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Audio Review: Prisoner of Night and Fog by Anne Blankman

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I always think it’s more than a little daring for an author to attempt writing historical fiction featuring real people whose lives are heavily documented. Yet that’s exactly what Anne Blankman does in her novel, Prisoner of Night and Fog, which is also a debut – and all the more impressive for it. Her efforts are resoundingly successful and make for a gripping, devastating audiobook, narrated excellently by Heather Wilds.

The risks in writing this kind of historical novel are many. Because the characters’ lives are so well-known, there could be little room for embellishment or imagination on the part of the author. Yet it’s the embellishment – the filling in of the blanks – that makes historical fiction so enticing to many readers. What can an author do when there aren’t many blanks to fill in? By sticking strictly to the historical record, she tells a story the reader could find by browsing the nonfiction section of the library – and that’s not what historical fiction readers are looking for. But by creating something new, she risks making the story unbelievable for the reader, who would know for a fact that events did not unfold as described.

Blankman’s strategy is to create a wholly fictional character in her protagonist, Gretchen Muller, and surround her with real people from history, most prominently Adolf Hitler. Hitler is not merely a person seen from afar, as happens in many historical novels set in this time and place; he is a vital, terrifying secondary character, one who interacts regularly with Gretchen and helps propel the story forward. To Gretchen, Hitler is her “Uncle Dolf,” a man revered by her whole family. Several years ago, Gretchen’s father died as a martyr to the National Socialists when he jumped in front of a bullet meant for Hitler. Since then, “Uncle Dolf” has looked out for Gretchen and her family, giving them a position of social prominence and a measure of safety in uncertain 1931 Munich.

One day, Gretchen is approached by a young man named Daniel Cohen who tells her that her father’s murder is not what it seems. Initially, Gretchen resists the idea, both because she believes in her father’s sacrifice and because Daniel is a Jew. She is, after all, a good little National Socialist in training.

But her hesitancy doesn’t last long. Gretchen is a sympathetic character, so naturally her aversion to Jewish people erodes until it’s gone completely, and she and Daniel begin a sweet romance that provides a nice subplot to the main story. This puts her in conflict with her “Uncle Dolf” as well as her many friends among the Nazis, but most particularly her older brother, Reinhard, a sadist and sociopath. Reinhart is perhaps even more terrifying than Hitler is, partly because his crimes are more readily apparent (at this point) and partly because he is closer to her. Reinhard’s actions spur Gretchen to learn more about pyschology while investigating her father’s death, and this subplot dovetails nicely with Gretchen’s revelations about her Uncle Dolf.

Other real people make appearances in the story. Eva Braun is Gretchen’s best friend, and Hitler’s real-life niece Geli Raubal is another acquaintance of hers. Hitler’s allies also make frequent appearances and interact with Gretchen, including Ernst Rohm and Rudolf Hess.

This is a dark, moody, and mostly humorless story. It’s frequently terrifying, both overtly when Reinhard commits acts of violence against Jews and against his sister, and less visibly, during Gretchen’s conversations with Hitler, where much is intimated but never spoken plainly. Much of the terror comes from the fact that we as readers know what Gretchen does not: that soon Hitler will conquer much of Europe and act as the catalyst for the massacre of millions of people. Wilds narrates the book’s dialogue with a German accent, which lends authenticity to the story and makes for a truly immersive listening experience.

I was so looking forward to the author’s note at the end of the book, which I hoped would explain exactly where fact met fiction (so essential in historical fiction featuring real people). Alas, the audiobook version did not include it, though I know the print version does. Sure, I can look the people up on Wikipedia, but that’s no match for the research done by the author, which is more in-depth, interesting, and specific to the story being told than an encyclopedia article could ever be. Audiobook producers: We want the author’s note. There’s no harm in including it; if other readers are bored by it, they’ll simply stop the recording and move on with their lives. But I’m certain that would be rare. Readers who seek out historical fiction – teens included – want that extra information, believe me.

Audiobook borrowed from my local library.

Nonfiction on Audio

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It might not seem like it, but I do read adult books occasionally – even adult nonfiction! It’s rare, but when I do read adult nonfiction, I find that I enjoy it a lot on audio. Nonfiction is easy to listen to in pieces without losing the thread of the narrative, making it great for commutes or workouts or cleaning frenzies. Below are a few nonfiction books I’ve listened to in recent years that I’ve enjoyed. Do you find that you enjoy a certain type of book more on audio?

