This historical novel somehow got on my reading list for reasons I have long since forgotten. The forty five chapters alternate between third person narrative accounts of Eva Gardiner in 1915-1919 and the first person person singular voice of Charlie (Charlotte) St. Claire, in 1947. The former is based on the real life of a lowly English teen recruited to the real life Alice network that provided intelligence about German war activities and plans in occupied European countries. The latter is a purely fictional wealthy American college student drawn into the hunt for a lost childhood cousin who may or may not have survived WWII in France. In an unusually long and detailed eight page Author’s Note, Quinn gives the reader some information about what parts of the story are historically accurate (a surprising amount) and which characters and happenings are fictional.
The themes of female bonding and loyalty in the face of horrendous risks and hardships, separation and estrangement, the cruelties of war and the depravity of some ‘collaborators’ all come through loud and clear. The plot twists are intricate and although there are too many coincidences, readers will not feel lost in the complexities. Lines from Baudelaire’s poems are woven into the story, as are several real historical figures such as Edith Cavell. Fragile psyches of ex-military personnel who have witnessed the unspeakable horrors of war and lead to further violence, addictions, and suicides seem to be universal hangovers from all wars.
There are some unrealistic scenarios such as sudden violent but consensual sex as an outlet for anger directed at the partner, and Evelyn Gardner’s constant guilt and self reproach for betrayal under torture. The melodramatic encounter with Madame Roufanche in the abandoned real life hamlet of Oradur-sur-Glane seems like a weak attempt to instil some suspense into a tale of pathos and unending misery. In most novels, as here, eyebrows seem to always be far too bushy and too mobile.
There are so many historical novels centred on wars that it seems like a literary genre of its own. This is one of the better ones, but not as good in my estimation as Kristen Hannah’s The Nightingale. Even if they tend to exaggerate the despicable acts of cruelty, they serve to remind readers of the horrors of all war. And it seems to me that an historical novel set in peacetime would be difficult to write and likely boring to read.
The Passionate Reader 