2015 Pulitzer Prize Recipient for Literature Novel by Anthony Doerr--All the Light We Cannot See--Banned! In My Home State!

In August 1944 the historic walled city of Saint-Malo, the brightest jewel of the Emerald Coast of Brittany, France, was almost totally destroyed by fire…. Of the 865 buildings within the walls, only 182 remained standing and all were damaged to some degree.           —Philip Beck 

It would not have been possible for us to take power or to use it in the ways we have without the radio.       —Joseph Goebbels Zero  7 August 1944

When we try to erase our history by banning books, by declaring that they are "woke" or just because your political party tells you to, there is something seriously wrong, in my opinion. For me, it didn't take this book or the thousands of others I've read, to know what early Americans did to the Indigenous people who occupied most of America from early times... It didn't take this book for me to know what happened during WWII and how people were being treated by the Nazi Regime... Nor does it take any of the recent books I've read about what has happened in America that has led to a divide so deeply created through political power and subterfuge... What a book does for me is to allow me to either reaffirm what I have seen or studied... Or, to read of different opinions that may help me better understand my neighbors...

As an aside, this book has a long playlist, so I'm inserting as I can...I was somewhat surprised that many of the songs that have remained popular actually were written prior to WWII! Actually, the playlist was longer; however, when I start to search for the songs that were being used, there was a warning...noting that these were German historical marches and had nothing to do with Nazis... I decided not to use them given that the book indeed talked about Hitler's call to war... If interested, they are available on YouTube under German's WWII videos.

If you enjoy historical novels, this book is a must-read. Perhaps you have already read it or know about the movie (several videos provided here for information...) Whether or not I later see the movie, I am thankful that I read the book first. There is so much in this book that needs to be considered--to remember. My guess is that the magic cannot possibly be demonstrated in a movie... And, it appears that the relationship between the two teens might be emphasized in the movie. Indeed, I was shocked, after reading the book description and videos, that their meeting did not take place until very late in the book! My anticipation had been stoked so much so that I kept waiting for that meeting!

I wasn't necessarily disappointed that the emphasis was on these two people, but I believe the hype was misleading. On the other hand, readers will be immediately caught up in what happened when the Germans (BTW I am of German descent on both sides of my parents.) It was important for me to read this particular book. I have read many about the Holocaust, and at least one set in Poland. Having this book set in France gave me new information that I may not have ever known. You see, my father worked in the mines and was killed before I was born. My mother was left a widow with four children...

It was in France, in the Walled citadel of Saint Malo, that this book was set. And, why was it taken over? Because there was a mine there and soon the residents of the town were being forced to work in that mine while being treated cruelly and with little food. Certainly the book brought me an awareness that if my family had not come to America, my father might have been in one of the mines in Europe that were being confiscated by Hitler in order to control the world that he planned to conquer! 

Tuesday after Tuesday she fails. She leads her father on six-block detours that leave her angry and frustrated and farther from home than when they started. But in the winter of her eighth year, to Marie-Laure’s surprise, she begins to get it right. She runs her fingers over the model in their kitchen, counting miniature benches, trees, lampposts, doorways. Every day some new detail emerges—each storm drain, park bench, and hydrant in the model has its counterpart in the real world. Marie-Laure brings her father closer to home before making a mistake. Four blocks three blocks two. And one snowy Tuesday in March, when he walks her to yet another new spot, very close to the banks of the Seine, spins her around three

times, and says, “Take us home,” she realizes that, for the first time since they began this exercise, dread has not come trundling up from her gut. Instead she squats on her heels on the sidewalk. The faintly metallic smell of the falling snow surrounds her. Calm yourself. Listen. Cars splash along streets, and snowmelt drums through runnels; she can hear snowflakes tick and patter through the trees. She can smell the cedars in the Jardin des Plantes a quarter mile away. Here the Metro hurtles beneath the sidewalk: that’s the Quai Saint-Bernard. Here the sky opens up, and she hears the clacking of branches: that’s the narrow stripe of gardens behind the Gallery of Paleontology. This, she realizes, must be the corner of the quay and rue Cuvier. Six blocks, forty buildings, ten tiny trees in a square. This street intersects this street intersects this street. One centimeter at a time. Her father stirs the keys in his pockets. Ahead loom the tall, grand houses that flank the gardens, reflecting sound. She says, “We go left.” They start up the length of the rue Cuvier. A trio of airborne ducks threads toward them, flapping their wings in synchrony, making for the Seine, and as the birds rush overhead, she imagines she can feel the light settling over their wings, striking each individual feather. Left on rue Geoffroy Saint-Hilaire. Right on rue Daubenton. Three storm drains four storm drains five. Approaching on the left will be the open ironwork fence of the Jardin des Plantes, its thin spars like the bars of a great birdcage. Across from her now: the bakery, the butcher, the delicatessen. “Safe to cross, Papa?” “It is.” Right. Then straight. They walk up their street now, she is sure of it. One step behind her, her father tilts his head up and gives the sky a huge smile. Marie-Laure knows this even though her back is to him, even though he says nothing, even though she is blind—Papa’s thick hair is wet from the snow and standing in a dozen angles off his head, and his scarf is draped asymmetrically over his shoulders, and he’s beaming up at the falling snow. They are halfway up the rue des Patriarches. They are outside their building. Marie-Laure finds the trunk of the chestnut tree that grows past her fourth-floor window, its bark beneath her fingers. Old friend. In another half second her father’s hands are in her armpits, swinging her up, and Marie-Laure smiles, and he laughs a pure, contagious laugh, one she will try to remember all her life, father and daughter turning in circles on the sidewalk in front of their apartment house, laughing together while snow sifts through the branches above.

~~~

We meet Werner and his sister as they listen to the radio... Werner has found an old one that was not working and he had figured out how to fix it... Soon he was learning more and more, self-taught, as people heard of his ability to fix things that were electronic... As I am writing, I realize, for the first time, that the Frenchman that was broadcasting could be the very man that was related to Marie-Laure and to whose home they went when they were forced to leave their home... As I said, the book is long and so much can be discovered about that awful time period--war!

Werner and Jutta find the Frenchman’s broadcasts again and again. Always around bedtime, always midway through some increasingly familiar script. Today let’s consider the whirling machinery, children, that must engage inside your head for you to scratch your eyebrow… They hear a program about sea creatures, another about the North Pole. Jutta likes one on magnets. Werner’s favorite is one about light: eclipses and sundials, auroras and wavelengths. What do we call visible light? We call it color. But the electromagnetic spectrum runs to zero in one direction and infinity in the other, so really, children, mathematically, all of light is invisible. Werner likes to crouch in his dormer and imagine radio waves like mile-long harp strings, bending and vibrating over Zollverein, flying through forests, through cities, through walls. At midnight he and Jutta prowl the ionosphere, searching for that lavish, penetrating voice. When they find it, Werner feels as if he has been launched into a different existence, a secret place where great discoveries are possible, where an orphan from a coal town can solve some vital mystery hidden in the physical world. He and his sister mimic the Frenchman’s experiments; they make speedboats out of matchsticks and magnets out of sewing needles. “Why doesn’t he say where he is, Werner?” “Maybe because he doesn’t want us to know?” “He sounds rich. And lonely. I bet he does these broadcasts from a huge mansion, big as this whole colony, a house with a thousand rooms and a thousand servants.” Werner smiles. “Could be.” The voice, the piano again. Perhaps it’s Werner’s imagination, but each time he hears one of the programs, the quality seems to degrade a bit more, the sound growing fainter: as though the Frenchman broadcasts from a ship that is slowly traveling farther away. As the weeks pass, with Jutta asleep beside him, Werner looks out into the night sky, and restlessness surges through him. Life: it’s happening beyond the mills, beyond the gates. Out there people chase questions of great importance. He imagines himself as a tall white-coated engineer striding into a laboratory: cauldrons steam, machinery rumbles, complex charts paper the walls. He carries a lantern up a winding staircase to a starlit observatory and looks through the eyepiece of a great telescope, its mouth pointed into the black.

