Hello again, agents. Thank you for
attending today's briefing. Today, we are going to discuss a novel that I
believe if given half the chance will help inspire literary agents such as
yourself, as well as other readers to take stock of their lives and the first
steps on a journey of self-discovery and personal growth. In today's briefing,
we are going to discuss "the girl in the blue beret" by Bobbie
Ann Mason, which is a fantastic story told through the eyes. World War II
aviator (a pilot of a B-17 flying Fortress), who is successfully smuggled out
of occupied Belgium and France by the resistance and successfully repatriated
to the United States. This story demonstrates the impact both positive and
negative than war has on those who experience it firsthand. Even decades after
their wartime hardships are over. This is an excellent book that will
definitely provide all the agents who choose to read it with a unique lens
through which to view the decisions they have made in their own lives. Not to
mention that this particular narrative slowly sucks you in to the story until
you can almost taste France on the tip of your tongue....
On his retirement from commercial
aviation in 1980 at the age of 60 (due to age restriction guidelines), former
WWII bomber pilot Marshall Stone visits France in search of some of the people
in the French Resistance who, after he crash-landed his B-17 in 1944, helped
him avoid the Nazis and escape eventually to England. The girl of the title
was, during the war, among a number of schoolgirls who, typically unsuspected
by the occupying Germans, helped guide stranded American aviators to hiding
places and workable routes out of France.
Immediately after the war, Marshall, like so many American veterans of WWII, returns to a comfortable, if largely staid and uninteresting, life in the States, marrying the sweetheart he left behind, having children, doing the well-paying work he loves as an airline pilot. Marshall likes to see the territory from thirty thousand feet, a long and in some ways rather undemanding orientation to the world. He does what he's supposed to do, and other than a very minimal correspondence just after the war with one man in the French Resistance, he neglects to keep in touch with those who probably saved his life after the B-17 crash.
In France immediately after his retirement (and, significantly, the death of his wife two years earlier), Marshall begins a journey that changes him, and begins to wake some of the sleeping elements of his experience and his inner life. The abstractions of seeing land from aloft fade when he drives and walks in the mountains, seeing lofty places from an intimate and possibly even dangerously close perspective. It dawns on him that he's missed some things.
Marshall's search for certain people--families that first hid him, a trio of black-clad older women he recalls in one house where he was sheltered, a seemingly adventurous and jubilant young man named Robert, and Annette, the girl identified with the blue beret, goes slowly at first. It seems that many of the French also would prefer to forget the war and the German occupation of their beloved country. But eventually doors are opened, some of the people are located, and some of the people open up.
Forgetting has worked for many, both French and American. And yet when some of the characters are offered chances to purge the pain and integrate it into their lives, they become larger, and the sadness perhaps becomes smaller in its deadening influence. Some kind of inner split in the psyche is healed.
In one striking passage, Annette, now the widow of a veterinarian reflects on the levels of depravity to which humans can sink. She rejects the notion that they can become "animals," because that's far too insulting to animals. Animals, Annette tells Marshall, "do not betray their nature. They do not practice self-deceptions. Humans have a great capacity for the diabolical." I immediately thought of the passage in Whitman's "Song of Myself" that praises animal nature: " . . . they are so placid and self-contained, . . Not one is dissatisfied, not one is demented with the mania of owning things . . . . Not one is respectable or unhappy over the whole earth.”
Well, we're not like that, we homo sapiens, the "paragon of animals"--we're capable of the most unspeakable cruelty, utter inhumanity to our fellow creatures (human and non-human), and using power to crush others we regard as being in our way. At the same time, our behavioral range has a very long continuum. What's celebrated mostly in Bobbie Ann Mason's novel is our capacity to also be selfless, heroic, and utterly resolute in opposition to powerful evil. So we find our humanity in frank acknowledgement of what we may be, and in the choices we make.
Marshall undergoes an awakening in his meetings with these figures from a past that has never really left him. Annette, a character of depth and beauty, appears again, all these decades later, and plays a role in saving something significant that was lost in Marshall's life. She even offers him an opportunity to provide her with something restorative--she has buried pain of her own. The long encounter between these two is an offering out of love, made richer by both the vulnerability and determination needed for their later-life healing.
The Girl in the Blue Beret moves at a modest pace in opening chapters, and with the intensification of Marshall's deepening dive into the world and his own life, the momentum gathers. The rhythm of the narrative joins the reader to the search. The novel is well-crafted, the story moving and powerful.
