Code Name Verity by Elizabeth Wein

U. S. Cover

Genre: Historical Fiction
Length: 343 pages 

Reviewed by: Willow Locksley 

“We saw it coming—someone saw it coming. We were that little bit ahead of you, and you didn’t realize it. You didn’t realize how advanced the RDF [radar] system was already, or how quickly we were training people to use it, or how far we could see with it. You didn’t even realize how quickly we were building planes of our own. It is true we were outnumbered, but with RDF we saw you coming—saw the swarms of Luftwaffe aircraft even as they were leaving their bases in Occupied France, worked out how high they were flying, saw how many of them were making the raid. And that gave us time to rally. We could meet you in the air, beat you back, keep you from landing, distract you till your fuel ran out and you turned tail until the next wave. Our besieged island, alone on the edge of Europe.” 

Elizabeth Wein, author, resident of Scotland, PhD of Folklore, history enthusiast and self-described “avid flyer of small planes”, brings her knowledge of all these subjects to the pages of Code Name Verity, the stirring story of two extraordinary British girls doing their part during the dark days of World War II. 

Wartime is a time of unlikely friendships. In other circumstances, a sweet, gear-headed girl from the English countryside, and a Scottish aristocrat with a link to William Wallace and a knack for acting, would not likely cross paths, much less become best friends. But that’s exactly what happens when Maddie and Queenie, “Kittyhawk” and “Verity”, pilot and spy, meet. They make “a sensational team”, flying secretly into France by cover of night, working with the French resistance, spying, interrogating, ferrying people and information vital to the downfall of the Nazi regime… and most important of all, telling their story. 

It begins with Verity. “I have told the truth,” she swears. Captured, imprisoned, and tortured by the Gestapo after she mistakenly checks the wrong side of a French street before crossing, she’s destined to disappear into the “night and fog” of the Nazi killing machine once she’s been wrung dry of information. “Write, little Scheherazade,” commands her German captor, and their deal is as simple as that: as long as she writes, she lives. “I AM A COWARD,” she begins. But rather than immediately offering up every traitorous scrap of information she can about the British War Effort, Verity begins her story with Maddie, her dearest friend, whose plane crash-landed shortly after Verity jumped out of it. 

U. K. Cover

 “Maddie had not ever practiced jumping out of a plane, but she had practiced landing broken planes more times than she could count— had, indeed, landed broken planes on plenty of occasions—and both girls knew that if it happened a thousand times Maddie would every time die with her hands on the flight controls rather than trust a blind plunge into darkness. Especially as, like most shot-down British airmen, she spoke only the most basic schoolgirl French and had no clever forged identity to fall back on in Nazi-occupied France.” 

Crafting their shared tale like the great work of literature that it is, she builds it slowly, reveals details even slower, pours out her heart and repeatedly breaks her pencil as the pain and the sorrow and the suspense overwhelm her. “This pile of paper doesn’t stack together very well,” she writes, “—pages and pages of different widths and lengths and thicknesses. I like the flute music that I had to write on at the end. I was careful with that. Of course I have had to use both sides and write over the music, but I wrote very lightly in pencil between the notes, because someone may want to play it again someday. Not Esther Lévi, whose music it was, whose classically biblical Hebrew name is written neatly at the top of each sheet; I’m not stupid enough to think she’ll ever see this music again, whoever she is. But perhaps someone else. When the bombing stops. When the tide turns. And it will.” 

Engagingly written with the insightful expertise of Elizabeth Wein, this is an unforgettable story of friendship and bravery - a work of fiction, set against the dramatic, real-life backdrop of the world’s greatest war. 

And like war in real-life, the story exists within a labyrinth of moral conundrums. When is it all right to lie? Steal? Kill? In particular, commit a mercy-kill? The plot rests heavily on an instance of so-called mercy-killing, something that tainted my overall reaction to the book, which was, up until this point, mostly positive. As a Christian, I believe it is for God alone to decide when we die. I’m not denying that, in war, choices must be made within the blink of an eye, choices that may be difficult to explain or justify afterward. I was prepared to accept this mercy-kill as another ugly consequence of fallen humanity making imperfect choices under extreme duress… until the author staunchly defended it as “the right thing” to do. 

In addition to this, the question of whether women should be in the military is often disputed within Christian circles. (And it’s not a question of whether women are smart, brave, or capable enough.) Feminism is obviously a factor in this story, though not its main purpose. It’s clearly inspired by the real-life women who did play a crucial part in the British War Effort, as pilots ferrying planes from place to place, as radio operators, resistance agents, and spies. Their courage cannot be denied, and should not be overlooked, whatever your stance on this issue. 

