HERE is a fabulous review by Kim the Caffeinated Book Reviewer.
Pam's publisher, Mira is sponsoring a giveaway of the book, details below.
Enjoy!
ISBN-13: 9780778319818
Publisher: Mira
Release Date: 2-21-2017
Length: 368pp
Buy It: B&N/Amazon/Kobo/IndieBound/Publisher/Audible
Publisher: Mira
Release Date: 2-21-2017
Length: 368pp
Buy It: B&N/Amazon/Kobo/IndieBound/Publisher/Audible
Overview:
A powerful novel of friendship set in a traveling circus during World War II, The Orphan's Tale introduces two extraordinary women and their harrowing stories of sacrifice and survival
Sixteen-year-old Noa has been cast out in disgrace after becoming pregnant by a Nazi soldier and being forced to give up her baby. She lives above a small rail station, which she cleans in order to earn her keep… When Noa discovers a boxcar containing dozens of Jewish infants bound for a concentration camp, she is reminded of the child that was taken from her. And in a moment that will change the course of her life, she steals one of the babies and flees into the snowy night.
Noa finds refuge with a German circus, but she must learn the flying trapeze act so she can blend in undetected, spurning the resentment of the lead aerialist, Astrid. At first rivals, Noa and Astrid soon forge a powerful bond. But as the facade that protects them proves increasingly tenuous, Noa and Astrid must decide whether their friendship is enough to save one another—or if the secrets that burn between them will destroy everything.
Giveaway is for one print copy of
The Orphan's Tale
US & Canada Only
Please use Rafflecopter form to enter
Good Luck!!
Read an excerpt courtesy the Publisher, Mira:
Germany,
1944
The
sound comes low like the buzzing of the bees that once chased Papa across the
farm and caused him to spend a week swathed in bandages.
I set down the brush I’d been using to scrub the
floor, once-elegant marble now cracked beneath boot heels and set with fine
lines of mud and ash that will never lift. Listening for the direction of the
sound, I cross the station beneath the sign announcing in bold black: Bahnhof
Bensheim. A big name for nothing more than a waiting room with two toilets, a
ticket window and a wurst stand that operates when there is meat to be had and
the weather is not awful. I bend to pick up a coin at the base of one of the
benches, pocket it. It amazes me the things that people forget or leave behind.
Outside, my breath rises in puffs in the February
night air. The sky is a collage of ivory and gray, more snow threatening. The
station sits low in a valley, surrounded by lush hills of pine trees on three
sides, their pointed green tips poking out above snow-covered branches. The air
has a slightly burnt smell. Before the war, Bensheim had been just another tiny
stop that most travelers passed through without noticing. But the Germans make
use of everything it seems, and the location is good for parking trains and
switching out engines during the night.
I’ve been here almost four months. It hadn’t been so
bad in the autumn and I was happy to find shelter after I’d been sent packing
with two days’ worth of food, three if I stretched it. The girls’ home where I
lived after my parents found out I was expecting and kicked me out had been
located far from anywhere in the name of discretion and they could have dropped
me off in Mainz, or at least the nearest town. They simply opened the door,
though, dismissing me on foot. I’d headed to the train station before realizing
that I had nowhere to go. More than once during my months away, I had thought
of returning home, begging forgiveness. It was not that I was too proud. I
would have gotten down on my knees if I thought it would do any good. But I
knew from the fury in my father’s eyes the day he forced me out that his heart
was closed. I could not stand rejection twice.
In a moment of luck, though, the station had needed
a cleaner. I peer around the back of the building now toward the tiny closet
where I sleep on a mattress on the floor. The maternity dress is the same one I
wore the day I left the home, except that the full front now hangs limply. It
will not always be this way, of course. I will find a real job—one that pays in
more than not-quite-moldy bread—and a proper home.
I see myself in the train station window. I have the
kind of looks that just fit in, dishwater hair that whitens with the summer
sun, pale blue eyes. Once my plainness bothered me; here it is a benefit. The
two other station workers, the ticket girl and the man at the kiosk, come and
then go home each night, hardly speaking to me. The travelers pass through the
station with the daily edition of Der Stürmer tucked under their arms, grinding
cigarettes into the floor, not caring who I am or where I came from. Though
lonely, I need it that way. I cannot answer questions about the past.
