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Summary
Summary
From Paris in the 1920s to London after the Blitz, two women find that a secret from their past reverberates through years of joy and sorrow . . . As recovery from World War II begins, expat American Nora Tours travels from her home in southern France to London in search of her missing sixteen-year-old daughter. There, she unexpectedly meets up with an old acquaintance, famous model-turned-photographer Lee Miller. Neither has emerged from the war unscathed. Nora is racked with the fear that her efforts to survive under the Vichy regime may have cost her daughter's life. Lee suffers from what she witnessed as a war correspondent photographing the liberation of the Nazi concentration camps. Nora and Lee knew each other in the heady days of late 1920s Paris, when Nora was giddy with love for her childhood sweetheart, Lee became the celebrated mistress of the artist Man Ray, and Lee's magnetic beauty drew them all into the glamorous lives of famous artists and their wealthy patrons. But Lee fails to realize that her friendship with Nora is even older, that it goes back to their days as children in Poughkeepsie, New York, when a devastating trauma marked Lee forever. Will Nora's reunion with Lee give them a chance to forgive past betrayals...... and break years of silence to forge a meaningful connection as women who have shared the best and the worst that life can offer? A novel of freedom and frailty, desire and daring, The Beautiful American portrays the extraordinary relationship between two passionate, unconventional women. Readers guide included 'Will transport you to expat Paris.' Suzanne Rindell, author of The Other Typist 'A brilliant, beautiful written literary masterpiece.' Sandra Dallas, author of Fallen Women 'Leaves its essence of love, loss, regret, and hope long after the novel concludes.' Erika Robuck, author of Fallen Beauty 'Achingly beautiful and utterly mesmerizing.' Jennifer Robson, author of Somewhere In France
Author Notes
Jeanne Mackin teaches creative writing at Goddard College in Vermont and has taught or conducted workshops in Pennsylvania, Hawaii and New York. She lives with her husband, artist Steve Poleskie, in upstate New York. She is also the author of several novels: The Sweet By and By , Dreams of Empire , The Queen's War , and The Frenchwoman .
Reviews (1)
Library Journal Review
This latest historical novel by award-winning journalist and author Mackin (The Frenchwoman) is a fictional account of American model-turned-photographer Lee Miller and her friend Nora Tours, a skillfully created character who narrates the novel. Childhood friends in Poughkeepsie, NY, Nora and Lee meet again during the fashionable days of 1920s Paris, where both are living as expats, and later in London at the end of World War II. While a betrayal threatens their friendship, a shared secret from the past brings the two women together once more. In Paris, Nora lives blissfully with her childhood sweetheart, the two lovers hopeful that the French city will fulfill their dreams, while glamorous Lee has become the legendary mistress of the artist Man Ray, spending her days with famed artists and the Parisian upper crust. After the war, Nora's desperate search for her missing daughter takes her to London, where she bumps into Lee, an unexpected reunion that will alter their lives forever. Verdict Mackin's ability to re-create history and to create believable characters and situations makes her new work a transfixing story that is hard to put down. Sure to be loved by fans of Mackin and of the historical novel; very highly recommended.-Lisa Block, Atlanta (c) Copyright 2014. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Excerpts
Excerpts
"Look." Lee Miller stood and pulled on her gloves. "Can you come to us this weekend? Come meet Roland. I married, you know. Twice, to be precise. Aziz and I married after you left Paris, but it didn't last. God, Cairo was so boring. But I think this one will last. Come meet the husband, and little Anthony. Yes, I have a child. A boy. The most beautiful little boy in the world. I'm absolutely besotted." Pain knifed my chest. "I didn't plan a long stay," I said, trying to sound a touch careless, a little preoccupied with all the things I had to do. "And I didn't bring evening clothes. In fact, I am wearing my entire travel wardrobe." It was a silly excuse but one that would do when the truth was too painful. I didn't want to see Lee holding her child. Lee, who had never wanted to marry, to have children, now had both husband and son. And my child was lost; her father, the man who should have been my husband, was an ocean away, living with a different wife, a different family. Lee laughed. "Darling, that doesn't matter. Wear a sheet if you must. It will be like the old days. Do come! On Friday, take the afternoon train to Lewes and we'll pick you up at the station. On Sunday, we'll drive you to Newhaven and you can catch the ferry to France." She stood and reached for the bill, signing it rather than leaving cash. I read her signature upside down. Lady Penrose of Poughkeepsie, it said. Lee still had a sense of humor. I hadn't yet agreed to the weekend, so she played her strongest card. "Pablo will be there," she said, and was out the door before I could say no. Pablo. When I had to leave Paris, Pablo Picasso had been the one to help me, not because we were close--we were not--or because he was particularly kind to young girls in trouble--he was not. It had merely been one of those life-forming coincidences. That day, as I stood on the Pont Neuf wondering where I would go, what I would do, he had come toward me on his way to somewhere. There was just enough kindness in his voice when he asked, "Ça va?" that I sobbed my story out to him. He had already known, of course. That's the sad truth of betrayal. It makes a poor secret except to the betrayed. He paused, then gave me a piece of paper on which he'd written the name of a friend who would take me in. He would write to her the very next day, he promised, and I fled to his friend, Madame Hughes, in Grasse. Seventeen years ago. A war ago. A child ago. A lifetime ago. Lee had introduced me to Pablo, and to many others. She had given, and she had taken. I looked out the window and watched Lee cross the street with that determined stride of hers. She waved, grinned, and disappeared into the crowd. I stared at the card, wondering how much the train to Lewes would cost. No one ever said no to Lee Miller, and if she thought they might, she simply never asked the question. Of course, there was always a first time. Why should I interrupt my search for Dahlia to play houseguest for the woman who had, years before, derailed my dreams? Because the search is over, a dark voice said in my head. There is nowhere else to look. I rose to leave the restaurant, walking in the wake of Lee's perfume. I smelled it, then, that bottom note I hadn't noticed before. Camphor, eucalyptus, and the salty, acrid bottom note of merbromin. Medicine. The smell carried me backward. Scents are memories' bid for immortality; they keep the past alive. Excerpted from The Beautiful American by Jeanne Mackin 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.