Reprinted from Green Man Review.
I honestly don’t want to admit how long this unassuming little trade paperback languished in my “to be read and reviewed” pile before I finally picked it up and looked at it. I will readily admit that I’m very glad I did!
I suppose the main reason I hadn’t bothered before is that it’s one of those alternative history novels, a subgenre I generally eschew on principle, preferring to stick with novels that follow an historical thread more or less accurately. No doubt this bias reflects my reliance on historical fiction as a more palatable source of historical fact (and atmosphere) than most non-fiction histories I’ve read.
In this alternative World War II history, the 1944 Allied liberation of Europe failed completely. Instead, the German army successfully launched a full-scale invasion and occupation of England. With appropriate reference to radio broadcasts and newspaper coverage, the narrative occasionally provides some intriguing details of the way that storyline might have played out — London was under siege, Prime Minister Churchill and King George escaped to Canada, Dewey won the 1944 US Presidential election and began to seek détente with the Reich and to redeploy American troops to the Pacific theater right after his inauguration.
But these large-scale events are by no means the focus of this novel. Most of the action takes place in an isolated Welsh farming settlement, a valley known as the Olchon, during the very harsh winter of 1944-45. One September morning, all the women in this community (less than a half dozen households total) wake up to discover that overnight their menfolk (husbands and grown sons) have vanished without a word. One of the women discovers a fragment of a pamphlet inadvertently left behind. From this they conclude that the men are all part of a resistance cell activated in advance of the German forces in order to disrupt the occupation. Although the other characters regularly refer to them, these men never appear in Resistance at all.
Left on their own, the women struggle to maintain their homes and livestock. They manage reasonably well until the weather starts to turn cold. At just about the time the work gets to be too much for them, a small group of German soldiers arrives on the scene. Members of the Wehrmacht, these men have been dispatched by SS Command to reconnoiter with the locals and to carry out a mission whose purpose is revealed as the novel unfolds. The only hint I will give you is that it has to do with Heinrich Himmler’s interest in occult artifacts.
The six members of this unit are all fundamentally decent soldiers, weary of battle and only too happy to receive an assignment that takes them away from the fighting in London. The unit leader, Albrecht Wolfram, studied medieval history at Oxford and speaks impeccable English. The rest of the men knew very little about British culture and have only limited command of the language. Gradually as winter sets in, they gain the trust of the farm women and help them with much of the heavy work. Eventually the snows arrive and the roads into and out of the village become impassable. For several weeks, the community of men and women overcome their differences and work together to assure each other’s survival.
Of course the situation can’t remain in any sort of steady state for long. Wolfram and one of his men become interested in two of the women. These attachments alter the dynamics of the small group. And as spring arrives, people from nearby villages attempt to re-establish contact with the residents of the Olchon and some of the residents find reason to travel beyond the valley’s confines. That’s when the trouble begins. From the perspective of the outsiders, both the locals and the occupying forces, the spirit of cooperation that has developed among those living in the valley has another, far less positive, name: collaboration.
Sheers’ lyrical writing style and sensitivity to the perspectives of different characters really made Resistance a joy to read. I found his portrayals of Sarah Lewis, one of the younger farm wives, and Captain Wolfram particularly evocative. I found myself rereading several times a scene where Wolfram brings a gramophone to Sarah’s house and plays Bach cello suites for her. Here’s an excerpt from this lovely passage:
Sarah’s kitchen had not heard music for months. Before all this happened she used to sing to herself as she worked in here, cleaning the grate or peeling potatoes. Each chore was lightened by song, a hymn hummed or sung just under her breath. But since Tom’s leaving she hadn’t sung to herself again. With this record, with the sound of this single cello emanating from a battered leather case, everything in the room, the table, the dresser, the range, the horseshoe over the door, seemed in contact with a new element. The trees she could see through the window over Albrecht’s shoulder now moved not with the buffeting wind as before, but under the command of the rise, fall, and procession of the music. (page 194)
I recommend this novel highly. What more can I say?
(Anchor Books, 2009)
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