The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society

By Annie Barrows, Mary Ann Shaffer


“I ask yourself how the publication acquired to Guernsey? possibly there's a few kind of mystery homing intuition in books that brings them to their ideal readers.” January 1946: London is rising from the shadow of the second one international conflict, and author Juliet Ashton is trying to find her subsequent ebook topic. Who may think that she might locate it in a letter from a guy she’s by no means met, a local of the island of Guernsey, who has come throughout her identify written inside of a booklet by way of Charles Lamb….

As Juliet and her new correspondent alternate letters, Juliet is drawn into the area of this guy and his friends—and what a superbly eccentric global it's. The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society—born as a spur-of-the-moment alibi while its contributors have been came upon breaking curfew by way of the Germans occupying their island—boasts a captivating, humorous, deeply human forged of characters, from pig farmers to phrenologists, literature fanatics all.

Juliet starts off a impressive correspondence with the society’s participants, studying approximately their island, their style in books, and the impression the hot German career has had on their lives. Captivated by means of their tales, she units sail for Guernsey, and what she unearths will switch her forever.

Written with heat and humor as a chain of letters, this novel is a party of the written notice in all its guises, and of discovering connection within the so much amazing ways.

From the Hardcover edition.

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Do you need to work out a poem he wrote while a fallen lady charged him for her favors—poor lass. i'll reproduction it out for you. Is that battered strumpet in her senses, who asks me for 1000 sesterces? That woman with the nasty nostril? Ye kinsmen to whom the care of the lady belongs, name jointly acquaintances and physicians; the woman is insane. She thinks she is beautiful. these are love tokens? I advised my good friend Eben I by no means observed such spiteful stuff. He acknowledged to me I had simply no longer learn the fitting poets. He took me into his cottage and lent me a bit booklet of his personal. It was once the poetry of Wilfred Owen. He used to be an officer within the First international struggle, and he knew what used to be what and known as it by means of its correct identify. i used to be there, too, at Passchendaele, and that i knew what he knew, yet i'll by no means positioned it into phrases for myself. good, after that, i presumed there will be whatever to this poetry in any case. i started to visit conferences, and I’m joyful I did, else how might i've got learn the works of William Wordsworth—he might have stayed unknown to me. I realized lots of his poems by means of middle. besides, I did win the hand of the Widow Hubert—my Nancy. I received her to move for a stroll alongside the cliffs one night, and that i stated, “Lookie there, Nancy. The gentleness of Heaven broods o’er the sea—Listen, the robust Being is conscious. ” She permit me kiss her. She is now my spouse. Yours actually, Clovis Fossey P. S. Mrs. Maugery lent me a booklet final week. It’s known as The Oxford e-book of recent Verse, 1892–1935. They permit a guy named Yeats make the choosings. They shouldn’t have. who's he—and what does he learn about verse? I hunted throughout that publication for poems through Wilfred Owen or Siegfried Sassoon. There weren’t any—nary a one. And are you aware why no longer? simply because this Mr. Yeats said—he stated, “I intentionally selected to not contain any poems from international struggle I. i've got a distaste for them. Passive affliction isn't a topic for poetry. ” Passive soreness? Passive pain! I approximately seized up. What ailed the fellow? Lieutenant Owen, he wrote a line, “What passing-bells for those who die as farm animals? in basic terms the large anger of the weapons. ” What’s passive approximately that, I’d wish to comprehend? That’s precisely how they do die. I observed it with my very own eyes, and that i say to hell with Mr. Yeats. Yours actually, Clovis Fossey From Eben to Juliet tenth March, 1946 expensive omit Ashton, thanks to your letter and your type questions about my grandson, Eli. he's the kid of my daughter, Jane. Jane and her new-born child died in clinic at the day that the Germans bombed us, twenty eighth June, 1940. Eli’s father used to be killed in North Africa in 1942, so i've got Eli in my retaining now. Eli left Guernsey on twentieth June, in addition to the millions of infants and schoolchildren who have been evacuated to England. We knew the Germans have been coming and Jane nervous for his safeguard right here. The health care professional wouldn't enable Jane sail with them, the baby’s delivery being so shut. We didn't have any information of the youngsters for 6 months. Then I obtained a postcard from the crimson move, announcing Eli used to be good, yet no longer the place he used to be situated—we by no means knew what cities our kids have been in, although we prayed no longer in a massive urban.

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