Tag Archives: Eva Glyn

TWO EVOCATIVE AND INNOVATIVE DUAL TIMELINE ROMANCES FROM ONE MORE CHAPTER

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Dual timeline romances based around the First and Second World Wars are tremendously popular, but these two new summer releases from One More Chapter break the mould: Deborah Carr’s moved between WW1 and WW2, and Eva Glyn’s is set in the former Yugoslavia, a theatre of war in the 1940s that is barely mentioned in modern fiction.

 

The Beekeeper’s War by Deborah Carr, reviewed by Eva Glyn

An unusual dual timeline in that it is set during the First and Second World Wars, but I enjoyed The Beekeeper’s War all the most because of it.

I have read Deborah Carr books before and she is so skilled at recreating believable and accurate historical settings and characters, without ever beating you over the head with it. The history just flows as the natural backdrop for her story, which is of course how it should be but is nonetheless not easy to achieve.

The novel opens in 1916 when two friends from Jersey, Pru and Jean, are nursing wounded soldiers. Despite herself, Pru begins to fall for a handsome airman Jack who visits Ashbury Manor and is a close friend of the son of the house, Monty, who is a patient there. Jack is still very much on active service and the book opens with a scene of him escaping his German captors a year later, so we know this affair is not going to run smoothly.

In 1940 Pru’s daughter Emma finds herself at Ashbury to stay with her mother’s friends, determined to unlock some secrets from the past. To say more would spoil this story and that I don’t want to do, because it is such an enjoyable read I’d like you to find out for yourself.

 

An Island of Secrets by Eva Glyn, reviewed by Kitty Wilson

I raced through this novel over the course of two days and was thoroughly swept into the story of Guy and Ivka, as well as that of Leo and Andrej. The only drawback being that it ended too quickly and I should have savoured it.

It is written as a dual timeline and is seamlessly woven together as Leo goes in search of answers to outstanding questions her elderly grandfather has about his time in Yugoslavia (as it was) in the Second World War. I found the story of Guy as an SOE operative on the isle of Vis truly compelling and Eva Glyn writes with a sensitivity and insight that comes across on every single page. She truly bought home the scenes where Guy witnessed the horrors of war and I was totally pulled into the story as he battled with the choices he had to make.

From the very start of his first meeting with Ivka I was so invested in their relationship, they seemed like a natural good fit and I couldn’t help but respect the courage both of them showed on a daily basis. In fact, all the characters were written in a way that had you aware of their flaws but thoroughly rooting for their success.

But for me the most outstanding element of this fabulous novel was Eva Glyn’s way of conjuring the isle of Vis in the reader’s mind, she had me there seeing and smelling and feeling the scenery and made me feel that I could truly inhabit her characters’ world.

Overall, I found this novel to expertly crafted and cannot recommend it highly enough, it is a deeply impactful and emotionally powerful read and the story of Guy and Ivka in particular will stay with me for a very long time.

 

 

 

 

EVA GLYN’S PUBLICATION DAY REVIEW OF PRISCILLA MORRIS’S BLACK BUTTERFLIES

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When the Netgalley notification came through of a novel set in Sarajevo during the conflict of the 1990s, I had to read it. My interest in the war had been sparked by a conversation with then tour guide, now friend, Darko Barisic, who as a child had lived through the same conflict in Mostar. I knew what he’d gone through and I greatly respected his resilience. I also knew I had to tell his story, which I did through the medium of The Olive Grove, my first women’s fiction title set in Croatia.

Black Butterflies is completely different to my own book, it’s literary fiction but reads almost like a memoir. It takes you to Sarajevo in 1992 real time through the eyes of Zora, an artist and tutor who along with her neighbours experiences the brunt of the siege. A siege that occurred when an army of Serbs surrounded what was a wonderful multi-ethic, highly cultured society. A society none expected would turn into a war zone.

