The nightingale

1. 这是本关于二战的小说，情节类似于辛德勒的名单，主人公参与救人，并努力活下来。
2. 主人公有两位，Isabelle and Vianne. Isabelle年少反叛，总是觉得姐姐，父亲不理解自己。于是加入叛军，进行地下工作。Vianne心地善良，但是挡不住孤儿寡母地活在德占区内，被德国军人强奸并诞下一子。
3. 书很短，可以看得很快。
4. 两人都以自己的方式帮助他人。Isabelle拯救了117名飞行员。Vianne救下了19名犹太小孩。
5. 不可避免地，我看到最后一章就不停地流下眼泪。只能说，作者对文字的处理很有功夫。我一个人看的傻傻地留下眼泪，旁边人来人往的，不知道多么不合适。

The smile he gave her was barely one at all. “We are all fragile, Isabelle. It’s the thing we learn in war.”

Up ahead, a woman holding a baby tried to run. A gendarme shot her in the back. She pitched to the ground, dead; the baby rolled to the boots of the gendarme holding a smoking gun. Rachel stopped, turned to Vianne. “Take my son,” she whispered.

she was suddenly more afraid of letting her daughter grow up in a world where good people did nothing to stop evil, where a good woman could turn her back on a friend in need.

She looked at Vianne, and the universe of their friendship was in her eyes—the secrets they’d shared, the promises they’d made and kept, the dreams for their children that bound them as neatly as sisters. “Get out of here,” Rachel cried hoarsely. “Go.”

Sophie nodded solemnly. She knew how important this was, even if she didn’t know what had become of the captain. Interestingly, she hadn’t asked.

“Be careful, Juliette.” Her smile faded. Every time she saw anyone these days, it was hard to say good-bye. You never knew if you’d see them again. “You, too.”

A dead body was lashed to the fountain in the square. Blood reddened the water that lapped around his ankles. His head had been strapped back with an army belt so that he seemed almost relaxed there, with his mouth slack, his eyes open, sightless. Bullet holes chewed up his chest, left his sweater in tatters; blood darkened his chest and pant legs. Her father.

Isabelle could have cried. More than anything in the world, she wanted to run to her big sister, to drop to her knees and beg for forgiveness and then to hold her in gratitude. To say “I’m sorry” and “I love you” and all the words in between. But she couldn’t do any of that. She had to protect Vianne.

I thought they had nothing in common, but now I know how often love is like that. It was the war, you know; it broke him like a cigarette. Irreparable. She tried to save him. So hard.”

“An entire generation is gone. We need to band together now, those few of us who are left; we need to rebuild. One boy with no memory of who he was may seem a small thing to lose, but to us, he is the future. We cannot let you raise him in a religion that is not yours and take him to synagogue when you remember. Ari needs to be who he is, and to be with his people. Surely his mother would want that.”

Of all the heartbreaking, terrible things she’d done in this war, none hurt as badly as this: She took Daniel by the hand and led him into the automobile that would take him away from her. He climbed into the backseat.

But when he asks the doorman for a taxi, I insist. “We will walk to the reunion.” He frowns. “But it’s in the Île de la Cité.” I wince at his pronunciation, but it is my own fault, really. I see the doorman smile. “My son loves maps,” I say. “And he has never been to Paris before.” The man nods. “It’s a long way, Mom,” Julien says, coming up to stand beside me. “And you’re…” “Old?” I can’t help smiling. “I am also French.” “You’re wearing heels.” Again, I say: “I’m French.” Julien turns to the doorman, who lifts his gloved hands and says, “C’est la vie, M’sieur.” “All right,” Julien says at last. “Let’s walk.”

close my eyes for a moment and remember: Isabelle, standing with Gaëtan, her arms around him, her eyes on me, shining with tears. With love. And then closing her eyes, saying something none of us could hear, taking her last breath in the arms of the man who loved her. Then, I saw tragedy in it; now I see beauty.

I look down at the second name tag in my hand. Sophie Mauriac. My beautiful baby girl, who grew into a solemn, thoughtful woman, who stayed near me for the whole of her life, always worrying, fluttering around me like a mama hen. Afraid. She was always just a little afraid of the world after all that we had lived through, and I hated that. But she knew how to love, my Sophie, and when cancer came for her, she wasn’t afraid. At the end, I was holding her hand, and she closed her eyes and said, “Tante … there you are.” Now, soon, they will be waiting for me, my sister and my daughter.

stare at the man before me. In him, I can see the boy I loved so deeply and the woman who was my best friend. “Ariel de Champlain,” I say, his name a whisper, a prayer. He takes me in his arms and holds me tightly and the memories return. When he finally pulls back, we are both crying. “I never forgot you or Sophie,” he says. “They told me to, and I tried, but I couldn’t. I’ve been looking for you both for years.”