Tag Archives: Germany

The Girl You Left Behind by Jojo Moyes

Book Review: The Girl You Left Behind by Jojo Moyes (Pamela Dorman Books/Viking; 384 pages; $27.95).

           girl This book is not just about a painting; it’s not just about a wife left behind during wartime; it’s not just about a young widow whose husband died unexpectedly; it’s not just about a random girl a guy meets in a bar; it’s not just about a bitter woman whose German husband was an officer occupying a foreign country; and it’s not just about a beloved sister whose family never spoke of her again.  The title of Jojo Moyes’ incredibly affecting and thought-provoking third novel The Girl You Left Behind (her second was the 2012 breakout word-of-mouth bestseller Me Before You) has multiple meanings throughout her absorbing narrative.   One thing, though, is certain: her powerful female characters will linger long after you close the book.

Employing a dual narrative format, Moyes moves from World War I-era occupied France to 2006 London.  In 1916, Sophie struggles to feed her family; she watches as her family and her village collapse.  Her husband fights for France, while Sophie skirmishes just as he does but on another battlefield, one immensely more complicated.  After German forces take control of her family’s hotel, Sophie and her husband’s painting, The Girl You Left Behind, draw the eye of the Kommandant.  When the enemy takes her spouse prisoner, Sophie will use every means at her disposal to free him.  In 2006, Liv labors to stay in the home her late husband, an architect, built.  Bills pile up, and work is difficult to find.  She cherishes a piece of artwork her husband gave to her as a wedding present during their honeymoon to Barcelona.  Entitled The Girl You Left Behind, the painting symbolizes their happy life together.  When Liv learns the painting was perhaps a spoil of war, she is determined to fight to keep her most prized possession.

Both Sophie and Liv are strong women who threaten to leap off Moyes’ pages, and thank goodness for that.  I loved these ladies; moyesthrough her narrators, Moyes explores such universal themes as conflict, faithfulness, survival, loss, restitution, property rights, and love.   I identified with both women equally, even though Moyes writes them very differently, varying perspective and tense as she tells their stories.

Equally impressive and bold are Moyes’ minor female characters: Mo, lovingly quirky, gives Liv a dose of tough love; Louanne Baker, brash and ballsy American reporter covering the American liberation of Nazi concentration camps, who comes alive in her journals; and Liliane, perhaps the bravest in the whole book, who risks her life for her village and for her country.

If you enjoy reading novels set during wartime (like Sarah’s Key) or stories in which artwork features prominently in the story (such as Pictures of an Exhibition or The Art Forger), I highly recommend The Girl You Left Behind.  Moyes’ tale will resonate with anyone who has ever fought for the person or thing she loves most in the world.  I never thought Moyes would ever be able to top Me Before You, but, amazingly, she does!  Some advice—don’t let this be the book you left behind.

The Girl You Left Behind by Jojo Moyes is the She Reads October Book Club Selection.  To read more reviews of the book, enter exciting giveaways, connect with other readers, and discuss the story, please visit She Reads.







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Getting Shanghaied

The Far Side of the Sky by Daniel Kalla (Forge Books; 464 pages; $26.99).


            Warfare can ravage the places we call home to such an extent that our surroundings become almost unrecognizable to us.  Conflict can destroy the very places and people we hold most dear.  Combat can also tear families asunder, yet armed confrontations should never threaten our way of life or break our spirit.  In Daniel Kalla’s novel The Far Side of the Sky, hope never dies, even in the very darkest of hours.

The concepts of home and of places are palpable in Kalla’s story.  Yet the author takes it even further by exploring the loss and longing war unexpectedly brings.  Relocation means a new home must be found.


That isn’t always easy, as Kalla demonstrates when he focuses on two war-torn cities: Vienna and Shanghai.  Throughout his tale, Kalla’s fully-realized characters manage to keep hope alive, even in the face of certain death.  He gives his individuals a kind of courage we should all strive to have in less than ideal circumstances.


