Review: Tamar, by Mal Peet

wwiiWar Through the Generations Reading Challenge

Tamar: A Novel of Espionage, Passion, and Betrayal
By Mal Peet

When her grandfather dies, Tamar inherits a box containing a series of clues and coded messages. Out of the past, another Tamar emerges, a man involved in the terrifying world of resistance fighters in Nazi-occupied Holland half a century before. His story is one of passionate love, jealousy, and tragedy set against the daily fear and casual horror of the Second World War — and unraveling it is about to transform Tamar’s life forever.

tamarIn the fall of 1944, Tamar and Dart, two Dutch SOE operatives, parachute into Holland. Tamar has the thankless task of organizing the fractured Dutch resistance. Dart is his wireless operator, a job with the average lifespan of three months in Nazi-occupied territory.

In the spring of 1995, Tamar, a fifteen year old girl living in London, is reeling from the possible suicide of her grandfather and a few years before, her father’s disappearance.

It’s difficult to review Tamar without giving away any of the plot twists, one of which I figured out very early in the novel. Even so, the suspense remained high and I wanted to see how the story played out. The parts of the story that dealt with the resistance and life in Nazi-occupied Holland were intense. I was white-knuckled during many of the scenes.

By contrast, Tamar of 1995 was jarring–at first. Tamar is a somewhat prickly first person narrator, although we soon learn she has good reason to be. Her father disappeared a few years ago, her mother works constantly and is remote, and her grandfather’s death may or may not have been a suicide.

As the story progressed, I started to really enjoy the segments in Tamar’s point of view. When Tamar’s distant cousin (emphasis on distant) enters the picture, we get not only his sharp observations but some comic relief. (And for you romantics, the hint of a love story.)

I loved the characterization in the novel. The bits and pieces of character information that surfaced during the novel made it all the more real. From Pieter  and Bibi at the Marionette House (who have a secret of their own) to the driver of SS General Hanns Albin Rauter’s car, who wonders if his beautiful Austrian fiancée will still love him now that he’s lost an ear to frostbite on the Eastern front.

Mal Peet worked actual events into the story, such as the ill-fated and accidental attack on Rauter’s car that resulted in the death of more than 250 men and Gestapo prisoners. 116 of those men were executed on the actual site of the ambush.

After witnessing the mass execution, Tamar returns to Marijke, the woman he loves, and they have this conversation:

“… We tell ourselves we’re different from them. That we’re not like the Nazis. But this morning, I watched while they murdered a hundred and sixteen people. So I wanted to kill them. The sickness in those men, those Germans? It’s in me, too.

She said, “Yes, it probably is. And that’s why we’re fighting, remember? We’re fighting for the right to choose not to be evil.”

He pulled his hand free of hers. “I’m not sure. I don’t know if we can be good after all this.”

“I don’t know either, but that’s not what I said.”

This, I think, is one of the essential messages of the novel, one that resonates today.

It’s also why I feel strongly, especially in retrospect, that the segments in 1995 work so well. War doesn’t end with surrender or victory. The repercussions go on, from generation to generation, in ways we see, and in ways we don’t.

Spies like us

The kids, at long last, have invented a game they both enjoy. For a while, every time they played stuff animals together, epic battles ensued. Andrew wanted conflict, villains, pummeling! And it’s not that Kyra’s scenarios lacked conflict, it’s just more on an interpersonal (or inter-stuffed animal, I guess) level.

The girl-drama bored Andrew; the pummeling frustrated Kyra.

 So now they play spies. How they hit upon this, I’m not sure, but every night (right around bedtime, of course) the spy missions start.

I’m generally their object of spying. Their mission is to get by me, around me, hide from me. How good are they at this?

Not very.

Andrew gets frustrated with Kyra’s lack of subtlety, but this is the boy who thinks if he situates his slippers so they stick out from beneath a lumpy blanket, I’ll think he’s under the blanket.

So, in other words, Pot, Kettle, I’d like you two to meet. You have something in common.

In Geek Girl News, we have a new feature up on the Geek Girl website called You Don’t Have to Wait, where we feature teens who are going after their dreams. And if you know a teen who is pursuing a goal or going after a dream, let us know. We’d love to feature them.

Geek girls, meet world

Note: I’ve made this a sticky post. It will be up for the next week or so. Scroll down to see new entries.

After a fair bit of work, and one epic freak out, we’re doing it. Darcy and I are launching The Geek Girl’s Guide website. As of today, we’re open. Come on by and let us know what you think.

To celebrate, we’re offering a free YA online read and the chance to win a $10.00 Starbucks giftcard (read the story to find out why).

speechsmall

Speechless, a YA short story about what happens when you stay quiet–and what happens when you don’t.

Enter the contest:

Between March 7, 2009 and Wednesday, March 18, 2009, enter to win a $10.00 Starbucks gift card.

Somewhere in one of the six segments of Speechless is a question for you to answer (don’t worry, it’s pretty obvious). Once you find the question, post the answer in our Speechless Guestbook.

We’ll draw one lucky winner from the entrants and post the results on the Speechless main page and The Geek Girl’s Guide on March 19th.

Good luck!

