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Summary
Summary
This stunning new novel from Tatiana de Rosnay, author of the acclaimed New York Times bestseller Sarah's Key , plumbs the depths of complex family relationships and the power of a past secret to change everything in the present.
It all began with a simple seaside vacation, a brother and sister recapturing their childhood. Antoine Rey thought he had the perfect surprise for his sister Mélanie's birthday: a weekend by the sea at Noirmoutier Island, where the pair spent many happy childhood summers playing on the beach. It had been too long, Antoine thought, since they'd returned to the island--over thirty years, since their mother died and the family holidays ceased. But the island's haunting beauty triggers more thanhappy memories; it reminds Mélanie of something unexpected and deeply disturbing about their last island summer. When, on the drive home to Paris, she finally summons the courage to reveal what she knows to Antoine, her emotions overcome her and she loses control of the car.
Recovering from the accident in a nearby hospital, Mélanie tries to recall what caused her to crash. Antoine encounters an unexpected ally: sexy, streetwise Angèle, a mortician who will teach him new meanings for the words life, love and death. Suddenly, however, the past comes swinging back at both siblings, burdened with a dark truth about their mother, Clarisse.
Trapped in the wake of a shocking family secret shrouded by taboo, Antoine must confront his past and also his troubled relationships with his own children. How well does he really know his mother, his children, even himself? Suddenly fragile on all fronts as a son, a husband, a brother and a father, Antoine Rey will learn the truth about his family and himself the hard way.
By turns thrilling, seductive and destructive, with a lingering effect that is bittersweet and redeeming, A Secret Kept is the story of a modern family, the invisible ties that hold it together, and the impact it has throughout life.
A film is now in production, to star Melanie Laurent ( Inglourious Basterds , Now You See Me ), Laurent Lafitte ( The Crimson Rivers , Little White Lies ), and Audrey Dana ( Roman de Gare , The Clink of Ice ) and will begin shooting in April!
Author Notes
Tatiana de Rosnay was born September 28th, 1961 near Paris. Her father is French scientist Joël de Rosnay, her grandfather was painter Gaëtan de Rosnay and her great-grandmother was Russian actress Natalia Rachewskïa, director of the Leningrad Pushkin Theatre from 1925 to 1949.
Tatiana was raised in Paris and then in Boston. She moved to England in the early 80's and obtained a Bachelor's degree in English literature at the University of East Anglia, in Norwich. When she returned to Paris, Tatiana became press attaché for Christie's and then Paris Editor for Vanity Fair magazine till 1993.
Since 1992, Tatiana has published eight novels in France. Sarah's Key, her first novel written in English, sold over 400,000 copies worldwide. Her novels also include A Secret Kept and The House I loved.
Tatiana works as a journalist for French ELLE and is literary critic for Psychologies Magazine and the Journal du Dimanche.
In 2014 her title, The Other Story, made The New York Times Best Seller List.
(Bowker Author Biography)
Reviews (4)
Publisher's Weekly Review
Together, de Rosnay and Simon Vance guide us through a sister and brother's traumatic search for the real cause of their mother's death some 30 years before. Vance is a reader's reader, and he narrates de Rosnay's novel with nuanced tones, rhythms, cadences, and subtle modulations, intonations and pauses to etch each character indelibly in the reader's memory. He has the rare ability to do convincing women's voices without sounding silly, and his French is very good (though his American accents are slightly overblown). A St. Martin's hardcover (Reviews, July 26). (Sept.) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved.
