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The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society: A Novel Hardcover – July 29, 2008
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“Treat yourself to this book, please—I can’t recommend it highly enough.”—Elizabeth Gilbert, author of Eat, Pray, Love
“I wonder how the book got to Guernsey? Perhaps there is some sort of secret homing instinct in books that brings them to their perfect readers.” January 1946: London is emerging from the shadow of the Second World War, and writer Juliet Ashton is looking for her next book subject. Who could imagine that she would find it in a letter from a man she’s never met, a native of the island of Guernsey, who has come across her name written inside a book by Charles Lamb. . . .
As Juliet and her new correspondent exchange letters, Juliet is drawn into the world of this man and his friends—and what a wonderfully eccentric world it is. The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society—born as a spur-of-the-moment alibi when its members were discovered breaking curfew by the Germans occupying their island—boasts a charming, funny, deeply human cast of characters, from pig farmers to phrenologists, literature lovers all.
Juliet begins a remarkable correspondence with the society’s members, learning about their island, their taste in books, and the impact the recent German occupation has had on their lives. Captivated by their stories, she sets sail for Guernsey, and what she finds will change her forever.
Written with warmth and humor as a series of letters, this novel is a celebration of the written word in all its guises and of finding connection in the most surprising ways.
Praise for The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Society
“A jewel . . . Poignant and keenly observed, Guernsey is a small masterpiece about love, war, and the immeasurable sustenance to be found in good books and good friends.”—People
“A book-lover’s delight, an implicit and sometimes explicit paean to all things literary.”—Chicago Sun-Times
“A sparkling epistolary novel radiating wit, lightly worn erudition and written with great assurance and aplomb.”—The Sunday Times (London)
“Cooked perfectly à point: subtle and elegant in flavour, yet emotionally satisfying to the finish.”—The Times (London)
- Print length288 pages
- LanguageEnglish
- PublisherThe Dial Press
- Publication dateJuly 29, 2008
- Dimensions5.79 x 1.01 x 8.53 inches
- ISBN-100385340990
- ISBN-13978-0385340991
- Lexile measure930L
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Editorial Reviews
From Publishers Weekly
Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.
From Bookmarks Magazine
Copyright 2008 Bookmarks Publishing LLC
From Booklist
Review
“Traditional without seeming stale, and romantic without being naive . . . It’s tempting to throw around terms like ‘gem’ when reading a book like this. But Guernsey is not precious. . . . This is a book for firesides or long train rides. It’s as charming and timeless as the novels for which its characters profess their love.”—San Francisco Chronicle Book Review
“[The] characters step from the past radiant with eccentricity and kindly humour. [The] writing, with its delicately offbeat, self-deprecating stylishness, is exquisitely turned.”—The Guardian (U.K.)
“I’ve never wanted to join a club so desperately as I did while reading Guernsey. . . . [The novel] is a labor of love and it shows on almost every page.”—The Christian Science Monitor
“I could not put the book down. I have recommended it to all my friends.”—Newsday
“A jewel . . . Poignant and keenly observed, Guernsey is a small masterpiece about love, war, and the immeasurable sustenance to be found in good books and good friends.”—People
“A book-lover's delight, an implicit and sometimes explicit paean to all things literary.”—Chicago Sun-Times
“A sparkling epistolary novel radiating wit, lightly worn erudition and written with great assurance and aplomb.”—The Sunday Times (London)
“Cooked perfectly à point: subtle and elegant in flavour, yet emotionally satisfying to the finish.”—The Times (London)
“A sweet, sentimental paean to books and those who love them. . . . It affirms the power of books to nourish people enduring hard times.”—The Washington Post Book World
“[A] marvelous debut . . . This is a warm, funny, tender, and thoroughly entertaining celebration of the power of the written word.”—Library Journal
“A poignant, funny novel that celebrates the resilience of the human spirit. . . . A treat.”—The Boston Globe
“A sure winner.”—Kirkus Reviews
“Delightful . . . One of those joyful books that celebrates how reading brings people together.”—New Orleans Times-Picayune
“Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows have written a wondrous, delightful, poignant book— part Jane Austen, part history lesson. The letters aren't addressed to you, but they are meant for you. It's a book everyone should read. An absolute treasure.”—Sarah Addison Allen, author of Garden Spells
About the Author
Her niece, Annie Barrows, is the author of the children’s series Ivy and Bean, as well as The Magic Half. She lives in northern California.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
8th January, 1946
Mr. Sidney Stark, Publisher
Stephens & Stark Ltd.
