Hannah’s frank, unapologetic voice once more kept me spellbound.
I’ve read only a handful of books about World War II. I’m drawn to history that has settled deep into our society, the dark years nestled between Mesopotamia and the Victorian Age. Lately, however, I’ve been drawn to the more recent events that have shaped our world, and I opened this book at the perfect time.
It’s heart shattering, the lives of the women who are prominent in The Nightingale. You are swept into the tiniest details of their days, from what they’re struggling to do to survive, to the meagre food they’re eating.
You find yourself puzzled, your heart reaching to those who are both villain and victim. Yet you’re still furious, as the horrors of World War II are told to you in painstaking detail.
I mentioned this in my other Hannah review, but I’ll mention it again. Hannah’s simple, blunt writing style is perfect for this kind of book. You don’t want to overburden the plot, you want the characters to tell the stories on their own. Mirrors of these stories happened. They are not as fictional as the books that tell us about dragons and magic. And that is why they hold such power; these things happened, and repercussions still shiver in our society today.
The only complaint I have for this book pertains to a specific death. I won’t say which one, for fear of spoilers, but I will say that I found it was too glossed over. I get why — Hannah likely didn’t want to spend so much time on such a horrific moment. But overall I felt like it was faded against the voracious backdrop of the rest of the book.
Everything else, however, was pristine and emotional. I’ll definitely read more of this author’s work…when my heart is ready for it.