrayed and believable. Ms. Martin did an excellent job of integrating true stories of the horrors perpetrated by Klaus Barbie and his atrocities in Lyon against innocents and the Resistance, the Allied and Nazi covert spies in Portugal and America’s shame in ignoring the plight of the Jewish refugees. For all the HEA moments at the end of this story, there are realistic scenes of the horrors of war depicted in this book.

I highly recommend this WWII historical fiction!

***

Excerpt

April 1943

Washington, DC

There was nothing Ava Harper loved more than the smell of old books. The musty scent of aging paper and stale ink took one on a journey through candlelit rooms of manors set amid verdant hills or ancient castles with turrets that stretched up to the vast, unknown heavens. These were tomes once cradled in the spread palms of forefathers, pored over by scholars, devoured by students with a rapacious appetite for learning. In those fragrant, yellowed pages were stories of the past and eternal knowledge.

It was a fortunate thing indeed she was offered a job in the Rare Book Room at the Library of Congress where the archaic aroma of history was forever present.

She strode through the middle of three arches to where the neat rows of tables ran parallel to one another and carefully gathered a stack of rare books in her arms. They were different sizes and weights, their covers worn and pages uneven at the edges, and yet somehow the pile seemed to fit together like the perfect puzzle. Regardless of the patron who left them after having requested far more than was necessary for an afternoon’s perusal.

Their eyes were bigger than their brains. It was what her brother, Daniel, had once proclaimed after Ava groused about the common phenomena—one she herself had been guilty of—when he was home on leave.

Ever since, the phrase ran through her thoughts on each encounter of an abandoned collection. Not that it was the fault of the patron. The philosophical greats of old wouldn’t be able to glean that much information in an afternoon. But she liked the expression regardless and how it always made her recall Daniel’s laughing gaze as he said it.

They’d both inherited their mother’s moss green eyes, though Ava’s never managed to achieve that same sparkle of mirth so characteristic of her older brother.

A glance at her watch confirmed it was almost noon. A knot tightened in her stomach as she recalled her brief chat with Mr. MacLeish earlier that day. A meeting with the Librarian of Congress was no regular occurrence, especially when it was followed by the scrawl of an address on a slip of paper and the promise of a new opportunity that would suit her.

Whatever it was, she doubted it would fit her better than her position in the Rare Book Room. She absorbed lessons from these ancient texts, which she squeezed out at whim to aid patrons unearth sought-after information. What could possibly appeal to her more?

Ava approached the last table at the right and gently closed La Maison Reglée, the worn leather cover smooth as butter beneath her fingertips. The seventeenth century book was one of the many gastronomic texts donated from the Katherine Golden Bitting collection. She had been a marvel of a woman who utilized her knowledge in her roles at the Department of Agriculture and the American Canners Association.

Every book had a story and Ava was their keeper. To leave her place there would be like abandoning children.

Robert floated in on his pretentious cloud and surveyed the room with a critical eye. She clicked off the light lest she be subjected to the sardonic flattening of her coworker’s lips.

He held out his hand for La Maison Reglée, a look of irritation flickering over his face.

“I’ll put it away.” Ava hugged it to her chest. After all, he didn’t even read French. He couldn’t appreciate it as she did.

She returned the tome to its collection, the family reunited once more, and left the opulence of the library. The crisp spring DC air embraced her as she caught the streetcar toward the address printed in the Librarian of Congress’s own hand.

Ava arrived at 2430 E Street, NW ten minutes before her appointment, which turned out to be beneficial considering the hoops she had to jump through to enter. A stern man, whose expression did not alter through their exchange, confronted her at a guardhouse upon entry. Apparently, he had no more understanding of the meeting than she.

Once finally allowed in, she followed a path toward a large white-columned building.

Ava snapped the lid on her overactive imagination lest it get the better of her—which it often did—and forced herself onward. After being led through an open entryway and down a hall, she was left to sit in an office possessing no more than a desk and two hardbacked wooden chairs. They made the seats in the Rare Book Room seem comfortable by comparison. Clearly it was a place made only for interviews.