Booklist Review
Frenchman Antoine Rey wants to do something special for his sister Melanie on her fortieth birthday, so he surprises her with a weekend trip to Noirmoutier Island, where the two spent many idyllic childhood summers until their mother's untimely death. While the weekend itself goes well, on the drive back home to Paris, Melanie is overpowered by a memory of her mother and drives off the road. She suffers extensive injuries, and as she heals in the hospital, Antoine obsesses over just what it was that his sister recalled. He is determined to find answers, but where and how? There are few surviving family members, and those remaining resist his unsettling queries. Meanwhile, distractions abound, as Antoine takes up with the sexy hospital mortician (who wears black and drives a Harley-Davidson, ooh la la). He and his ex-wife must also deal with their badly behaving son, who's recently landed in jail. Internationally best-selling French novelist de Rosnay renders swift, lucid prose and steady suspense (even though one of the novel's big secrets is revealed mid-tale). Expect demand among fans of both literary mystery and high-end romance.--Block, Allison Copyright 2010 Booklist
Kirkus Review
The story of an emotionally distant family as it struggles to come to grips with changing dynamics and the mysterious death of a young mother many years ago.Like de Rosnay's bestselling Sarah's Key (2007), this novel is set in Paris, but while her earlier novel explored a national tragedy, this one tackles a personal one. Antoine Rey, son of the famous attorney, and his sister, Mlanie, are returning from a visit to the family's old summer vacation stomping grounds when Mlanie tells her brother she has remembered something important about their mother's death. She promptly steers the car into a wreck, putting herself in the hospital, unable to remember the important detail she once recalled. Antoine sits vigil by his sister's side, trying to figure out what has gone wrong with his life: His wife has left him for another man, of his three children only one seems to like him anymore, and he is tired of dating vacuous young women. His father, who comes from a well-known Parisian family, is old, paunchy and distanta complete shadow of the man who was married to the gorgeous Clarisse. Clarisse, Antoine and Mlanie's mother, died when they were small children, supposedly succumbing to an aneurism in their apartment, but when Antoine starts questioning the version of her death they have always accepted as the truth, he stumbles upon some disturbing possibilities. In the meantime, he becomes involved in a relationship with a woman his own age who impresses him with her independence and sexuality, squares off against his eldest son and helps his daughter through a tough loss of her own. De Rosnay's writing is eloquent and beautiful, and her characterizations are both honest and dead-onanyone with a teenager will recognize the parental angst Antoine experiences as genuine. But the plot meanders to a conclusion that seems anticlimactic at best, a letdown at worstthe secret is hardly worth the trouble it causes.For any other writer this would be a fine novel, but de Rosnay's fans will expect more than the central character's aimless journey.]] Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
Library Journal Review
In this literary mystery, Frenchman Antoine Rey surprises his sister on her 40th birthday with a weekend visit to their childhood summer retreat. On their return trip, as Melanie is about to share an unsettling memory of their mother, she drives off the road and is critically injured in a car wreck. The plot drags through Antoine's split with his wife, his son's drunken spree, the death of his daughter's best friend, and the one bright spot: his blossoming love affair with a sexy female mortician he meets at the hospital after the wreck. Hearing Simon Vance's (see Behind the Mike, LJ 11/15/08) British-accented reading of this French story results in a disjointed experience. Even though de Rosnay's (tatianaderosnay.com) previous work, Sarah's Key (2007)-also available from Macmillan Audio and AudioGo-was an international best seller, this ranks as a marginal purchase. ["Different from the historical Sarah's Key but with as profound an effect," read the review of the St. Martin's hc, LJ Xpress Reviews, 9/30/10.-Ed.]-Sandy Glover, Camas P.L., WA (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Excerpts
Excerpts
A SECRET KEPT (Chapter One) I am shown into a small, drab room, told to sit down and wait. Six empty brown plastic chairs face each other on tired linoleum. In a corner, a fake green plant, shiny leaves coated with dust. I do as I am told. I sit down. My thighs tremble. My palms feel clammy, my throat parched. My head throbs. I think, I should call our father now, I should call him before it gets too late. But my hand makes no effort to grab the phone in the pocket of my jeans. Call our father and tell him what? Tell him how? The lighting is harsh, glaring strips of neon barring the ceiling. The walls are yellowish and cracked. I sit there, numb. Helpless. Lost. I long for a cigarette. I wonder if I am going to retch, bring up the bitter coffee and stale brioche I had a couple of hours ago. I can still hear the screech of the wheels, feel the sudden lurch of the car as it veered sharply to the right, careening into the railing. And her scream. I can still hear her scream. How many people have waited here? I think. How many people have sat where I am sitting now and waited for news of their loved ones? I cannot help imagining what these jaundiced walls have seen. What they know. What they remember. Tears, shouts, or relief. Hope, pain, or joy. The minutes click by. I watch the round face of a grimy clock above the door. There is nothing else for me to do but wait. After half an hour or so, a nurse comes in. She has a