A Short History of Nearly Everything by Bill Bryson
The basic concept of the book is this: Bill Bryson describes how the universe, and everything in it, came to be. This is a pretty tall order, but it’s precisely because he covers so much in so little space that he manages to keep the lay reader (or listener) interested. He covers the big bang, evolution, plate tectonics, ice ages, and volcanoes, among a dozen other subjects. He also talks a lot about the people behind the major discoveries and includes a few funny stories that show just how odd (or just plain human, really) scientists can be. The book is never dry or boring, but it also doesn’t give the reader a full picture on any one subject. It’s a fascinating look at science for non-scientists and would be especially great paired with the the recent tv series Cosmos. Bryson’s narration is fantastic, bringing out the humor in book. The experience is also tailored to the listener, not the reader. By this I mean that whenever the text read “If you’re reading this,” it was changed to “If you’re listening to this.” It’s a nice touch that iced the experience for me.

On Writing by Stephen King
King’s well-known writing memoir is part autobiography, part meditation on the craft. By marrying these two concepts within the book, King makes the act of writing both personal to himself and accessible to his readers. King’s life is interesting but also ordinary in many ways – much like his fiction writing, which usually addresses how ordinary people react to extraordinary events. He narrates the book himself and does a wonderful job. I’ve read a few other books on writing (Bird By Bird, Crafting a Life) and this is by far the best.

When You Are Engulfed in Flames by David Sedaris
Sedaris’ books are (almost) always winners. I first listened to his books while in library school and have been hooked ever since. Sedaris’ essays are funny, often raunchy slice-of-life stories that frequently put me in stitches. Sedaris himself is perfectly suited as the narrator. He relates his stories with a dry, almost deadpan tone, which enhances their humor. I know the veracity of his stories has been called into question, but they’re funny and thematically true even if the events themselves didn’t strictly happen in the way described. This volume is his sixth and may be my favorite.

Lean In by Sheryl Sandberg
I can’t say I thought this was the feminist manifesto of our times, but I’m glad I read it. It’s definitely part of our cultural conversation, which means I can now converse intelligently about it with others. I agree with a lot of the common criticisms. It focuses almost entirely on the white, privileged, middle to upper class experience, and its central premise – that women can and should alter their behavior in order to get ahead or level the playing field – smacks of sexism itself. I particularly disliked the part where she counseled women to refer to us ourselves as “we” rather than “I” so we don’t come across as self-centered when in meetings or negotiations. Um, what? I’ll avoid that suggestion, thanks. She also calls for solidarity among women near the end of the book, seemingly at the expense of honest discussion and criticism. The problem isn’t women disagreeing with each other, the problem is institutional sexism – which also includes institutional racism, heterosexism, and so on. It’s all connected, and by avoiding discussing these connections, Sandberg’s book is only truly helpful to a few.

All that said, I did find parts of this useful or insightful. The one thing that really stuck out to me was how Sandberg encourages girls (and I mean those under 18) to be ambitious. I felt this very personally. I grew up without much ambition, I think. It’s pretty common in my field for the women to say they don’t want to be managers and the men to say that’s their ultimate goal, even while still in library school. This starts from a young age – boys are encouraged to reach for higher and higher goals, while girls are encouraged to hang back, told that ambition makes them unattractive or unlikeable. As a result, I do think it’s helpful for girls and women to be given “permission” in a way to be ambitious, to want more, to be confident they can achieve more, and to go for it completely. After reading this, I’ve found myself being much more open about my own goals (which are ambitious!) and encouraging other women to reach for more as well.

The narration, done by Elisa Donovan, isn’t great. Donovan speaks clearly and carefully, but she overemphasizes a lot of the points, making them come across as great revelations rather than just perfunctory statements. For example, Sandberg writes that women are more successful when their romantic partners are supportive. Well, obviously. This is not new. The way Donovan tells it, though, you’d think she were announcing a miracle.

Audio Review: Teardrop by Lauren Kate

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Eureka’s mother Diana died in a freak weather event a few months ago when a wave crashed over the bridge they were driving along. While Diana didn’t make it, Eureka was rescued by someone, but her memories of the incident are murky. Afterward, she goes to live with her father, who has been divorced from her mother for several years and has remarried to a woman named Rhoda. Tensions between Eureka and her stepmother are high, especially since Rhoda is a main force behind Eureka’s mandated visits to see a therapist to deal with her grief and her recent suicide attempt.

While driving to a school event one day, Eureka is rear-ended by a car driven by another teenager, a boy named Ander. He acts oddly, though Eureka is strangely drawn to him. He begins popping up in the same places where Eureka goes. Her best girl friend, Cat, encourages Eureka to avoid him at all costs, but Eureka isn’t convinced he’s dangerous. It soon becomes clear that he has something to do with the strange items Diana left for Eureka in her will: a book written in an archaic language, a locket, and a strange stone that can’t get wet. When Eureka manages to translate the book, she learns that everything – Ander, the items, Diana’s accident – leads back to the legend of Atlantis.

