A Review of Soldier’s Girl by the Historical Fiction Company, not yet posted on their blog

soldier’s Girl Editorial Review

She jumped. Or rather, she let herself fall. Into the translucent night sky, silvery from the full moon’s glow, inky and endless, empty. Beneath, her the dark shadow of Earth. Above her, the Universe.

The Lysander curled away above her, the whirr of its propellers humming into night’s vast silence. She was alone in the moonlit sky. For a moment she tumbled downwards, towards earth, but then the soft silk of the parachute unfurled and she hovered there in the in-between state of consciousness that lay between one identity and the next, one life and the next.  

‘Sibyl Lake must cease to exist,’ Vera had said. And so she’d dropped not only from the plane but from all that had been before, that old self a mere discarded skin. Yet: here I am. Here, and now. She slid out of the crust called Me, that Sibyl-me, out of that persona with a name and a past. 

Starting in France on June 1, 1944, we are taken back in time and directly into a scene that pulls you deep into the story. But this is only the intro. For the real beginning of the story, we will go back even further, to September, 1929.  

Before delivering its most devastating blows, Soldier's Girl is the type of historical fiction that subtly disarms the reader. Sharon Maas's book, which takes place in the tense last year of World War II, is both a psychological analysis, a wartime thriller, and a very human love story that defies simple solutions.

What starts out as a resistance task quickly turns into a moral trial that has the reader and the heroine face the price of love, loyalty, and survival in a world split apart by fear and ideology.

Soldier's Girl is unique from the very beginning. The novel immerses us in its universe with immediacy and emotional clarity rather than easing us into it. The story is immediately grounded in place and tension because of Maas's assured and evocative style. The mission's physical peril as well as the emotional risks faced by English nurse Sibyl Lake - whose ties to Alsace go much beyond simple duty - are established in the first few chapters.

 One of the book's strongest points is this dual foundation, which combines personal reckoning with exterior conflict. Fundamentally, Soldier's Girl is about a woman who is asked to turn intimacy into a weapon. In addition to gathering intelligence, Sibyl's mission is to penetrate Major Wolfgang von Haagen, a German officer.

Maas approaches the intrinsically problematic issue with subtlety rather than sensationalism. This is a slow-burning investigation of moral complexity rather than a straightforward story of seduction or treachery. 

Tension develops naturally as the story progresses at a deliberate pace. Maas strikes a balance between the quieter, riskier realm of emotional commitment and the practicalities of espionage. As a result of her assignment, Sibyl finds herself torn between several worlds: her loyalty to the Resistance, her early links to Alsace, her unresolved love for Jacques, and her developing bond with Wolfgang, who defies both the reader's and Sibyl's expectations. The outcome is a compelling plot that is maintained by psychological pressure and ethical intricacy rather than dramatization.

The story's inability to simplify its problems into simple dichotomies is what makes it so captivating. In the book, good and evil are there, but they are filtered via personal decisions rather than impersonal classifications. Maas frequently reminds us that war is waged not just on battlefields but also in the personal realms of memory and conscience.

Sibyl Lake is a fully realized protagonist whose strength comes from her ability to ponder and doubt rather than from her invulnerability. Sibyl's courage feels earned rather than presumptive because Maas lets her experience fear, uncertainty, and struggle. Her development throughout the book is realistic and nuanced, molded by experience rather than epiphanies.

Equally well-drawn are the supporting characters. A different form of loyalty is shown by Jacques, the resistance commander and Sibyl's childhood friend, one that is based on shared sacrifice and history. His presence adds emotional weight to each decision Sibyl takes, making them more difficult to make without taking away from her agency.

Perhaps the most difficult character in the book is Major Wolfgang von Haagen, whom Maas deftly handles. He is neither an absolution nor a caricature. Rather, he is depicted as a man molded by his situation, capable of compassion and conviction but inextricably linked to the machinery of his profession. Maas asks us to comprehend how such men exist rather than to forgive him. This distinction is important and addressed carefully.

Soldier's Girl's sense of narrative and historical continuity is among its most remarkable features. Even as tensions rise, the narrative maintains clarity by moving fluidly between timelines and points of view. Instead of overpowering the narrative, Maas's mastery of historical knowledge enhances it.  

That harvest, the harvest of 1944 at the Château Laroche-Gauthier was the most glorious of them all.

For the locals, the Alsatians, there was, at last, hope. Yes: the war had finally reached the Alsace and soon there would be freedom. Margaux’s words—they will be swept away like ants with a broom—was repeated and passed on and improved upon: the Boche will be sucked up like ants by the American vacuum cleaner! They will be devoured by the American fire-breathing dragon! They will be crushed underfoot like under the boots of a giant!

And so the people rejoiced, and passed through the vines plucking and laughing and cracking jokes, bursting with hope as the grapes were bursting with juice and goodness; and Sibyl and Jacques worked together, laughed together, hoped together, planned together, unshackled by fear. It was just a matter of weeks. Alsace was on the brink of freedom. It would be French again. The Boche would slink off like a defeated beast with its tail between its legs.  

Especially well-represented is the Alsace setting. Alsace becomes more than just a backdrop as an area that rival nations have repeatedly claimed and recovered; it is a living representation of split identity.

Maas skillfully incorporates the political and cultural complexity of the area into the narrative so thatreaders can understand the stakes without needing to go into great detail. The plot is anchored in actual experience by everyday things like language, customs, and subtle acts of disobedience.

Maas's writing is tasteful without being elaborate. Her writing prioritizes emotional accuracy and clarity over excess, which is a good fit for the subject. While gentler times are given room to breathe, tense scenes are strictly regulated. Instead of just forwarding the plot, dialogue frequently has subtext that strengthens character connections and feels organic and deliberate. Identity, obligation, love, and moral responsibility are the novel's recurring themes. Maas resists the temptation to overexplain or moralize because she believes that her audience will interact with

complexity. Because of her self-assurance, the work transcends genre fiction and becomes something more timeless.

Soldier's Girl's conclusion is both inevitable and unexpected, a challenging balance that Maas expertly strikes. It offers a closure that feels true to the story's ethical and emotional terrain, but it does not deliver comfort in the traditional sense. The novel's complexity is demonstrated by the fact that readers’ moral compass will determine whether they find the conclusion tragic, bittersweet, or subtly hopeful.

Crucially, the conclusion acknowledges the seriousness of the topic. This has repercussions for both the characters and the concepts the book examines. Because Maas avoids sentimentality, the latter chapters continue to have an impact long after the last page is turned.

The refusal to simplify is what distinguishes Soldier's Girl from many other World War II novels. Although it has all the aspects readers might anticipate—danger, espionage, and resistance networks—it ultimately revolves around the initial question: what does it mean to kill, betray, or love when every option has an intolerable price?

This is not just a tale of conflict; it also explores the boundaries of ideology in the face of interpersonal relationships. The novel's enduring force comes from Maas's courage to inhabit that uncomfortable territory. It forces readers to reevaluate presumptions about bravery, loyalty, and the characteristics of both allies and adversaries.

Soldier's Girl is a painstakingly written piece of historical fiction that excels in every aspect it attempts to tackle. Its characters are well-developed, its historical backdrop is engrossing, its plot is gripping and emotionally nuanced, and its writing is confident. The novel's beginning captivates readers right away, its plot develops purposefully, and its conclusion lingers with subdued intensity.

It provides a profoundly contemplative alternative for readers of World War II fiction who are looking for more than just familiar stories - one that recognizes the cruelty of history while respecting the frail humanity that endures within it.

4.5 stars