Last of all, a fair bit of foul language and the grim realities of Nazi-treatment of prisoners places this book solidly in the mature content category, excluding young and/or squeamish readers. 

What I loved about Code Name Verity: the historical context, the characters, and the planes. It transports the reader to that time period and offers up some ever-needed perspective on our modern day concerns. It’s not a story in perfect unison with the Christian worldview, but even so, I’m glad I read it.

Inheritance by Christopher Paolini

Genre: Fantasy, Youth
Length: 860 pages

Reviewed by: Willow Locksley

Note: Many of my assessments are made in light of the Inheritance Cycle as a whole, but my focus in this review is on the fourth and final book, simply titled Inheritance. The length of this book alone makes it impossible for me to detail every point of interest or concern. With one mild exception, I’ve tried to remain spoiler-free! However, I make the assumption that readers are familiar with the preceding books.

“We are no longer awkward younglings, Eragon. Our enemies may be fearsome, but so are we. It is time we remind them of that.”

So announces Saphira as the final win-or-lose-all battle approaches for Eragon and his comrades-in-arms. Inheritance completes the four-part Inheritance Cycle begun by author Christopher Paolini when he was a fifteen-year-old homeschool graduate, eager to try his hand at writing an epic fantasy. The success of his first book Eragon was bombastic, propelling him and his subsequent work into the major league of Children's Fantasy.

Though his plot has been criticized for borrowing too heavily from Star Wars and The Lord of the Rings, the main draw of Paolini’s writing has ever been the special relationship between his primary characters Eragon and the blue dragon hatchling Saphira. Their deep friendship and shared destiny was the stuff of every child’s dream, while their encounters with danger and their hard-learned-lessons paralleled every adolescence’s reality. As they grew, we grew. And so, it seems, did Paolini. His decision to explore the story from several characters’ perspectives in the second and third books (Eldest and the poorly titled Brisingr, respectively) was for him an exercise in technique, while for his readers it was an exercise in patience. The end result of this protracted development is a fully realized world with a complex history and readers’ invested interest in the outcome of every character’s personal journey. Could Nasuada successfully take up her father’s mantle and lead her rebel army to victory? How much would Murtagh have to sacrifice for freedom and redemption? Was a happy ending still possible for Roran and his young family? And most importantly, what of Eragon, Saphira, and the legacy of the Dragon Riders? While I found conflicted Murtagh to be the most interesting character in the series, I still preferred the chapters told from Eragon’s perspective (whereas Roran’s chapters bored me to tears). Fortunately this book drags in fewer places, refocuses on Eragon and Saphira’s story, and finally brings readers face-to-face with arch enemy Galbaltorix. After lurking in the shadowy background of the story for so long, he surprised me with his commanding presence and well-spoken but twisted words.

The mixed bag of philosophies (some of them just plain weird) that developed in Eldest and Brisingr are still present in Inheritance. The philosophical mire seems to stagnate, however, thanks to a greater emphasis on action as the series rushes toward a conclusion. Christians with a strong grounding in their faith are unlikely to be affected. As for younger readers, a certain amount of maturity is called for in a number of areas. The body count is high, with frequent and detailed descriptions of violence. There is also the recurring (and in my opinion, irritating) element of Eragon’s juvenile infatuation with the elf lady Arya. It doesn’t go much of anywhere, to the chagrin of some readers and the relief of others. Additional romances are only hinted at, while a deal less could have been said about mating dragons. On the positive side, Eragon, Saphira, and their friends repeatedly demonstrate courage, perseverance, and a willingness to lay down their lives for others. Gratitude, forgiveness, and hope define many of their relationships. Without shying away from the tough stuff, it’s clear that Paolini’s goal is to inspire. And he does.

My own enthusiasm for this series slacked off during the years it took Paolini to finish it, but having invested in it so far, I was intent on seeing it through to Inheritance. I’m glad I did. I enjoyed it and felt that my time was not entirely wasted when it came to a satisfying conclusion. Or did it? A few loose ends and Paolini’s promise to return one day to the world of Eragon suggest otherwise. Readers will decide for themselves whether this is a good or a bad thing.

A Voice in the Wind & An Echo in the Darkness by Francine Rivers

Genre: Historical Fiction, Christianity
Length: 496 pages & 430 pages (respectively)

Reviewed by: Laurelyn Aubrey

“God, why can't I cry out the truth from the rooftops? Why don't I have the courage to speak as my father did? I love these people, but I haven't the words to reach them… Who am I but a slave? How do I explain to them that I'm really the one who is free, and they are the captives?”

