Code Name Verity, by Elizabeth E. Wein, is hands-down the most talked about book among my social circle this year. It’s an epistolary novel set in WWII: a young British woman has been caught as a spy in France, and after torture has agreed to write down all she knows about the British war effort. She uses the paper and temporary reprieve to tell the story of how she came to be in France, particularly her friendship with the pilot (also a young woman) who flew her there.
Lots of people have said “don’t find out anything else about the book before you read it, no spoilers!” And some people have said that this emphasis gave them an unfortunate reading experience, because—somewhat perversely, though understandably—it led them to expect something different than what they got. So: this is not a Big Shocking Twist book, that’s not why people are saying “no spoilers!” It is an extremely emotionally tense and suspenseful book, and it’s the resolutions of what’s-going-to-happen?!?!! that would be a shame to spoil, because the tension is so beautifully built and released.
The things I can say: it’s an excellent book and I highly recommend it if you like spies, suspense, flying, historical novels, WWII, first-person narration, and/or awesome women. It’s got lovely complex characterization, down to the minor characters. Its focus on female friendship is sadly rare but all the more welcome for it. It makes excellent use of its chosen narrative device. Though it is obviously about some tough subjects (Nazis and interrogation and torture, oh my!), it is not particularly graphic and manages to not be soul-crushingly depressing—indeed, is often witty along the way (I love the proposition that the unnamed British intelligence officer is Peter Wimsey, by Becca in a post with spoilers for everything).
Seriously: if you regularly read this booklog, our tastes almost certainly overlap enough for you to like this book. Go read it. (If you are buying a paper copy in a bookstore, you’ll have to look in YA.)
(If you buy an ebook: the first half of my U.S. edition contains some underlined text, which is indeed supposed to be underlined. The second half contains some underlined text, which is alas supposed to be struck through (this is reasonably clear from context, but I was glad to confirm it from someone with a paper copy). Also for some reason most if not all of its upper-case “U”s are lower-case. Unfortunate, but still readable.)
I finished this last night, and I would pretty much adopt everything you say here for my comments, too. It’s a story with a real bite to it, very nicely told.
I’m so glad to hear you liked it! And in a half-dozen years or so your daughter can read it too. =>
Yeah, I’ll keep it on the list for her, although I don’t know what the best age/maturity level would be. I certainly wouldn’t reflexively categorize this as YA; although it will no doubt seem that I’m underweighting the heft and gravity of YA books, this one nevertheless struck me as being tougher and harder than the typical YA.
Or maybe that’s just me indulging overprotective daddy syndrome–they still have teens read _The Diary of Anne Frank_, after all, right?
I guess I’m still enshadowed by the central climactic event of the book (“Kiss me, Hardy,” etc.), which was right for the narrative and bravely written by the author, but still of a weight and tenor to guarantee it doesn’t slip smoothly and tracklessly over the transom of one’s consciousness.
I think you are. But then the summer before high school I read _Presumed Innocent_ and _Hyperion_. I wouldn’t hand those to SteelyKid at the same age, but I wouldn’t take them away from her either.