The language the author uses is incredible in both its beauty and its harshness. It’s also immersive. I was in Sarajevo, and it is rare a book has so much power to transport me in such a multi-sensory way. The horror, the moments of lightness, the unremitting awfulness of losing almost everything… no work, no food, no power, no water… while being under fire. It all became absolutely real and that is an incredible talent.

I guessed early on that the author had access to first hand accounts and this proved to be the case. Although fictional, Black Butterflies is a melding of two family stories, and the experiences of a larger number of people, but skilfully woven together they make a unified whole.

A word of warning though; if you are particularly anxious about the situation in Ukraine, this isn’t the time to read this book. However if you would prefer to think on how conflicts do end, how people come out of the other side and go on to lead normal lives, then do.

 

Publisher’s blurb for Black Butterflies:

Sarajevo, spring 1992. Each night, nationalist gangs erect barricades, splitting the diverse city into ethnic enclaves; each morning, the residents – whether Muslim, Croat or Serb – push the makeshift barriers aside.

When violence finally spills over, Zora, an artist and teacher, sends her husband and elderly mother to safety with her daughter in England. Reluctant to believe that hostilities will last more than a handful of weeks, she stays behind while the city falls under siege. As the assault deepens and everything they love is laid to waste, black ashes floating over the rooftops, Zora and her friends are forced to rebuild themselves, over and over. Theirs is a breathtaking story of disintegration, resilience and hope.

Publisher’s blurb for The Olive Grove:

Antonia Butler is on the brink of a life-changing decision and a job advert looking for a multilingual housekeeper at a beautifully renovated Croatian farmhouse, Vila Maslina, is one she can’t ignore.

Arriving on the tiny picturesque island of Korčula, Antonia feels a spark of hope for the first time in a long time. This is a chance to leave the past behind.

But this island, and its inhabitants, have secrets of their own and a not-too-distant past steeped in tragedy and war. None more so than Vila Maslina’s enigmatic owner Damir Maric. A young man with nothing to lose but everything to gain…

SUNDAY SCENE: EVA GLYN ON HER FAVOURITE SCENE FROM AN ISLAND OF SECRETS

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It’s every writer’s dream, isn’t it? To sit in the exotic location where you’ve set your book and actually write the scene. From exactly the same place as your character; to see what they see, hear what they hear, smell what they smell. Well, one morning when I was on the Croatian island of Vis researching An Island of Secrets, I made it happen when early one morning I picked up my notebook and strolled down to the harbour…

 

Although a few cafés were open at this hour Leo had chosen one in front of a broad flight of steps in a corner of the harbour, its tables tucked back into a narrow space between a pizzeria and a bakery. Not the one where she usually bought her bread, but today that might change too. Or it might not. If she was to stay in Komiža then something damn well had to – she’d been here a month and she couldn’t go on as she was.

Cigarette smoke drifted around her and music was playing from a radio further down the quay. A few local people were about and the crew of one of the holiday yachts moored on the mole had settled at a table somewhere behind her, but generally there was an air of peace about the place and she felt herself relax. A scrawny black and white cat with the swagger of a prize-fighter strolled past, but the tiny tabby cleaning itself under one of the chairs seemed unimpressed.

There were two reasons she had chosen this place to have her coffee. The first was that she could see The Fishermen’s House from here, and the second that yesterday she had found a photo from 1944 in the online archive of a museum in Split and she was pretty sure she recognised where it had been taken.

She pulled out her phone and looked again. Yes, that was definitely the narrow building where the tobacco shop now was, and the distinctive carved lintels above the windows of the property directly to her right were in the picture too. The palm trees were in the correct places, although in the photo they were barely taller than the men and now they towered more than four storeys high.

She had scanned the faces of the commandos in vain for anyone who looked vaguely like Grandad. But although she had been disappointed, she knew he might recognise some of the men and the thought made her tingle with excitement; she had already emailed the photo to Auntie Mo so she could show it to him. It was progress of a sort and there was pitifully little else to say. How the hell did you find out about some random woman who lived sixty years ago in a foreign land? Especially when you weren’t entirely sure who that woman was.