21 St. James's Place
London S.W.1
England
Dear Sidney,
Susan Scott is a wonder. We sold over forty copies of the book, which was very pleasant, but much more thrilling from my standpoint was the food. Susan managed to procure ration coupons for icing sugar and real eggs for the meringue. If all her literary luncheons are going to achieve these heights, I won't mind touring about the country. Do you suppose that a lavish bonus could spur her on to butter? Let's try it—you may deduct the money from my royalties.
Now for my grim news. You asked me how work on my new book is progressing. Sidney, it isn't.
English Foibles seemed so promising at first. After all, one should be able to write reams about the Society to Protest the Glorification of the English Bunny. I unearthed a photograph of the Vermin Exterminators' Trade Union, marching down an Oxford street with placards screaming "Down with Beatrix Potter!" But what is there to write about after a caption? Nothing, that's what.
I no longer want to write this book—my head and my heart just aren't in it. Dear as Izzy Bickerstaff is—and was—to me, I don't want to write anything else under that name. I don't want to be considered a light-hearted journalist anymore. I do acknowledge that making readers laugh—or at least chuckle—during the war was no mean feat, but I don't want to do it anymore. I can't seem to dredge up any sense of proportion or balance these days, and God knows one cannot write humor without them.
In the meantime, I am very happy Stephens & Stark is making money on Izzy Bickerstaff Goes to War. It relieves my conscience over the debacle of my Anne Bront biography.
My thanks for everything and love,
Juliet
P.S. I am reading the collected correspondence of Mrs. Montagu. Do you know what that dismal woman wrote to Jane Carlyle? "My dear little Jane, everybody is born with a vocation, and yours is to write charming little notes." I hope Jane spat on her.
From Sidney to Juliet
10th January, 1946
Miss Juliet Ashton
23 Glebe Place
Chelsea
London S.W. 3
Dear Juliet:
Congratulations! Susan Scott said you took to the audience at the luncheon like a drunkard to rum—and they to you—so please stop worrying about your tour next week. I haven't a doubt of your success. Having witnessed your electrifying performance of "The Shepherd Boy Sings in the Valley of Humiliation" eighteen years ago, I know you will have every listener coiled around your little finger within moments. A hint: perhaps in this case, you should refrain from throwing the book at the audience when you finish.
Susan is looking forward to ushering you through bookshops from Bath to Yorkshire. And of course, Sophie is agitating for an extension of the tour into Scotland. I've told her in my most infuriating older-brother manner that It Remains To Be Seen. She misses you terribly, I know, but Stephens & Stark must be impervious to such considerations.
I've just received Izzy's sales figures from London and the Home Counties—they are excellent. Again, congratulations!
Don't fret about English Foibles; better that your enthusiasm died now than after six months spent writing about bunnies. The crass commercial possibilities of the idea were attractive, but I agree that the topic would soon grow horribly fey. Another subject—one you'll like—will occur to you.
Dinner one evening before you go? Say when.
Love,
Sidney
P.S. You write charming little notes.
From Juliet to Sidney
11th January, 1946
Dear Sidney,
Yes, lovely—can it be somewhere on the river? I want oysters and champagne and roast beef, if obtainable; if not, a chicken will do. I am very happy that Izzy's sales are good. Are they good enough that I don't have to pack a bag and leave London?
Since you and S&S have turned me into a moderately successful author, dinner must be my treat.
Love,
Juliet
P.S. I did not throw "The Shepherd Boy Sings in the Valley of Humiliation" at the audience. I threw it at the elocution mistress. I meant to cast it at her feet, but I missed.
