Genre Fiction
![Martha Hall Kelly - [object Object] author](https://res.cloudinary.com/readsomnia/image/upload/authors/a_a_martha_hall_kelly.jpg)
Lilac Girls: A Novel
NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER • One million copies sold! Inspired by the life of a real World War II heroine, this remarkable debut novel reveals the power of unsung women to change history in their quest for love, freedom, and second chances.
"Extremely moving and memorable . . . This impressive debut should appeal strongly to historical fiction readers and to book clubs that adored Kristin Hannah's The Nightingale and Anthony Doerr's All the Light We Cannot See."-Library Journal (starred review)
New York socialite Caroline Ferriday has her hands full with her post at the French consulate and a new love on the horizon. But Caroline's world is forever changed when Hitler's army invades Poland in September 1939-and then sets its sights on France.
An ocean away from Caroline, Kasia Kuzmerick, a Polish teenager, senses her carefree youth disappearing as she is drawn deeper into her role as courier for the underground resistance movement. In a tense atmosphere of watchful eyes and suspecting neighbors, one false move can have dire consequences.
For the ambitious young German doctor, Herta Oberheuser, an ad for a government medical position seems her ticket out of a desolate life. Once hired, though, she finds herself trapped in a male-dominated realm of Nazi secrets and power.
The lives of these three women are set on a collision course when the unthinkable happens and Kasia is sent to Ravensbrück, the notorious Nazi concentration camp for women. Their stories cross continents-from New York to Paris, Germany, and Poland-as Caroline and Kasia strive to bring justice to those whom history has forgotten.
USA Today "New and Noteworthy" Book •LibraryReads Top Ten Pick
"Extremely moving and memorable . . . This impressive debut should appeal strongly to historical fiction readers and to book clubs that adored Kristin Hannah's The Nightingale and Anthony Doerr's All the Light We Cannot See."-Library Journal (starred review)
New York socialite Caroline Ferriday has her hands full with her post at the French consulate and a new love on the horizon. But Caroline's world is forever changed when Hitler's army invades Poland in September 1939-and then sets its sights on France.
An ocean away from Caroline, Kasia Kuzmerick, a Polish teenager, senses her carefree youth disappearing as she is drawn deeper into her role as courier for the underground resistance movement. In a tense atmosphere of watchful eyes and suspecting neighbors, one false move can have dire consequences.
For the ambitious young German doctor, Herta Oberheuser, an ad for a government medical position seems her ticket out of a desolate life. Once hired, though, she finds herself trapped in a male-dominated realm of Nazi secrets and power.
The lives of these three women are set on a collision course when the unthinkable happens and Kasia is sent to Ravensbrück, the notorious Nazi concentration camp for women. Their stories cross continents-from New York to Paris, Germany, and Poland-as Caroline and Kasia strive to bring justice to those whom history has forgotten.
USA Today "New and Noteworthy" Book •LibraryReads Top Ten Pick
Editorial Reviews
"Harrowing . . . Lilac illuminates."-People
"A compelling, page-turning narrative . . . Lilac Girls falls squarely into the groundbreaking category of fiction that re-examines history from a fresh, female point of view. It's smart, thoughtful and also just an old-fashioned good read."-Fort Worth Star-Telegram
"A powerful story for readers everywhere . . . Martha Hall Kelly has brought readers a firsthand glimpse into one of history's most frightening memories. A novel that brings to life what these women and many others suffered. . . . I was moved to tears."-San Francisco Book Review
"[A] compelling first novel . . . This is a page-turner demonstrating the tests and triumphs civilians faced during war, complemented by Kelly's vivid depiction of history and excellent characters."-Publishers Weekly
"Kelly vividly re-creates the world of Ravensbrück."-Kirkus Reviews
"Inspired by actual events and real people, Martha Hall Kelly has woven together the stories of three women during World War II that reveal the bravery, cowardice, and cruelty of those days. This is a part of history-women's history-that should never be forgotten."-Lisa See,New York Timesbestselling author of China Dolls
"This is the kind of book I wish I had the courage to write-a profound, unsettling, and thoroughly captivating look at sisterhood through the dark lens of the Holocaust. Lilac Girls is the best book I've read all year. It will haunt you."-Jamie Ford, New York Times bestselling author of Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet
"Rich with historical detail and riveting to the end, Lilac Girls weaves the lives of three astonishing women into a story of extraordinary moral power set against the harrowing backdrop of Europe in thrall to...
