The Nightingale
The war! This word, in and of itself, casts a scary shadow that lingers based on how much exposure you've had to the concept. For some kids today, it's something they've only seen in movies and read about in books, and that's wonderful. I hope it always stays that way. For some not-so-lucky kids around the world, though, there are still souvenirs from wartime that remind them something horrible has happened: a family member who got sick after the war, a building that has not been rebuilt yet, or a country that has not stood back up even though years have passed since the war ended. And for some invisible-to-the-world kids, bombs, gunshots, blood, and death are all part of an ordinary day in their lives.
As for me, although I was born during the war, I was lucky enough not to brush shoulders with its horrible pieces. Sure, I remember the tape on windows to prevent possible glass shattering if the planes came too close, but the closest memory I have that could count as a memory of war is the day one of my prisoner of war cousins was coming back home. The war had just ended, and everywhere you went, you could see lights and decorations celebrating the freedom of these POWs as well as light stands remembering the ones who didn't make it.
This book made me think about the missing part of so many wartime stories of my country: the women's war. The ones who were left behind as their men were falling on the battlefields, and they had to keep living and supporting their home and children, and keep hoping this would be over soon. The women in occupied regions who had to deal with the enemy empty-handed and terrified.
The story follows two sisters in occupied France during World War II: the bravery, the sacrifices, the pain, and the love. Vianne is the homemaker, the one who tries to keep calm and peace amidst all the chaos. The "stable" one, the one people feel they can count on. Isabelle is the troublemaker, the "reckless" one. Both of their stories are filled with courage and heroism, each in their own way. Throughout the book, I was thinking about how powerful life is. It reminded me of what Anna Gavalda wrote in her book Someone I Loved: “Life is stronger than you are, even when you deny it, even when you neglect it, even when you refuse to admit it.”
People get through things that one would imagine as unbearable. Courageous people who live to tell the stories and keep the memory of the gone ones alive. It was a great read, definitely one of those stories to remember.