From Juliet to Sophie Strachan
12th January, 1946
Mrs. Alexander Strachan
Feochan Farm
by Oban Argyll
Dear Sophie,
Of course I'd adore to see you, but I am a soul-less, will-less automaton. I have been ordered by Sidney to Bath, Colchester, Leeds, and several other garden spots I can't recall at the moment, and I can't just slither off to Scotland instead. Sidney's brow would lower—his eyes would narrow—he would stalk. You know how nerve-racking it is when Sidney stalks.
I wish I could sneak away to your farm and have you coddle me. You'd let me put my feet on the sofa, wouldn't you? And then you'd tuck blankets around me and bring me tea? Would Alexander mind a permanent resident on his sofa? You've told me he is a patient man, but perhaps he would find it annoying.
Why am I so melancholy? I should be delighted at the prospect of reading Izzy to an entranced audience. You know how I love talking about books, and you know how I adore receiving compliments. I should be thrilled. But the truth is that I'm gloomy—gloomier than I ever was during the war. Everything is so broken, Sophie: the roads, the buildings, the people. Especially the people.
This is probably the aftereffect of a horrid dinner party I went to last night. The food was ghastly, but that was to be expected. It was the guests who unnerved me—they were the most demoralizing collection of individuals I've ever encountered. The talk was of bombs and starvation. Do you remember Sarah Morecroft? She was there, all bones and gooseflesh and bloody lipstick. Didn't she use to be pretty? Wasn't she mad for that horse-riding fellow who went up to Cambridge? He was nowhere in evidence; she's married to a doctor with grey skin who clicks his tongue before he speaks. And he was a figure of wild romance compared to my dinner partner, who just happened to be a single man, presumably the last one on earth—oh Lord, how miserably mean-spirited I sound!
I swear, Sophie, I think there's something wrong with me. Every man I meet is intolerable. Perhaps I should set my sights lower—not so low as the grey doctor who clicks, but a bit lower. I can't even blame it on the war—I was never very good at men, was I?
Do you suppose the St. Swithin's furnace-man was my one true love? Since I never spoke to him, it seems unlikely, but at least it was a passion unscathed by disappointment. And he had that beautiful black hair. After that, you remember, came the Year of Poets. Sidney's quite snarky about those poets, though I don't see why, since he introduced me to them. Then poor Adrian. Oh, there's no need to recite the dread rolls to you, but Sophie—what is the matter with me? Am I too particular? I don't want to be married just to be married. I can't think of anything lonelier than spending the rest of my life with someone I can't talk to, or worse, someone I can't be silent with.
What a dreadful, complaining letter. You see? I've succeeded in making you feel relieved that I won't be stopping in Scotland. But then again, I may—my fate rests with Sidney.
Kiss Dominic for me and tell him I saw a rat the size of a terrier the other day.
Love to Alexander and even more to you,
Juliet
From Dawsey Adams, Guernsey, Channel Islands, to Juliet
12th January, 1946
Miss Juliet Ashton
81 Oakley Street
Chelsea
London S.W. 3
Dear Miss Ashton,
My name is Dawsey Adams, and I live on my farm in St. Martin's Parish on Guernsey. I know of you because I have an old book that once belonged to you—the Selected Essays of Elia, by an author whose name in real life was Charles Lamb. Your name and address were written inside the front cover.
I will speak plain—I love Charles Lamb. My own book says Selected, so I wondered if that meant he had written other things to choose from? These are the pieces I want to read, and though the Germans are gone now, there aren't any bookshops left on Guernsey.
I want to ask a kindness of you. Could you send me the name and address of a bookshop in London? I would like to order more of Charles Lamb's writings by post. I would also like to ask if anyone has ever written his life story, and if they have, could a copy be found for me? For all his bright and turning mind, I think Mr. Lamb must have had a great sadness in his life.