Kalla shifts his narrative between two outsiders: Franz Adler and Mah Soon Yi (Sunny).  At first, the two protagonists are worlds apart, both literally and figuratively.  Their meeting, friendship, and ultimate romance feel somehow destined and inevitable.  In less capable hands, the story might easily grow tedious and dull; however, Kalla’s mastery allows him to create an intriguing, tension-filled story.

In fact, this tale so captivated me that I devoured the story in one sitting.  In a sense, The Far Side of the Sky “shanghaied” me.  Nothing could tear me away from the troubled times, places, and people Kalla creates.  Shanghai, especially, comes alive in his story.  No history book could portray the climate better.  Kalla’s characters also persuaded me to continue reading.


Franz, a non-practicing Jew, lives with his daughter in Vienna in 1938.  The Nazis recently dismissed him from his renowned position as surgeon at a hospital in the city.  Kristallnacht (the night of crystal), the Nazis murder his brother.  Franz knows he must flee.  He is especially worried about his daughter, Hannah, who has cerebral palsy.  He can only imagine the horrible atrocities the Nazis would inflict upon her, both handicapped and Jewish.  Hannah, ironically, does not “even know how to be Jewish.”  Franz arranges to secure passage to Shanghai for himself, his daughter, and his sister-in-law, Esther.


Shanghai is a different world entirely and the place where many other Jews are seeking asylum.  Kalla is at his best when he describes Shanghai, a city many foreigners call home.  Inside this city French people, Chinese people, British people, Jewish people, and Japanese people all live.  Japanese soldiers invaded China in the 1930s, and the situation is precarious but Franz feels it is better in Shanghai than Vienna.  His beliefs are put to the test, though, once the Japanese bomb Pearl Harbor and Hitler and the Japanese grow cozier than ever.


In Shanghai, Franz meets Sunny.  Sunny, in her own eyes, is a “perpetual outsider” since her father is Chinese and her mother is American.  All her life, she has been the subject of bigotry.  Sunny volunteers at a Jewish hospital and there she meets Franz.  Since they are both outcasts, they are drawn to each other.  Kalla, of course, puts many obstacles in the couple’s way that both must overcome.


Kalla peoples his novel with many historical figures and events.  The author does employ literary license with some characters as he molds their actions and words to fit his needs.  At times, everything feels so real that I believe everything Kalla writes.  He has the ability of putting a spell on the reader.


I was particularly enthralled by a few of Kalla’s peripheral characters.  But I think Kalla has the most fun with Franz’s artist friend, Ernst.  Ernst is flamboyant and often speaks before he thinks.  Sunny’s friend, Jia-Li, is also an intriguing character.  Strong secondary characters like these allow Kalla to create a number of interesting sub-plots.


Somehow Kalla’s story appealed to all five of my senses.  Shanghai is the place that allows him to do this.  His emotional, vivid story brings the city to life.  The Far Side of the Sky will appeal to fans of Sarah’s Key (Tatiana de Rosnay), The Baker’s Daughter (Sarah McCoy), Shanghai Girls (Lisa See), and The Piano Teacher (Janice Y.K. Lee).

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American Dreams

American Dreams

 A Good American by Alex George (Amy Einhorn Books; 387 pages; $25.95).


            What does it mean to be a good American?  Does such a concept exist or is it only a pipedream?  Who decides anyway?  And if you are an immigrant, how can you become a true American?  These are all questions Alex George poses in his novel A Good American.  At its heart, the book is a story of a family and their love for one another and for a place they call home.  George, though, takes it further, giving us a distinctly American tale of immigrants.  Their story is our story, too.


Love brings Frederick and Jette Meisenheimer to America.  In Hanover, Germany, in 1903, Frederick first serenades Jette in a garden.  Jette’s mother opposes the romance, to no avail.  Then, Jette becomes pregnant and steals her grandfather’s medal given to him by the Kaiser.  Frederick fears Jette’s mother will mistakenly believe he is the thief and turn him in to the authorities.  Their solution is to leave Germany for America.