But for what?

Ava glanced at her watch. Whoever she was supposed to meet was ten minutes late. A pang of regret resonated through her at having left her book sitting on her dresser at home.

She had only recently started Daphne du Maurier’s Rebecca and was immediately drawn in to the thrill of a young woman swept into an unexpected romance. Ava’s bookmark rested temptingly upon the newly married couple’s entrance to Manderley, the estate in Cornwall.

The door to the office flew open and a man whisked in wearing a gray, efficient Victory suit—single breasted with narrow lapels and absent any cuffs or pocket flaps—fashioned with as little fabric as was possible. He settled behind the desk. “I’m Charles Edmunds, secretary to General William Donovan. You’re Ava Harper?”

The only name familiar of the three was her own. “I am.”

He opened a file, sifted through a few papers, and handed her a stack. “Sign these.”

“What are they?” She skimmed over them and was met with legal jargon.

“Confidentiality agreements.”

“I won’t sign anything I don’t read fully.” She lifted the pile.

The text was drier than the content of some of the more lackluster rare books at the Library of Congress. Regardless, she scoured every word while Mr. Edmunds glared irritably at her, as if he could will her to sign with his eyes. He couldn’t, of course. She waited ten minutes for his arrival; he could wait while she saw what she was getting herself into.

Everything indicated she would not share what was discussed in the room about her potential job opportunity. It was nothing all too damning and so she signed, much to the great, exhaling impatience of Mr. Edmunds.

“You speak German and French.” He peered at her over a pair of black-rimmed glasses, his brown eyes probing.

“My father was something of a linguist. I couldn’t help but pick them up.” A visceral ache stabbed at her chest as a memory flitted through her mind from years ago—her father switching to German in his excitement for an upcoming trip with her mother for their twenty-year anniversary. That trip. The one from which her parents had never returned.

“And you’ve worked with photographing microfilm.” Mr. Edmunds lifted his brows.

A frown of uncertainty tugged at her lips. When she first started at the Library of Congress, her duties had been more in the area of archival than a typical librarian role as she microfilmed a series of old newspapers that time was slowly eroding. “I have, yes.”

“Your government needs you,” he stated in a matter-of-fact manner that broached no argument. “You are invited to join the Office of Strategic Services—the OSS—under the information gathering program called the Interdepartmental Committee for the Acquisition of Foreign Publications.”

Her mind spun around to make sense of what he’d just said, but her mouth flew open to offer its own knee-jerk opinion. “That’s quite the mouthful.”

“IDC for short,” he replied without hesitation or humor. “It’s a covert operation obtaining information from newspapers and texts in neutral territories to help us gather intel on the Nazis.”

“Would I require training?” she asked, unsure how knowing German equipped her to spy on them.

“You have all the training you need as I understand it.”

He began to reassemble the file in front of him. “You would go to Lisbon.”

“In Portugal?”

He paused. “It is the only Lisbon of which I am aware, yes.”

No doubt she would have to get there by plane. A shiver threatened to squeeze down her spine, but she repressed it. “Why am I being recommended for this?”

“Your ability to speak French and German.” Mr. Edmunds held up his forefinger. “You know how to use microfilm.” He ticked off another finger. “Fred Kilgour recommends your keen intellect.” There went another finger.

That was a name she recognized.

She aided Fred the prior year when he was microfilming foreign publications for the Harvard University Library. After the months she’d spent doing as much for the Library of Congress, the process had been easy to share, and he had been a quick learner.

“And you’re pretty.” Mr. Edmunds sat back in his chair, the final point made.

The compliment was as unwarranted in such a setting as it was unwelcome. “What does my appearance have to do with any of this?”

He lifted a shoulder. “Beauties like yourself can get what they want when they want it. Except when you scowl like that.” He nodded his chin up. “You should smile more, Dollface.”

That was about enough.

“I did not graduate top of my class from Pratt and obtain a much sought-after position at the Library of Congress to be called ‘Dollface.’” She pushed up to standing.

