In every war there are stories that do not surface, that are locked away like bluebottles in drawers and kept silent. You can make yourself forget if you try. But sometimes the past can return: in the smell of carbolic soap, in whispers darting through a village after mass, in the colour of an undelivered letter.
Jeanne Nerin and Marie-Angele Baudry grow up side by side in the Catholic village of Ste Madeleine, but their worlds could not be more different. Marie-Angele is the daughter of the grocer, inflated with ideas of her own piety and rightful place in society. Jeanne's mother washes clothes for a living. She used to be a Jew until this became too dangerous. Jeanne does not think twice about stealing food when she is hungry, or about grasping the slender chances life throws at her. Marie-Angele does not grasp; she aspires to a life of comfort and influence.
When war falls out of the sky, the forces that divide the two girls threaten to overwhelm those that bind them together. They must grow up in a hurry, think on their feet, play their part, turn a blind eye, even barter what is valuable to them. In this dizzying new order, widowed hermits, moustachioed lovers and corseted madams look different from every angle, and the truth can be buried under a pyramid of recriminations.
Michele Roberts's new novel is a mesmerising exploration of guilt, faith, desire and judgment, bringing to life a people at war in a way that is at once lyrical and shocking.