Charles Lamb made me laugh during the German Occupation, especially when he wrote about the roast pig. The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society came into being because of a roast pig we had to keep secret from the German soldiers, so I feel a kinship to Mr. Lamb.
I am sorry to bother you, but I would be sorrier still not to know about him, as his writings have made me his friend.
Hoping not to trouble you,
Dawsey Adams
P.S. My friend Mrs. Maugery bought a pamphlet that once belonged to you, too. It is called Was There a Burning Bush? A Defense of Moses and the Ten Commandments. She liked your margin note, "Word of God or crowd control???" Did you ever decide which?
From Juliet to Dawsey
15th January, 1946
Mr. Dawsey Adams
Les Vauxlarens
La Bouree
St. Martin's, Guernsey
Dear Mr. Adams,
I no longer live on Oakley Street, but I'm so glad that your letter found me and that my book found you. It was a sad wrench to part with the Selected Essays of Elia. I had two copies and a dire need of shelf-room, but I felt like a traitor selling it. You have soothed my conscience.
I wonder how the book got to Guernsey? Perhaps there is some secret sort of homing instinct in books that brings them to their perfect readers. How delightful if that were true.
Because there is nothing I would rather do than rummage through bookshops, I went at once to Hastings & Sons upon receiving your letter. I have gone to them for years, always finding the one book I wanted—and then three more I hadn't known I wanted. I told Mr. Hastings you would like a good, clean copy (and not a rare edition) of More Essays of Elia. He will send it to you by separate post (invoice enclosed) and was delighted to know you are also a lover of Charles Lamb. He said the best biography of Lamb was by E. V. Lucas, and he would hunt out a copy for you, though it may take a while.
In the meantime, will you accept this small gift from me? It is his Selected Letters. I think it will tell you more about him than any biography ever could. E. V. Lucas sounds too stately to include my favorite passage from Lamb: "Buz, buz, buz, bum, bum, bum, wheeze, wheeze, wheeze, fen, fen, fen, tinky, tinky, tinky, cr'annch! I shall certainly come to be condemned at last. I have been drinking too much for two days running. I find my moral sense in the last stage of a consumption and my religion getting faint." You'll find that in the Letters (it's on page 244). They were the first Lamb I ever read, and I'm ashamed to say I only bought the book because I'd read elsewhere that a man named Lamb had visited his friend Leigh Hunt, in prison for libeling the Prince of Wales.
While there, Lamb helped Hunt paint the ceiling of his cell sky blue with white clouds. Next they painted a rose trellis up one wall. Then, I further discovered, Lamb offered money to help Hunt's family outside the prison—though he himself was as poor as a man could be. Lamb also taught Hunt's youngest daughter to say the Lord's Prayer backward. You naturally want to learn everything you can about a man like that.
That's what I love about reading: one tiny thing will interest you in a book, and that tiny thing will lead you onto another book, and another bit there will lead you onto a third book. It's geometrically progressive—all with no end in sight, and for no other reason than sheer enjoyment.
The red stain on the cover that looks like blood—is blood. I got careless with my paper knife. The enclosed postcard is a reproduction of a painting of Lamb by his friend William Hazlitt.
If you have time to correspond with me, could you answer several questions? Three, in fact. Why did a roast pig dinner have to be kept a secret? How could a pig cause you to begin a literary society? And, most pressing of all, what is a potato peel pie—and why is it included in your society's name?
I have sub-let a flat at 23 Glebe Place, Chelsea, London S.W.3. My Oakley Street flat was bombed in 1945 and I still miss it. Oakley Street was wonderful—I could see the Thames out of three of my windows. I know that I am fortunate to have any place at all to live in London, but I much prefer whining to counting my blessings. I am glad you thought of me to do your Elia hunting.
Yours sincerely,
Juliet Ashton
P.S. I never could make up my mind about Moses—it still bothers me.
From Juliet to Sidney
18th January, 1946
Dear Sidney,
This isn't a letter: it's an apology. Please forgive my moaning about the teas and luncheons you set up for Izzy. Did I call you a tyrant? I take it all back—I love Stephens & Stark for sending me out of London.