“And you’ve got steel in that spine, Miss Harper.” Mr. Edmunds ticked the last finger.

She opened her mouth to retort, but he continued. “We need this information so we best know how to fight the Krauts. The sooner we have these details, the sooner this war can be over.”

She remained where she stood to listen a little longer. No doubt he knew she would.

“You have a brother,” he went on. “Daniel Harper, staff sergeant of C Company in Second Battalion, 506th Parachute Infantry Regiment, in the 101st Airborne Division.”

The Airborne Division. Her brother had run toward the fear of airplanes despite her swearing off them.

“That’s correct,” she said tightly. Daniel would never have been in the Army were it not for her. He would be an engineer, the way he’d always wanted.

Mr. Edmunds took off his glasses and met her gaze with his small, naked eyes. “Don’t you want him to come home sooner?”

It was a dirty question meant to slice deep.

And it worked.

The longer the war continued, the greater Daniel’s risk of being killed or wounded.

She’d done everything she could to offer aid. When the ration was only voluntary, she had complied long before it became law. She gave blood every few months, as soon as she was cleared to do so again. Rather than dance and drink at the Elk Club like her roommates, Ava spent all her spare time in the Production Corps with the Red Cross, repairing uniforms, rolling bandages, and doing whatever was asked of her to help their men abroad.

She even wore red lipstick on a regular basis, springing for the costly tube of Elizabeth Arden’s Victory Red, the civilian counterpart to the Montezuma Red servicewomen were issued. Ruby lips were a derisive biting of the thumb at Hitler’s war on made-up women. And she would do anything to bite her thumb at that tyrant.

Likely Mr. Edmunds was aware of all this.

“You will be doing genuine work in Lisbon that can help bring your brother and all our boys home.” Mr. Edmunds got to his feet and held out his hand, a salesman with a silver tongue, ready to seal the deal. “Are you in?”

Ava looked at his hand. His fingers were stubby and thick, his nails short and well-manicured.

“I would have to go on an airplane, I’m assuming.”

“You wouldn’t have to jump out.” He winked.

Her greatest fear realized.

But Daniel had done far more for her.

It was a single plane ride to get to Lisbon. One measly takeoff and landing with a lot of airtime in between. The bottoms of her feet tingled, and a nauseous swirl dipped in her belly.

This was by far the least she could do to help him as well as every other US service member. Not just the men, but also the women whose roles were often equally as dangerous.

She lifted her chin, leveling her own stare right back. “Don’t ever call me ‘Dollface’ again.”

“You got it, Miss Harper,” he replied.

She extended her hand toward him and clasped his with a firm grip, the way her father had taught her. “I’m in.”

He grinned. “Welcome aboard.”

***

Author Bio

Madeline Martin is a New York Times and international bestselling author of historical fiction novels and historical romance. She lives in sunny Florida with her two daughters, two incredibly spoiled cats and a husband so wonderful he’s been dubbed Mr. Awesome. She is a die-hard history lover who will happily lose herself in research any day. When she’s not writing, researching or ‘moming’, you can find her spending time with her family at Disney or sneaking a couple spoonfuls of Nutella while laughing over cat videos. She also loves travel, attributing her fascination with history to having spent most of her childhood as an Army brat in Germany.

Social Media Links

Author Website

Twitter: @MadelineMMartin

Facebook: @MadelineMartinAuthor

Instagram: @madelinemmartin

Goodreads

Purchase Links

San Marco Books, Signed Copies for Preorders!

Story & Song Books, Signed Copies for Preorders!

Friday Feature Author Interview with Elise Cooper: The Invisible Woman and Sisters of Night and Fog by Erika Robuck

Elise’s Thoughts

The Invisible Woman (Female Spy Heroines of WWII Book 1)

Sisters of Night and Fog (Female Spy Heroines of WWII Book 2)

Erika Robuck

Berkley Publisher

The Invisible Woman and Sisters of Night and Fog by Erika Robuck are very riveting historical novels. Based very closely on true stories, Robuck skillfully brings to life these heroic women, Virginia Hall, Virginia d’Albert-Lake, and Violette Szabo. Both these novels highlight the duty, sacrifice, and determination of these historic women who helped the Resistance in WWII.