~~~

Fortunately for Warner, his expertise was soon recognized so that instead of, when he was older, going to the front lines somewhere, he was sent to a school and then on, using his skills with radios to move around in search of illegal (as defined by Hitler) transmissions that were being used by, for instance, those in the small town of Saint Malo...

I am not sure how much actual research supported this novel, but I was totally captured by the people living there and what they did when confronted with German soldiers who immediately took over the Mayor's residence. For he and the town residents, in one way or another displayed only disdain for what they were being forced to do. Yes, there was murder of local people. I prefer not to use kill as it is normally used as being done in war... To me that is illogical. When one man decides to begin a war and uses every means to do so, including people who were forced to support those efforts or die...then when one or more dies. It is Murder...

The book moves back and forth between the lives of the teen girl and boy. The girl had become blind and lived with her father, but when they had to leave their home, they hoped to find peace with a relative. By the time they got there, it was already too late. The Germans had taken over Saint Malo. Soon after Marie-Laure and her father arrived, her father was called back and nobody knew whether he had been killed or was captured and held, possibly tortured.

A deadly subplot was the fact that Hitler had assigned one man to supervise the taking of all riches found in conquered areas so that they could create one big magnificent facility to display the booty of their conquests! And we follow this man in his travels as he carries out his orders, but, in doing so, became very ill and he became obsessed in finding one particular jewel that was said that anybody who owned it could not die. His search was intense and, finally, he had made his way to the location where Marie-Laure was staying... There we find the one scene in the entire book where Marie-Laure meets Werner... And she was not alone...

I was fascinated with the father's skillful attention to his daughter's new disability and his creating a small scale version of his entire town (and later) another where they had moved, to allow his daughter to become self-sufficient. And, he brought his daughter to his workplace, the Muséum National d’Histoire Naturelle, where he was the lockmaster for the entire building. There is no reference that any part of the book was based upon actual facts, except of course the war itself. 

When we allow ourselves to enter into the lives of those who are affected by war, hopefully we become more sympathetic and empathetic... If we are not permitted (by banning such books) to learn, we deny ourselves and our children the chance to learn about the lives of those outside of our personal environment and garner a certain level of respect for those who lived through these terrible hardships...

We learned, for instance, that the owner of the home in Saint Malo in which Marie-Laure now lived, was her great-uncle Etienne who now refuses to leave his home, based upon his having been near his brother when he was murdered during the war, probably WWI... Yet, as Marie-Laure changes the daily routine, little by little, he begins to improve and ultimately leaves his home for the first time. At that time, his housekeeper had become involved in small ways of fighting back, making the soldiers in their town aware that they were not welcomed there... When his housekeeper dies, and Marie-Laure was unable to go out for food, he took that first step... BTW, he was also the man who was running the radio sending out messages... fed to him from his housekeeper and her group of local women!

In many ways, the book is heartbreaking, yet, readers will find, as I did, that we become invested in the lives of those who are silently fighting against the Germans, while knowing that they would be executed if they were discovered... While the actions taken against the Jewish people were horrific, a different type of torture was used against those living in Saint Malo! No actions taken by oppressors can be accepted.

Given what is happening in Ukraine and Israel/Gaza, now may be the perfect time for you to read this book. It awakens your heart and mind to what we all must fight to end and prevent!

GABixlerReviews

And Don't Forget to Share...Click Below

The Secret Pianist: Sisters. Traitors. Spies. An Historical Novel by Andie Newton

 

Both men leaned in, only to back away in shock after reading about the Monsigny performance and their special guest of honor. Smith took his glasses off. “Date and time of Hitler’s whereabouts.” “My God, sir. This is proof we can’t stop now!” Guy smiled broadly. “We have to call the Air Ministry, get a flight in the diary.” Smith shook his head. “Afraid not.” 