"A compelling, page-turning narrative . . . Lilac Girls falls squarely into the groundbreaking category of fiction that re-examines history from a fresh, female point of view. It's smart, thoughtful and also just an old-fashioned good read."-Fort Worth Star-Telegram
"A powerful story for readers everywhere . . . Martha Hall Kelly has brought readers a firsthand glimpse into one of history's most frightening memories. A novel that brings to life what these women and many others suffered. . . . I was moved to tears."-San Francisco Book Review
"[A] compelling first novel . . . This is a page-turner demonstrating the tests and triumphs civilians faced during war, complemented by Kelly's vivid depiction of history and excellent characters."-Publishers Weekly
"Kelly vividly re-creates the world of Ravensbrück."-Kirkus Reviews
"Inspired by actual events and real people, Martha Hall Kelly has woven together the stories of three women during World War II that reveal the bravery, cowardice, and cruelty of those days. This is a part of history-women's history-that should never be forgotten."-Lisa See,New York Timesbestselling author of China Dolls
"This is the kind of book I wish I had the courage to write-a profound, unsettling, and thoroughly captivating look at sisterhood through the dark lens of the Holocaust. Lilac Girls is the best book I've read all year. It will haunt you."-Jamie Ford, New York Times bestselling author of Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet
"Rich with historical detail and riveting to the end, Lilac Girls weaves the lives of three astonishing women into a story of extraordinary moral power set against the harrowing backdrop of Europe in thrall to...
Readers Top Reviews
kareneaks
This was an amazing insight into what happened during the Second World War through the lives of 3 different women with very different stories that are intwined. The American socialite raising funds , the Polish girl who ends up at the concentration camp and the female camp doctor . I had never heard much about Ravensbruck concentration camp and was appalled at what went on there . This book gives insight into why people do the things they do and the courage of people in the face of adversity. Definitely worth reading
Carolinekareneaks
The novel is told through the eyes of 3 narrators; Caroline, Kasia and Herta. Caroline is an altruistic New York socialite providing aid for French refugees, Kasia lives in Poland and her life is turned upside down with the German occupation of Poland and Herta is a German doctor, who accepts a post at a new 're-education' camp solely for women called Ravensbrück. Each chapter is narrated by one of the women, each with very different voices. This novel is truly wonderful. The narration is fast paced and throughout I felt very invested in the fates of Caroline and Kasia. The importance of this novel must not be underestimated and at times I found myself in tears and so very angry at the atrocities committed. It is not a book I would normally have chosen but I am so very glad I read this. An excellent and important read.
Mrs C.Carolinekar
Gripping, heart wrenching and painfully sad at times but something we should all know about. The Lilac Girls tells the story of 3 women during and after WW2. It is centred around the Ravensbrück women’s concentration camp in Germany and the experimental surgery that the Nazis carried out on a group of Polish women who became known as the ‘Ravensbrück Rabbits’. I found the first few chapters hard going but from about 15-20% in I was gripped. This is based on true events and also real people, which I realised half way through and knowing that made it even more gripping and probably more harrowing at times. I loved that we heard the different experiences and viewpoints of 3 different women - 1 of which was Herta - one of the German doctors responsible for the crimes. It was obviously horrendous and makes you feel so angry but it was very interesting. The others were Kasia, one of the ‘rabbits’, and Caroline who is an American actress and socialite who helps the ladies affected, after the war. Herta and Caroline are real people and Kasia is a character based on a real life ‘rabbit’. Don’t expect a light hearted read but don’t let that put you off as I haven’t felt so affected by a book in a long time.
NickiMagsJanie UM
I’ve really struggled with how to write this review because I can’t put my finger on how I feel about it. I actually started out with the audiobook, but didn’t like all of the narrators so changed to the kindle book quite near the beginning. I’m so glad that I read this as a buddy read as I’m not sure I would’ve been able to finish it otherwise. It was good being able to message each other as we read the horrendous chapters set in Ravensbruck, the women’s concentration camp. I’ve read a quite a few books set during WW2 and I think these were some of the most barbaric scenes I’ve read. I found Caroline’s point of view interesting and to be honest bit strange, until the latter part of the book when it all becomes clear what her involvement is. Personally I would’ve preferred the author’s historical note about her at the beginning of the book, so I knew exactly why she was part of the story. Herta, the German doctor’s point of view was rather flat to me and lacked depth. I’m not sure if the author was just trying to show how dedicated she was to the regime, or how hard it was for women to be recognised in the medical field at that time. Kasia’s the character I was most drawn to most because she seemed far more real than the other characters. She was very young and had to deal with the most horrendous situations in the story. Also the cover makes me feel uncomfortable, as it looks like a lovely story about about three women, a bit misleading, plus the lilacs where hardly mentioned. My overall impression is that there are better books set during the Holocaust, particularly The Pianist by Szpilman Wladyslaw and The Tattooist of Auschwitz by Heather Morris.
