Thrillers & Suspense
![Anna Pitoniak - [object Object] author](https://res.cloudinary.com/readsomnia/image/upload/authors/a_B01G3YU88A.jpg)
Our American Friend: A Novel
A mysterious first lady.
The intrepid journalist writing her biography.
And the secret that could destroy them both.
Tired of covering the grating dysfunction of Washington and the increasingly outrageous antics of President Henry Caine, White House correspondent Sofie Morse quits her job and plans to leave politics behind. But when she gets a call from the office of First Lady Lara Caine, asking Sofie to come in for a private meeting with Lara, her curiosity is piqued. Sofie, like the rest of the world, knows little about Lara-only that Lara was born in Soviet Russia, raised in Paris, and worked as a model before moving to America and marrying the notoriously brash future president.
When Lara asks Sofie to write her official biography, and to finally fill in the gaps of her history, Sofie's curiosity gets the better of her. She begins to spend more and more time in the White House, slowly developing a bond with Lara-and eventually a deep and surprising friendship with her.
Even more surprising to Sofie is the fact that Lara is entirely candid about her mysterious past. The First Lady doesn't hesitate to speak about her beloved father's work as an undercover KGB officer in Paris-and how he wasn't the only person in her family working undercover during the Cold War.
As Lara's story unfolds, Sofie can't help but wonder why Lara is rehashing such sensitive information. Why to her? And why now? Suddenly Sofie is in the middle of a game of cat and mouse that could have explosive ramifications.
For fans of The Secrets We Kept and American Wife, Our American Friend is a propulsive Cold War-era spy thriller crossed with a fictional biography of a First Lady. Spanning from the 1970s to the present day, traveling from Moscow and Paris to Washington and New York, Anna Pitoniak's novel is a gripping page-turner-and a devastating love story-about power and complicity and how sometimes, the fate of the world is in the hands of the people you'd never expect.
The intrepid journalist writing her biography.
And the secret that could destroy them both.
Tired of covering the grating dysfunction of Washington and the increasingly outrageous antics of President Henry Caine, White House correspondent Sofie Morse quits her job and plans to leave politics behind. But when she gets a call from the office of First Lady Lara Caine, asking Sofie to come in for a private meeting with Lara, her curiosity is piqued. Sofie, like the rest of the world, knows little about Lara-only that Lara was born in Soviet Russia, raised in Paris, and worked as a model before moving to America and marrying the notoriously brash future president.
When Lara asks Sofie to write her official biography, and to finally fill in the gaps of her history, Sofie's curiosity gets the better of her. She begins to spend more and more time in the White House, slowly developing a bond with Lara-and eventually a deep and surprising friendship with her.
Even more surprising to Sofie is the fact that Lara is entirely candid about her mysterious past. The First Lady doesn't hesitate to speak about her beloved father's work as an undercover KGB officer in Paris-and how he wasn't the only person in her family working undercover during the Cold War.
As Lara's story unfolds, Sofie can't help but wonder why Lara is rehashing such sensitive information. Why to her? And why now? Suddenly Sofie is in the middle of a game of cat and mouse that could have explosive ramifications.
For fans of The Secrets We Kept and American Wife, Our American Friend is a propulsive Cold War-era spy thriller crossed with a fictional biography of a First Lady. Spanning from the 1970s to the present day, traveling from Moscow and Paris to Washington and New York, Anna Pitoniak's novel is a gripping page-turner-and a devastating love story-about power and complicity and how sometimes, the fate of the world is in the hands of the people you'd never expect.
