The Blackout Book Club

by Amy Lynn Green

When he’d left for college, everyone, Mother included, expected he would “make something of himself” and never return. But he’d come back to Derby four years ago, degree in hand, content to spend the rest of his life in the small coastal town working at the association library that had once been his refuge.

“And we won’t be reading trash, only quality literature.” “Fiction.” It was more statement than question and tinged with disapproval. “Well, yes.”

Ginny knew she didn’t like rich folks on principle, except ones in books, which wasn’t exactly fair.

But no matter how many pages she read, she couldn’t stop the memories pouring in like the sea at high tide.

I enjoy any book with wit, warmth, and characters who feel like friends.”

“Now, now. That’s no way to talk. ‘Hope is the thing with feathers,’” Delphie said sternly, wagging her finger at the volume of poetry beside the tumbler. “‘That perches in the soul,’” Louise said, unable to keep from smiling as the familiar words crossed her lips. “‘And sings the tune without the words.’” “‘And never stops—at

Avis frowned. “The papers say we’re sinking plenty of them in return.” “Papers don’t always tell the truth.”

he took Collected Poems of Emily Dickinson eagerly, as if grateful for a change of subject. A diversion. Something lovely and simple in a world that

You stand straighter than a fencepost and walk like you’re marching. And

His choice, of course, but even if the only Long Island folks had ever heard of was in New York, Ginny would have gone on for days if he’d asked her where she was from. But

When I first read I thought she was talking about NY 😭

Shakespeare was telling her to go back to church.

Or maybe it was the church’s name, the same as her husband’s, that kept her away. A silly thing. But then, so many choices in life were based on emotions instead of logic.

You could eat bread and wine anywhere and know God was there, but the Eucharist was different. There was something holy and reassuring about joining with others in prayer, spoken in the same reverent tones learned from childhood.

Or as Hamlet said, “One may smile, and smile, and be a villain.”

Rosa immediately flopped on the divan, taking out the book with gorgeous painted pictures that the kind librarian had loaned her, escaping into the world of fairies, talking animals, and dancing princesses. A place where evil was easy to identify . . . though often close to home.

Maybe she’d even gather up the courage to suggest that the book club read a romance next. The real world had far too many stories that ended in tragedy.

Afterward, Freddy told everyone else his thoughts on Why Shakespeare Ought to be Performed and Not Read. Then he opened to Act III, Scene IV, and took on Hamlet’s role, just to prove his point. And you’ll never guess who volunteered to read Gertrude: Louise!

Ahhh this brings me back to the school days when we would re enact this as a class awh the memories!

“Anyway, about that hardware store . . .” “Sure, I could use the help.” Ginny had learned to bring Lew or another brother along for trips like this. Some fellows, if they got a sense a woman didn’t know much, tried to take advantage.

Which leads to my main suggestion: no war novels. I stuffed myself with For Whom the Bell Tolls, All Quiet on the Western Front, The Red Badge of Courage, and all those before we shipped out. Now I wouldn’t come close to them. When I get back, I’ll probably read nothing but satire and romances and watch nothing with gunfire except comically bad Westerns for at least a decade. We all need an escape. So read something happy for me. And be sure to tell me all about it.

“That’s right, dear. We must keep our friends the books safe.”

they finally found her tucked in a chair in the farthest corner, leaning over The Code of the Woosters, eyebrows furrowed in concentration, the rest of the world clearly a distant annoyance. Even when Louise cleared her throat, Martina didn’t look up. It took her name, spoken loudly, to get the woman’s attention, and even then, she left her finger on the page as if waiting to get back to it as soon as possible.

“That might be what you learned from your father,” Martina said quietly, looking again to where her children played with Frederick. “But what I learned from my mother is that giving and receiving love is the greatest risk and the greatest joy. Sometimes at the same time.”

One of the titles caused Martina to let out a small gasp. “You have a first edition of Pride and Prejudice?”

“You’ve never read Jane Austen?” Martina’s expression seemed more fitting for some declaration of treason than a simple statement of preference.

I haven’t either *hides*

Even Avis had enjoyed The Code of the Woosters so much that she’d burned Russell’s breakfast bacon two mornings in a row trying to get in a few additional pages.

“I can’t say I wanted this.” Like Rosa’s fairy tales always taught, it paid to be careful what one wished for.