Goodreads reviewers are particularly vicious about Lauren Kate’s previous series, Fallen. I expect a lot of that has to do with how popular they are: the more people who read them, the more people will find they dislike them, and many of them will be very vocal about it. (The flip side is true as well, of course – it’s certainly found a lot of fans.) I haven’t read them – angel fiction isn’t my thing – so I can’t say how they compare to this new Teardrop series. What I can tell you is that I don’t foresee Teardrop winning over any new fans.

The primary problem with the book is pacing. It’s 11 discs long and it seems like half of them are solely exposition. Most of the book is concerned with mysterious goings-on in Eureka’s town, some of which are repeated (for example, we see Eureka’s best guy friend Brooks acting hot-and-cold toward her at least half a dozen times before it’s revealed why). When things really do get going, it’s near the end of the book, and it involves a huge info-dump that coincides with the climax of the story. Not the most interesting or engaging way to reveal information. I have a feeling many readers will grow bored before getting to the payoff.

As for the payoff itself, it’s a little disappointing. I gave this one a whirl because I’ve long been obsessed with stories about Atlantis, but the twist Kate gives the legend is not terribly exciting. Without spoiling things too much, I’ll say that it involves Eureka’s inability to cry – her tears would cause something terrible to happen, something that has to do with the lost city. I think there might be a metaphor hidden in here about teenage girls’ emotions and how they inspire fear in people, but if it’s there, it’s muddled. Mostly I just thought it was a little ridiculous; it was hard for me to suspend my disbelief.

Erin Spencer’s narration is good; it neither enhances nor detracts from the book. I had a hard time determining if Eureka’s best girl friend was named Cat or Pat – it sounded like one or the other on different occasions (it’s Cat). She voices Eureka in a slow, deliberate way, which is normal for audiobooks (don’t want the listener to miss something!) but also works well for Eureka’s character, who is grief-stricken and depressed. The other characters are only partially voiced.

This would be a good pick for fans of light fantasy who don’t mind a slow-moving story. It’s the kind of book that focuses a lot on its non-fantasy elements: high school friendships and romances, parties, grief over a dead parent, tensions within blended families. The fantasy portions seem almost an afterthought at times. Waterfall, the sequel, publishes this October, and hopefully it includes a little extra meat to the re-imagined Atlantis legend and less plodding to the story, but I’m not sure I’ll read it to find out.

Audiobook received from the publisher. Teardrop is available now.

Audio Review: The Tyrant’s Daughter by J. C. Carleson

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Fifteen year old Laila has always been told that her father is the king of their middle Eastern country. When he’s killed in a coup by his own brother, Laila’s uncle, she escapes with her family – her mother and younger brother – to America. There, Laila’s mother keeps up the pretense that Laila’s father was a king, even calling her younger brother a prince. Laila slowly begins to learn the truth: her father was a dictator, a tyrant, a man who kept his power by force.

While Laila struggles to adapt to her new life in America, she also struggles to understand her old life in this new context. Written by a former CIA officer, the book has a strong ring of authenticity. Carleson wisely chose to create a fictional country for her book, but the story is based on an amalgamation of real people and events. Nothing is played for gasps or used to deliberately alarm the reader. Instead, we’re given a chance to see the world from Laila’s point of view. Her voice is authentically teen, but she provides a very different perspective from most other YA books. It’s fascinating and makes for riveting reading.

Carleson’s book tackles multiple topics and themes, juggling them all successfully. Laila’s story begins as an exploration of her experience as an immigrant, including her assimilation into American culture. A white student fascinated with international students quickly “adopts” her as a friend and initiates her into the school’s culture, including how many American girls relate to boys. This portion of the novel is particularly well-done. We see Laila’s judgment of her new American acquaintances quite starkly. At one point she tells the listener that the first word that sprang to her mind when she saw her new friend was “whore.” There’s the flip side to this, too, as Laila experiences the myriad ways in which the other teens judge her.

While Laila is an immigrant, her story is not typical of most immigrants. Her life in her home country was extraordinarily privileged, but it was also sheltered. Laila knew nothing of her father’s actions, not even whispers or rumors, really. Her American friends speak openly about it, though, and for the first time Laila has access to the internet where she can look up whatever she likes. And she does. Watching her grapple with her new knowledge adds another layer to the story, complicating it further.

Added to the mix is some international intrigue. An American man stops by their home frequently, and Laila eventually guesses that he’s an agent for the CIA. He indicates to Laila that their family is in America due to his kindness, and that her mother must hold up her end of the bargain – namely by giving him intelligence. But Laila’s mother has her own motivations, and she only feeds bits and pieces of what’s really going on to Laila. This part of the story could easily have become unrealistic, turning a thoughtful, complex novel into a Tom Clancy book for teens. But Carleson doesn’t fall into this trap. What she has crafted instead is a multi-layered novel with a realistic role for her teen to play. Laila isn’t an action-adventure hero. Instead, she overhears phone calls, draws conclusions, and tries to puzzle out the hidden meaning behind her mother’s words.

