Not quite a book review of THE POSTMISTRESS by Sarah Blake

2010 at 9am     Posted by Rebecca Joines Schinsky

Published February 2010 by Amy Einhorn Books (a Penguin Group imprint)

Don’t let the pretty cover and the nice purple rose fool you, people. Sarah Blake’s The Postmistress is no fluffy romance novel. Set in the early 1940s just before the U.S. really enters the war, this beautifully-written novel follows three women as they navigate the changing social terrain and challenging moral dilemmas of work, family, and community life in a world at war.

Because I’ve been trying to write this review for more than two weeks but have continued to find myself reduced to gushing (a good problem to have, but not exactly one that contributes to an articulate review), I’m going to do something a little different. After I saw Sarah Blake read from The Postmistress earlier this month, I heard her voice in my head as I read the book, and it was just so perfect. So in lieu of a traditional review, here’s the publisher’s description of the book and several of my favorite passages, with light commentary.

From the publisher:

On the eve of the United States’s entrance into World War II in 1940, Iris James, the postmistress of Franklin, a small town on Cape Cod, does the unthinkable: She doesn’t deliver a letter.

In London, American radio gal Frankie Bard is working with Edward R. Murrow, reporting on the Blitz. One night in a bomb shelter, she meets a doctor from Cape Cod with a letter in his pocket, a letter Frankie vows to deliver when she returns from Germany and France, where she is to record the stories of war refugees desperately trying to escape.

The residents of Franklin think the war can’t touch them- but as Frankie’s radio broadcasts air, some know that the war is indeed coming. And when Frankie arrives at their doorstep, the two stories collide in a way no one could have foreseen.

The Postmistress is an unforgettable tale of the secrets we must bear, or bury. It is about what happens to love during war­time, when those we cherish leave. And how every story-of love or war-is about looking left when we should have been looking right.

From page 3, and a very nice way to sum up the book: “Every store—love or war—is a story about looking left when we should have been looking right.”

The opening line of the primary story: “It began, as it often does, with a woman putting her ducks in a row.” I mean, really. How do you not love a story that begins that way? And don’t all of us—male and female—know instinctively exactly what she’s talking about?

A description of Frankie Bard’s experience in London during the blitz:

A draft of night air hit her, and the sound of bombs falling now, farther along to the west. A thick gust of smoke crossed as the wind shifted off the river carrying the sink of the explosions. Around her, some of the men seemed actually to have fallen asleep. There was no veil, no protective curtain where it happened out of sight, “over there.” This was the shock. This had always been the shock, and it seemed to Frankie the most important thing for people to know. Over here, there was nothing between you and the war.

Franklin’s young doctor, Will Trask, explains his desire to go over to London to his new wife Emma:

Sweetheart, there are people over there who need help, who need another pair of hands, and I can bring them. That’s the deal. That’s what you were saying without saying it right out. When we know there are people in need, right now, in the same breath as what we are breathing, we cannot look away. It is not abstract. We have to go. That is humanity. The whole thing relies on it. Human beings do not look away.

(emphasis mine)

One of the most compelling parts of this story is the way in which Blake unfolds Frankie’s realization about what is really being done to the Jews. Modern readers have the benefit of a full historical understanding, and that makes it easy for us to forget that there was a time, early in the war, when people didn’t know what Hitler and the Germans were up to. Blake’s writing of this piece of the story and Frankie’s struggle to grasp and accept the truth has a powerful sense of immediacy and real, lived horror.

But it was nearly impossible now to look away from what was clearly happening in Europe. The Jews were in a permanent, ceaseless pogrom. And the patrician habit of deflecting strong passion or insight first into calmer waters, to reflect, to take stock, belong to her mother’s generation. Fine for Mrs. Dalloway, impossible for Mrs. Woolf. A writer, a real writer, in possession of a story headed straight for its rapids, eyes on the water, paddling fast for the middle in order to see as well, as closely as could be. In order to see like that, one had to entertain the fact of brutal, simple cruelty. The Germans were, in fact, gathering the Jews in camps and ghettos and simply letting them die there.

Of Harry Vale, the love interest of Franklin’s postmistress Iris James: “Harry had been to war and back and never married, which said it all about war.”

In The Postmistress, Sarah Blake gives us a compulsively readable, truly unforgettable story told with gorgeous, richly evocative language. It is clear that a great deal of research went into the writing of this book, and Blake uses the details to color her story without overwhelming the reader. This book is about the story, not the research, and Blake balances the historical facts by including beautifully written mundane moments of life that exist, as she described during her book talk, “around the edges.”

I loved every minute I spent with The Postmistress, and my only complaint is that the central dilemma—the question of what happens when one choose not to deliver a message—comes in too close to the ending. But that is more a problem of how the book is described than it is of how the book reads, and it really doesn’t detract from the experience. Now hurry up, Sarah Blake, and give me another beautiful book to read! 4.75 out of 5.

Hey, FTC: I received a galley of this book from the publisher.
I am an IndieBound affiliate and will receive a small commission if you purchase The Postmistress through a link in this review.


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