Prologue - Somewhere over France 

The pilot had been trained to fly his RAF Whitley over enemy territory at night, memorizing the bends of the French coastline, the railways, and the location of the villages, while trying to avoid German emplacements. He was prepared for almost everything that night except for a change in the weather. Thick clouds blanketed the moon, dangerously concealing the cliffs along the shore and threatening not only the crew’s lives but the fifty special agents he was ordered to drop over Belgium. It didn’t take long before the pilot had flown off course, lost above enemy territory with only a vague idea of where they were when anti-aircraft fire popped against the fuselage. Tink, tink, tink, tink… As the pilot struggled to keep his crew alive and the aircraft steady in the air, he got annoyed with himself for even flying at all. Why was he taking such risks for pigeons? Pigeons indeed. He’d had quite the discussion with his supervisor about the birds before he’d taken off from the airfield at Newmarket. Nobody at the Air Ministry thought messenger pigeons would win the war. Nobody. He’d heard the few pigeons that survived previous missions had flown back with hand-drawn cartoons and personal messages to family, but no hard, usable intelligence. Definitely not information that was worth his life or his crew’s, he’d decided. He shouted to one of the crewmen in the back. “Dump the cargo!” “But we don’t know where we are, sir!” he answered. “We’re turning around,” the pilot said, hands white as chalk gripping the yoke, “and I’m not taking those birds back up again! Dump the bloody things!” A barrage of enemy bullets punched holes in the wing. “Now!” he barked. The crewman pushed the pigeons out of the plane as the enemy fired—all fifty of them, individually packaged in tiny bird boxes with parachutes like agents of war. “Rest in peace, you poor little buggers,” he said as they spiraled toward their doom. 

~~~

The story begins in 1944 and the German soldiers have invaded France. As is known, war brings nothing but misery for the citizens in a country--no matter which country it is... We meet the main characters--three sisters who have lost much and have been forced to become seamstresses in a little shop which barely provides for their needs... But it is now night and Gaby has heard noises in the house and hurried downstairs to discover what is happening. It was known widely that the German soldiers would often visit homes, taking anything and everything they wanted. But why had they picked this house? Perhaps they knew there were no men? She shivered at the possible ramifications...

When she discovered that it was only Martine, her sister, she felt both relief and disgust. Martine was just coming from the basement, she was dirty and was hesitant to explain what she was doing. She had to ask, "are you hiding a boy." which could really cause problems. But, no, that was not the case. Even as they stood there looking at each other, an outside noise made them stand rigidly, counting steps, trying to determine how many there were... Two were talking to their neighbor, who was a bossy, nosy French woman, and two were heading to their home...

Both of the sisters now worried, would they search the basement which, of course, had something to hide, even though Gaby didn't know what... And, of course, a search soon began, moving about, one plunking on the piano which Gaby greatly resented. But it was she who thought fast enough, telling them don't forget to check the closet, maybe they needed a coat? Interested in buying one? Explaining that they were seamstresses who used the old coats for patching others which were damaged and could not be replaced due to the rations...

But it was that late visit that was to begin confusion and turmoil for the women who now was seen as being able to provide something that, indeed, a German leader needed... He wanted her to teach his step-daughter how to play the piano!

It was wartime, and while everybody hated the invaders, there were those who were French who either willingly or not were forced to connect in some way with the invading troops. Good French refused. But if somebody was forced into it, they were seen as Bad French... Which could lead to problems in getting the rations that were due them. That was already a problem for the sisters who had, as a firm agreement by the three, chose to share rations with a mother who needed help given her son's health.

Gaby had tried to refuse to teach the little girl, but the Commandant knew of this arrangement and threatened to take it away if Gaby refused his request.

And what was in the basement? Why, it was a pigeon, a carrier pigeon in fact; and it had been thrown out of the plane, but saved by Martine... Of course, Simone's, a sister who was now home from sneaking out to meet her beau, plan was to eat him! But Martine knew that the pigeon was used to spy and was thinking about how to help that happen! And soon that pigeon was flying back to its home...

Bombing had occurred and Martine realized that it had hit where the map that had been attached to the pigeon had designated! The sisters pledged together, they would work with the pigeons whenever they came across one--or went out and captured those locked in by their neighbors--they would become spies!

A loss by Gaby had earlier forced her to reject her schooling, her future in music...But now Gaby was also forced to go to the home of the Commandant where she would teach... If she was seen going into his house, she would forever after be called a bad French...But even there, Gaby was caught in secrets when she realized that the little girl had already been taught in her former life, but is afraid to reveal that...

And as Gaby taught, they would in secret allow the little girl to play what she wanted--hiding when the Commandant was in the house, bound by running scales or picking out the notes one by one...

But now, Gaby was also seeking possible secrets that could be sent out via the pigeons...The sisters had been able to hide a small radio and waited for a message. Beethoven's 5th was the signal!

And among all that, a man fell in love--in love with a woman who had created such a beautiful piece of music that he could not help but fall deeply in love... For Gaby had once created the masterpiece and the music was now being used to prove her identity... and before the book ended, they were to meet! What a beautiful additional plot to the book! And, how I wished that there was really a creation on piano that was later named and published... Sadly, only the love it produced was to remain...

People's lives change during wartime. Not because they want to have them changed, but because, sometimes, those who seek power or those who are greedy or violent... bring it about...

It is impossible to read The Secret Pianist without thinking about what is happening across the world today. Hitler's leadership of the country was quite familiar to what we are watching each day... Putin for instance, a president of Russia who seeks power over more territory and decides to invade Ukraine...

Iran's Hamas attacks a music festival in Israel, but, is really unprepared for fighting against the power of Israel. However, the Prime Minister of Israel, who was already being pressured to vacate his position due to his desire for power, a willingness and seemingly desire for violence, no matter who may be killed... is going beyond what is necessary...

In the United States, under a former president who chose to use violence to stay in office also reflects how war can affect an entire country... when his followers attacked the nation's Capitol to try to stop finalization of the election!

Andie Newton, however, succeeds in centering in on just those who wish to stop the violence and are willing to work behind the scenes to make it happen. Many are doing that today. But Newton's novel, while difficult to read, knowing that people are being killed, starved, and more too horrible to mention, and there are so many mere citizens of a country affected, is a wonderful way to enter into history to see just how, exactly, ideas such as carrier pigeons, can be conceived which are able to stop and, hopefully, prevent a longer war than necessary. Her story is wonderfully developed within a devastating framework. The characters are wonderfully drawn, especially those who are participating as Spies (very hard to determine who is good and bad French) or as Traitors... And, of course, for me, using music as a central role throughout the book deserves Kudos for excellence by the author!

This historical novel has no actual scenes of violence. I can recommend it highly for those who, especially these days, want to learn more about how things can occur behind the scenes. The three sisters are delightful in their different personalities, yet who, through a difficult period, chose to maintain a sisters' promise to not act unless they all agreed. A difficult thing that rarely occurs, but which had to be accepted during such a time of devastation. Again, conceptually, this writer presented us with a novel that has much to share and much to think about! It is highly recommended!

GABixlerReviews

Linda Watkins Changes Genre with Her New Steve Daniels Mystery Series - With Platform Shoes as First Book!

 

“Murder is like potato chips:

you can't stop with just one.”

                          ― Stephen King, Under the Dome