There are many more aspects of the book I could discuss, such as how Laila interacts with refugees from her own country, or how the novel’s women have their own kind of power, or how it’s impossible to determine what is right and what is wrong, even after it ends. This is a complex, meaty book. It’s got so many parts, all the parts of a complicated life, and it’s executed nearly perfectly. 

The book is narrated quite well by Meera Simhan, who voices Laila with a light accent, just enough to give her a realistic voice without turning her into a caricature. You can listen to an excerpt here.

The end of the book is devastating. It pulls no punches and provides no easy answers. With this kind of book, there really aren’t answers at all, much less easy ones. Because the ending is open-ended, it also makes Laila’s story seem a bit more real. An author’s note and a some commentary by Dr. Cheryl Benard, a RAND researcher, are must-reads. They provide more context for Laila’s story and also give real-world examples of young people in similar situations and what their ultimate fates were. Fascinating, timely, discussable, and highly recommended.

Audiobook provided by the publisher. The Tyrant’s Daughter is available now.

Audio Review: Strands of Bronze and Gold by Jane Nickerson

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Strands of Bronze and Gold is the story of Bluebeard set on a plantation in the antebellum South. I feel like that sentence perfectly sums up everything you need to know plot-wise, but in case you want a little more: Sophie is an orphan, a member of a family that is now what we may call “impoverished gentility.” When her godfather, Monsieur Bernard de Cressac, who had quite an admiration for her mother, invites Sophie to live with him, she is happy to accept. His plantation home is opulent and he treats her like a precious jewel. She admires him deeply, even finding him attractive, despite his age (he is portrayed as perhaps a man in his 40s).

And then things change, slowly. de Cressac begins to exhibit worrisome behavior, like being upset with her befriending a stray cat. Sophie learns that his moods are changeable and she never knows what will set him off. Worst, though, is that she senses he has romantic feelings for her, which makes her own childish affections for him disappear entirely. By this point, she’s a prisoner in all practical ways, though he doesn’t lock her in a room and bar the windows. And then, of course, there are the former wives. Four of them, all who met tragic ends. Accidental, of course…

Nickerson does some things very well. I really liked the slow pace of the story. It gave time for adequate, un-rushed development of de Cressac, as well as for Sophie’s slow realization of his awfulness. It also enhances just how creepy de Cressac really is. As readers, we are expected to be familiar with the Bluebeard story. The fact that de Cressac is a murderer and creep is not news to us. But the way Nickerson allows his character – and Sophie’s discovery of it – to unfold, slowly, deliberately, is quite excellent. I felt my skin crawl multiple times before there was any hint of violence.

Nickerson also does some things quite poorly. There’s a subplot involving the slaves at M. Bernard’s home and Sophie’s desire to help them run to freedom that is so tone-deaf, it was almost painful to listen to. She also meets a free black woman in the woods named Anarchy who teaches her Important Lessons About Life. Frankly, I could have done without this entire storyline. I didn’t find any part of it redeemable. (Delia Sherman is much more successful in writing about a white girl among black slaves in the antebellum South in The Freedom Maze.)

Some readers will likely find themselves frustrated at Sophie’s naivete. It’s necessary for the story to work, but I also found it refreshing to read about a girl who isn’t already worldly and tough as nails. It seems perfectly reasonable to me that a girl in Sophie’s circumstances would be innocent. In many ways, this story is about the loss of that innocence (and how easy it is for a predator to take advantage of it). While many teen protagonists seem much more like adults, Sophie is clearly still a child.

I’m of two minds about the narration, done by Caitlin Prennace. Prennace is very good at portraying Sophie’s innocence. She doesn’t know much about the world and is easily scandalized, so Prennace’s voicing has a lot of gasps and shocked intonations. Sometimes it seems a little affected, though, and Prennace never quite sounds like a teenager. It’s not the greatest narration, but it’s more than passable.

Frankly, that’s a good summation of the book as a whole – not great, but passable. It’s an enjoyable listen and I don’t feel like I wasted my time, but I’m not sure I’m rush to recommend it. Ultimately, it wasn’t as atmospheric or creative as I think it could have been. It will be a good match for readers who like retold fairy tales, though I doubt it will be among their favorites. It also has a bit of a Southern gothic feel to it and should find a welcome home among those readers as well.

Review copy received from the publisher. Strands of Bronze and Gold is available now.