The SOE, known as The Special Operations Executive, was a British WWII organization formed in 1940. They aided the Resistance with espionage and sabotage against the Nazis. They worked hand-in-hand with the US OSS, later to become the CIA. Both Winston Churchill, William J. Donovan, and Vera Atkins, who recruited, trained, and planned secret missions in France, aided the Resistance.

The Invisible Woman shows why Virginia Hall should be honored with the US Medal of Honor. She was a vigilant spy, a fearless soldier, and an unflinching commander.Sent to occupied France to organize spy networks, gather intelligence, and run safehouses in 1942, she had to escape the Nazis after her network was betrayed. But not to be deterred, she came back in 1944 to organize the resistance before the Allied invasion. The Gestapo had wanted posters of “The Limping Lady”, because she had a prosthetic leg who she named “Cuthbert.” She was influential in helping the allies to defeat the Nazis and liberate the French.

Sisters of Night and Fog has two women, Violette Szabo and Virginia d’Albert-Lake connected by fate and chance. Virginia is an American to a Frenchman who becomes a leader in helping Allied airmen escape from Occupied France. Violette, a British citizen who is half French, joins the SOE, leaving behind her small daughter, and parachutes into France with money to pay the resistance. Both women helped the resistance, but unfortunately their clandestine deeds come to a staggering halt after they are captured by the Germans and brought together at the Ravensbrück concentration camp. They bond through having to endure the torture and horrific conditions. Virginia admires and respects Violette for her inspiration and determination to keep as many women as possible in the camp alive. Robuck’s portraits of these three unforgettable heroines is captivating. A bonus in both novels is the author’s notes about the characters and history. Readers will feel the tension and take the journey with these inspiring women through their sacrifices, courage, and endurance.

***

Author Interview

Elise Cooper: The series idea?

Erika Robuck: Both these books are related. They are about women of WWII who fought with the resistance and participated in espionage in different capacities. As I was researching The Invisible Woman it led to the second book, Sisters of Night and Fog. I had been writing about women in the shadows of male authors for a long time. An editor said, why not write about a woman remarkable on her own. I discovered a Smithsonian article about a woman who spied for the allies and helped the foundation for modern intelligence. The main character of the first novel, Virginia Hall, fit the bill for a woman who is remarkable.

EC: Do you like the name Virginia?

ER: LOL. The name likes me. They are old-fashioned. It seems everyone I search is either a Virginia, Violette, or a Vera.

EC: Ok, so do you like women characters whose names start with “V”?

ER: I have grown to like it because I think of the victory symbols. It is fitting for these real women.

EC: The main character of Virginia Hall from The Invisible Woman was formulated from some stories told to you by her niece?

ER: I met her because she lives in Maryland, as do I. I was able to interview her quite a bit. She allowed me to see the family photos. She colored in the pencil sketch I had, able to get to know the real woman after I met her family. Virginia would take her niece on fishing and hunting expeditions.

EC: How would you describe Virginia Hall?

ER: She is unconventional in that she and her husband Paul lived together before they were married at a time when that was unusual. She is assertive, formidable, inquisitive, intelligent, no nonsense, has a sense of loyalty/duty, and incredibly courageous. She was athletic, the captain of every team she was on. Since being told no a lot of her life, she was a little bit bitter. Her mother did not want her to travel the world, the Foreign Service said no because she was a woman and had a disability. But she overcame all of it.

EC: What was her disability?

ER: She had a prosthetic leg. She accidentally shot off her foot while hunting, shooting birds. She named the leg Cuthbert, the Patron Saint of Birds. This is the only connection anyone could make with the name of her leg. Even with her loss of leg she had so many skills as an actress, hunter, sailor, adventurer, soldier, and linguist.

EC: Had did Virginia Hall become a spy?