WE HIT THE road, driving back to the Last Call. Myra offered me the bottle, but I refused. I’d already had a couple of drinks and the last thing I wanted was to have an accident that might kill us both. “You go ahead,” I said. “I’ll catch up to you later when we get to the bar.” Myra grinned and lifted the bottle to her lips. By the time we got to the Last Call, the bottle was almost empty. Acknowledging that Myra was pretty high already, I wondered briefly about the wisdom of her having more to drink. Kathy had said Myra was a war widow and taking advantage of her was not something I wanted to do. But she didn’t act like any widow I ever knew, so I decided to just go with the flow and see what happened. When we arrived at the bar, we went in and sat at my usual table in the back. The waiter came right over. “Captain Daniels,” he said. “What can I get you and the lady?” “Bring us a bottle of my brother Jack,” I replied. Myra looked at me puzzled, then laughed. “Oh, I get it. You’re a real card, Steve!” “Yeah, that’s me, all right.” The waiter brought the bottle and two glasses and left them on the table. I poured us each about two fingers, then raised my glass. “To the war,” I said. “May we win it in a jiffy.” Myra nodded. “And, to all those who gave their lives so we could sit here getting soused.” As she spoke, I noticed a dampness in her eyes and knew who she was talking about. “Yeah,” I replied. “To the heroes.” Myra looked at me gratefully. “Heroes,” she whispered, then tossed back half of her drink. 

We sat in silence for a moment, then she smiled. “I want to play something on that jukebox. Got a dime?” I pulled some change from my pocket and handed it to her. Grinning, she pushed back her chair and skipped over to the jukebox that sat in the corner of the room. Bending over, she studied the music menu and I noticed just about every man in the room had his eyes on her plump derriere as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Finally, beaming, she turned as the sound of the Andrews Sisters’ Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy bounced off the walls of the room. “Come on,” she said, reaching her arms out to me. “Let’s boogie!” I grinned and shook my head. “No can do, honey. Remember, I got a bum leg.” She stuck her lip out in a pout, then turned to face the rest of the bar’s patrons. “Anyone?” she asked. The words had barely left her mouth when a green corporal stood up and took her hand. “I’m game,” he said as he escorted her to an empty space in the back that served as a makeshift dance floor. All eyes were glued to them as he tossed her about the floor in a frantic jitterbug. I leaned back in my chair, sipping my drink, until the song ended. A flushed and happy Myra thanked the young man, then returned to our table as the soft baritone of Dick Haymes singing You’ll Never Know filled the room. 

“You can dance to this one, can’t you?” she pleaded. “We don’t have to move. We can just sway.” I put down my drink, took her hand, and pulled her into my arms, surprised at how nicely her body fit against mine. I closed my eyes, inhaling the soft scent of coconut shampoo in her hair, as we moved to the music. When the song ended, she remained in my embrace. “Isn’t there someplace we can go?” she whispered, looking up at me. “Actually,” I replied softly. “There is. I live here. Upstairs.” Without another word, we separated. I grabbed the bottle and glasses, then took her hand and led her through the door to the stairway. When we arrived at my room, I opened the door, allowing Myra to step inside. “Gee, this is nice,” she said, reaching for my hand and pulling me to her. As I wrapped my arms around her, I kicked the door shut with my foot. The heat coming off of her was incredible and I leaned over, pressing my lips to hers. We kissed, chastely at first, but then with passion as our tongues danced to the heat of our desire. My hands found her round bottom and I pulled her tightly to me. When she felt my arousal, she moaned softly. At this point, my vow to respect her war widow status had flown out the window. I hadn’t been with a woman since England and that was before I was shot down. I’m afraid at this moment, my physical needs completely overcame any sense of morality I had left. The fact that she seemed more than willing to accommodate me didn’t hurt much either. Together, we fell on the bed, both desperately pulling at our clothing, needing to get as much off as possible so that we could succumb to our desires. Her blouse unbuttoned, I let my hands roam her generous breasts as I pressed myself to her. She reached down and undid my trousers. “Now,” she whispered huskily. “Now.”

 Never one to disagree with a lady, I shrugged off my pants, pulled up her skirt, and snaked my fingers under the lace of her panties. Slipping them down over her bottom, I pulled away and reached into the nightstand for what the Brits called a “French letter.” In the States it was better known as a rubber. Myra reached up and stilled my hand. “No,” she said. “It’s not necessary. I want to feel you inside me.” I looked at her questioningly. “What do you mean, not necessary?” She sighed. “After my little boy was born, there were complications. They took my uterus and ovaries. I’m sterile, so you don’t need to protect me.” “You sure?” “I’m sure.” Without another word, I turned back toward her and resumed the dance we’d started. When I entered her, she was hot and tight and exactly what the doctor ordered. She raised her hips to meet mine, then in one surprising movement, shifted her weight so I was on my back and she was on top of me. Clenching me tightly, she shrugged off her blouse and undid her bra clasp, letting those spectacular bosoms fall gently into my waiting hands. She knew what she was doing and soon I reached the point of no return. Quickly, I rotated our bodies so I was on top for the final moments. Surprisingly, we came together, something, in my experience, only happens  in movies or with seasoned lovers. Spent, I collapsed on top of her. For moments, we lay panting, each trying to catch our breaths and ease the pounding of our hearts. 

Finally, I rolled off of her. “Cigarette?” I asked. “Yeah,” she replied. Pulling off my trousers, which were bundled around my ankles, I hiked up my shorts and walked a bit unsteadily over to the dresser where a pack of Luckies sat waiting for me. I picked up the pack and my zippo, returned to the bed, standing next to it. I pulled two smokes from the pack and, doing my best Paul Heinreid “Now Voyager” interpretation, put them both in my mouth and lit them with the lighter. I inhaled, then passed one on to Myra. “Thanks,” she drawled. I took a hit, then looked at her. “Tell me,” I said softly. “If you don’t mind my asking, how did you get over it? I mean, the surgery.” She gave me a wry smile. “It weren’t easy. Davey, that’s my husband, was on a mission when I went into labor. I didn’t know what happened until I woke up. His folks, well, they’re real born-again Christians. Holy rollers, you know. His mom was there when I came to, quoting scripture that seemed to blame me for what happened. My baby boy was fine. I just couldn’t have any more children.” “What happened when Davey found out?” Myra took a deep drag. “Well, it was the day after I gave birth when he got home. He came to the hospital carrying the biggest bouquet of daisies and such that I’d ever seen. He handed me the flowers then went to look at his son, who was in a bassinet near my bed. He picked him up and I’ll never forget what he said.” “What?” She grinned. “He said, ‘This is the damnedest best baby boy in the whole United fucking States.’ I remember smiling at him and then his mother pulled out her Bible and started again quoting scripture — stuff ‘bout being fruitful and shit. Davey, he turned to her and gave her one hard stare, then he came and sat on the side of my bed. ‘Darling,’ he said, ‘I know about the surgery and it’s okay. Just think, now we don’t have to worry about counting days or wearing condoms. Now, honey, we can just fuck our lights out anytime we want!’” I laughed. “Sounds like he was a regular guy.” Myra smiled. “He was. He was the best. I miss him like crazy, but I know he wouldn’t want me wearing black and staying home and such. As long as I take good care of his kids, and I do, he’d want me to get as much fun out of life as I can.” I nodded. She was a good and honest woman and it sounded like her husband had been a standup guy. 

“Another thing, Steve, this,” she said, indicating the bed, “is about all I want. Davey was the love of my life and I’m not looking for another one. A roll in the hay once in a while, some good conversation, and whiskey — well, that’s about all I want. Understand?” I nodded again. “Understood, Myra. We’re on the same wavelength. I’m not looking for a rose-covered cottage either. What say we just be, mmmm, f*** buddies?” For a moment, Myra looked shocked, then she laughed. “Yeah, that’s it! F*** buddies! And speaking of f***ing, how about you get back over here right now.”

I enjoyed this scene...This was undoubtedly the plight of many military widows, left alone, trying to deal with the loss of her husband and needing to take care of their child, on her own. I added more music just because I enjoyed the selections popular at that time. Here's to all those military widow heroes who, in their own way, also fought in that war!

