Isn’t life a lifetime longing, a reflection, a flicker of the eye, a memory we yearn to hold, but one that slips eventually?

The Nightingale by Kristin Hannah, weaving a story in World War 2,  starts with closing of the reality & wading through the past, searching for memories, tucking them in. As of now, I’m drawn by the prose. I’m held, by the words. The way they are holding the pages, weaving their own spaces. It’s as if I’m in some other space.

I know, I know, I have just started reading it & anything can change as I read along. The cruel presence of war is beginning to show up. But, for me, first impressions are important. They inspire me to continue this word-voyage, if that’s something.

Isn’t each book an unfinished question, an unfinished answer, a mystery touched but not closed?

Well, I like to think of books as questions, as answers, as possibilities, as freedom, as nostalgia, as memory…

And, it’s not just during reading a book that questions pop up, it’s the aftermath too that decides the idea of book & its various questions.

Like, the war. Two different people. One before being in the war. One after coming out of the war & still not over war. The war continues. It touches, devastates, appears in pieces & parts.

And, as Kristin says, I’d like to add that it’s not just an individual that goes to war. Instead, “𝘈 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘢𝘳.”

And, the two sisters, appearing slowly in the shades of war, Vianne & Isabelle is the voice of The Nightingale. I’m following that voice.

And, I was pained to read Isabelle saying, “𝘐 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴, 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘐? 𝘖𝘯𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘦𝘥, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘯 𝘮𝘦. 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯’𝘵 𝘴𝘢𝘺 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘵 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦.”

War. Around you. Within you. Borders apart from you. War. Inescapable. Painful. Tearing apart. War.
“𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘱𝘶𝘵 𝘶𝘱 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘳?”

War, it’s pronounced as the war of men. Their abandonment. Their absence from their own lives. Back home, the women, terrified with the presence of war, yet silently grieving, living, in the corners of the books. Present yet absent.

But, in this book, the war is perceived in the light of women, through their eyes, hoping to contribute, hoping to be known as “more than a pretty face”.

Vianne & Isabelle – worlds apart, words apart, thoughts apart but their bond – as close as a heart – two motherless sisters.

Isabelle – the soul of resistance. The soul flinching at the thought of surrender. For, surrender isn’t the end. It’s the beginning in itself to hold your space, own it with all your might. Surrender is giving your space away, & pretending that it’s their kindness to own it & share it with you.

If you’re used to reading about war & men in the same lines, this book will peep bravely from the corners, holding the space between lines women deserve in a war. Because, wars aren’t only those captured by words. They are also those one can’t take out of hearts. Wars hold hearts. Stab them. Paralyze them. Strangulate the very heartbeat. Wars do more than words. Wars, placed in books after books, but this book should be in the shelf. For reasons, I”ll explain in my review. Possibly. 🥰 For now, know that, women & wars belong on the same page. In the same lines. Not miles apart. Not confined because of unknown walls.

By now, I thought I’ll finish this book & write a review, but anyway, I’m taking my time. And, let me add, that a good book isn’t one devoid of flaws, it’s one that makes you ponder, ask, reflect, visit & re-visit. 🥳