LettysharmieCarol
After the positive reviews, I was sure I’d love this book— especially because I really like WW2 stories. But I’m sorry to say that I hated this book. I was so uncomfortable that I couldn’t finish it, which is something I’ve done only a handful of times (not finish a book I start reading). I thought the writing was poor and I simply was not enjoying myself. The storylines were not interesting to me, and I honestly could not stomach the torture scenes.
Short Excerpt Teaser
Chapter 1
Caroline
September 1939
If I'd known I was about to meet the man who'd shatter me like bone china on terra-cotta, I would have slept in. Instead, I roused our florist, Mr. Sitwell, from his bed to make a boutonnière. My first consulate gala was no time to stand on ceremony.
I joined the riptide of the great unwashed moving up Fifth Avenue. Men in gray-felted fedoras pushed by me, the morning papers in their attachés bearing the last benign headlines of the decade. There was no storm gathering in the east that day, no portent of things to come. The only ominous sign from the direction of Europe was the scent of slack water wafting off the East River.
As I neared our building at the corner of Fifth Avenue and Forty-ninth Street, I felt Roger watching from the window above. He'd fired people for a lot less than being twenty minutes late, but the one time of year the New York elite opened their wallets and pretended they cared about France was no time for skimpy boutonnières.
I turned at the corner, the morning sun alive in the gold-leaf letters chiseled in the cornerstone: la maison française. The French Building, home to the French Consulate, stood side by side with the British Empire Building, facing Fifth Avenue, part of Rockefeller Center, Junior Rockefeller's new complex of granite and limestone. Many foreign consulates kept offices there then, resulting in a great stew of international diplomacy.
"All the way to the back and face the front," said Cuddy, our elevator operator.
Mr. Rockefeller handpicked the elevator boys, screening for manners and good looks. Cuddy was heavy on the looks, though his hair was already salt-and-peppered, his body in a hurry to age.
Cuddy fixed his gaze on the illuminated numbers above the doors. "You got a crowd up there today, Miss Ferriday. Pia said there's two new boats in."
"Delightful," I said.
Cuddy brushed something off the sleeve of his navy-blue uniform jacket. "Another late one tonight?"
For the fastest elevators in the world, ours still took forever. "I'll be gone by five. Gala tonight."
I loved my job. Grandmother Woolsey had started the work tradition in our family, nursing soldiers on the battlefield at Gettysburg. But my volunteer post as head of family assistance for the French Consulate wasn't work really. Loving all things French was simply genetic for me. My father may have been half-Irish, but his heart belonged to France. Plus, Mother had inherited an apartment in Paris, where we spent every August, so I felt at home there.
The elevator stopped. Even through the closed doors, we could hear a terrific din of raised voices. A shiver ran through me.
"Third floor," Cuddy called out. "French Consulate. Watch your-"
Once the doors parted, the noise overpowered all polite speech. The hallway outside our reception area was packed so tightly with people one could scarcely step through. Both the Normandie and the Ile de France, two of France's premier ocean liners, had landed that morning in New York Harbor, packed with wealthy passengers fleeing the uncertainty in France. Once the all-clear horn signaled and they were free to disembark, the ships' elite streamed to the consulate to iron out visa problems and other sticky issues.
I squeezed into the smoky reception area, past ladies in Paris's newest day dresses who stood gossiping in a lovely cloud of Arpège, the sea spray still in their hair. The people in this group were accustomed to being shadowed by a butler with a crystal ashtray and a champagne flute. Bellboys in scarlet jackets from the Normandie went toe-to-toe with their black-jacketed counterparts from the Ile de France. I wedged one shoulder through the crowd, toward our secretary's desk at the back of the room, and my chiffon scarf snagged on the clasp of one ravishing creature's pearls. As I worked to extract it, the intercom buzzed unanswered.
Roger.
I pressed on through, felt a pat on my behind, and turned to see a midshipman flash a plaquey smile.
"Gardons nos mains pour nous-mêmes," I said. Let's keep our hands to ourselves.
The boy raised his arm above the crowd and dangled his Normandie stateroom key. At least he wasn't the over-sixty type I usually attracted.
I made it to our secretary's desk, where she sat, head down, typing.