~~~

Steve Daniels had been hurt in the war and sent home with an injured leg. He had been assigned to teach flying instead of continuing the career of flying that he had always dreamed of. It was 1943 and Steve was just 31. Unexcited by his new assignment was being kind, but he would wait to see how it went. 

His first need was a good meal, a place to stay and wheels. He had been referred to the Last Call and found just about all that he could possibly need, especially a room that was vacant because of the nightly noise, which he wouldn't mind, and especially since it had inside facilities for basic personal care and coffee in the morning! What he hadn't been planning on so quickly was seeing an attractive lady that set him thinking about just how long it had been...

The problem was that she was married... To the commandant of the base! A Commandant that questioned him carefully, almost too carefully, on his first day. 

Steve hadn't tried to become a hero, but when he was shot down, he remembered to pull out the photos that had been shot and taped it to his chest. He had been found by locals, cleaned up by a local vet, and set to sail alone, with a few staples to hopefully last until he reached shore. He had pulled himself up onto shore and the next time he knew where he was he was in the hospital... The physical issues had been addressed as he left for his new assignment, but, he had to admit to himself, mentally he was still having dreams that threw him back during those last few days after being shot down...

Nor had he planned to try anything with the beauty he had seen, once he knew who she was. But when she contacted him and asked to meet, he knew he would, even though another woman he had met earlier had warned him that she, the commandant's wife was...trouble...

But the heart wants what the heart wants??? Well, by the time I finished the book, I was thinking along with his lawyer... Men! In any event, Steve became involved with and fell hard for the commandant's wife.

And the Commandant was later murdered...

And Steve was arrested and convicted and placed in jail...

I was surprised when the novel includes an entire legal case, which I thoroughly enjoyed. The counsel for the defense was named by the Army as were the jury members. The Prosecutor had done a good job, so much so that as mentioned, Daniels was convicted and placed in jail. Although they quickly filed an appeal and continued to look for the eye witness, who had left town, that could clear Daniels.

Watkins has done an excellent job of creating the setting of what was happening in the early 40s, even to cover the race relations at that time. Using Steve's connection to Black servicemen with whom he had worked, he would make it clear that he did not appreciate the prejudice that some people chose to demonstrate. 