Immediately after the war, Marshall, like so many American veterans of WWII, returns to a comfortable, if largely staid and uninteresting, life in the States, marrying the sweetheart he left behind, having children, doing the well-paying work he loves as an airline pilot. Marshall likes to see the territory from thirty thousand feet, a long and in some ways rather undemanding orientation to the world. He does what he's supposed to do, and other than a very minimal correspondence just after the war with one man in the French Resistance, he neglects to keep in touch with those who probably saved his life after the B-17 crash.
In France immediately after his retirement (and, significantly, the death of his wife two years earlier), Marshall begins a journey that changes him, and begins to wake some of the sleeping elements of his experience and his inner life. The abstractions of seeing land from aloft fade when he drives and walks in the mountains, seeing lofty places from an intimate and possibly even dangerously close perspective. It dawns on him that he's missed some things.
Marshall's search for certain people--families that first hid him, a trio of black-clad older women he recalls in one house where he was sheltered, a seemingly adventurous and jubilant young man named Robert, and Annette, the girl identified with the blue beret, goes slowly at first. It seems that many of the French also would prefer to forget the war and the German occupation of their beloved country. But eventually doors are opened, some of the people are located, and some of the people open up.
Forgetting has worked for many, both French and American. And yet when some of the characters are offered chances to purge the pain and integrate it into their lives, they become larger, and the sadness perhaps becomes smaller in its deadening influence. Some kind of inner split in the psyche is healed.
In one striking passage, Annette, now the widow of a veterinarian reflects on the levels of depravity to which humans can sink. She rejects the notion that they can become "animals," because that's far too insulting to animals. Animals, Annette tells Marshall, "do not betray their nature. They do not practice self-deceptions. Humans have a great capacity for the diabolical." I immediately thought of the passage in Whitman's "Song of Myself" that praises animal nature: " . . . they are so placid and self-contained, . . Not one is dissatisfied, not one is demented with the mania of owning things . . . . Not one is respectable or unhappy over the whole earth.”
Well, we're not like that, we homo sapiens, the "paragon of animals"--we're capable of the most unspeakable cruelty, utter inhumanity to our fellow creatures (human and non-human), and using power to crush others we regard as being in our way. At the same time, our behavioral range has a very long continuum. What's celebrated mostly in Bobbie Ann Mason's novel is our capacity to also be selfless, heroic, and utterly resolute in opposition to powerful evil. So we find our humanity in frank acknowledgement of what we may be, and in the choices we make.
Marshall undergoes an awakening in his meetings with these figures from a past that has never really left him. Annette, a character of depth and beauty, appears again, all these decades later, and plays a role in saving something significant that was lost in Marshall's life. She even offers him an opportunity to provide her with something restorative--she has buried pain of her own. The long encounter between these two is an offering out of love, made richer by both the vulnerability and determination needed for their later-life healing.
The Girl in the Blue Beret moves at a modest pace in opening chapters, and with the intensification of Marshall's deepening dive into the world and his own life, the momentum gathers. The rhythm of the narrative joins the reader to the search. The novel is well-crafted, the story moving and powerful.
Some other readers have specified that they had difficulty
becoming absorbed in the narrative because they had no background in or
understanding of aviation. So they could not identify with the character of
Marshall. I think, however it is important to remember that Marshall's career
in aviation is not the linchpin of the story, but rather the catalyst used by
the author to propel the character and readers on a magnificent life-affirming
journey of discovery. I believe Marshall could have been any type of soldier,
or even a government aid worker, such as a Red Cross stretcher bearer and the
story would have had the same impact. There is often overused saying "it's
not the destination. It's the journey." In the case of this novel, I
wholeheartedly believe this to be true. It is Marshall's journey of
self-discovery and improvement, as well as remembrance that is the important
part of the narrative, which will hook reader’s from the very first page
regardless of their background or interest in aviation, World War II or
military history.
As always, agents, thank you for attending today's briefing
I hope it will encourage you to take the first steps on your own journey of
self-discovery. And remember "reading is recreation for
intelligence."
Author: Bobbie Ann Mason
·
Hardcover: 597 pages
·
Publisher: Thorndike Press; first edition (September 7, 2011)
·
Language: English
·
ISBN-10: 1410440958
· ISBN-13:
978-1410440952
Amazon Kindle price,
$11.99, hardcover various prices (starting at $3.59 depending on condition),
paperback, $13.50, Amazon audible MP3 downloadable file free for members with
active subscriptions ($10.95 for a one-time download), audio CD $29.95.