Bath is a glorious town: lovely crescents of white, upstanding houses instead of London's black, gloomy buildings or—worse still—piles of rubble that were once buildings. It is bliss to breathe in clean, fresh air with no coal smoke and no dust. The weather is cold, but it isn't London's dank chill. Even the people on the street look different—upstanding, like their houses, not grey and hunched like Londoners.
Susan said the guests at Abbot's book tea enjoyed themselves immensely—and I know I did. I was able to un-stick my tongue from the roof of my mouth after the first two minutes and began to have quite a good time.
Susan and I are off tomorrow for bookshops in Colchester, Norwich, King's Lynn, Bradford, and Leeds.
Love and thanks,
Juliet
From Juliet to Sidney
21st January, 1946
Dear Sidney,
Night-time train travel is wonderful again! No standing in the corridors for hours, no being shunted off for a troop train to pass, and above all, no black-out curtains. All the windows we passed were lighted, and I could snoop once more. I missed it so terribly during the war. I felt as if we had all turned into moles scuttling along in our separate tunnels. I don't consider myself a real peeper—they go in for bedrooms, but it's families in sitting rooms or kitchens that thrill me. I can imagine their entire lives from a glimpse of bookshelves, or desks, or lit candles, or bright sofa cushions.
Product details
- Publisher : The Dial Press (July 29, 2008)
- Language : English
- Hardcover : 288 pages
- ISBN-10 : 0385340990
- ISBN-13 : 978-0385340991
- Lexile measure : 930L
- Item Weight : 15.4 ounces
- Dimensions : 5.79 x 1.01 x 8.53 inches
- Best Sellers Rank: #51,293 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)
- #264 in World War II Historical Fiction (Books)
- #784 in 20th Century Historical Fiction (Books)
- #4,300 in Literary Fiction (Books)
- Customer Reviews:
About the authors
Annie Barrows writes for both grownups and children. If you’re a grownup, read this paragraph:
Annie Barrows is the co-author, with her aunt Mary Ann Shaffer, of The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society, published by the Dial Press in 2008. An international best-seller, translated into 38 languages, the novel was adapted into a feature film in 2018. Her best-selling second novel, The Truth According to Us, was published in 2015. Annie lives in Berkeley, California, with her family.
If you’re a kid, read this paragraph:
Wow! Was that boring or what? Annie has written a bunch of books for kids. In fact, she has written NINETEEN books for kids, and all of them are very very good. Mostly, they’re funny too. She has written the award-winning series Ivy + Bean; the also-award-winning Magic Half and its sequel, Magic in the Mix; Nothing, for young adult readers (that means it has bad words in it); a picture book called What John Marco Saw (don’t worry—she didn’t draw the pictures); and The Best of Iggy, which is the first book in a new series about—you guessed it!—a kid named Iggy who does not play the cello, plant flowers by the side of the road, or learn his lesson and become a better person. Still, he’s a pretty great kid.
Mary Ann Shaffer who passed away in February 2008, worked as an editor, librarian, and in bookshops. The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society was her first novel.
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I read it on airplanes and in New Orleans on holiday. Couldn't put it down - well, except between sips of red wine and forays into the French Quarter and finishing it on the descent back home to San Francisco.
How did these authoresses do it? Do what, you ask? Seduce me into caring intensely about these unlikely, ordinary/extraordinary characters through the medium of their letters.
This book is by women, about women (mainly), and probably for women. With so many spot on hilarious comments about men, why would a man read it? Easy answer: because "The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society" is probably the most charming story about the horrors and humors of World War II that anyone would have the privilege to read, especially those of us who pride ourselves on loving the small cadre of brilliant authors (almost all of whom are men) of that exalted era in history, during which time the forces of good actually won out over evil on a global scale.
Yes, the repulsive Nazis play a role here too, but are uplifted by one German man we never meet, Christian, whose unfolding subtle presence takes some of the edge off the monstrous and unforgivable. This one soldier, through his daughter Kit, 4 years old and growing into our beings, saves the entire German nation.