Their destination is New Orleans and not New York, which means the Meinsenheimers’ experience will be different from the usual one.  Neither speaks a word of English.  Frederick has never even heard of New Orleans, “That’s in America?  The United States?”  Jette assures him it does not really matter where they go: “New York, New Orleans, what’s the difference?  They’re both New.  That’s good enough.”  While on the ship to New Orleans, Frederick and Jette marry and decide to settle in Missouri.


Once in New Orleans, Frederick explores what he can of the exotic American city.  Frederick loves music, and the sounds of jazz lure him to a bar in the French Quarter.  He has never heard jazz before and proclaims it “chaotic and loud, but full of hope and life.”  It is, he believes, the “perfect new music for his new country.”  So begins Frederick’s “rapturous love affair with America.”  Whatever homesickness he may feel is “eradicated by his first excursion onto the streets of America.  Everything he’d seen had been unimaginably different from the dry, dour streets of Hanover, and to his surprise he was not sorry in the slightest.”  Frederick is absolutely “smitten by the beguiling otherness of it all.”  His affair with his new country continues until the day he dies.


Frederick and Jette never reach their destination.  Jette goes into labor in Beatrice, Missouri, and there they stay.   In his adopted home city, Frederick sets out to be a good American.  For Frederick, this means many things: learning English, being a good husband and a good father to Joseph and Rosa, and saving to buy the business where he works.  He does all these things; Frederick buys a bar and turns it into a fine-dining establishment.  For Frederick, being a good American also means fighting in World War I, against the country where he was born.


George writes A Good American with broad scope as he takes us from World War I to the present.  He paints a portrait of a nation on the cusp of becoming a superpower.  Interestingly, the same could be said of the Meisenheimers.  As the family develops and grows, as each generation must answer the question of how to be a good American, the United States also changes and grows.  The Meisenheimers and the United States come of age together.  This concept is apparent in later generations of Frederick and Jette’s progeny.  The restaurant Frederick is so proud of morphs in each generation, just as the country’s tastes change.  Over the years, Frederick’s becomes a diner and then finally a Mexican restaurant.  Although George never says it outright, I do feel he himself would never define what it means to be a good American.


In A Good American, George continues the family saga through to the present-day with James, the narrator, Joseph’s son.  Two generations after Frederick and Jette, James is unconcerned about fitting into a country.  He feels like he does not even fit in with his family; he thinks he is an outsider.  He does not fit in with his boisterous brothers and would rather play chess instead.  James is fond of his aunt and reading the novels of P.G. Wodehouse.  A discovery later in his life leaves him reeling.  I am left reeling, too, since George makes the reader feel like a part of the story.  That is the beauty of A Good American: I feel as if I know these people; I feel as if the Meisenheimers are family.


Never before have I read a novel with such an interesting and hilarious cast of characters.  In addition to the Meisenheimers, George introduces us to a preacher who believes he has witnessed the Second Coming, an evil bicycle-riding dwarf, and a young Harry Truman.  As much as I love the character of Lomax, an African-American cornet player from New Orleans, I see him as too much of a “Bagger Vance” type character.  Lomax helps Jette; he helps Rosa; he helps Joseph.  Once he is no longer needed, the character exits the story.  I, for one, think George could have done more with Lomax.


George writes A Good American with feeling and truth, perhaps partly because he is an immigrant, too.  George lives, works, and writes in Missouri, but he was born in England.  He moved to the United States in 2003 and has worked as a lawyer before becoming a writer.


At its heart, A Good American is an immigrant’s tale.  The author is an immigrant, and the story is about a family of immigrants.  George’s story is a tale that can be seen as representative of an idealized representation of emigration into the United States.  George writes, “Almost every family living in the United States today has a story similar to this one somewhere in its past.  Whether ten years ago or three hundred years ago, whether through due process or by way of a midnight ghosting across an unmanned border, whether by slave boat or luxury airplane, we all came here from somewhere.”  No truer words were ever written.





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The Baker’s Daughter by Sarah McCoy and The Orchid House by Lucinda Riley: A Comparison

The Baker’s Daughter by Sarah McCoy (Random House; 304 pages; $23).

The Orchid House by Lucinda Riley (Simon and Schuster; 464 pages; $15).