Courage to speak the truth is a central theme in these first two books of the Mark of the Lion trilogy. The story that Francine Rivers starts in the first book is finished in the second, so I'll treat them as one for the purpose of this review. The narrative begins with a young Jewish girl named Hadassah surviving the destruction of Jerusalem in 70 A.D. after the rest of her family is killed. Taken captive by the conquering Roman army, Hadassah winds up a slave in the household of the Valerians, a wealthy and prominent family of Rome. Jewish slaves aren't unknown to the Valerians, but this slave is more than a Jew: she is a Christian. Although Hadassah feels weak in the faith and lost in this new pagan world, she begins to care about the family she's been forced to serve, and desperately wants them to have the hope that is within her. Her voice is small in a world of luxury and intrigue, immorality and excess, pride and cruelty, gladiators and lions... but Hadassah's simple love for others begins to prove that the Savior she trusts has the power to change even the darkness of the Roman Empire into light.

As soon as I started these books, I saw the writing itself was not going to be a big part of the story's charm. Since I'd heard the author is acclaimed, I was disappointed in the quality of her writing. Rivers fails to follow the basic rule "show, don't tell", and it sometimes seemed like she was writing for the back of a sappy Hallmark DVD instead of a serious adult novel. There are several vocabulary words she repeats as if she didn't have an editor, the plot dragged at times, and her attempts to convey the depths of human emotion didn't always bear up under their own weight. But still… despite the messiness of her brush... I found I cared about her characters and what happened to them more than I expected to. By the end of the story, a considerable amount of that human emotion managed to hit its mark with poignancy.

Once a well-known romance novelist, Francine Rivers converted to Christianity later in life, and now declares that she "yearns for the Lord to use my stories in making people thirst for His word". (A Voice in the Wind, pg.xiii) Kudos to her: there's no doubt these books have the glorious gospel of Christ at their core. Some people might say it borders on preachy, but I was surprised by how challenged I was when I started comparing my own life to the heroine's testimony, forgiveness, and heart to serve. A word on content: the backdrop of Rome is richly described, and the plot explores the consequences of human sin. Rivers isn't explicit, but sensuality, homosexuality, abortion, and gladiatorial violence play a large role in her story.

It's hard for me to explain my final opinion on these books. They were not remarkably well crafted, yet I am remarkably glad I read them. I started the books feeling vaguely annoyed, thinking they'd be nothing more than predictable, Christianized romance. But while some of my annoyance was justified, I ended the second book feeling humbled by the example left for us by the early church and martyrs. For me, the historical flavor, beautiful message, and likeable characters made it well worthwhile.

[Note: Reviewed here are the first two books in the trilogy. The third book follows the life of a side character, and despite a strong ending, I didn’t find it much worth the time.]

The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie by Alan Bradley

Genre: Fiction, Historical Fiction, Mystery
Length: 373 pages

Reviewed by: Willow Locksley

Uncle Tar’s laboratory had been locked up and preserved in airless silence, down through the dusty years until what Father called my “strange talents” had begun to manifest themselves, and I had been able to claim it for my own.
I still shivered with joy whenever I thought of the rainy autumn day that Chemistry had fallen into my life...
My particular passion was poison.

Set in post-World War II England, Alan Bradley’s The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie is a mystery that lives up to its appetizing title. Flavia de Luce is the youngest of three sisters, a self-taught and scarily adept Chemist, as well as a budding detective. “I wish I could say I was afraid, but I wasn’t. Quite the contrary. This was by far the most interesting thing that had ever happened to me in my entire life,” she says, when a man is found dead in her cucumber patch. This follows the strange appearance of a dead bird on her doorstep, with a Penny Black stamp impaled on its beak. When her father is hauled off as the prime murder suspect, Flavia races to solve the mystery with nothing but her wits and her bicycle, christened ‘Gladys’, to assist her.

I’ve never met a character quite like Flavia. Her personality leaps off the page, engaging the reader from beginning to end with all the profundity of an underestimated eleven-year-old. Like most girls her age, she’s a study in warring passions, only in Flavia’s case these passions are held in check by the cool calculations of a developing genius. Her ability to keep pace with adults and even exceed them is balanced by endearing moments of vulnerability and naïveté. She’s an unusually young narrator in a novel marketed for adults, and the unlikely brainchild of a male author in his seventies. Nevertheless, Alan Bradley brings her fully into her own, and it’s impossible not to cheer her on as she employs the enthusiasm of childhood to tackle the frights and conundrums of an adult world.

