by Monica Hesse
I've just read the best prologue I've ever read in my life.
A bit too long to copy here; plus, you're better off reading it with the book in your hand. Because how could you not go on to read the book, after a prologue that good?
Before reading the prologue, I was feeling unmotivated. Yet another World War II novel? I was listening to Rose Under Fire on the IPod already, how could I take on yet another? And those books hurt, too. Hurt bad.
But this was more of a mystery than a horror story (aren't all WWII books horror stories?). And part of the mystery was the main character's suffocating guilt--she's a teenage girl, what could she have done that was so horrid she can't forgive herself for?
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