Just kidding: the definitive kid interview

This one is going around the net and Facebook. Here’s Andrew’s (12) and Kyra’s (6) take on it. I interviewed them separately because I knew Kyra would be influenced by Andrew’s answers.

1. What is something mom always says to you?
Andrew: Doh-bai and Where’s my .jar file (I realize these make no sense; see question four.)
Kyra: Don’t watch TV.

2. What makes mom happy?
Andrew: Chocolate
Kyra: Me cleaning the house.

3. What makes mom sad?
Andrew: Me tearing up the bed.
Kyra: Andrew not taking showers.

4. How does your mom make you laugh?
Andrew: Saying something completely random and weird.
Kyra: Watching shows that are funny.

5. What was your mom like as a child?
Andrew: A geek.
Kyra: Mama had long hair.

6. How old is your mom?
Andrew: 43
Kyra: 43

7. How tall is your mom?
Andrew: about five feet and a half.
Kyra: 2 inches.

8. What is her favorite thing to do?
Andrew: type
Kyra: write books and read books

9. What does your mom do when you’re not around?
Andrew: type
Kyra: Exercise

10. If your mom becomes famous, what will it be for?
Andrew: publishing a book (and typing)
Kyra: a book

11. What is your mom really good at?
Andrew: typing
Kyra: typing

12. What is your mom not very good at?
Andrew: Video games
Kyra: coloring

13. What does your mom do for her job?
Andrew: work with computers, do files
Kyra: write books and do bills and try making her book better

14. What is your mom’s favorite food?
Andrew: dirty spaghetti (pesto) and a salad
Kyra: pears

15. What makes you proud of your mom?
Andrew: you’re an author
Kyra: she helps me with things that I can’t do.

16. If your mom were a cartoon character, who would she be?
Andrew:  Bugs Bunny
Kyra: Blossom from the Power Puff Girls

17. What do you and your mom do together?
Andrew: go places
Kyra: read together, cook together, clean together, and stay together

18. How are you and your mom the same?
Andrew: The same hair color
Kyra: we have brown hair

19. How are you and your mom different?
Andrew: You’re my mom and you’re a girl.
Kyra: you’re the mom and I’m the baby.

20. How do you know your mom loves you?
Andrew: you get me stuff for my birthday
Kyra: because she cares for me.

21. Where is your mom’s favorite place to go?
Andrew: Fancy hotels
Kyra: Cancun

Dude, that’s one really long sentence

Ha. The magical, mystical, way-too-long sentence. It was part of an assignment where we were given a laundry list of short sentences (He wore a shirt. The shirt was frayed.) about an individual that we had to work into a single sentence.

I don’t feel right about sharing the entire list, but there were sixteen items to work into the sentence. Most of my classmates managed to do that in far fewer words than I did.

Still, I think I had more fun. So here it is, in all it’s 106-word, longwinded glory.

The man stood, gnarled, emaciated fingers clutching a sign held high above his head, the frayed cuffs of his shirt poked from the sleeves of his suit coat jacket, its material shiny with wear, the stubble on his jaw cast his mouth in shadow, but his forehead shone with sweat, while the sign’s letters, a single word–PEACE–appeared penned by someone very young or someone very old, and on all those hot afternoons that August, he held the sign high, only lowering it when the traffic thinned, the rush of blood to his hands making the skin pink and–for a moment–like a child’s.

Definition of a good book

One that makes you miss your stop on the way home from school.

This is what happened to Andrew yesterday. He was reading on the bus ride home and didn’t notice his stop had come up. Fortunately, on this part of the route, the bus does a loop, so he rode back a spot that was only a block away from his usual drop off.  

I bet you want to know what book he was reading.

The Hunger Games

We’ve been having some good conversations about it too. Or almost conversations, because some of my answers are: “You have to keep reading.”

He did ask me why Haymitch was drunk a good deal of the time. I told him that if he reached the end of the book and he still didn’t understand, we’d talk about it. Actually, I think it makes a good discussion topic.

And if you haven’t guess, I really enjoyed The Hunger Games. I thought Andrew would really like it, too. The book fits his “girl books that boys would like” category, which is also something he’s been urging me to write.

I’m thinking about it.

Happy square root day!

I fear that I will always be
A lonely number like root three
A three is all that’s good and right,
Why must my three keep out of sight
Beneath a vicious square root sign,
I wish instead I were a nine
For nine could thwart this evil trick,
with just some quick arithmetic
I know I’ll never see the sun, as 1.7321
Such is my reality, a sad irrationality
When hark! What is this I see,
Another square root of a three
Has quietly come waltzing by,
Together now we multiply
To form a number we prefer,
Rejoicing as an integer
We break free from our mortal bonds
And with a wave of magic wands
Our square root signs become unglued
And love for me has been renewed.
~ The Square Root of Three by David Feinberg

Words, 106 of them

I just wrote a 106-word sentence. No, I’m not kidding, and no, it’s not going in my YA novel either.

I’m taking a class called masterful sentences, and let me tell you, it’s exhausting to write a 106-word sentence. And as a bonus, Word doesn’t even think it’s a sentence fragment. Of course, we all know how good Word is at grammar. Hey, you, over there! Stop snickering.