“We de Luces had been Roman Catholics since chariot races were all the rage,” says Flavia, though her family attends St. Tancred’s, “a fortress of the Church of England if ever there was one.” She goes on to explain that convenience outweighs conviction, and makes her religious indifference clear in a number of small ways throughout the novel. Her loyalty to her father is fierce and admirable; her desire to breach the distance between them and prove his innocence is touching. She manipulates, though not always successfully. She routinely squabbles with her sisters (to the point of infusing her eldest sister’s lipstick with poison ivy after they lock her in a closet). Flavia jokingly attributes all of these behaviors to Darwinian theories, adding that an inability to verbalize affection runs in the de Luce blood.

The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie has the quick, light-hearted schematic of an Agathie Christie mystery, the guileless tone of Dodie Smith’s I Capture the Castle, and the spunk of Kristin Miller’s Kiki Strike books. Flavia continues her co-careers of Chemist and Detective in the following books: The Weed That Strings the Hangman’s Bag, A Red Herring Without Mustard, and I Am Half-Sick of Shadows.

The Scarlet Pimpernel by Baroness Emmuska Orczy

Genre: Historical Fiction, Adventure, Romance
Length: 306 pages

Reviewed by: Laurelyn Aubrey

As she did so, her foot knocked against a small object which had apparently been lying close to the desk, on the carpet, and which now went rolling right across the room.
She stooped to pick it up. It was a solid gold ring, with a flat shield on which was engraved a small device.
Marguerite turned it over in her fingers and then studied the engraving on the shield. It represented a small star-shaped flower, of a shape she had seen so distinctly twice before...

The Scarlet Pimpernel, written by the oddly-named Baroness Orczy, is a classic tale of suspense and bravery. The story begins on English shores during the thick of the French Revolution. It seems that life should be wonderful for the Lady Marguerite Blakeney: she has a reputation for her beauty and wit across Europe, she leads the latest fashions in England, and she was recently married to one of the richest young lords available. But Marguerite finds her husband foolishly dull and her life very lonely indeed, until a fateful meeting with a French spy on the English coast. In just an instant, Marguerite is unwillingly thrown into the heart of a scheme to learn the identity of the Scarlet Pimpernel, a mysterious hero who is saving families from the horrors of Madame la Guillotine.

In many ways the Baroness Orczy appears to be an amateur author. Her writing is sometimes repetitive, a bit 2D, and frequently tells you more than it shows you. But once the story gets off the ground, readers may find they don’t mind the patches of cumbersome writing in their desire to follow the thickening plot. The Baroness may not have been as polished as they come, but she sure knew how to spin a good story.

For the most part, The Scarlet Pimpernel is a straightforward tale of heroics, free from complicated moral questions. The French Revolution is depicted as a horrible period of mob accusations and mass murder, while the bravery of individuals who risk their lives to save innocent Frenchmen from execution is plainly commended. There are a few French good guys (most notably the main heroine), but the book feels very pro-British, and the British color is what gives it much of its charm. Philosophy is avoided; the characters aren’t given a higher purpose for doing the right thing other than patriotism and the sport of it. In some ways that’s a shame, but there’s still much to applaud in the sacrifice and devotion of a simple adventure story. I also appreciated how Marguerite comes to her love own husband in the sweet, reserved romance toward the end.

I first read this book as a young teen, and greatly enjoyed it. After a few more years of reading experience, I read it again and found the writing itself doesn’t deserve the epic placement it had in my mind… but the story still does. It might not win literary awards, but it won the award of my love, and it will continue to stand as one of my most-enjoyed fictional glimpses of the French Revolution.

The Hunger Games Trilogy by Suzanne Collins

Genre: Fiction, Sci-Fi, Young Adult

Reviewed by: Kelly McKinnan

“The heat is horrible, but worse than the heat is the smoke, which threatens to suffocate me at any moment. I pull the top of my shirt up over my nose, grateful to find it soaked in sweat, and it offers a thin veil of protection. I run, choking, my bag banging against my back, my face cut with branches that materialize from the gray haze without warning, because I know I am supposed to run.”

Katniss Everdeen lives in a post-apocalyptic world, once North America, in the country of Panem, which consists of twelve numbered districts dominated by a decadent, exploitative central city called the Capitol. Every year, two children from each district are drafted by lottery to compete in a televised gladiatorial contest, the Hunger Games, an annual spectacle in which twenty-four children are forced by the government to fight one another to the death. We experience this story through the eyes of Katniss, a resident of District 12, a harsh, cold region mostly given over to coal mining. She steps forward to take the place of her sister who is chosen for the games. Katniss turns her energies to out-witting the system and forcing an ending with more than one survivor. She must decide who her friends are and what side she is on. Throughout the trilogy Katniss, Gale her childhood friend, and Peeta her fellow District 12 tribute, fight against the government in order to simply survive in the face of the corrupt Capitol.