ER: After France fell to the Nazis she went to London. This is where she got on the radar of the British Special Operations Executive. They saw her talents and were not put off about anything with her. After her first mission where the network was betrayed, she had a tremendous amount of anger. She lost a lot of people to death and imprisonment although she was able to escape. With her next mission to France, she had a lot of survivor’s guilt and PTSD. She was afraid about losing people, yet she kept going, conquering it, and had hope. I am working with the women of the intelligence agencies and her family to get her The Medal of Honor.

EC: She became a commander in the resistance movement?

ER: She had a very keen eye for talent, spotting how certain people could help the allied cause, and gain their trust, which is how she created her resistance network. She was able to corral, train, and arm the resistance, showing how vital the network was to the allied cause. She was able to organize them.

EC: How would you describe Vera Atkins who was in both books?

ER: She was the ultimate spymaster, cool and calm. Being Jewish, Vera was deeply invested with those she supervised for the SOE to help fight the Nazis. She faced backlash as a woman but was able to recruit allies since she was incredibly charming and diplomatic. She could navigate the different circles. She and Winston Churchill were on the same page, not afraid to have women or people with disabilities serve. They were partnered with the OSS, the CIA precursor. The author Ian Fleming based the fictional character “M” on Atkins in his James Bond novels. After the war she hunted down every bit of evidence of those she agents lost, feeling deeply responsible. She lost 118 of the 400 she recruited. Her research was used in the Nuremberg Trials to convict many Nazis.

EC: In Sisters of Night and Fog there was also a Virginia, Virginia d’ Albert Lake?

ER: She is very different than Virginia Hall because she was a typical run of the mill woman. She did not seek danger and daring, thinking after she was married in France there would be a happily ever after. She was not wired for a leadership role but grew into it. Virginia d’ Albert Lake was more grounded and quieter. She embraced her role, helping one person at a time. She was a different kind of leader than Virginia Hall who could be kind of boorish.

EC: What about Violette, another hero of the second book?

ER: She is more hotheaded and impulsive than either Virginia. She worked more on instinct. She grew up with five brothers and had to fight her way through life. After the Nazis killed her husband during the war, she sought vengeance. Violette became a sharpshooter. She was more of a risk-taker, a wounded person, and more emotional than the other two. She moved through life like a wrecking ball. Her relationship with her father created in her wanting to be one of the boys and seeking the approval of the men in the resistance. She matured through the years of the war. With her SOE training she became more focused, subdued, and polished. This allowed her to be a great leader of those women who were imprisoned by the Nazis with her at Ravensbruck Concentration Camp.

EC: What all three women had in common?

ER: Both Virginias were American. All three were courageous with an inner strength. They demanded respect. They found their vocation, which helped them rise to different occasions. All of them faced a cycle of emotions from worry, fear, hope, guilt, and love. They knew the average life span was six weeks. I loved them all with a different piece of my heart.

EC: There is a quote in one of the books about humanity?

ER: You are referring to this one, “Is humanity doomed? Is it even redeemable at this point? What’s the use of doing any small act of good when evil seems to overpower it? The darkness seems to blot out all the light.” What the Germans did to the Jews: rounding them up, sending them to labor and concentration camps, endless killings, and torture. Man’s inhumanity to man is incomprehensible. The Nazis also crucified babies, locked the French up in Churches, and burned them. Each of these women were determined to show that hope exists with the defeat of the Nazis.

EC: What would you like readers to take away from the books?

EK: There is always hope. Women have the strength to do what is needed to be done. They just must have courage. At the end of each book, they can read the author’s note if they choose to go deeper into the history.

EC: Next book?

ER: I was thinking of writing about Vera Atkins, the supervisor of SOE but another author is doing it, Laura Kamoie. After this WWII novel I will go into another area of historical fiction. For my personal mental health, I am steering clear of WWII.

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.

Book Tour/Feature Post and Book Review: Emma’s Tapestry by Isobel Blackthorn

Hi, everyone!

Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for EMMA’S TAPESTRY by Isobel Blackthorn on the Blackthorn Black Coffee Book Tour.

Below you will find an about the book section, my book review and an about the author section with the author’s social media link.

***

About the Book

At the dawn of World War Two, German-born nurse Emma Taylor sits by the bedside of a Jewish heiress in London as she reminisces over her dear friend, Oscar Wilde.

As the story of Wilde unravels, so does Emma’s past. What really happened to her husband?

She’s taken back to her days in Singapore on the eve of World War One. To her disappointing marriage to a British export agent, her struggle to fit into colonial life and the need to hide her true identity.

Emma is caught up in history, the highs, the lows, the adventures. A deadly mutiny, terrifying rice riots and a confrontation with the Ku Klux Klan bring home, for all migrants, the fragility of belonging.

Emma’s Tapestry is an imaginative retelling of the remarkable life of the author’s great-grandmother.

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/57612540-emma-s-tapestry?ac=1&from_search=true&qid=lyOGXtybn4&rank=1

Emma’s Tapestry: A Historical Novel

Genre: Historical fiction
Print length: 311 pages
Age range: This is an adult book but suitable for mature teens
Trigger warnings: None

***

My Book Review

RATING: 4 out of 5 Stars

EMMA’S TAPESTRY: A Historical Novel by Isobel Blackthorn is a glimpse through historical fiction focusing on the years between and during the two world wars. This story follows a strong and compelling female protagonist.

Emma Taylor and her family are Mennonites from Germany who move to the United States to get away from religious persecution. The children are brought up to work hard and are expected to marry within their religion. Emma graduates from nursing school and is excited to marry the English brother of a friend, who works for a British import/export company. This will cause a permanent rift in her family because she is marrying outside her faith.

With her husband, Emma travels to England and then to Singapore for his job. While Emma is finding everything strange and difficult, she copes by using her nursing skills at the local hospital and befriends other businessmen’s wives. After the Sepoy Mutiny, Emma’s husband, Ernest transfers the family to Kobe, Japan. Once again, Emma is on her own to adapt to a new culture and home. Ernest is focused on climbing the business and social ladder like many in that time and place and expects Emma to be happy as a wife and mother.

When her parents die from influenza and her disintegrating marriage fails, she moves to Colorado with her children and is always fearful that her German ancestry will be discovered. Emma’s tapestry is not yet finished, and she still has decisions to make for herself and her daughters.

While I feel this is a character driven story, Emma is as caught up in the tides of history as much as she has control of her own destiny. Her life is typical of the married women of that time, but having a vocation makes her long for so much more than being a wife and mother. Emma and her husband have an emotionally turbulent relationship and the author does a wonderful job of writing that relationship reflecting both party’s expectations and faults for their time in history. I may not have always liked Emma, but I did find her strength amazing in a tumultuous time and life. I feel the time period and locations are thoroughly researched and this author’s writing brings them to life on the page.

This is a beautifully written historical fiction story.

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About the Author

Isobel Blackthorn is a prolific novelist of unique and engaging fiction. She writes across a range of genres, including gripping mysteries and dark psychological thrillers.

The Unlikely Occultist: A biographical novel of Alice A. Bailey received an Honorable Mention in the 2021 Reader’s Favorite book awards. A Prison in the Sun was shortlisted in the LGBTQ category of the 2021 International Book Awards and the 2020 Readers’ Favorite Book Awards. Her short story ‘Nothing to Declare’ was shortlisted for the Ada Cambridge Prose Prize 2019. Her dark thriller A Legacy of Old Gran Parks won a Raven Award in 2019. The Cabin Sessions was nominated for the Bram Stoker Award 2018 and the Ditmar Awards 2018.

Isobel holds a PhD in Western Esotericism from the University of Western Sydney for her ground-breaking study of the texts of Theosophist Alice A. Bailey. Her engagement with Alice Bailey’s life and works has culminated in the biographical novel The Unlikely Occultist and the full biography Alice A. Bailey: Life and Legacy.