 

Leo is in Komiza to try to find out what happened to the woman her grandfather, Guy Barclay, had to leave behind when his commando unit pulled out in 1944. When Guy first arrived on Vis, the only part of Yugoslavia not occupied by the Germans, his mission had seemed straight forward, but then he stumbled across a brutal execution on a remote hillside that changed everything.

These executions – of female partisan fighters who had fraternised with their male colleagues – really happened, and at the time their British allies were powerless to do anything about it. But it made me wonder, what if one of them had tried? I had my hero and I had my story.

 

Find out more about my books set in Croatia at evaglynauthor.com

 

 

 

 

 

CARIADS’ CHOICE: SEPTEMBER BOOK REVIEWS

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Eva Glyn’s The Olive Grove, reviewed by Kitty Wilson

The Olive Grove is also the story of Antonia, a middle-aged woman who has left an unhealthy love affair and whose daughter is of an age where she needs to become more independent. With no job, no relationship and the understanding she needs to make space for her daughter to grow, Antonia finds herself working for Damir and together the two of them help each other heal, forge a future and learn to believe in themselves.

Eva Glyn writes with empathy and compassion about Damir and her exploration of the conflict in Croatia reminds us powerfully of the atrocities of a war that was so close to home and the long-term effects war has on a community, generations after the fighting has stopped.

It is a beautiful story and Eva Glyn’s powerful prose creates the most magical setting. As I read, I was transported to another country and loved how all of my senses were stimulated by the evocative descriptive writing. A fabulous book that I am more than happy to recommend.

 

Tania Crosse’s Nobody’s Girl, reviewed by Jane Cable

I do love a saga and Tania Crosse had been recommended by so many people, when I wanted a reliable book to read I chose one of hers. I wasn’t disappointed. Nobody’s Girl charts the stories of two women in 1930s Kent, one a teenage farmer’s daughter and the other the childless wife of a well-to-do businessman. They meet in tragic circumstances and a rich and fascinating story unfolds.

Despite being true to its time the main characters are not stereotypical, and that and a strong supporting cast brings this novel alive. The surprises are not so much in what happens, but in how the characters react and grow, and I would highly recommend this book. I was also very pleased to discover there is a sequel, A Place to Call Home.

 

Freya Kennedy’s The Hopes and Dreams of Libby Quinn, reviewed by Carol Thomas

 There’s lots to like about this lovely story. It was an uplifting, enjoyable read. The depth of Libby’s feelings for her grandad Ernie is evident in the affection with which she recalls her memories of him and her desire to realise his dreams. The characters were all likeable, and the community setting of Ivy Lane made it a cuddle of a book. The male lead, Noah, is portrayed well, and I could feel the growing affection between him and Libby. I frequently smiled as I read and even shed a tear. Overall, it’s a great read.

 

Sarah Edghill’s A Thousand Tiny Disappointments, review by Jan Baynham

A poignant and emotional read!

A Thousand Tiny Disappointments takes you on an emotional roller coaster of a journey dealing with grief, loss and a building of self-esteem. The title intrigued me and as I read further into the story, it became clear how apt it was. It’s a hard read at times; you feel for the main character, Martha, as she becomes physically and mentally exhausted by the demands put upon her. The relationship with her son, Joe, is beautifully described. The author creates authentic, multi-layered characters. The role of women as portrayed in both the characters of Martha and Alice as well as Martha’s dilemma to do the right thing are two of a number of themes explored in the novel, resulting in a thought-provoking read. I particularly liked the uplifting ending that made this a satisfying and enjoyable novel. Highly recommended.