Whereas "If on a Winter's Night a Traveler" by Italo Calvino is about reading, this book is about writing. Its brilliance forms a revival - even if fictional - of the great art of letter writing - funny or nasty, crisp or rambling, to the point or vague, but always endearing. You know, the kind of letters you really wish you could write, maybe once did before e-mail ruined everything (including spelling), but especially those correspondences that simply demand an instant reply where you stopped everything, put pen to paper, dashed it off, sealed it into an envelope (with no copy made), and posted it forthwith.
There's only one point where the story is helplessly predictable - during the found Oscar Wilde papers, but even that stupendous episode is fun - no, its' greatly entertaining.
Hang in there for the first 50 pages, don't try to force a change in the perfect structure of the story, slow down and put yourself there --- 1946 right after the war -- on the only piece of UK soil ever to be occupied by Germans (for 5 years !!) as it recovers its soul. The Guernsey folks reminisce and tell their stories of those terrible and glorious 5 years. The 12 to 15 key players are all vivid, knowable and individual. Every character is clear and definitive. There's a believable story line centering on Juliet (an author who is not from Guernsey), as she accidentally discovers the path to writing her book about them and, coincidentally, the loves of her life.
Clever, engaging, emotional and bell-ringing clear, it's a 5.
While I knew these things about Guernsey already - that is, the bare facts about its subjugation for 5 years by Germans -- now I want to go there, and I will.
Waiting ever patiently for an idea to come to her is Juliet's dear friend and publisher, Sidney Stark (of Stephens & Stark Ltd.) who also happens to be the elder brother of her very best friend, Mrs Sophie Strachan. Ideas are even less forthcoming when rival American publishing tycoon, Markham V. Reynolds Junior takes to courting Miss Ashton - on the basis that she is the only woman to have ever made him laugh.
And then a letter arrives . . . a letter all the way from St. Martin's Parish, Guernsey - a small island (population approx 42,000) in the English Channel, between Weymouth in England and St. Malo in France.
The letter is from one Mr. Dawsey Adams, who just so happens to be in possession of a book by Charles Lamb called `Selected Essays of Elia', once owned by Juliet, and which luckily contained her old address in the jacket cover. Dawsey Adams has a favour to ask of Juliet - if she would kindly give him the name of a London bookshop who could find him more books by Charles Lamb, and perhaps a biography? You see, Mr Lamb's essays helped Dawsey a lot during the German's five-year occupation of Guernsey - and he credits the essayist, and his own `Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society', with keeping him sane during the war.
Never one to shy away from curiosity, Juliet replies with a Charles Lamb book for Dawsey, and burning questions about this Potato Peel Pie Society . . . thus opening a Pandora's box into the little channel island; its inhabitants, their stories, their bravery during the war and the books that they came to cherish.
Juliet starts receiving letters from all of the Guernsey Literary Society members. Amelia Maugery, whose stolen pig founded the Society. Eben Ramsey, who lost his daughter and son-in-law during the war, but who is now enjoying the return of his young grandson, Eli, after a five-year absence. Isola Pribby makes potions for the islanders, has a pet bird called Zenobia, and was haunted by `Wuthering Heights'. Juliet also receives cautionary letters from island busy-body and God-fearing woman, Adelaide Addison, who warns her against associating with such ragamuffins. During her letter-writing, Juliet also learns of Elizabeth McKenna . . . the Guernsey woman who thought up the literary society, and whose defiance of the German soldiers landed her in a concentration camp - she is still missing, but the islanders have hope that she will return - especially because her four-year-old daughter, Christina `Kit' awaits her return.
`The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society' was the 2008 bestseller from Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows. Told entirely in letter-format, the book has been an unmitigated success since its release - and in 2013 it will be turned into a film, to be directed by Kenneth Branagh and starring Kate Winslet.