Collins’ writing is different than the typical young adult fiction that fills most bookstores and library shelves. She refuses to write the predictable novel with mostly happy endings. She presents amazing character development, leaving you attached to certain people and keeping you turning page after page wanting more.
Collins’ writing comes alive with her amazingly detailed descriptions. After a life spent in freezing poverty, Katniss experiences pleasures of warmth, food, and beautiful clothes. The descriptions also emphasize the horrible plight of the tributes and the gross desensitization of the Capitol dwellers. You feel very much like you are alongside the reluctant heroine as she battles her way through just about any imaginable situation.

Collins shows us the horrors of violence and war, though she does not glorify it or present it as a fun game. The series presents broken people with scars that will never go away. She does not write violence for the sake of violence but uses it to stress the perverseness and horror of the Games.
Government control and Big Brother are two themes that are shown throughout the series, through the Capitol's controlling rules for the residents of the different districts, as well as the Hunger Games themselves, where the Capitol has children fight to the death, simply to assert their power.
There is an apparent love-triangle between Katniss, Gale, and Peeta; but it is far from the typical vampire-werewolf scenario. It adds to the character development and presents the layered, conflicting emotions of the characters, and the often mysterious motivations of those around Katniss.
Katniss shows a love and dedication to her family by providing for her mother, who is suffering from severe depression after the death of her husband. Katniss also sacrificially offers herself up to take the place of her younger sister to participate in the games.

The Hunger Games trilogy is well-written and very engrossing—definitely not a one-time read. The twisted plotline will keep you going and on the edge of your seat through all three novels: The Hungers Games, Catching Fire, and Mockingjay.

Note: As this series is not written from a Christian worldview, discernment on the part of readers is required, especially in light of Biblical ethics. As always, parental involvement is encouraged. Though marketed for younger teenagers, The Writers' Block recommends this series for mature readers only, because of mature elements and the amount of violence (some of it very graphic).

100 Cupboards, Dandelion Fire, & The Chestnut King (Trilogy) by N. D. Wilson

Genre: Fantasy, Youth
Length: 1,237 pages (collectively)

Reviewed by: Willow Locksley

“A quiet song was pulsing through him, a dandelion telling its story of ash made green and green made gold. A story of death and separation, of strength and reunion and death again.”

N. D. Wilson’s trilogy is traditional fantasy fare sliced, diced, and served up as a new dish. It is an otherworld story, the tale of a lost prince, a rerun of the epic struggle between good and evil canonized by C. S. Lewis and J. R. R. Tolkien. But it is also something unique. Where other children’s fantasy books are united by their inherent Britishness, Wilson’s trilogy stands apart as something with quintessential America at its core. In case you get caught up in the genre and forget it, his heroes wear John Deere T-shirts and easily exchange baseball bats for swords.

It begins when Henry York arrives in Henry, Kansas, where tougher boys and female cousins are in abundance. His uncle and aunt’s farmhouse, Main Street, dirt roads, rusty pickup trucks, barns - and oh yeah, cornfields – create a deceptively mundane backdrop for the adventure that awaits him there. One hundred cupboard doors lurk behind the plaster of his attic bedroom, and any reader familiar with The Wood Between the Worlds can guess what that means. Henry stumbles through one and (surprise!) realizes he’s not in Kansas anymore. But that’s just the first book. In books two and three, the secrets behind the doors will change Henry’s life forever.

Told in the distinctive voice of their author, which is vibrant, engaging, bizarre and at times self-consciously clever, these books have the appeal of a rollercoaster ride. Some readers will put their hands in the air while others may find it dizzying. The plot feels sloppy in places and I felt there was some unrealized potential when only two or maybe three doors out of the titled hundred played any substantial part in the story. That said, there is method in the madness as Wilson lets his imagination run riot, and it’s a fun ride, with moments of wit, originally, and imagery that brands itself into the memory, and an end that is ultimately satisfying.

Wilson is a passionate believer in Christ, and all the themes common to Christianity are presented (without sermonizing) in his books. Identity, awe, courage, self-sacrifice and love are just the obvious ones. There are witches, wizards, faeries, green men and raggants – you’ll have to read the books to find out what that last one is – and yes, lots of magic, prudently handled. Boyish humor and a mild profanity are things I could have done without, but overall I’d say this is very wholesome stuff.

Did I like this trilogy? Yes. Would I have the patience to read it a second time? Probably not. Even so, I won’t forget it any time soon. Recommended for anyone who enjoys a good traipse through a world beyond a cupboard door.