The Nightingale

I am well aware that I tend to over-use superlatives. Everything is the best, the cutest, the most wonderful, the favorite. I, however, feel that I am correctly using a superlative when I say that "The Nightingale" is one of the best books I've ever read.

It's a World War II book, but its focus is less on concentration camp horror and the gruesomeness of the war. This is a book about survival at any cost and about the beauty that can come from loss and hardship. I really don't want to give any of the storyline away, because the beauty of the book comes from its story.

If this glowing review isn't enough to interest you,  my tear-stained face should be an attestation of both my love for this book. When Jared came over last night, he could tell I was sad. He was asking me about my day, assuming something bad had happened. What he soon learned was that I was sad because of WWII--sad that it happened, sad that people had to witness it, and sad for the survivors. Mostly, I was sad that two of my friends (my mom says that fictional characters can be friends) were part of this time of grievances. Jared didn't understand why I was sad for fictional characters, and maybe he never will. But I now feel that I was part of a world that I don't and hope to never belong to.

This book comes with my highest recommendation.