Believe all the hype you read and hear about this book - it's all entirely true. If anything, it's understated. `The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society' has been on my radar for a few years now, and I'm ashamed to say I was only finally prompted into my reading when I heard that a movie was in the works. Regardless, this is one of those books that, no matter when or how you come to read it, you finish with the satisfactory and transcended feeling that you are better for having known these characters and their story.
The book is entirely in letter format. Beginning with Juliet's letter to her friend and publisher, Sidney Stark, lamenting her book tour that forces her to be outgoing and charming, and despairing at having no ideas for a second novel. When Dawsey Adams's serendipitous letter arrives from Guernsey (courtesy of an old book Juliet donated, now in his possession, which contained her London address on the cover) he unknowingly triggers a chain of events that will lead Juliet to Guernsey and a story all their own.
Through her correspondence with the various members of the town's Literary (and Potato Peel Pie) Society, Juliet begins piecing together the story of Guernsey's five long years under German occupation. The Channel Islands were among the first pieces of English soil to be conquered; much to Hitler's delight (he wrongly thought it would be a hop, skip, and a jump to London from the Channel). The Channel Islands were left defenceless by the British navy, who needed resources closer to home. Luckily, some children and mothers were successfully shipped off the island before the Germans arrived, and were placed in English homes for the duration of the war. What started as a friendly-enough occupation (despite two previous days of bombing) soon turned into a hellish enterprise. The Germans confiscated radios and cut phone cables - the islands were, literally, cut off from the rest of the world for five years. Then the Germans bought in Todt workers (prisoner slaves from all over Europe) - who were worked to death in fortifying the town against attack than never came. The Germans took the islander's food for their own, leaving them little provisions and towards the end of the war, starvation had set in. The price for stealing food or aiding Todt workers was imprisonment, concentration camp or death on the spot.
Through her correspondence, first with Dawsey then Amelia, Isola, Eben and eventually the majority of the islanders, Juliet learns that the founder of the Literary Society was one Elizabeth McKenna. Elizabeth hastily came up with the idea of a Literary Society one night when she and a number of its members were caught by German soldiers in town after curfew - she quickly scrambled a lie together about getting caught up in their reading - a lie that saved them from jail, or worse. They were made to register their club with the commandant, and what started as a ruse quickly progressed into saving grace for many of the Society's members.
Juliet learns of countless acts of heroism Elizabeth McKenna performed; from turning herself into a nurse, to helping hide a Todt worker from the Germans. And it was this last act of kindness that saw her shipped off to a concentration camp, yet to return to the island and her daughter, Kit . . . a daughter, Juliet comes to learn, whose father was a German doctor called Christian Hellman; one of the few well-liked officers on the island. And so Juliet comes to wait, with bated breath like the rest of the islanders, for Elizabeth's return. And in the meantime, she travels to Guernsey herself, to meet these people she has come to care about, and call friend, and perhaps tell a story or two about. . .
This book is a marvel. I had a bipolar reading experience with this one - laughing one moment and crying the next. Juliet is a wonderful narrator; in her early thirties, she's surprisingly relatable in her love life (between the swank American Mark Reynolds, and curiously shy Dawsey Adams) and hilarious in her private sufferings (which she shares with Sidney and Sophie - mostly about how scared she is to end up a cat lady spinster). But this is a book of many voices, and although Juliet is our primary narrator, with the majority of letters being to and from her, it's the islanders who often steal the spotlight.
Isola Pribby is hilarious in her potion-stirring, head-bump-reading ways. Adelaide Addison calls her the island witch, but Isola is just a flamboyant, overly curious gem who goes through a revelation when she reads `Pride and Prejudice' for the first time. Amelia Maugery is a character you'll wish could be your grandmother in real life - a straight-talking woman whose empathy and kindness knows no bounds. And Kit McKenna, Elizabeth's four-year-old daughter, has a glare like Medusa's and an enviably steely spine - one of the best child characters I have read.
Then there's Dawsey Adams - a man close to Juliet in age, he used to be the town recluse (partly because of his terrible stutter) but since meeting Juliet he has come more and more out of his shell, much to the delight of the Literary Society. He's a quiet but compelling man, whose presence commands any room he walks into, and who Juliet cannot help but fall for in the most delicious and heartfelt of romances.