            Over the past few years, the book world has witnessed a rising trend in which a present-day protagonist, grappling with her own problems, stumbles upon an intriguing past mystery.  Only when she solves the puzzle can she then tackle what is wrong in her own life.  Curiously, many of said novels have ties to World War II.  Recent notable books in this genre are Those Who Save Us by Jenna Blum (2005); Sarah’s Key by Tatiana de Rosnay (2007); The House at Riverton by Kate Morton (2008); and The Madonnas of Leningrad by Debra Dean (2009).

Two new novels are a welcome addition to this fairly recent development: The Baker’s Daughter by Sarah McCoy and The Orchid House by Lucinda Riley.  Both books have a similar feel yet are very distinctive.  Both feature strong, memorable heroines and move from our own time into a past we cannot even begin to contemplate.  Yet these women must; if they do not, then they will never get on with their lives.

In Sarah McCoy’s The Baker’s Daughter, the main character is Reba Adams, a writer who lives in El Paso, Texas.  Reba dreams of going to California but has not capitalized on her vision yet: “I thought I’d start here and eventually make my way to California—L.A., Santa Barbara, San Francisco.”  She has yet to leave Texas, however.

Several things stand in Reba’s way.  She is engaged to Riki Chavez, an agent with the U.S. Border Patrol, but Reba is reluctant to commit.  She wears her engagement ring on a chain around her neck; she is not ready to wear it on her finger, and she may never be.  Her parents had a difficult marriage.  Vietnam affected her father so badly that he later committed suicide.  The tragedy led Reba to flee her Virginia home when she was old enough, and she has only minimal contact with her mother and sister.  She is unsure of Riki and of their relationship; most of all, Reba is unsure of herself.

Reba is like the border town in which she resides, “stuck in between” where she is and where she is headed.  She is a very flawed, even damaged, character, making her a very relatable and very real protagonist.  Like most of us, she does not have it all together.  Reba is far from perfect.

An assignment leads Reba to a German bakery where she wants to interview an elderly woman on Christmas traditions around the world.  The old woman, Elsie Meriwether, the owner of Elsie’s German Bakery, is uncooperative.  With a deadline fast approaching, Reba spends more and more time with Elsie and her daughter, Jane.  Soon, though, Reba finds she likes visiting the women.  She opens up to them.  The feeling is mutual.  Elsie opens up to Reba not about German Christmas traditions but about a Christmas in 1944, one that changed everything.

Here is where The Baker’s Daughter truly shines.  Elsie and her parents run a bakery in Garmisch, Germany, a city where Gestapo soldiers raid houses and residents fear for their lives in the worst days of World War II.  McCoy renders the bakery especially well.  I could smell, see, and taste the breads and sweet treats.  My mouth still waters thinking about them.  Goodies aside, the bakers move this part of the story.  At seventeen, Elsie is being courted by an SS officer who is closer in age to her father than to her.  She does not love him.  Rather, Elsie adores Hollywood movies and is more concerned with keeping a secret that could get her and her family killed.

McCoy has done meticulous research for The Baker’s Daughter.  The best example of her diligence is Elsie’s older sister, Hazel, a participant in the Lebensborn Program.  This was part of Germany experiment to perpetuate the Aryan race by producing blond-haired, blue-eyed German children with high morals, exceptional intelligence, and an unbreakable bond with the state.  Hazel, in effect, had babies for Germany and had to give them up.  Lebensborn was real, and McCoy accurately portrays this chapter in German history.

McCoy, little by little, never too much too soon, reveals what happens to Elsie and her family.  Elsie’s story transforms Reba in ways readers will cheer.  Thus, Elsie and her family take on the role of helper characters as they steer Reba back on the road to life.

I love The Baker’s Daughter and feel the novel is even better than Sarah’s Key.  McCoy effectively draws a comparison between anti-Semitism and anti-immigrant (read: anti-Mexican) sentiment.  She uses Riki to do this.  Rather than being heavy-handed and didactic, it works rather well.

