As in the novel, the women, children, and old people were left behind to deal with the German soldiers who occupied the island for the duration of the war. In truth, locals report that the majority of the troops were propre, or appropriate, in their behavior toward the islanders. However, as was the case in much of occupied France, persistent hunger haunted the island’s populace; besides missing their fathers, the lack of food is the single most resonant memory of many surviving Sénans.
The parts of the story including the cabaret night, the sabotage of the German army, and the characters Violette and Doura are completely fabricated. The Bag-Noz is loosely based on a decrepit old former guesthouse that stands near the ferry landing.
If you ever find yourself in the Finistère region, I urge you to hop a ferry in Audierne and take a ride to the Île de Sein. Whether you go for one day or stay for several, you’ll find a charming fishing village, historic buildings, megalithic menhirs, plenty of cider, and fervent pétanque battles. There are kayaks and standing boards for rent, several cafés, and an amazing museum with displays pertaining to shipwrecks and salvage operations, the experiences of the islanders during World War II, and long-ago daily life on the island. Large historic lighthouses on and near the Île de Sein include the Ar Men, La Vieille, and Tévennac.
The Île de Sein is a stark, beautiful island that is part of the regional natural park d’Armorique. If you would like to stay the night, be sure to make reservations ahead of time. As in the novel, there is only one small hotel on the island. There are also short-term rentals and guesthouses available, but during tourist season it can be hard to find a room.
Finally, beware: According to legend, nine virgins known as the Gallizenae once bewitched sailors and other visitors to the island. You might well fall under their spell, just as I did.
Acknowledgments
Sincere thanks to Monsieur Ambroise Menou, assistant mayor of the Île de Sein, for your generosity with your time, historical knowledge, and regional cooking tips! Thanks are due to the entire staff of the fantastic Île de Sein museum. And a heartfelt merci to all the residents of the Île de Sein—especially Madame Louise—who took time to talk with this chatty American tourist, for answering questions and sharing family stories and recollections.
My brilliant historian sister, Dr. Carolyn Lawes, is an invaluable source of academic research, emotional support, creative brainstorming, writing suggestions, plot ideas, and continual edits—especially in the final throes of my deadline sprints. I honestly don’t know what I would do without her, particularly how I would write without her.
To Lena Ingram, fabulous reader/sensitivity editor for the manuscript. You are a wonderful woman and it is my honor to know you—here’s to meeting face-to-face one day soon when the pandemic is a thing of the past. Special thanks to amazing author and librarian Shannon Monroe for introducing us!
The writing life can be isolating, and I am eternally grateful for my writing community and support system. As always, thanks are due to my editor, Kerry Donovan, for reading through several versions of the manuscript. To Dr. Nicole Peeler for early thoughts, and for finding my theme! To Rachael Herron for her ideas and astute feedback. To Adrienne Bell, plot doctor extraordinaire. To my entire writer circle, especially Sophie Littlefield and Faye Snowden. To Xe Sands, thank you for your consistent support and for becoming the voices in my head as I read through my own books! To my website maven, Maddee James, thank you for all the support and friendship. And finally to my literary agent extraordinaire, Jim McCarthy, for always being there for me.
I wrote a good part of Off the Wild Coast of Brittany while under quarantine lockdown. The overriding anxiety and worry, the feelings of isolation and generalized fear, gave me a tiny taste of what life on the Île de Sein might have felt like during wartime. As in Violette’s story, true friendship is my salvation! Many thanks to dear friends Dr. Claudia Escobar, Susan Baker, Suzanne Chan, Sharon Demetrius, Bruce Nikolai, Karen Thompson, Sara Paul, Anna Cabrera, Pamela Groves, Jan Strout, Mary Grae, Bee Enos, Greg Enos, Chris Logan, Brian Casey, Kendall Moalem, Muffy Srinivasan, and the whole Heskett clan: Nan, Jackie, Toni, Sherri, and Jason Hamilton. To my fabulous neighbors the Barnettes, please know that Don is and always will be missed. And to our beloved Sea Ranch neighbors Dan and Denise Skinner, and Linda and John Harrel. Amour à Didier, et à Sylviane La Croix.
Mucho amor a mi familia Wanda Klor, Natasha Ybarra, and Eréndira Ibarra, and to Christine Jurisich and her family—always in my heart. Thanks also to Thiago Klor de Alva, best baby brother in the world. To the beautiful, brainy, brash Amelia and her lovely mom Sophia Munzar.
And special thanks to Hanna Toda for letting me be “Mama.” To Susan and Bob Lawes: Thank you for being there, always. And to Nugget, the best dog in the world.
And, finally, to Eric Stauffenegger for putting up with living with a writer, for all the wine, and for reminding me that it’s okay to stop writing and enjoy apéro, each and every day.
Readers Guide
OFF THE WILD COAST OF BRITTANY
Juliet Blackwell
Discussion Questions
“It’s an island; if you don’t bring it with you, you won’t find it here.” Most of the full-time residents of the Ile de Feme were born on the island, but others are debutants, or newbies. What do you think draws people to wild, unpredictable, remote islands like the Île de Sein, the real island that the Île de Feme is based on?