 

 

 

 

CARIADS’ CHOICE: AUGUST BOOK REVIEWS

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Eva Glyn’s The Missing Pieces of Us, reviewed by Jan Baynham

I enjoyed ‘The Missing Pieces of Us’ immensely. Eva Glyn takes us on an emotional journey with the two main characters, Izzie and Robin. I liked the way the themes of love, grief, loss, and memory are explored from each of their POVs. The story slowly reveals how things that happened twenty years before have impacted on the two characters and made them the people they are today. The character of Claire is also developed well so that she plays a pivotal role in the journey. Central to the story is the fairy tree where people can come to make wishes and leave gifts. For me, that added element of folk-lore and magic makes the novel a little bit different.

 

Sandy Barker’s The Dating Game, reviewed by Kitty Wilson

I loved this perfect, feelgood summer read. The Dating Game is a gorgeous slow-burn romance with whip-smart humour threaded through every page.

Abby has been coerced into taking part on a dating show in Sydney to help inform her as she writes snarky reviews of each episode as her hilarious alter-ego, Anastasia. Whilst there, her relationship builds with the handsome producer, Jack, and I was rooting for them to get together all the way through.

This book isn’t a simple romance though, it is also a book that testifies to the strength of female friendship even when these women are pitted against each other.

Sandy Baker writes with such wit and warmth that it’s impossible not to get totally invested in this story and I frequently laughed out loud as we followed Abby and the other Does from one hideous Stag date to another. Wonderful, feelgood romcom escapism and highly recommended.

 

Philip Gwynne Jones’ The Venetian Game, reviewed by Evonne Wareham

If the lure of “Venice” in the title and the sumptuous cover tempt you into this book – you won’t be disappointed. Philip Gwynne Jones is Welsh, but now lives in Venice and it shows. This is the first in a series – now up to five – featuring Honorary British Consul Nathan Sutherland who has a talent for getting involved in unusual crimes that are rooted in the life of the city and which offer a real opportunity for some authentic armchair travel. Other than his consular work Nathan lives a more or less blameless life translating lawn mower manuals, frequenting the local bar and pandering to his ungrateful cat Gramsci. In this first in the series his consular role sees him reluctantly taking charge of a mysterious package which leads him into a tangled trail of forgery, theft and violence – an art scandal embedded in a deadly and longstanding feud between a pair of brothers.

 

Deborah Carr’s An Island at War, reviewed by Jane Cable

The fact Deborah Carr was born and bred in Jersey shines through in this novel, which is impeccably researched, apparently with the aid of family records.

The story is one of the German occupation and starts just a few days before the troops arrived and ends as they leave. I loved the fact that the passage of time and the events in the characters’ lives seemed so natural and it allowed Estelle’s story to unfold at just the right pace. The characters are wonderful too, and I came to really care about what happened to them, particularly enjoying the sensitive portrayal of how war can change everything, even the things we think are written in stone, about ourselves and about other people.

The one thing I was unsure about was the ending, but all the same I applaud the author for it. To say anything more would spoil the book and I wouldn’t want to do that, because it’s one you should read for yourself.

 

 

 

EVA GLYN ON THE INSPIRATION BEHIND THE OLIVE GROVE

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Sometimes an idea for a book creeps into your heart and stays there. That was how The Olive Grove started for me, with a story told by our tour guide when we were on holiday in Croatia.

We were on a small-boat cruise that began in Dubrovnik and after visiting the main islands off the Dalmatian coast and some interesting places on the mainland, ended up in Trogir. And when we were on board travelling there were talks we could listen to and to make our experience complete we wanted to lap up every one.

The war in Yugoslavia was perhaps not a particularly enticing topic when the alternative was to sit on deck, watching the glistening sea ripple alongside the boat while soaking up some sun, but I remembered hearing about the war on the news at the time and was keen to know more. And then, somewhere between the dates, whys and wherefores, our guide Darko began to tell an incredible story. His own.