No, they do not notice me. I see them, though, the
soldiers on leave and the mothers and wives who come each day to scan the platform
hopefully for a son or husband before leaving alone. You can always tell the
ones who are trying to flee. They try to look normal, as if just going on
vacation. But their clothes are too tight from the layers padded underneath and
bags so full they threaten to burst at any second. They do not make eye
contact, but hustle their children along with pale, strained faces.
The buzzing noise grows louder and more
high-pitched. It is coming from the train I’d heard screech in earlier, now
parked on the far track. I start toward it, past the nearly empty coal bins,
most of their stores long taken for troops fighting in the east. Perhaps
someone has left on an engine or other machinery. I do not want to be blamed,
and risk losing my job. Despite the grimness of my situation, I know it could
be worse—and that I am lucky to be here.
Lucky. I’d heard it first from an elderly German
woman who shared some herring with me on the bus to Den Hague after leaving my
parents. “You are the Aryan ideal,” she told me between fishy lip smacks, as we
wound through detours and cratered roads.
I thought she was joking; I had plain blond hair and a little
stump of a nose. My body was sturdy—athletic, until it had begun to soften out
and grow curvy. Other than when the German had whispered soft words into my ear
at night, I had always considered myself unremarkable. But now I’d been told I
was just right. I found myself confiding in the woman about my pregnancy and
how I had been thrown out. She told me to go to Wiesbaden, and scribbled a note
saying I was carrying a child of the Reich. I took it and went. It did not
occur to me whether it was dangerous to go to Germany or that I should refuse.
Somebody wanted children like mine. My parents would have sooner died than
accepted help from the Germans. But the woman said they would give me shelter;
how bad could they be? I had nowhere else to go.
I was lucky, they said again when I reached the girls’ home.
Though Dutch, I was considered of Aryan race and my child— otherwise shamed as
an uneheliches Kind, conceived out of
wedlock—might just be accepted into the Lebensborn program and raised by a good
German family. I’d spent nearly six months there, reading and helping with the
housework until my stomach became too bulky. The facility, if not grand, was
modern and clean, designed to deliver babies in good health to the Reich. I’d
gotten to know a sturdy girl called Eva who was a few months further along than
me, but one night she awoke in blood and they took her to the hospital and I did
not see her again. After that, I kept to myself. None of us would be there for
long.
Other works by Pam
Connect with Pam - Website - Facebook - Twitter
MEET Pam:Pam is the author of The Kommandant's Girl, which was an international bestseller and nominated for a Quill award, as well as The Winter Guest, The Diplomat's Wife, The Ambassador̢۪s Daughter, Almost Home, A Hidden Affair and The Things We Cherished. She also authored a short story in the anthology Grand Central: Original Postwar Stories of Love and Reunion. She lives outside Philadelphia with her husband and three children.
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Sounds like a very interesting story. Thanks for sharing.
ReplyDeleteMelanie @ Hot Listens & Rabid Reads
You're welcome Melanie
DeleteLooks like another good one!
ReplyDeleteit is!
DeleteI love all World War 11 novels since the era is my favorite and I have read hundreds because they are important, memorable, meaningful and profound. The books transport me to another time and place when principles and values were extremely important for survival and individuals had to have strength of character. The novels are uplifting and inspiring. I have read all of Pam Jenoff's amazing novels.
ReplyDeleteMe too traveler its actually my favorite genre to read
DeleteI loved this one even though some very sad spots. It was my first Jenoff book so I have heaps to catch up on.
ReplyDeleteYes she writes with realism but usually they're hopeful more than tragic
DeleteSaw this mentioned on Twitter yesterday. It looks good.
ReplyDeleteThanks
DeleteYeah, I can see why the storyline would grab you. I love WWII tales even if they end up making me bawl my eyes out.
ReplyDeleteHers usually do but they usually are hopeful too!
DeleteSuch a powerful and emotional story Debbie. I am anxious to try more of her books.
ReplyDeleteThey're all wonderful Kim
Deleteanother positive review for this book. really getting me excited! i cannot join the giveaway i'm not in US =(
ReplyDeleteI'm so sorry Allyn :( thanks for the comment. The contest rules are set by the publisher its open to Canada too!
DeleteOh you tempt me so very badly with these, Debbie!
ReplyDeletehe he he, come here my pretty ;-)
DeleteI don't tend to like war novels since I don't really like to read about the hardships and vagaries of war. On the other hand, it can provide the backdrop for great thrillers.
ReplyDeletethanks for sharing Art2
Delete