“Well, like it or not, Avis, not everyone’s a fancy highbrow like you and Louise. And aren’t books for all of them?”

Once Avis settled things down, Ginny, the loudest, suggested Evil under the Sun, since the library already had four copies. Louise approved, saying the title is a quote from the Bible, in the book of Ecclesiastes. I don’t think she knows it’s an Agatha Christie mystery.

Just one more chapter, and she’d retire for the night. Granted, that was the same resolution she’d made at least an hour ago, but this time she meant it.

“You mean that right always prevails, wrong is punished, and the truth wins out in the end.”

It’s always darkest before the dawn.”

“There’s all that too, I guess. But the heart of this war is a moral question, just like the novel.”

With a sigh, Louise picked up Evil under the Sun, in case sleep proved difficult and she needed something else to occupy her time.

Skirts. Always such a bother.

“If I stop feeling a little bit of guilt . . . I’ll just be angry. And I don’t have anyone nearby to get angry at, except maybe God.” “Why not try it?” He stared at her, and she took another forkful of lunch, calm as a clock, as folks on the island said. “Miss Cavendish was right. You are a perfect heathen.” “That’s where you’re wrong. I’m not a perfect anything.” Stop grinning. This was serious, after all. “I only mean that if you keep up a front with other folks, that’s your choice. But isn’t God supposed to already know how you really feel?”

“Dreadfully hot day, isn’t it?” Louise’s voice caused Ginny to startle, which probably wasn’t the best reaction, given the air of suspicion the older woman directed at them. As if Freddy might have up and proposed in the five minutes her back was turned.

“Could you be Eliza Doolittle, do you think?” She thought about the fiery flower seller, determined to make something of herself without selling her soul to do it. “Gosh, I hope so.” “Then do that.” Louise nodded crisply, as if it were as simple as that. “There are different kinds of strength. And I, for one, see Eliza’s grit in you, Ginny. It’s something to be admired.”

The credits were over now, and the others were all filing out to where they could talk about the movie without disturbing the folks who just wanted to enjoy the story without tearing it to shreds.

Only Ginny protested, saying something about hunger not having a thing to do with ice cream,

would like to make it clear that I don’t approve of gossip of any kind. Criticisms and corrections are sometimes worth speaking, but they accomplish nothing unless said to the person’s face. Don’t you think?”

“In any case, we should feel sorry for them if the only thing they have to talk about is other people’s lives.” Ginny nodded. “Sure. At the book club, we’ve got fictional people’s lives to talk about instead.”

“I’m sure Avis would be more than capable of standing up for herself were she present. But since she’s not, it’s up to the Blackout Book Club to do so for her.”

So what if Freddy was a liar? She was used to playing it cool, staying aloof, not trusting a person until she knew them inside and out. This was nothing new. Then why, when it came to Freddy, did it hurt so much?

talked up my career in brass instruments, so he put me as the sound man on overnights, when the U-boats are most active. Good for me he didn’t have a tuba handy, or I would’ve shown I don’t remember much from high school except how to aim a spit valve at the school bully.

If I didn’t know better, it sounds like you’re actually starting to like reading. I should be offended that twenty-five years of being related to me didn’t do the trick, but I’ll rest content in the knowledge that you’ve finally agreed to my motto: “He was fond of books, for they are cool and sure friends.”

(Gio looked offended at that, but I patted him on the back and told him it wasn’t his fault he was loud, it’s just part of being twelve and a boy. Didn’t seem to help much.)

Gosh, give a girl a notebook and she goes all sentimental. This is why I should never keep a diary.

“You have to understand,” Martina said, dark eyes sympathetic. “It is . . . difficult for some women to accept charity. Even if they need it.”

As she balanced the growing stack, Mr. Cliffton quietly slipped her a copy of Pride and Prejudice. “He’s checked it out a dozen times at least.” Louise frowned at it suspiciously. “Isn’t this a romance?” He nodded. “Probably why he’s embarrassed to simply buy a copy and display it on his shelves at home. As for me, I see no reason why a gentleman ought not to learn from the wit and wisdom of Miss Austen.”

He couldn’t actually be reading, could he, young as he was? Weren’t children of his age supposed to be climbing trees and playing in the mud, enjoying the health benefits of the outdoors? Mr. Cliffton hailed him, though it was another few seconds before he placed his stubby finger on the page long enough to look up.