Editorial Reviews
"Pitoniak braids timelines to create a portrait of a woman torn between two countries, two belief systems, two selves....Elegant and well-paced.... Like "Emily in Paris" meets "Scandal" - fantastic fun."-New York Times
"Spectacular - a global thriller with pace, tension and ever-higher stakes, born of an intimate and unlikely friendship between two very different women ... the story succeeds on every level."-Lee Child, #1 New York Times bestselling author
"An enthralling journey into the life of one of the most powerful women in the world....Exploring interpersonal loyalties and the difference between cowardice and patience, the well-researched and twist-filled Our American Friend is a natural next-read for fans of Curtis Sittenfeld, A. Natasha Joukovsky, and Stacey Swann."-Booklist (starred review)
"A journalist gets sucked into the orbit of an enigmatic first lady-and her life will never be the same.... This lively political thriller mulls love, loyalty, and the rewards of playing the long game."-Kirkus
"Viewers who followed the TV series The Americans will recognize and enjoy its thrilling hallmarks in this exciting novel about the erstwhile first couple."-Library Journal
"A surprising tale of international intrigue…. A smart, timely take on American politics, Soviet spy craft, and the lengths we'll go to for love and revenge."-Town & Country
"Wholly original."-Entertainment Weekly
"A smart, timely take on American politics, Soviet spy craft, and the lengths we'll go to for love and revenge."-Town and Country
"Anna Pitoniak's latest page-turner Our American Friend is packed with Cold War spy intrigue, complex women characters, and rich historical details. I read this novel in one sitting, pouring over the pages, wanting to know what secrets the unforgettable character of First Lady Lara Caine held. Our American Friend does what good fiction does best-it reaches across time to speak to the present moment."-<...
"Spectacular - a global thriller with pace, tension and ever-higher stakes, born of an intimate and unlikely friendship between two very different women ... the story succeeds on every level."-Lee Child, #1 New York Times bestselling author
"An enthralling journey into the life of one of the most powerful women in the world....Exploring interpersonal loyalties and the difference between cowardice and patience, the well-researched and twist-filled Our American Friend is a natural next-read for fans of Curtis Sittenfeld, A. Natasha Joukovsky, and Stacey Swann."-Booklist (starred review)
"A journalist gets sucked into the orbit of an enigmatic first lady-and her life will never be the same.... This lively political thriller mulls love, loyalty, and the rewards of playing the long game."-Kirkus
"Viewers who followed the TV series The Americans will recognize and enjoy its thrilling hallmarks in this exciting novel about the erstwhile first couple."-Library Journal
"A surprising tale of international intrigue…. A smart, timely take on American politics, Soviet spy craft, and the lengths we'll go to for love and revenge."-Town & Country
"Wholly original."-Entertainment Weekly
"A smart, timely take on American politics, Soviet spy craft, and the lengths we'll go to for love and revenge."-Town and Country
"Anna Pitoniak's latest page-turner Our American Friend is packed with Cold War spy intrigue, complex women characters, and rich historical details. I read this novel in one sitting, pouring over the pages, wanting to know what secrets the unforgettable character of First Lady Lara Caine held. Our American Friend does what good fiction does best-it reaches across time to speak to the present moment."-<...
Readers Top Reviews
Reviewer
I loved this book. Though the mechanisms of the story will be recognizable — brash president, mysterious first lady, journalist, spy craft — what really makes it go is the emotional depth. Lara, the First Lady, is motivated by her own personal history and loss. Sophie, the journalist, is forced to grapple with the meaning of her work. Questions of right and wrong become blurry, fraught, and emotionally revealing. Highly, highly, recommend.
Kelly GottschalkR
Our American Friend mixes recent politics - readers will find more than a few similarities to a recent president and his family, and combines some of the very real red flags and conflicts of interest with a fictional story that has the wife of the president of the United States growing up in Paris when her father is assigned there by the KGB. Sofie, a newspaper reporter, serves as Lana Caine's confidant under the auspice that she is writing a biography. As much as Sofie dislikes the man currently occupying the Oval Office, she is increasingly drawn in by the story Lana has to tell, and how little anyone really knows about her past. The story tends to get a little long-winded at times, but Pitoniak manages to create a story that feels completely believable. Depending on the reader's political opinions and affiliations may depend on how willing they are to go for the ride, but there were definitely moments where I found myself wondering about how far off from reality a situation like this could be. While Sofie tells parts of the story, the book is really about Lana and how her past may impact not just her but the whole entire country. This means that Sofie doesn't always feel fully developed, but most readers will empathize with Lana when tragedy befalls her as a teenager and leads her down a road that will change the course of her life forever.