long, horsey face, skinny white arms. "Monsieur Rey?" "Yes," I say, my heart in my mouth. "You need to fill out these papers. With her details." She hands me a couple of sheets and a pen. "Is she all right?" I mumble. My voice seems thin and strained. She flickers watery, lashless eyes over me. "The doctor will tell you. The doctor will come." She leaves. She has a sad, flat ass. I spread the sheets of paper over my knees with trembling fingers. Name, birth date and place, marital status, address, social security number, health insurance number. My hand still shakes as I print out "Mélanie Rey, born August 15, 1967, at Boulogne-Billancourt, single, 49 rue de la Roquette, Paris 75011." I have no idea what my sister's social security number is. Or her health insurance number for that matter. All that stuff must be in her bag. Where is her bag? I can't remember anything about her bag. Just the way her body slumped forward when they hauled her out of the car. The way her limp arms hung down to the ground from the stretcher. And there I was, not a hair out of place, not a bruise on my skin, and I had been sitting right next to her. I flinch. I keep thinking I am going to wake up. The nurse comes back with a glass of water. I gulp it down. It has a metallic, stale taste. I thank her. I tell her I don't have Mélanie's social security number. She nods, takes the sheets, and leaves. The minutes inch by. The room is silent. It is a small hospital. A small town, I guess. In the suburbs of Nantes. I'm not quite sure where. I stink. No air-conditioning. I can smell the sweat trickling under my armpits, gathering around my groin. The sweaty, meaty smell of despair and panic. My head still throbs. I try breathing calmly. I manage to do this for a couple of minutes. Then the helpless, awful feeling takes over and swamps me. Paris is more than three hours away. I wonder again if I should call my father. I tell myself I need to wait. I don't even know what the doctor has to say. I glance down at my watch. Ten thirty. Where would our father be now? I wonder. At some dinner party? Or watching cable TV in his study, with Régine in the next room, on the phone, painting her nails? I decide to wait a little longer. I am tempted to call my ex-wife. Astrid's name is still the first one that pops up in times of stress or despair. But the thought of her with Serge, in Malakoff, in our old house, in our old bed, with him invariably answering the phone, even her mobile, for Christ's sake--"Oh, hi, Antoine, what's up, man?"--is just too much. So I don't call Astrid, although I long to. I stay in the small, stuffy room and try once more to remain calm. Try to stop the panic rising within me. I think of my kids. Arno in all his teenage glory and rebellion. Margaux, a creature of mystery at fourteen. Lucas, still a baby at eleven, compared with the other two and their raging hormones. I simply cannot imagine myself telling them, "Your aunt is dead. Mélanie is dead. My sister is dead." The words make no sense. I push them away. Another hour creeps by. I sit there, my head in my hands. I try to sort out the mess building up in my mind. I start thinking about the deadlines I need to keep. Tomorrow is Monday, and after this long weekend, there are many urgent things to be done--that unpleasant Rabagny and his god-awful day-care center I should not have taken on; Florence, that hopeless assistant I know I have to fire. But how can I possibly think of this? I realize, appalled at myself. How can I think of my job now, at this precise moment when Mélanie is somewhere between life and death? I say to myself with a sinking heart, Why Mélanie? Why her? Why not me? This trip had been my idea. My present for her birthday. That fortieth birthday she was so upset about. A woman of my age comes in at last. A green operating blouse and one of those funny little paper hats surgeons wear. Shrewd hazel eyes, short chestnut hair touched with silver. She smiles. My heart leaps. I rush to my feet. "That was a close call, Monsieur Rey," she says. I notice small brown stains on the front of her uniform. I wonder with dread whether those stains are Mélanie's blood. "Your sister is going to be all right." To my horror, my face crumples up, tears spill out. My nose runs. I am acutely embarrassed to be crying in front of this woman, but I can't prevent it. "It's okay," the doctor says. She grips my arm. She has small, square hands. She pushes me back down into the chair, sits beside me. I bawl the way I used to when I was a kid, deep sobs that come from the gut. "She was driving, right?" I nod, try to tidy up my damp nostrils with the back of my hand. "We know she wasn't drinking. We checked that. Can you tell me what happened?" I manage to repeat what I told the police and the ambulance people earlier on. That my sister wanted to drive the rest of the way home. That she was a reliable driver. That I had never been nervous with her at the wheel. "Did she black out?" asks the doctor. The name on her badge reads: DR. BÉNÉDICTE BESSON. "No, she didn't." And then it comes back to me. Something I had not told the ambulance people, because I only remember it just now. I look down at the doctor's small, tanned face. My own face is still twitching with the crying. I catch my breath. "My sister was in the middle of telling me something. . . . She turned to me. And then it happened. The car drove off the highway. It happened so fast." The doctor urges me on. "What was she telling you?" Mélanie's eyes. Her hands clasping the wheel. Antoine, there's something I need to say. I've kept it back all day. Last night, at the hotel, I remembered something. Something about . . . Her eyes, troubled, worried. And then the car driving off the road. A SECRET KEPT Copyright (c) 2009, 2010 by Tatiana de Rosnay Excerpted from A Secret Kept by Tatiana De Rosnay All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