I suppose I had assumed Darko was Croatian, but he is in fact Bosnian and grew up in Mostar, one of the towns that was to be worst hit by the fighting. His father was a soldier in the Yugoslav army, but when everything fractured and splintered he followed his ethnicity and joined the Croatian side, having to leave his Serbian wife (and Serbia was now the enemy) at home with their sons.

I will never forget the silence in the room at the horror of what we were told. No electricity, no water, bombs raining down, queuing for food at the community organisation – life as we would all recognise it wiped out over the course of a few days in a war that would last for years. Darko’s life moved underground to the shelters, because they were the only safe place. And he was one of the lucky ones, because living in the army housing meant the shelters were purpose-built, deep and strong.

There were moments to awful to contemplate. Darko’s mother actually disappeared, as many people did during ethnic cleansing, but he was one of the few lucky ones because she actually came back. But there were moments of light too; finding a food parcel dropped by the UN and hoping it was one with chocolate inside.

These incidents and more form the kernel of The Olive Grove, but viewed through the prism of time by my proud Croatian character Damir. Orphaned during the war he was brought up by his aunt on the beautiful island of Korcula (which we visited during our trip); brought up to forget everything about his life before he came to the island. But when she dies, the past creeps back to find him.

While Darko wears his wartime past with relative ease (which is often the case when everyone around the child is having the same experiences, when the awfulness becomes a sort of normal), fictional Damir no longer can. And help comes from a surprising quarter. A middle aged English woman called Antonia who feels she has messed up her life so badly she takes a job on the island to take stock and to heal.

And that’s what The Olive Grove is really about. It’s about healing and friendship. Like Darko’s childhood memories there is sunshine and shade. And unlike them there is the most incredibly beautiful setting.

With Darko’s help over countless Zoom meetings during lockdown I have been able to create authentic Croatian characters and culture, so as well as the initial inspiration, there are many other reasons why The Olive Grove could not have been written without him. And what’s even better, we have become friends across the miles too.

WELSH WRITING WEDNESDAYS: GLYN JONES – POET, AUTHOR, GENTLE MAN – A PERSONAL APPRECIATION BY JANE CABLE

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I have a confession to make. When I first signed up to write this article, the subject matter was to be twentieth century Anglo-Welsh poetry, but slowly it dawned on me I could not do justice to those wonderful writers so Tony Curtis, Gillian Clarke, and even my own father, Mercer Simpson, will have to wait. Glyn Jones must take centre stage.

In later life Glyn and his wife Doreen were great friends of my parents. Glyn and my father met through the Welsh Academy (of literature) and found a common bond in their love of words. They lived quite close to each other in Cardiff and on sunny afternoons the Jones could often be found in my parents’ garden, tucking into tea and homemade cakes. Glyn was the ultimate gentle man, always unassuming, with a quiet sparkle about him. The last time I saw him was at a party my parents held to celebrate both my qualification as a chartered accountant and my engagement. A quiet man himself, my husband-to-be adored him too.

Both in the years before, and after, Glyn’s death, my father became the go-to expert on his work. He was interviewed extensively for a BBC documentary about Glyn’s life made in 1996 and wrote the introduction to the University of Wales Press collected poems published the same year. In that he wrote:

‘Generous in his encouragement of younger writers and in his remarkable gift of friendship, Glyn Jones was so modest about his great gifts that they have still to receive the critical attention they so richly merit.’

Although a friend of Dylan Thomas’, Jones was his polar opposite, a chapel-goer all his life, a man steadfast in his beliefs (he lost his teaching job after becoming a conscientious objector in World War Two), he was indeed too modest to push himself forward. While Jones never created a masterpiece like Under Milk Wood – few people do – he was still a master of his craft as a writer, and his epic poem-play, Seven Keys to Shaderdom, which was unfinished at his death, certainly comes close:

‘Before a dazzling evening’s lemon glow all your repose,
Your writhings, were there alone in open pasture. Bareness
Assumed, in spring’s hysteria, against the soaking snow of
Clouds, green fabrics of your opening foliage, glittering
Sunlit deluges of grain-like silver’

His novels were published in the 1950s and 60s to critical acclaim. The Island of Apples is one of my all-time favourites, a coming of age story told from the viewpoint of a pre-adolescent boy, with descriptions so vivid and perfect it makes you want to stop and read them again and again. I remember becoming so completely lost in the time and place I can picture it to this day.

