Book review: The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society
The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society by Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows
1946, England. As London and the rest of Europe pick themselves up from the bombed rubble and war-torn fields, Miss Juliet Ashton is wrapping up her book tour for her first bestseller ever, Izzy Bickerstaff Goes to War. Weary of touring as well as of thinking about the war, Juliet tries to brainstorm about her next book, but simply feels uninspired and listless-until the day when a stranger’s letter arrives in her mailbox. It is from Dawsey Adams, an Englishman from Guernsey Island. He explains that as he has a copy of Selected Essays of Elia by Charles Lamb that she once owned (her address is on the inside cover), would she terribly mind it if she give him the name of bookshop in London, so he could order more of his books? Thus begins Juliet’s discovery of Guernsey, and the little-known story of what horrors-and triumphs-its resilient people went through during the German occupation.
I never would have thought that any book described as a “book club pick” and an “epistolary novel” would fast become one of my favorite books. First of all, because the former is usually overrated, and second of all, the last epistolary novel that was wildly successful was a certain section of the Bible-St. Mark’s? St. Paul’s?-and those are riveting to hear every Sunday (apologies for my irreverent sarcasm). But with this book, I’m very happy to be proved wrong.
It’s such a quiet little book, with a simple story of strangers exchanging letters and finding much more in common than they ever thought-but each letter is a powerful one. As much as I read, it’s rare to be so invested, so curious about each and every character, but the authors achieve that so effortlessly. I was intrigued with Dawsey; I felt like Eben was just like my grandfather; Isola cracked me up and reminded me of a particularly hilarious aunt (especially her attempt to be Miss Marple at the end)…I could go on and on. Just as Juliet feels a growing connection to Guernsey, so too do you read those letters feeling as if you want to go to Guernsey like her too.
I think this is the first epistolary novel I’ve read, and I enjoyed its advantages. Events and characters never felt so multi-dimensional and robust before, since you don’t have simply one narrator’s perspective, but several. Elizabeth’s character is fascinating for this very reason-although her own voice is silent, for reasons I won’t spoil, she is practically an Oscar Schindler-like figure on their small island. When the news about her is revealed, my heart just about sunk to the floor. I find that ironic, because I guess that’s how those sending and receiving letters felt back then. We’re so used now to getting replies instantly, and writing quick emails (half of my Gmail account probably reads: meet up? Sure, this restaurant? See you soon!), it’s hard to imagine a world where good or bad news are all contained in the next letter. I don’t know if I’d go back to it, but a pen pal would be nice.
With its charming, witty letters and atmospheric island scenery, it’s easy to forget that this is a wartime novel, and the authors have worked that in so subtly, yet so powerfully, it’s incredible how they did it. There are scenes of such kindness, yet also of such cruelty, in a time of war and in an occupied country (or part of it anyway) that it must be truly disorienting to have to live through those times. One of those powerful scenes in the whole book is when the Guernsey children have to be evacuated, and leave their parents behind. I lost the page now, but Juliet says something along the lines of: “What kind of world is it when we have to send our children away from their parents in order to be safe? Doesn’t that go against every instinct?”
All in all, this slim little book is one I know I’ll re-read and savor-realistic, compassionate, and romantic all at once.
P.S. christina_reads, your comment in your review made me laugh, regarding how it made you cranky that one of Juliet’s suitors was actually not a viable option after all. I just ended up laughing, because he was my main guess, too. It made me think: “Dammit! My gaydar is broken in fiction as well as in real life!”
Favorite quote: “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” (8).
1946, England. As London and the rest of Europe pick themselves up from the bombed rubble and war-torn fields, Miss Juliet Ashton is wrapping up her book tour for her first bestseller ever, Izzy Bickerstaff Goes to War. Weary of touring as well as of thinking about the war, Juliet tries to brainstorm about her next book, but simply feels uninspired and listless-until the day when a stranger’s letter arrives in her mailbox. It is from Dawsey Adams, an Englishman from Guernsey Island. He explains that as he has a copy of Selected Essays of Elia by Charles Lamb that she once owned (her address is on the inside cover), would she terribly mind it if she give him the name of bookshop in London, so he could order more of his books? Thus begins Juliet’s discovery of Guernsey, and the little-known story of what horrors-and triumphs-its resilient people went through during the German occupation.
I never would have thought that any book described as a “book club pick” and an “epistolary novel” would fast become one of my favorite books. First of all, because the former is usually overrated, and second of all, the last epistolary novel that was wildly successful was a certain section of the Bible-St. Mark’s? St. Paul’s?-and those are riveting to hear every Sunday (apologies for my irreverent sarcasm). But with this book, I’m very happy to be proved wrong.
It’s such a quiet little book, with a simple story of strangers exchanging letters and finding much more in common than they ever thought-but each letter is a powerful one. As much as I read, it’s rare to be so invested, so curious about each and every character, but the authors achieve that so effortlessly. I was intrigued with Dawsey; I felt like Eben was just like my grandfather; Isola cracked me up and reminded me of a particularly hilarious aunt (especially her attempt to be Miss Marple at the end)…I could go on and on. Just as Juliet feels a growing connection to Guernsey, so too do you read those letters feeling as if you want to go to Guernsey like her too.
I think this is the first epistolary novel I’ve read, and I enjoyed its advantages. Events and characters never felt so multi-dimensional and robust before, since you don’t have simply one narrator’s perspective, but several. Elizabeth’s character is fascinating for this very reason-although her own voice is silent, for reasons I won’t spoil, she is practically an Oscar Schindler-like figure on their small island. When the news about her is revealed, my heart just about sunk to the floor. I find that ironic, because I guess that’s how those sending and receiving letters felt back then. We’re so used now to getting replies instantly, and writing quick emails (half of my Gmail account probably reads: meet up? Sure, this restaurant? See you soon!), it’s hard to imagine a world where good or bad news are all contained in the next letter. I don’t know if I’d go back to it, but a pen pal would be nice.
With its charming, witty letters and atmospheric island scenery, it’s easy to forget that this is a wartime novel, and the authors have worked that in so subtly, yet so powerfully, it’s incredible how they did it. There are scenes of such kindness, yet also of such cruelty, in a time of war and in an occupied country (or part of it anyway) that it must be truly disorienting to have to live through those times. One of those powerful scenes in the whole book is when the Guernsey children have to be evacuated, and leave their parents behind. I lost the page now, but Juliet says something along the lines of: “What kind of world is it when we have to send our children away from their parents in order to be safe? Doesn’t that go against every instinct?”
All in all, this slim little book is one I know I’ll re-read and savor-realistic, compassionate, and romantic all at once.
P.S. christina_reads, your comment in your review made me laugh, regarding how it made you cranky that one of Juliet’s suitors was actually not a viable option after all. I just ended up laughing, because he was my main guess, too. It made me think: “Dammit! My gaydar is broken in fiction as well as in real life!”
Favorite quote: “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” (8).