Isobel carries a lifelong passion for the Canary Islands, Spain, her former home. Five of her novels are set on the islands of Lanzarote and Fuerteventura. These standalone mystery novels are setting rich and fall into the broad genre of travel fiction.

Isobel has led a rich and interesting life and her stories are as diverse as her experiences, the highs and lows, and the dramas. A life-long campaigner for social justice, Isobel has written, protested and leant her weight to a range of issues including asylum seekers and family violence. A Londoner originally, Isobel currently lives in rural Victoria, Australia.

Social Media Link

http://www.isobelblackthorn.com

Purchase Link

http://mybook.to/emmastapestry

Friday Feature Author Interview with Elise Cooper: Lana’s War and A Girl During the War by Anita Abriel

Elise’s Thoughts

Lana’s War and A Girl During the War by Anita Abriel are heartfelt reads. The stories take place during World War II, the former in France and the latter in Italy. Both books are filled with danger and romance.

Lana’s War begins with a tragedy. In Paris 1943 Lana Antanova is about to tell her husband, Frederick they are going to have a baby when she sees him brutally shot dead by a Gestapo agent. To make matters worse, she loses the child. Knowing she can no longer sit idly by she accepts an offer to join the resistance. As the daughter of a Russian countess, Lana has the perfect background to infiltrate the émigré community of Russian aristocrats in the French Riviera, and socialize with German officers, including the man who killed her husband. Her cover story, being the mistress of Guy Pascal, a wealthy Swiss industrialist and fellow resistance member, allows her to move smoothly throughout the area. Together they gather information on upcoming raids and help members of the Jewish community escape. She has grown attached to a young Jewish girl, Odette, who ends up losing her parents. Both Lana and Guy go to great lengths to protect Odette and protect each other.

A Girl During the War also has a young heroine risking her life to save others as well as valuable paintings. Taking place in Italy 1943, Marina Tozzi comes home to find her father brutally killed by the Nazis. Fearful of the consequences, Marina flees to Villa I Tatti, the Florence villa of her father’s American friend Bernard Berenson and his partner Belle da Costa Greene, the famed librarian who once curated J.P. Morgan’s library. Marina, an art expert, uses her expertise to save valuable pieces and uses her contacts to save a Jewish family. A neighbor, Carlos Adamo, uses his charm to sweep Marina off her feet. But after he disappears at the war ends, she must make a new life without him, traveling to Argentina to help an organization return paintings to their rightful owners.

Both books allow readers to take a journey with these heroic women. The tales of survival and second chances will have people feeling the same emotions as the characters: anxiety, fear, and even sometimes joy.

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Author Interview

Elise Cooper: You write World War II books?

Anita Abriel: The Light After the War, which came out two years ago, is the one readers connected with. It is my mother’s story. It is a moving book because my mother escaped from a train heading toward Auschwitz with her seventeen-year-old friend. They ended up in Maples, tried to get to Ellis Island but were rejected, from there went to Venezuela, and ended up in Australia where I was born. It is all based on fact. This is when I started to write historical fiction. My second book is Lana’s War and then in March my third book came out, A Girl During the War.

EC: In these three books there is always something about the Jewish peril during the war?

AA: I write these because of my background. I am Jewish. My parents who survived the Holocaust are Jewish. My father’s parents died in a concentration camp. I grew up in Sydney Australia. My mother was a little afraid because of everything that happened to her. My father escaped by fighting in the Red Army. He was extremely Jewish.

EC: The idea for Lana’s War?

AA: I wanted to write another story set during the Holocaust. My mother always talked about the French Riviera. As I was looking online, I saw a plaque in front of a hotel in Nice France saying, “this is where the Gestapo had its headquarters.” For a long time, this was a safe place for Jews until the Nazis occupied it in the last years of the war. Then they were sent to concentration camps. Gestapo Agent Alois Brunner is a real person.

EC: How would you describe Lana?

AA: She is very brave, caring, and gave up a soft life in Paris to join the resistance to put herself in great danger. It is unfathomable about what she went through. While she was grieving, at the same time, she was fearless.