While characters propel The Baker’s Daughter, it is the setting that drives Lucinda Riley’s The Orchid House, already a bestseller in Europe.  The true star of Riley’s novel is Wharton Park, a majestic British estate “comprising of a thousand acres of fertile farmland” that has been in the Crawford family for three hundred years.  The house, though, is not as grand as it once was.  Running the estate requires a lot of money, money the present heir, Kitt, simply does not have.

Wharton Park holds a special place in the heart of Julia Forrester, a world-renowned concert pianist.  As a child, Julia spent time there since her grandparents were long-time employees of the Crawfords and lived in a cottage on the grounds of the manor.  Her grandfather grew exotic orchids and made Wharton Park famous for the rare flowers; her grandmother, Elsie, was a lady’s maid.  Their devotion to the manor parallels that of the servants of Downton Abbey for the Granthams.  Julia’s summers at the estate were dreamlike: “The tranquility and warmth of the hothouses—sitting snugly in the corner of the kitchen garden, sheltered against the cruel winds that blew in from the North Sea during the winter—stayed in her memory all year.”

A horrible tragedy makes Julia remember Wharton Park all the more.  Her husband, Xavier, and their son, Gabriel, were killed in a car accident.  A forest fire started as a result.  Their deaths have understandably broken Julia.  She is a changed woman unable to play the music she played the night of the catastrophe.  She seeks comfort in a cottage near the sea in Norfolk.  But Wharton Park beckons to her.  It is an idyllic place where she so desperately needs solace, “a place of peace.”  Julia recalls wistfully that at Wharton Park, “nothing changed.”  “Alarms and timetables weren’t in charge, it was nature dictating the rhythm.”

That earlier, easier time appeals to Julia so much that she returns to Wharton Park for an estate sale.  While there, she runs into Kitt Crawford, the new heir.  They had briefly met as children when Julia played his late uncle’s piano but have had no contact since then.  A friendship develops with the promise of more.  Kitt is renovating the cottage her grandparents had called home.  In the midst of remodeling, he discovers an old diary of a man imprisoned in Thailand during World War II.  Kitt mistakenly assumes the diary is the property of Julia’s grandfather.  Her grandmother, though, reveals the diary belonged to the deceased Lord Crawford, Kitt’s uncle, who, together with Julia’s grandfather, was a prisoner.

Julia finally comes back to life as her grandmother tells her events before and after the war.  This is my favorite part of The Orchid House.  The lives of two young couples take shape: William and Elsie and Harry and Olivia.  Riley’s real focus, though, is on Olivia and Harry.  She marries Harry only to find him kissing another man.  Devastated, she continues on with her unhappy marriage because that is what was done back then.  The outbreak of war sends both Harry and William to Thailand, where they are later captured.  After the war, William returns to England before his master; Harry suffers more sickness and thus takes longer to recuperate.  While in Thailand, Harry falls in love with a young Thai woman named Lidia.  He plans to divorce his wife and marry Lidia.  However, after he returns to Wharton Park, he must fulfill his obligations to his wife, his family, and to the estate.  Harry writes to her.  When his letters go unanswered, he sends his trusted servant, William, to Thailand.  William’s journey changes everyone’s lives forever.

Just when I think Julia and Kitt will live in bliss, Riley throws several curveballs.  She does this to mix things up.  First, we learn that Julia and Kitt are kissing cousins, which I finally decided to go along with.  Second, Julia’s husband rises from the dead.  This is difficult to swallow.  I could not wait for Julia to leave the horrible cad.

Riley reminds me of Kate Morton, and I also see traces of Downton Abbey.  If you are a fan of either, I recommend this novel.  It is easy to understand how The Orchid House took Europe by storm.  I predict the same will happen in the United States.

The Baker’s Daughter is a character-driven novel, while The Orchid House is propelled by its setting.  In that sense, they are very different.  Each has a distinctive voice and feel.  Yet both feature heroines stuck in a certain place in life, desperate, tragic, or even both.  Neither protagonist can continue on the path she is on.  She must find a new road.  A past mystery or secret is the only thing that can propel the women forward.  A quest is what each must undergo.  Solving the riddle means another chance at happiness and at life.  Perhaps that is why these novels appeal so.  Second chances are a universal desire.


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