This book is fascinating for the story of the Channel Islands occupation during WWII alone. But what I really loved was the many revelations and proclamations about books - their healing power, ability to bring people together and aid individuals through dark times.
I think Mary Ann Shaffer summarized the book best when she said in her afterword;
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I hope, too, that my book will illuminate my belief that love of art - be it poetry, storytelling, painting, sculpture, or music - enables people to transcend any barrier man has yet devised.
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Marvellous as this book is, equally interesting is its inception. Mary Ann Shaffer had the seed for the story planted in 198o, but she didn't finish writing it until 2008. Sadly, by the time the first manuscript was complete and sold, Shaffer fell ill. Her health would not permit her to finish the editorial and rewriting process, and so she handed the reigns over to her niece, Annie Barrows (author of the children's book series, `Ivy and Bean') who finished the book for her. Mary Ann Shaffer died in February 2008.
`The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society' is now one of my favourite books. It is a story about people overcoming adversity together, and with the aid of characters and authors - in books that helped lift their spirits and take them out of the drudgery and travesty of war. This book will be passed on to my friends and family, for I firmly believe in Juliet Ashton's prediction that "there is some secret sort of homing instinct in books that brings them to their perfect readers," - and I hope that such an instinct finds this book in your hands very soon indeed.
Top reviews from other countries
Por mucho es mejor que la película.
Basically the book is about Juliet, an authoress and it is set in the post-WWII era. Juliet has written a biography about Ann Bronte and a book about WWII life as a fictitious person. The biography wasn't so successful but the second book she wrote, titled Izzy Bickerstaff Goes to War is a humorous take on war life, which was moderately successful. Well Juliet has had a failed engagement and starts to receive flowers from an unknown suitor. Later we find out the suitor is an American, a very rich guy named Mark. Juliet starts to receive letters from a resident of Guernsey who finds out her name in a book by Charles Lamb and there Juliet finds out about "The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society". The name and society was created incidentally. What happened was Dawsey and his friends had a secret party eating pig and if you google potato peel pie: quo-unquo "The potato peel pie is actually a true occupation recipe, which made the most of the limited ingredients available! By winter of 1944, Guernsey was on starvation rations with both locals and soldiers at risk" and one of the friends was drunk on the way home. At the time, Guernsey was under occupation by the German Nazis and so they were caught by the Commandant on the way home, whereupon Elizabeth and all of them make up the Society to escape inevitable punishment by the Nazis. Well, Juliet starts corresponding with the Guernsey residents and decides to write a book about them and their war years. Later on, she decides the book should be a biography style about Elizabeth, the Guernsey resident who died in a concentration camp. Mark and Juliet start dating and Mark asks Juliet to marry him but she says no. Then Juliet decides to visit Guernsey to learn more about the residents and the Society to write her next book on them. There she meets Kit, Elizabeth's child with Christian, a German soldier. They find out Elizabeth, who had been sent to Ravensbruck concentration camp due to sheltering someone from the Nazis has died in the concentration camp and also Christian had died (he dies when his warship gets sunk). Elizabeth's friend from the concentration camp named Remy, a French girl contacts the Guernsey crowd and informs them of Elizabeth's sad demise. Mark and Juliet break up. Juliet falls in love with the guy Kit calls "Dad", ie, Dawsey Adams but suspects Dawsey loves Remy instead. Remy receives an apprenticeship from the French government at a bakery, which was her dream. Juliet wants to adopt Kit and puts those wheels in motion. Juliet finds out Dawsey is secretly in love with her and asks him to marry her and he accepts.
The book is entirely in letters, telegrams and diary entries. It's a very hard way to write a book according to me but the author(s) write in a fun, witty and entertaining way and it is easy to read and understand and enjoy the novel.
I give it 5 stars and recommend it to anyone who would like to read a post WWII era book. Netflix has the movie based on the book and I may be watching it too.