The reality of the ending was unsettling to me, yet, even if I was unhappy with how it ended, I understood that it had to happen the way it did. Personally, I was not impressed with Steve Daniels as a main character. Linda Watkins--is he going to get his act together next time? LOL I'll give him one more chance. LOL I've read Noir before but don't remember its being such a turnoff for me...Yet the book, written to match the definition, is excellent for this genre.  Linda Watkins has traditionally given me books that I love...well... I've finally found one that I could say it's a great book, but... I was disappointed with the ending... Well written, characters carefully and correctly drawn, but, just... Men! By the way, I did love the female lawyer who came into the story via the murder court case. And her role was, at least for me...perfect!

Linda Watkins has become one of my favorite authors whose work, when I get a notice, will usually be immediately purchased. If you enjoy historical novels, this book was exceptionally well done for the time period. Check it out! And if you disagree with my assessment of Captain Daniels, let me know why! Would love to hear your thoughts!

GABixlerReviews

Author Donna Solecka Urbikas, Guest Blogger, Shares "How My Past Illuminates the Political Issues of the Present"

How My Past Illuminates the Political Issues of the Present

By Donna Solecka Urbikas, Author

See My Review!

The whole time that I was growing up I can distinctly remember my parents’ conversations about Communism and World War II and how that war had devastated our family.

First it was my mother and my half-sister’s deportation from Poland to a labor camp in Siberia and their eventual escape and refuge in India, by way of the Middle East.  

Then it was my Polish officer father’s imprisonment in a Soviet prisoner-of-war camp and how he barely escaped being one of the 22,000 officers and intellectuals murdered by the Soviets in the Katyń Forest Massacres.  

After his release from prison, my father fought with the Polish Army against the Germans in the Middle East and Italy.  My parents first met in that whole turmoil and again years later in England after the war, afraid to return to what was then Communist Poland.  I was born in England and we came to America when I was a young child.

The talk of war was a constant in my life as was the evils of Communism which my parents witnessed during the war and what they learned from our family in Poland during those repressive Communist years.  We were political refugees, displaced persons, traumatized immigrants, and we wanted nothing more than to live in peace and have a place we could trust to be our safe and prosperous home.  

America Provided that...

America provided that and we were thankful by assimilating, becoming US citizens, working hard, getting educated, and contributing to our communities, both Polish and American.

Watching the daily news these days of other political refugees seeking asylum, being killed as collateral in what seems a never-ending war in the Middle East, being denied entry as refugees to other countries, including the US, being targets of brutal discrimination brings back those childhood memories and our struggles trying to find refuge and to assimilate in what was for us a foreign country.

My father rightfully predicted that “there will always be war in the Middle East.”  I found that ominous from my young vantage but today, I regret that his prediction has held true during the course of over 70 years since World War II ended.  

Yet most of those people do not want war, surely not the women and children being murdered. 

Yet most of those people do not want war, surely not the women and children being murdered.  They want only what we wanted.  It was always said in our family and among our Polish friends that people in America really don’t know war because no bombs ever fell on anyone’s head on American soil, no one ever lost all their possessions, no one suffered disease and hunger.  

We have a sense of outrage and devastation from the 9/11 attacks but magnify that a hundred, a thousand fold, maybe more, and maybe then Americans will appreciate the struggles going on in the Middle East and in other oppressive countries.

During the course of writing my book, I came to realize that if we are not engaged in war, we are preparing for one, or dealing with the consequences of one.  My father always said war is the result of the battle over resources, be they land, water, food, people.  With our increasingly crowded planet, with the loss of species habitat, destruction of valuable ecosystems, increasing climate change, and the growing disparity between rich and poor, we are on a course of eventual destruction of our own species, due in large part to war.  

It is only through our political will that we can reverse this process before it is too late.

~~~

Donna Solecka Urbikas was born in Coventry, England, and immigrated with her parents and sister to Chicago in 1952. After careers as a high school science teacher and environmental engineer, she is now a writer, realtor, and community volunteer. She lives in Chicago with her husband.

Donna Urbikas, thank you so much for sharing this article 

at Book Readers Heaven!

Celebrating Adolfo Caso's Birthday...and Latest Book, Boy Destined to America! and More!

Happy Birthday Adolfo!

Now We Are Free

Adolfo wrote this book in 1956, as a challenge to Professor Holmes, who, in his creative writing course, made the following recommendations to would-be authors: 1. Write about things you know intimately. 2. Write about things within your reach. 3. Remember grammar can be corrected; a good story is not generally easy to fabricate...

Against all odds, Adolfo completed the manuscript of more than 300 pages, and put it away for a later revision. However, he forgot about it...

until now...

Two weeks after the big movement, before the sun was setting, Adolfo came out of his kitchen to feed the chickens in the barn. When he came in the open, he saw a rubicund sun projecting brilliant and colorful rays across the heaven. Few cumulus clouds travelled the sky along the horizon where the sun's rays penetrated them, making a heavenly picture. He had seen the picture of Heaven on Holy Cards which the church gave out to the parishioners. These were only concepts of artists. Adolfo saw where the so-called inspired men of art received their inspiration. The heaven was as beautiful and fantastic as the cards showed, with all the colors, the clouds, the rays. They were all part of a painting he had once seen in his church. It was one by a certain Fra Lippi who painted "The Adoration of Christ," The air itself was sweet and placid, with breezes pervading through, making Adolfo feel exhilarated, as if something wonderful was about to happen. He stood there motionless, absorbing this strange sensation as he let his soul soar up into the sky to wander with clouds, rays, and emptiness...
~~~

Given the circumstances under which this book was written, i.e., 30 years ago, as a creative writing class activity challenge, I hesitate to say that this is a real biography of the author during his early life. It is written in fiction form and reads as a family drama and easily grabs readers attention... Nevertheless, with the main character's name being Adolfo, it was hard for me not to make the assumption that it was the author's story...

At least until later in the book when a murder occurs. It was then I thought that it might really be the first fictional novel written by the author. I still don't know. What I do know is that, since I have been on-line friends with the author for more than 10 years, I realized how we really have little personal experience and knowledge of that individual...