What aspects of living on the Ile de Feme would you find most challenging? The isolation, the interdependence among neighbors, the climate, the tourists—or something else? Think about today, and then about during World War II. Would you have what it takes to survive and thrive?
Is Off the Wild Coast of Brittany a story that, with minor adjustments, could have taken place somewhere else? How does the landscape create and shape this story? In what ways is the isolation of the island woven into the fabric of the novel?
What aspects of Natalie’s journey do you most relate to? What about Alex’s journey?
What is it that each sister finds most dissatisfying about her life, and why?
Would you say that Alex and Natalie start the novel in different emotional spaces and end up at the same place? How would you characterize the journey of each?
Natalie’s pursuit of education is an act of rebellion against her family and their values. How does her journey differ from her other siblings’ acts of rebellion? How is it the same?
Throughout the book, Natalie works to challenge and sometimes dispel the “truths” that her father taught her, while Alex finds it harder to go against him. Was there ever anyone in your life whose views you accepted, only to find yourself later disagreeing with them? How do you know whether something is true?
How did Natalie’s relationship with her father evolve? With her mother? Did your perception of her parents change as you read further? Did your perception of her relationship with them change? If Natalie and Alex had been mothers themselves, do you think their views of their upbringing would have been affected?
What did you think of telling the story from the alternating points of view of the two sisters? How might the story have been different if it was told from only one sister’s point of view?
If you had to trade places with one character in the book, who would it be, and why?
What do you think the characters’ zodiac signs are, and why?
What sort of influence did their father, The Commander, have over Natalie and Alex as children? As adults? Do you think The Commander is ultimately someone to be feared or someone to be pitied?
Natalie has one good memory of being with her father. How do you think the kite story illustrates their relationship?
Had you been brought up in the Morgen family, would you have reacted more like Alex or mo
re like Natalie? Or maybe like neither?
Alex actually thrived under her father’s harsh lessons, and excelled at being able to do things and take care of herself. How does she explain her life before she understands the harsh truth of her childhood?
Natalie’s ex-boyfriend, François-Xavier, plays a key role in the story, yet he never makes an actual appearance on the page. If you can imagine a scene between Natalie and François-Xavier, what would Natalie say to him? What might Francois-Xavier say to Natalie? (Bonus round: What would Alex say to François-Xavier?)
During World War II, how did the women of the island exploit the sexism of their time and place to challenge and endure the German occupation?
Why did Violette decide to marry Marc? How did the loss of her baby change Violette?
What roles did Madame Therèse and Ambroisine play in their societies?
Whose approach to defying the Germans do you think was better: Noëlle’s or Violette’s? What determines when it is better to challenge an enemy openly and when it is better to find a way to coexist? How do you think you might have reacted under similar circumstances?
Had you been a woman on the island in 1940, would you have encouraged the men to go to Britain to fight? Or to stay behind with their families? And if you were a man in those times, would you have wanted to join the war effort in England?
Alex asks Natalie why there is no monument to the women of the island. Why do you think this is? Have you ever wondered something similar?
Not all German soldiers were members of the Nazi Party—many were conscripted into the military or, like Rainer, had little choice. How far do you think you would go to defy such a regime if you were a German at the time?
Were you surprised by Rainer’s revelation to Violette? What attitudes and social forces at the time dictated how Rainer could, and could not, live his life? How do you think he might have experienced things differently in today’s world?
Blackwell tends to use mysteries from the past to help her present-day characters understand and grapple with their own issues. What problems from the past do you think shed light on those of the present for Natalie and Alex? For Jean-Luc? For Violette and Rainier?
If you could ask each of the major characters in the book one question, what would you ask, and why?
Don’t miss Juliet Blackwell’s
THE LOST CAROUSEL OF PROVENCE
Available now
Present day
OAKLAND, CALIFORNIA
Cady had never realized how many empty platitudes people voiced when confronted with grief, how they felt compelled to say something, to say anything, in response to a situation that had no answer, no response. No solution.
In point of brutal fact, there was nothing to say. Maxine had died.
One moment she was there, Cady’s ever-present rock in the shifting sands of life. And the next she had fallen to the floor behind the register, struck down by a sudden heart attack. Maxine had disappeared into the ether, just like that, along with her snarky comments and wise eyes and calm, slightly haughty demeanor that never failed to assuage Cady’s inner demons. She was gone. No one else in this life would be lucky enough to know Maxine Caroline Clark.
All that remained of the old woman was her shop, called Maxine’s Treasures, its junky (or artsy, depending on your perspective) inventory, and the back room, where Cady had set up her photography studio and darkroom. Even though Cady had no intention of taking over and managing Maxine’s antiques store, she wasn’t ready to give up her studio. Not to mention that she’d been living in the back room of the shop—which was not strictly legal—since she’d lost her relatively affordable apartment to a condo development several months ago.
