By Michael Wallner
Set in 1943, APRIL IN PARIS is the dramatic tale of an most unlikely love among a German soldier and a French Resistance fighter in occupied Paris.
Roth, a twenty-one-year-old German soldier, has spent such a lot of his time in occupied Paris operating within the army’s again workplaces. but if his superiors examine of his skill to talk accent-free French, he's all at once transferred to Gestapo headquarters to paintings as an interpreter in the course of the interrogation of Resistance combatants. instead of query his function within the Nazi regime, Roth interprets with impeccable accuracy because the torture proceeds.
But while his accountability ends, Roth slips clear of his fellow officials, alterations into civilian outfits, and wanders aimlessly via Paris disguised as his regulate ego “Antoine.” in the future he's drawn into an antiquarian book place and turns into enchanted with the bookseller’s appealing daughter, Chantal. the 2 start to meet and fall in love sooner than Roth has the braveness to bare his actual id, nor to find Chantal’s.
When a bomb put in a well-liked nightclub via the Resistance kills a number of high-ranking German officials, Roth unearths himself now not in his function as translator yet because the suspect of the SS’s interrogation.
April in Paris is a kind of infrequent books during which the emotional strength of the affection tale is matched via page-turning suspense. Written in a chic and arresting variety, it's a exciting novel through a promising new author, who has introduced the truth of a war-torn earlier greatly to the present.
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Extra info for April in Paris
The registry ofﬁce had long since requisitioned other buses for prisoner transport. What they really wanted to know was where the Resistance ﬁghters were hiding. The two corporals took up their positions in front of the boy again. I turned my head away. ” The captain was staring at me. Had he noticed that I’d closed my eyes? He gave me permission to leave the room. At ﬁrst, I thought it was so I wouldn’t be a witness. But then I saw from the look on his face that he was sparing my feelings. As we went out, I heard the ﬁrst scream.
I spread a bit of the black jelly on a rusk. Since the Soviet embassy got cleared out, tinned food was everywhere. Also different kinds of tea, richer and stronger than the ground powder pro- A P R I L I N PA R I S . 45 vided by the Wehrmacht. I remembered reading horror stories about the conﬁscations in Je suis partout. Trapdoors and dungeons, electriﬁed tubs for burning bodies. The faces in the photographs, bleached white by the ﬂash. I walked around unobtrusively, plate in hand, among the crowd of uniforms.
We didn’t take the elevator—Leibold detested being closed up in narrow spaces. We reached the ﬁfth ﬂoor. General exchange of greetings. Two Gestapo agents bent over the guest list. They stared suspiciously at me, a Wehrmacht corporal in SS land. I stepped close to Leibold to make it clear I belonged there. “I’ll let you know when I need you,” he said. He left me by the entrance and joined the brass in the salon. I’d never seen a full colonel close up before. A giant of a man, he gave Leibold a 42 .