"Bonjour, Pia."
Roger's cousin, a sloe-eyed boy of eighteen, was sitting on Pia's desk, legs crossed. He held his cigarette in the air as he picked through a box of chocolates, Pia's favorite breakfast. My inbox on her desk was already stacked with case folders.
"Vraiment? What is so good about it?" she said, not lifting her head.
Pia was much more than a secretary. We all...
Caroline
September 1939
If I'd known I was about to meet the man who'd shatter me like bone china on terra-cotta, I would have slept in. Instead, I roused our florist, Mr. Sitwell, from his bed to make a boutonnière. My first consulate gala was no time to stand on ceremony.
I joined the riptide of the great unwashed moving up Fifth Avenue. Men in gray-felted fedoras pushed by me, the morning papers in their attachés bearing the last benign headlines of the decade. There was no storm gathering in the east that day, no portent of things to come. The only ominous sign from the direction of Europe was the scent of slack water wafting off the East River.
As I neared our building at the corner of Fifth Avenue and Forty-ninth Street, I felt Roger watching from the window above. He'd fired people for a lot less than being twenty minutes late, but the one time of year the New York elite opened their wallets and pretended they cared about France was no time for skimpy boutonnières.
I turned at the corner, the morning sun alive in the gold-leaf letters chiseled in the cornerstone: la maison française. The French Building, home to the French Consulate, stood side by side with the British Empire Building, facing Fifth Avenue, part of Rockefeller Center, Junior Rockefeller's new complex of granite and limestone. Many foreign consulates kept offices there then, resulting in a great stew of international diplomacy.
"All the way to the back and face the front," said Cuddy, our elevator operator.
Mr. Rockefeller handpicked the elevator boys, screening for manners and good looks. Cuddy was heavy on the looks, though his hair was already salt-and-peppered, his body in a hurry to age.
Cuddy fixed his gaze on the illuminated numbers above the doors. "You got a crowd up there today, Miss Ferriday. Pia said there's two new boats in."
"Delightful," I said.
Cuddy brushed something off the sleeve of his navy-blue uniform jacket. "Another late one tonight?"
For the fastest elevators in the world, ours still took forever. "I'll be gone by five. Gala tonight."
I loved my job. Grandmother Woolsey had started the work tradition in our family, nursing soldiers on the battlefield at Gettysburg. But my volunteer post as head of family assistance for the French Consulate wasn't work really. Loving all things French was simply genetic for me. My father may have been half-Irish, but his heart belonged to France. Plus, Mother had inherited an apartment in Paris, where we spent every August, so I felt at home there.
The elevator stopped. Even through the closed doors, we could hear a terrific din of raised voices. A shiver ran through me.
"Third floor," Cuddy called out. "French Consulate. Watch your-"
Once the doors parted, the noise overpowered all polite speech. The hallway outside our reception area was packed so tightly with people one could scarcely step through. Both the Normandie and the Ile de France, two of France's premier ocean liners, had landed that morning in New York Harbor, packed with wealthy passengers fleeing the uncertainty in France. Once the all-clear horn signaled and they were free to disembark, the ships' elite streamed to the consulate to iron out visa problems and other sticky issues.
I squeezed into the smoky reception area, past ladies in Paris's newest day dresses who stood gossiping in a lovely cloud of Arpège, the sea spray still in their hair. The people in this group were accustomed to being shadowed by a butler with a crystal ashtray and a champagne flute. Bellboys in scarlet jackets from the Normandie went toe-to-toe with their black-jacketed counterparts from the Ile de France. I wedged one shoulder through the crowd, toward our secretary's desk at the back of the room, and my chiffon scarf snagged on the clasp of one ravishing creature's pearls. As I worked to extract it, the intercom buzzed unanswered.
Roger.
I pressed on through, felt a pat on my behind, and turned to see a midshipman flash a plaquey smile.
"Gardons nos mains pour nous-mêmes," I said. Let's keep our hands to ourselves.
The boy raised his arm above the crowd and dangled his Normandie stateroom key. At least he wasn't the over-sixty type I usually attracted.
I made it to our secretary's desk, where she sat, head down, typing.
"Bonjour, Pia."
Roger's cousin, a sloe-eyed boy of eighteen, was sitting on Pia's desk, legs crossed. He held his cigarette in the air as he picked through a box of chocolates, Pia's favorite breakfast. My inbox on her desk was already stacked with case folders.
"Vraiment? What is so good about it?" she said, not lifting her head.
Pia was much more than a secretary. We all...