Stacy DKelly Gott
Does Anna PItoniak know CIA secrets we’re not privy to, or is this a fantasy thriller of Melanie Trump being a person of secrecy, substance and bravery? Either way, it’s a completely engaging romp of insider D.C. politics, CIA spying, White House behind-the-scenes moments, and Soviet plots. Here, Donald Trump morphs into President Henry Caine, who comes replete with all Trumpisms of manner, language, bluster, greed and fury. Melania becomes the fictional Lara, who’s born in the Soviet Union instead of Russia and raised in Paris when her KGB father gets assigned embassy work there during the Cold War. Like Melania, Lara’s a loner, a model, and dedicated to her family who she brought over to the U.S. thanks to her husband’s wealth and connections, and to being a Mom. Like Melania, Lara has an elusive, unreadable glass surface and wants total public disengagement. But Lara has a secret past she’s never revealed, one that started with a young brilliant Russian rebel who turned out to the be love of her life. Lara summons talented White House reporter Sofie Morse, who’s quit her job feeling burnt out covering the incipient Trump-like antics of President Caine. Lara asks Sofie to write her biography. Of note, Lara does not insist on an NDA, and Sofie is both baffled and intrigued. The novel divides into two story lines: third party narration revealing the intimate past of Lara’s life and Sophie’s first-person narration as she gets drawn further and further into Lara’s world. Eventually Sophie’s own life is in danger based on what she learns. For anyone has truly wondered what may be behind the glamorous contained veneer of Melanie, this book provides a glorious romp into an imaginative explanation that proves wholly satisfying.
Design FanStacy D
Whether you're interested in First Ladies, the Cold War, or just a fun thriller, this is the novel for you. Pitoniak's best — so far! Enjoy it.
Short Excerpt Teaser
Chapter One CHAPTER ONE
The Mediterranean was a deep winter blue, cold and dimpled like hammered steel, on the morning that I began wondering if I had made the worst mistake of my life.
The night before, I'd been walking home through our quiet corner of the city, no more or less nervous than usual. Light flickered from the dying bulb in the streetlight. Cars were parked tight up against the white stucco buildings. We lived on a narrow street where no one knew our name, in a home that was meant to remain anonymous. But in the doorway-our doorway-there was a strange figure, standing and waiting.
A young woman, blond hair peeking from beneath her knit hat, wearing a plush parka, bent over her phone, her face illuminated in an eerie glow. Hearing my footsteps, she suddenly looked up. "You're Sofie, aren't you?" she said. "Sofie Morse?"
She held out a business card and I glanced down. I recognized her name. My heart began thudding against my rib cage. With a patient smile, she explained how much effort it had taken for her to track me down, given that I hadn't returned any of her emails or phone calls, and she didn't mean to startle me but she really did have some important questions to ask.
I took the card from her and looked away, mumbling, "Right, right, thanks. Uh, sorry, got to get these groceries inside." I could sense her continuing to stare at me. She stood in front of the door, blocking the way. "Sorry," I repeated. "Do you mind?"
As she stepped aside, she placed her hand on my arm and said: "So you'll call me?"
Though I had no intention of seeing this woman again, I needed to get away from her. I nodded, and said I'd call her, because every second we stood here was another second in which she might see through me.
Upstairs, I unlocked our apartment door with shaking hands. I dropped the grocery bags to the floor, forgetting the carton of eggs, which now seeped from their cracked shells. I took deep breaths, trying not to panic. Stop freaking out, I told myself. You're okay.
Except that a stranger had tracked me down, flown across the Atlantic, and waited on my doorstep for who-knew-how-long in the cold January night, because that's how badly she wanted to know the truth; the truth, which, if revealed, could cause the entire operation to collapse. It wasn't just my safety, or Ben's safety. I'd been reminded, time and again, that the stakes were much bigger than that. No, I wasn't okay. I was definitely not okay.
"It's unlikely that you'll need it," the man had said, last year, back in New York. He had the seen-it-all sangfroid of a person familiar with the furthest edges of life. "But if you're in real trouble, and you need to signal for a meeting, here's what you do."
I hurried into the bedroom and took the red towel from the shelf in the closet. I grabbed a few stray items from the laundry hamper-a T-shirt, a sweatshirt-and soaked everything in the kitchen sink. The towel was brand-new, never washed before. The red dye bled and stained the water. The wet bundle left a trail along the floor as I carried it to our small balcony, where we kept a collapsible laundry rack. On the outermost edge, clearly visible to anyone passing, the red towel dripped and dripped.
When Ben got home an hour later, his eyes were wide. He had seen the towel. Silently, he nodded toward the balcony. Why the towel? What happened?