EC: Lana’s first husband, Frederick. Can you describe him?

AA: Frederick is very straight-forward, honest, courageous, and wanted to get involved.

EC: How would you describe the resistance member, Guy?

AA: Guy wanted revenge, very noble, courageous, and sophisticated. His relationship with her was complicated. Lana was not very fond of his manners. He was very authoritarian, bossy, opinionated, and initially did not give her any respect.

EC: How would you describe Lana’s relationship with Frederick versus Guy?

AA: With Guy she was more of an equal. She also wanted revenge. They were very focused on their mission. Their relationship was complicated. Frederick always tried to protect her until he was killed. He was Lana’s first great love, very sweet and innocent, a gentleman.

EC: The role of Odette?

AA: She was a twelve-year-old who represented all those children that were incredibly harmed and scarred by the war. As a child, Odette wanted to return to normalcy, instead of having to hide all the time. She saw her father killed by the Nazis and then she was told about the Nazis killing her mother. Odette had a quote in the book, “If all the Jews ran away the Germans would succeed, what Hitler tried to accomplish. I am French. This is where I belong.” She said this because she wanted to hang on to her identity and not lose it. Very common among the children was that they were wiser than their years and had to grow up too fast.

EC: You also refer to real-life figures such as Coco Chanel?

AA: Some people felt she had to work with the Nazis, while others felt she could have left. Now people think she was a collaborator.

EC: A Girl During the War changes the setting from France to Italy?

AA: A lot of this book is true. I stumbled on the story because I really love Florence Italy. The Ponte Vecchio was the only bridge that was not blown up during the war because it was saved by the German council. I wondered why he did it. I found out information about certain characters such as Ludwig who was a head art historian in Italy. During my research I found out about the Villa I Tatti, where scholars now go to learn about Renaissance art. Bernard and Belle da Costa are also real people and were lovers.

EC: How would you describe Marina?

AA: She is the heroine of the story. Younger and less sophisticated than Lana. She was very protected and attached to her father who was killed by the Nazis. She travels and stays with Bernard. This book is her journey in the middle of a war. I think she probably had PTSD because she found her father’s body and knew had she arrived home a few minutes earlier she could have also been killed. She is also serious, lonely, angry, guarded, and trying to make sense of the war.

EC: How would you describe Carlos versus Luc?

AA: I do not like Carlos. He is despicable. He knows he is good looking and does not love anyone like he loves himself. He is self-centered. He has a magnetic personality and confidant. Luc is the direct opposite, a sweet and a caring person. After the war he tried to return the art to their rightful owners.

EC: Relationship?

AA: Carlos, her lover, is attractive, interesting, and edgy. He does not give her what she needs, to fill her emptiness.

EC: In both books you have children angry at the situation they are placed in?

AA: In this one it is Eli and in the other one is Odette. I cannot imagine how they can be anything other than angry. Eli is a good-looking young Italian male who had a promising life. Instead, he sees death and is held prisoner having to hide in a barn. His little sister cannot even go outside.

EC: In both books’ art plays a role?

AA: I had a quote in this book, “Art is not always about the painting itself, it’s about the joy of sharing important pieces with others.” Art lasts centuries and brings people together. Everybody has their own opinions and ideas. It takes on a life of its own. Therefore, it is horrible to think of what was lost or could have been lost during the war. Bernard and Marina in both books risked their lives because they saw the value of art.

EC: What was real and what was made up?

AA: There were some real artists, such as Giorgione. But I did make up that famous picture by Verrocchio who was a real artist. There are very few of his paintings left. As far as copies I made it up, but I am sure it happened.

EC: What about your next books?

AA: My next book will be historical fiction, out next year sometime. I am not ready to talk about it yet. I also write Christmas books under the name Anita Hughes, with the latest coming out in September, titled Christmas at The Ranch. It is about a heroine who rarely leaves her neighborhood, but her editor has her go to Jackson Hole Wyoming.

THANK YOU!!

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Elise’s Author Interview