When I began to read the story, I found myself starting to cry almost immediately. This is the story of a young boy, born into a family that was created by an arranged marriage. The father was cruel and abusive of his new wife right from the beginning and treated her as a second-class citizen. He would, supposedly to show respect to his father, make every cent of the household funds be given to his wife through his father. In my mind, I believed that he was not even interested in establishing a partnership of any sort with his wife...except to bear children. Even then, he was not satisfied because so many of their children were girls...

Adolfo never met his father until he was near his teens. His father had left to seek work in America and stayed...Then he made arrangements for his first son to go. Then two daughters. His wife, Prisca, Anne a daughter and his youngest, Adolfo, were left back in Italy. She was taking care of his parents! While she barely had time and opportunity to visit/care for her own father...

Fictional or not, I hated the father character!

What came next in the book startled me...We are there in the little village, Passo Eclano, where Adolfo lived with his family, when the Germans invaded during the early part of WWII...and through to the time when the Americans had arrived... Notable to me was that, with the naive youth of a boy, Adolfo was soon talking and friendly with soldiers from both sides. With a sweet tooth that later got him in trouble, Adolfo was thrilled when soldiers would offer candy and other gifts, sometimes hoping to get things back that should never have been bargained for, like the young daughters of the village families.

One of the first things I noticed in reading the book was the brilliance of this author, as he was accepting a challenge from his creative writing instructor. Anybody reading this novel will quickly verify that this man was a man born to write. Even as a child, he was already searching for and looking to the external world, at its beauty, at its majesty, and forming his thoughts in words, trying to capture a vision through his words.

The second thing I came to know was that Adolfo was a sensitive boy, prone to become emotionally involved with his surroundings--the good and the bad--and quickly learning to apply his intelligence toward solving issues that his childhood was thrusting upon the happy young boy. It was when he first saw the slaughter of bombs, with pieces of men, women, and children lying about him on the road where he was walking, that readers actually begin to see him beginning, early, to a maturity that he really should not have been facing... We are proud of him as he began to see what was wrong, both within the family and in the world around him. This is a "coming of age" book that no child should have had to go through...

Getting to know his mother, his sister, as well as grandparents and other relatives prepared us, but still proved to be heartbreaking when it seemed that the family remaining in Italy were pushing them out so that they could take the good name and reputation that had been held...and claim it, only to use and abuse it for their own benefit. It was clear that Adolfo and his mother had a deep, close personal relationship with God, even though it seemed that He never listened to their prayers...

The knowledge that the fears and hardships during the war, were far less than what pain and anguish had been poured on the three family members who had been left in Italy, was difficult to understand... just as it is for all of us in family disputes...

The combination of the war, together with an absent father from part of his family being purposely kept in another country creates a provocative, infuriating, story line that tears emotions from readers without hope of being able to understand or put aside how cruel man can be to another man, including family members...

The book closes soon after Adolfo arrives in America where he was destined to be. Anybody doing a computer search about this man will quickly realize what he was to achieve as an adult. It is impossible to not wonder, would he have achieved as much if he'd had another early childhood. This book is engaging, easily able to sink into the story...but there will also be poetic prose where Adolfo explores philosophical issues that affect all of us who live in this world together. A superlative, inspiring story...

GABixlerReviews

And more congratulations are due...

Col. Adolph Caso

Added as Honoree by

Smithsonian Air and Space Museum

• Wall of Honor Location:

  Foil: 12 Panel: 4 Column: 1 Line: 30

• Wall of Honor Level:

  Air and Space Friend

• Dedicated Panel:

  Tuskegee Airmen

Col. Retired, publisher of first edition – 1955 – of Charles Francis Seminal work: – the Tuskegee Airmen; co-author of 4th edition of same.

Added: December, 2016!

Adolph Caso, Italian publishing company Executive. Decorated cavaliere Republic of Italy; Fulbright scholar, 1966; Teaching fellow Harvard University, Cambridge, Massachusetts, 1964. Caso, Adolph was born on January 7, 1934 in Mirabella, Avellino, Italy. Came to the United States, 1947. Son of Raffaele and Prisca (DeLuca) Caso. Bachelor, Northeastern University, 1957. AM, Harvard University, 1965. Director binlingual education Waltham (Massachusetts) Public Schools, 1964-1983. President, editor Branden Publishing Company Inc., Boston, since 1983.

Jacqueline by Jackie Minniti - Heartwarming Story Based upon Actual Events... Added to Personal Favorites for 2016...

When Jackie Minniti's father came home from the war, he had a very personal, heartwarming story to tell family and friends...and he would continue to share it throughout the years until, finally, when he was becoming older, he talked to Jackie about writing about the little girl that was her namesake...

At first she couldn't imagine an approach to an entire book...but then she started thinking about the child Jacqueline, what she was like and ultimately realized that her story would make a great middle grade children's historical novel.
 
"Your father says you're a writer. He's been telling me the most amazing story. You've got to write a book  it..."I have a daughter in sixth grade," he said. "She doesn't know anything about World War II. She'd love to read a story like this. And it could help her learn history...

I would make only one comment to her plan... it is also a beautiful family drama that is bound to be treasured by adults as well!

WINNER OF:

Eric Hoffer Book Award

Literary Classics Seal of Approval

http://www.jackieminniti.com/teaching-materials.html

Note: Click for supplemental downloads

 ...supplemental teaching materials are available as free downloads for teachers and home schoolers. Each activity is cross-referenced with the Common Core Standards for Grades 4-8 Language Arts/Literacy and Grades 6-8 History.

"It is nearly nine fifteen."

Monsieur Bergier turned the volume down until Jackqueline could barely hear the radio. The adults huddled around the kitchen table. They'd been listening to Radio Paris, the official government station. Now Monsieur Bergier twisted the knob until he heard the first notes of Beethoven's Fifth Symphony.

Madame Bergier glanced nervously around the room. "David, heck the curtains. Make certain no one can see in."

David got up from his seat by the stove where a single candle provided the room's only light. He'd been stitching a yellow Jewish star onto a shirt. David was learning to be a tailor, like his father, and was becoming skilled with a needle and threat. After smoothing the curtains over the windows, he made a face at Jacqueline and returned to his work.