I slid the business card across the counter. His eyebrows arched in recognition. The woman was a journalist from a TV network back in New York. She told me she would love the chance to talk about my relationship with Lara Caine, the First Lady of the United States. Would love, that's how she phrased it. Would sell a kidney for is a better way to put it.
That night I lay wide awake, unable to sleep. The fear had ebbed and flowed since we arrived in Croatia four months before, but this was the worst yet. Ben breathed steadily in the darkness. Okay, I thought, engaging in my usual practice. Ask yourself this. What was I scared of? Was I scared of her? I was familiar with the hunger she felt, the relentless drive to uncover the truth. Wasn't she just a journalist, not so different from me? Anyway, it wasn't like she was interested in me specifically. She was only doing he...
The Mediterranean was a deep winter blue, cold and dimpled like hammered steel, on the morning that I began wondering if I had made the worst mistake of my life.
The night before, I'd been walking home through our quiet corner of the city, no more or less nervous than usual. Light flickered from the dying bulb in the streetlight. Cars were parked tight up against the white stucco buildings. We lived on a narrow street where no one knew our name, in a home that was meant to remain anonymous. But in the doorway-our doorway-there was a strange figure, standing and waiting.
A young woman, blond hair peeking from beneath her knit hat, wearing a plush parka, bent over her phone, her face illuminated in an eerie glow. Hearing my footsteps, she suddenly looked up. "You're Sofie, aren't you?" she said. "Sofie Morse?"
She held out a business card and I glanced down. I recognized her name. My heart began thudding against my rib cage. With a patient smile, she explained how much effort it had taken for her to track me down, given that I hadn't returned any of her emails or phone calls, and she didn't mean to startle me but she really did have some important questions to ask.
I took the card from her and looked away, mumbling, "Right, right, thanks. Uh, sorry, got to get these groceries inside." I could sense her continuing to stare at me. She stood in front of the door, blocking the way. "Sorry," I repeated. "Do you mind?"
As she stepped aside, she placed her hand on my arm and said: "So you'll call me?"
Though I had no intention of seeing this woman again, I needed to get away from her. I nodded, and said I'd call her, because every second we stood here was another second in which she might see through me.
Upstairs, I unlocked our apartment door with shaking hands. I dropped the grocery bags to the floor, forgetting the carton of eggs, which now seeped from their cracked shells. I took deep breaths, trying not to panic. Stop freaking out, I told myself. You're okay.
Except that a stranger had tracked me down, flown across the Atlantic, and waited on my doorstep for who-knew-how-long in the cold January night, because that's how badly she wanted to know the truth; the truth, which, if revealed, could cause the entire operation to collapse. It wasn't just my safety, or Ben's safety. I'd been reminded, time and again, that the stakes were much bigger than that. No, I wasn't okay. I was definitely not okay.
"It's unlikely that you'll need it," the man had said, last year, back in New York. He had the seen-it-all sangfroid of a person familiar with the furthest edges of life. "But if you're in real trouble, and you need to signal for a meeting, here's what you do."
I hurried into the bedroom and took the red towel from the shelf in the closet. I grabbed a few stray items from the laundry hamper-a T-shirt, a sweatshirt-and soaked everything in the kitchen sink. The towel was brand-new, never washed before. The red dye bled and stained the water. The wet bundle left a trail along the floor as I carried it to our small balcony, where we kept a collapsible laundry rack. On the outermost edge, clearly visible to anyone passing, the red towel dripped and dripped.
When Ben got home an hour later, his eyes were wide. He had seen the towel. Silently, he nodded toward the balcony. Why the towel? What happened?
I slid the business card across the counter. His eyebrows arched in recognition. The woman was a journalist from a TV network back in New York. She told me she would love the chance to talk about my relationship with Lara Caine, the First Lady of the United States. Would love, that's how she phrased it. Would sell a kidney for is a better way to put it.
That night I lay wide awake, unable to sleep. The fear had ebbed and flowed since we arrived in Croatia four months before, but this was the worst yet. Ben breathed steadily in the darkness. Okay, I thought, engaging in my usual practice. Ask yourself this. What was I scared of? Was I scared of her? I was familiar with the hunger she felt, the relentless drive to uncover the truth. Wasn't she just a journalist, not so different from me? Anyway, it wasn't like she was interested in me specifically. She was only doing he...
