“In love we find out who we want to be; in war we find out who we are.”
How do I even begin to talk about this book? I finished this book with my emotions all over the place, tears running down my face and my heart swelling with joy, sadness, heartbreak and content all at the same time.
I’ve heard nothing but great things about this story; and being into historical fiction, I thought I’ll pick it up right in the correct moment. These stories always transport me in time, put me in this state of mind where I feel myself living with the characters in their era and situation and it ends up being this grand experience that impacts my life, persona and all my being.
The Nightingale is that kind of book.
In the quiet village of Carriveau, Vianne Mauriac says goodbye to her husband, Antoine, as he heads for the Front. She doesn’t believe that the Nazis will invade France…but invade they do, in droves of marching soldiers, in caravans of trucks and tanks, in planes that fill the skies and drop bombs upon the innocent. When France is overrun, Vianne is forced to take an enemy into her house, and suddenly her every move is watched; her life and her child’s life is at constant risk. Without food or money or hope, as danger escalates around her, she must make one terrible choice after another.
Vianne’s sister, Isabelle, is a rebellious eighteen-year-old girl, searching for purpose with all the reckless passion of youth. While thousands of Parisians march into the unknown terrors of war, she meets the compelling and mysterious Gäetan, a partisan who believes the French can fight the Nazis from within France, and she falls in love as only the young can…completely. When he betrays her, Isabelle races headlong into danger and joins the Resistance, never looking back or giving a thought to the real–and deadly–consequences.