The radio cracked with static. Monsieur Bergier adjusted the dial until a voice came through. The adults leaned in closer, their bodies tense.

"Here is London. Today is the fourteen-hundredth day of the struggle of the French population for its liberation."

Jacqueline sat on the floor with Mirian. The baby babbled to the little rag doll Monsieur Bergier had made for her. "Shhh," Jacqueline whispered. "You must be quiet now."

Listening to the British Broadcasting Company was strictly forbidden, punishable by high fines and imprisonment. Maman said Radio Paris spouted nothing but German lies and propaganda, and only through the BBC could the French learn the truth. The announcer reported on military operations and gave coded messages for members of the French Resistance. Jacqueline didn't understand them, but she liked to think one of those messages could be from Papa.

...Monsieur Bergier patted his wife's hand. "The end is near, Sarah," he said. "I have heard rumors. The Americans are coming. We must persevere until then." Monsieur Bergier had a cousin who lived in America, so he knew about such things...

~~~

Minniti's story begins before the Americans came into the war. The Germans had already invaded France and it was only the French Resistance that were helping there in Rennes where they lived.  Jacqueline's father was fighting for France but was located in other cities, until they heard the news...

That Jacqueline refused to accept... 

...from then on she prayed to Saint Bernadette,, who she had loved since her childhood, to bring

him home and would hurry away to watch as each busload of the wounded or prisoners were brought into town...

Could her prayers be answered when they had already received word of his death? Still, Jacqueline prayed for it to be so...

It had been Christmas Eve. He'd come in secret late at night. Since he was a pilot for the Free French Air Force, he had to avoid being spotted by Nazi soldiers...He even brought Jacqueline a Christmas gift--L'Humble Sainte Bernadette, a book about Saint Bernadette of Lourdes.
"I know how much you love to read," Papa said. "This book is about a French girl who was brave and true despite great hardship. She was called by the Blessed Lady when she was only fourteen, just four years older than you. I pray she will watch over you while I am gone.
Gone, Jacqueline thought. Papa, gone? No, it cannot be! She forced her eyes open and realized her thumb was in her mouth. She jerked it out, shocked to have lapsed into a habit she broke when she was five. The words echoed in her mind...
A sudden thought made her bolt upright."
"Maman, do not cry. Papa is not dead," she said. "He is missing, but he will find his way home. He would never leave us..."

~~~

But things were getting worse in Rennes and then one day Jacqueline and her mother's neighbors and friends were taken...Only their son, David, had been out that day. When he returned Jacqueline and her mother explained that they had promised to help protect and keep David safe.  The first thing they did was rip off the yellow stars from all his clothes... He was now a relative that had come to live with them..

They had moved everything possible out of the Bergier's home, but there was always a food shortage and things got bad as there were now three mouths and only Mrs. Falna to keep things together... They never heard anything more about where Mr. and Mrs. Bergier and the baby had been taken...until later...

This video is not specifically related to the book, but is meant to be representative of what Mrs. Bergier later may have told the Falnas...

And then the Americans came...

The sun ducked behind a passing cloud, and Jacqueline could see the man clearly. He was an American soldier. She blinked back the tears that stung her eyes. The soldier had Papa's brown hair and dark eyes. As he passed by, he looked at her and smiled. Even his smile reminded her of Papa's...

His name is Bernardo."

She gasped. Bernardo? It couldn't be a coincidence, Saint Bernadette must have sent him...

I loved the book! Especially that the author had Catholics and Jewish families as friends and helping each other during the hated war, with, of course, the Americans coming in as heroes.

But there are many secondary characters that added greatly to the tone of the period, including a neighbor who was a known collaborator...and a precious one-eyed alley cat that gave the children a secret love as they tried to feed him when there was no extra food to be had...Reader feel like we've entered into the war period with all of its tragedy, while at the same time, see the love and commitment of families to each other and to France.  A truly memorable book of how love conquers and destroys the hate of some who go out only to seek power...

May we always, all, remember the atrocities that occurred during that war...and strive, always, for peace. Thank you Jackie Minniti, and your father!), for sharing your personal story about your beloved namesake!

Don't miss this one!

GABixlerReviews

Jackie Minniti was born and raised in the heart of New Jersey. She spent 25 years as a classroom teacher and was an education writer for the Courier Post. After retiring from teaching, she moved to a small beach town on the west coast of Florida and began writing full-time. She decided to incorporate her classroom experiences into a book that would combine the readability of a novel with the elements of a self-help book and give readers an intimate peek behind the faculty room door. "Project June Bug" is a result of that effort. The story of a dedicated teacher's efforts to help a student with ADHD, "Project June Bug" won several literary awards including an Eric Hoffer Book Award, a National Best Books Award, a Royal Palm Literary Award, a Next Generation Indie Book Award, four Parent to Parent Awards, and a Mom's Choice silver medal. "Project June Bug" was also chosen as Book of the Year by Premier Book Awards. 

Jackie's second novel, "Jacqueline," is a middle grade historical based on an experience her father (a WWII veteran) had while stationed in France shortly after D-Day. It was the only war story he was willing to share and became part of the family lore. Set in Nazi-occupied Rennes in 1944, "Jacqueline" is a tale of faith, family, unlikely friendships and the resiliency of the human spirit. With the drama of fiction and the authenticity of personal history, it is both a story about family and a family's story. "Jacqueline" is published by Anaiah Press and has won an Eric Hoffer Book Award and received a Literary Classics Seal of Approval.

Jackie is currently a featured columnist in The Island Reporter, (See story by clicking assets link below) a publication that serves the South Gulf Beaches in St. Petersburg, Florida. Several of her stories have been included in "Chicken Soup for the Soul" books. She also writes a blog, "Fabulous Florida Authors," featuring some of the outstanding writers from the Sunshine State.

http://www.jackieminniti.com/assets/Jacqueline.pdf