What now? Where would she go? What would she do?
Maxine was family. She was all Cady had.
A desperate, breathless weariness reached out its icy fingers to grip Cady’s bones. And it wasn’t the strain of carrying her wooden carousel figure, Gus. She saw reproach in the rabbit’s glass eyes as she maneuvered him into the shop; could this last shred of hope gone be her comeuppance for having tried to sell him?
Maxine had given Gus to her ten years ago, on Cady’s wedding day. The marriage hadn’t lasted long, and the only thing Cady took from it—besides bitter experience—was Gus-the-rabbit.
It was embarrassing to admit, but Gus had always made her feel . . . loved.
According to Maxine, Gus was a genuine piece of carousel history, hand-carved by the famous French sculptor Gustave Bayol. Which would have meant he was worth thousands—maybe tens of thousands. But this morning Cady’s last-ditch financial dreams had been dashed by an earnest young man named Scott Ripley. Peering through a huge magnifying glass, the Antique Forum’s acknowledged expert in nineteenth- and twentieth-century European carvings had examined the rabbit’s loosening joints, noting how the bands of basswood had pulled away from one another at the tops of the legs, and the gap where the neck section met the body. Carousel figures are hollow, built like boxes with slats of wood joined, laminated, then carved, and primed to conceal the joints. Not only were the sections falling apart—Gus’s ears were now barely connected to his slightly tilted head—but the bright paint and gold gilding were flaking off, with gesso primer showing through in patches.
At long last Ripley had straightened, shrugged, and pronounced: “It’s not a Bayol.”
“You’re wrong,” Cady said. “Look again.”
“Your rabbit is most probably European, and from Bayol’s era, at the turn of the twentieth century. In some ways, it is very much in his style; Bayol carved farmyard animals with sweet expressions like this one, so that fits. But a hallmark of Bayol’s carvings was their simplicity. His work almost never included flourishes like the lily of the valley here,” he said, pointing to the offending flower. “And this rose carved in high relief, with the detailed thorns? I don’t even know what to say about that.”
“But Bayol did custom work, right?” Cady replied. “Couldn’t a client have asked for the flowers?”
He shook his head. “I know Bayol’s work well; I’m also very familiar with the American carvers Dentzel, Looff, and Carmel. Like all artists, carousel carvers leave their imprints on their work, like signatures. Also, Bayol nearly always attached a small plaque to the saddles of his carved animals, and yours doesn’t have one. Your rabbit might have been carved by one of Bayol’s apprentices, or a competitor—if you could establish its provenance, it would be worth more.”
Cady’s impulse was to argue with Ripley, to rail at him and cast aspersions on his professional qualifications, not to mention his parentage.
But it wasn’t his fault. Maxine had been wrong. It wasn’t surprising: Maxine always had insisted upon seeing possibilities in the junk other people threw away.
So Cady had concentrated on reining in her emotions, fighting an almost overwhelming, and wholly uncharacteristic, urge to burst into tears.
Get it together, Drake, she had scolded herself. We’ve been in worse situations than this one. Much, much worse. We’ll just have to come up with another plan.
As a child Cady had developed the quirk of using the royal “we” when talking to herself; otherwise the only “we” in her world was wishful thinking. Later, the “we” came to mean Cady and Maxine, and finally, now, Cady and Gus-the-rabbit. It was a silly, childish habit, but Cady had more important things to worry about these days, such as where she was going to get the money to escape the wildly expensive San Francisco Bay Area, to move to a town where normal people could work a regular job and afford a decent place to live, and where she could become a foster mom, or maybe even adopt a child. The thought of change terrified her, but she was desperate to create the sort of family that she’d always wanted for herself. True, being a photographer wasn’t the best career op
tion in a small town, but she didn’t care what she did for a living. She wasn’t proud.
The important thing was to start over. To reinvent herself. Cady yearned for the anonymity of a second chance, a clean slate, a tabula rasa. To make a home someplace where no one knew where she came from, where no one knew she had nothing and no one.
No family connections, no Maxine, no . . . baby.
Without volition her hand went to her stomach. The only bump there now was from stress-eating her way through countless bags of potato chips and boxes of Petit Écolier cookies—scraping off the chocolate in an embarrassingly juvenile ritual—as she sat on the couch for weeks, watching endless reruns of Hoarders.
The nurse in the emergency room had smelled of antiseptic and was very nice in the impersonal way of a kindhearted person saddled with far too much to do. She had instructed Cady to finish the round of prophylactic antibiotics, to abstain from sex for six weeks (no problem there—Cady couldn’t imagine being intimate, ever again, with anyone), to get plenty of rest, and to be prepared for sudden hormonal shifts as her body adjusted to what her medical chart referred to as an “SAB”: spontaneous abortion.
The baby Cady had accidentally conceived in an exceedingly rare one-night stand, then after weeks of fear and trembling had decided to keep and come to love, had been lost in a gruesome rush of pain and cramps and blood, a gutting experience referred to simply as an SAB.
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