Glyn Jones also wrote short stories and translated poems, plays and other literary works from welsh to english, bringing them to a wider audience. But it is his poetry for which he is most remembered. Or perhaps what I most remember him for. The morning my mother died I took his Collected Poems from the shelf and read to her. Her favourite was The Meaning of Fuchsias, but in the end I decided to read Goodbye, What Were You? at her funeral:

‘At the voice of the mother on a warm hearth,
Dark and firelit, where the hobbed kettle crinkled
In the creak and shudder of the rained-on window,
This world had its beginning
And was here redeemed.’

My ultimate tribute to Glyn is taking his name in my pseudonym, Eva Glyn. I just hope I can live up to his example.

 

 

 

 

 

WELSH WRITING WEDNESDAYS: REINTRODUCING JANE CABLE

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I have been writing for Frost for so long I tend to assume everyone knows who I am, but common sense tells me that isn’t the case. Our readership is growing all the time, so many won’t have the first clue about why the Contributing Editor blathers on so endlessly about writing and books. And. this year, about Welsh writing in particular.

So the first thing you need to know is that I am Welsh. I was born in Cardiff and my formative years were spent in and around the city, although I left to go to college at eighteen and never lived there again. In modern parlance you would say that, despite living in England for so long, I ‘identify as’ Welsh and will do so until the day I die.

With my Dad at the launch of his first book

I was a teenager when I discovered there was a rich literary tradition on my doorstep. My father, Mercer Simpson, was a lecturer at the Polytechnic of Wales and worked with Tony Curtis, and I remember the great excitement in our household when Tony won the 1984 National Poetry Competition. By that time my father had retired and was spending his time reading for the Welsh Arts Council and editing the Welsh Academy of Literature’s magazine so the house was stuffed full of books by Welsh authors.

This may have been my literary heritage, but I eschewed literature, refusing to take english as an A-level. When I was a student Dad and I would debate whether there was such a thing as intrinsically ‘good’ and ‘bad’ in the arts and could never see eye to eye, largely because I considered his views desperately old fashioned. Never an academic, my normal reading was romances, women’s fiction and historical sagas. In other words, popular fiction.

My father reviewed books endlessly and became an acknowledged expert on Anglo-Welsh literature. By the time he died in 2007 he’d had four of his own poetry collections published, the last of which he’d worked on during his final illness and his publisher brought the first copies to his funeral.

By then I had started writing too, experimenting with romantic fiction, something he barely understood, but my mother ploughed through my early stories and gave me both encouragement and useful feedback. Instead my father was really proud of the fact I freelanced as a cricket journalist. My mother’s bragging rights came a few years later when, in 2011, I reached the final of The Alan Titchmarsh Show’s People’s Novelist competition.

Mum and her Welsh flag

My mother loved reading but loathed formulaic romances, and her opinion has had more influence that anything over the way I write. I love a love story, but there has to be more. More for the reader to get their teeth into; a hint of mystery, research so good it teaches you something, a broadening of horizons. These are the stories I aim to write.

My career as a published author had a bit of a rocky start, but in 2018 I settled with Sapere Books, writing contemporary romances with a look over the shoulder at the past. The first two books were World War Two influenced, and later this year my debut dual timeline will be published by them, set in Cornwall in 1815 and 2015.

Last year I took another step forwards and signed a two book deal with One More Chapter, a division of Harper Collins. Both will be out this summer, written under the name of Eva Glyn. Eva for my paternal grandmother and Glyn for the Welsh novelist and poet Glyn Jones, a great friend to both of my parents and an emblem of my literary roots.