Kristin Hannah's books are hit or miss for me. Sometimes I am completely swept away by the very human worlds she creates, and sometimes they feel a little bit too much like a Lifetime movie for me (I realize I use "Lifetime movie" as a pejorative a lot, but if sappy sentimentalism is your jam, good on ya!). Since The Nightingale was all over lists of book club picks this year, I figured eventually my book club would get around to it.
When we did, I was pleasantly surprised by how much I enjoyed it.

The Nightingale tells the story of two sisters, Vianne and Isabelle. Set against the backdrop of World War II, the story follows the sisters through the German occupation of France. Vianne, whose husband Antoine has left to join the fighting, tries desperately to keep her small family together. She struggles to provide shelter and comfort to her children, all while staying under the radar of the Germans occupying her small rural village. Fiery Isabelle, on the other hand, joins the resistance, and undertakes the dangerous mission of shepherding downed  Allied pilots out of France. She saves dozens of people through her work, but she soon becomes a wanted fugitive, known only as The Nightingale. The sisters experience love and loss and betrayal and, ultimately, triumph, though in very different ways.

While it is important to tell and tell again stories of the Jews, Gypsies, homosexuals, and dissidents who were sent to the camps, I find that I have developed an appreciation for books that focus on how the average citizen of Germany or France coped with the war. History books give us the major players, and the most important events, but I think that there is much to be learned from hearing about the way that war affects not just those who have been targeted, but those who are forced to live, day after day, under such oppressive conditions. While nothing compares to the horror of the camps, Hannah does an excellent job showing just how treacherous it was just to try and live your life during the occupation. While Isabelle was portrayed as outwardly heroic through her deeds, Vianne's quieter acts say just as much about the human spirit as Isabelle's grand ones. Much like Zusak did in The Book Thief, Hannah shows in The Nightingale that even when things seem the darkest, if you can hold on to even a spark of the light that is in each of us, there is cause for hope.

I think that the most intriguing character, though, is not Vianne or Isabelle. It is the Nazi officer, Capt. Beck, who ends up billeted with Vianne for a time. Hannah creates a character that is clearly struggling with what he is being asked to do. A devoted family man, Capt. Beck is a loyal German, who is also extremely uncomfortable with the way the Nazis treat the occupied French, and with being seen as a monster by the outside world. He ends up being a sympathetic character, even though he doesn't renounce Nazi-ism or help Vianne escape, etc...But he does show another side of the evils of war-forcing basically good men to go against their own nature in the service of an ideal or political goal they may or may not share.

Overall, I enjoyed this read, and it was good for some tear-jerk moments. I'd say even if you haven't been too impressed by Hannah's other work, I'd give this one a try.

Sister, by Rosamund Lupton

Sister is a good example of why I refuse to put up my nose at genre fiction.  Billed as a mystery novel with a plot that sounds like something ripped from today's headlines, Sister is actually a novel about love and family and grieving and acceptance.

Sister follows the story of Beatrice, a British ex-living in New York, as she tries to solve the murder of her younger sister, Tess.  Free-spirited Tess, an artist living in London, is discovered in a men's toilet in Hyde Park, an apparent suicide.  Beatrice refuses to believe that her sister would have taken her own life, and begins to dig into the events surrounding the last weeks of Tess's life, looking for a key to her murderer.  Despite the fact that nearly everyone believes that her sister killed herself, and despite the fact that her quest pushes away some of the people closest to her, Beatrice eventually discovers the sinister secret at the heart of her sister's murder.

Let me say first that this is, in fact, a first rate mystery.  The plot is thoughtful and well laid out, and the story is not as formulaic as some mystery/thrillers.  But this book is so much more than just a mystery novel.  It is a love story about sisters, and a story about grief.  Every part of Beatrice's story-told as a letter to her dead sister-drips with raw, honest, sometimes painful emotion.  Every turn of phrase draws you in more deeply to Beatrice's state of mind, her regrets, her guilt, her anger, and her sorrow.  But you also begin to see Beatrice change, from the stodgy women she was quickly becoming, to someone stronger and more alive.  Her sister's death frees her from convention, allows her to become this person who makes waves, who questions authority, who is not afraid to say the hard or uncomfortable things.  Lupton's writing is almost poetic at times, giving the whole story an easy flow that draws you in and engages not just your logical, figure-out-the-mystery brain, but the part of your brain that appreciates beauty, even in sadness.

The Weird Sisters, Eleanor Brown

I've found myself suing the words, "I was listening to NPR..." more and more lately.  Maybe it's a function of my advancing age, or just that I refuse to watch television news, but I've got my radio tuned more and more to NPR regardless of when I am in the car.  I always listened to the headlines on my way to and from work, but lately I've found myself tuning in at odd time when they are talking about Kenyan tribal music, or why Americans may soon be eating only genetically engineered bananas, or some such.  One of the things that I discovered recently was the book The Weird Sisters, by Eleanor Brown.  I heard an interview with the author, in which she described her process for writing the novel, as well as some of the themes that she was trying to address.

The Weird Sisters is the story of three sister (duh)-Rosalind, Bianca, and Cordelia.  Their father is a Shakespearean scholar, who communicates with them mostly through quotations direct from the Bard.  They all make their way back to their childhood home when their mother is diagnosed with breast cancer, though that is not the real reason any of them makes the journey.  Rosalind, an academic like her father, has always lived nearby, but comes to live at home after her fiance takes a fellowship at Oxford.  Bianca, the middle sister, loads up her beater and drives home from New York, where she unsuccessfully tried to live the city life on a secretary's income.  Cordelia, the youngest, finds her way home after years of traveling around the country at a whim, drifting here and there in what's left of the counterculture.  To say that the three sisters have a complicated relationship with each other is rather an understatement.  They each fulfill the stereotypical role of the oldest, middle, and youngest child.  While they obviously care deeply for each other, they don't appear to like each other, which is actually the tagline on the book jacket.

I found this book to be very much in line with what we are calling women's fiction.  The characters are all searching in their own way for connection-with each other, with their parents, with the various men in their lives.  What makes this book different than the others is the tie in with Shakespeare.  I don't know if it actually is more literary, or just seems that way because of the frequent mentions of the Bard,  but it feels like there is a little more meat in this story than in some women's fiction. 

But here's my problem-not only do the sisters not really like each other, but I found myself not really liking them that much.  They were all flawed, which I realize was the point.  They were all failures, which I realize was the point.  But I kept finding myself wanting to tell them, "Grow up and talk to each other!" or "Get over yourselves and move on with your life!" or "Stop whining-move to England already!"  Despite not really liking them much, I did find myself caring what happened to them.  And Brown did a good job of not falling into the easy traps.  None of them have the perfect resolution to their issues, though all of them found some happiness and satisfaction.  Overall, this is a perfectly pleasant read, but without any real profundity.