The Paris Daughter

“But instead of the crisp avian sketches she expected to see, her page was filled with an angry tangle of lines and curves. She stared at it in disbelief for a second before ripping it from the pad, balling it up, and crumpling it with a little scream of frustration. She leaned forward, pressing her forehead against fisted palms. How was it that everything she did seemed to turn out wrong these days?

She stood abruptly, her pulse racing. She couldn’t keep doing this: going for long walks that led nowhere, returning home with her thoughts still tangled, her hands still idle.”

Elise’s inability to create art to her own satisfaction reflects her general state of turmoil and dissatisfaction in the opening of the novel, reinforcing the link between art, fate, and identity. Prior to meeting Juliette, she is isolated, excluded from Olivier’s artistic circles due to her gender, othered by her American origins, and disillusioned by the realities of her imperfect marriage. The violence of her reaction also echoes the turbulence of the world around her and creates an uneasy mood indicative of the setting in a world on the brink of the Second World War (WWII).

“So no, she could not bear the thought of leaving another pregnant woman alone if her baby was in peril. What if something went wrong? Perhaps this was a test from God. She would not fail, not this time.”

In this quote, Juliette equates helping Elise with the potential for redemption for Antoinette’s death. This shows the guilt that Juliette feels, despite her lack of culpability in the tragedy, and foreshadows her appropriation of Elise’s daughter Mathilde to compensate for the loss of her own daughter Lucie. The rhetorical question, as well as the reference to God, encourages the reader to engage with the morality of the situation as well as to join Juliette in speculating over worst-case scenarios.

“‘Being a mother is well worth it, of course, but it can be difficult,’ […] She felt guilty saying the words aloud, for her children were a great blessing, and she knew she’d found her place in the world, but in becoming a mother, she’d lost so much of herself, too.”

Juliette here discusses her attitude towards motherhood. Although she loves her children, she also feels the weight of her maternal duty towards them. Whereas Elise also has her identity as an artist to ground her following the reported death of Mathilde, Juliette’s entire identity is tied up in her role as a wife and mother. Consequently then, Juliette is unable to face life after the loss of her entire family, accounting in part for her need to replace Lucie with Mathilde.

“Birds, dozens of them, hewn from the forgiving limewood, rose up from a marshy riverbed, their wings spread wide, their faces turned toward the sky. But narrow sinews, threads to the ground, held them firmly in place, and she had found the sadness in their eyes, the shock in their beaks, as they realized they were forever bound to the earth. It was Juliette’s grief, spilling from Elise’s hands —a flock of birds, so many of them, taking flight with nowhere to go—and she knew she had, after a long drought, shaped something special. She felt, for the first time in a while, that everything might be all right.”

Elise feels reinvigorated after meeting Juliette and her family, which allows her to create art uninhibited. She uses her empathy for Juliette’s grief as inspiration for the piece, just as she later learns to use her own love and then grief for Mathilde. Birds are an important motif throughout the book, with the detailed and emotive description of the avian sculpture here cementing the link between birds and the Foulon children, as well as their association with innocence and tragedy.

“‘Don’t you see it? We’re all that’s left. People like me, we’re the only ones standing up to what’s coming! You want me to be careful rather than doing my duty to France? To mankind?’

‘No,’ she said quietly as he pushed her plate across the table to her and dove into his own chicken leg, not bothering with a knife and fork, eating like a caveman gnawing on a bone. He looked wild, his hair askew, his whole body jittery, as if he wanted to jump out of his own skin. ‘I want you to remember that you’re about to be a father. That your duty isn’t only to France. It is to this baby. And to me.’”

Here a major point of contention between Elise and Olivier is shown; whereas Olivier feels a moral duty to defend his country and to oppose Nazi invaders, Elise feels that their primary duty is to protect themselves and their daughter. She views Olivier’s work with the Resistance as a self-gratifying quest for glory, unbefitting of a family man. Her condemnation is reflected in her perception of Olivier’s table manners as chaotic and his comportment as uncouth and out of control.

“She hadn’t realized until that moment that there was a piece of her that had hoped Juliette would say no, and that Elise would be left with no choice but to take Mathilde with her. But that would be for her own sake, not her daughter’s, and right now, she had to choose Mathilde’s survival. Being a parent is not about doing what is right for ourselves, is it? Ruth Levy had said the previous summer, before sending her children away. It’s about sacrificing all we can, big and small, to give our children their best chance at life. The words had moved Elise to tears then, but she hadn’t truly understood until now just how true they were, or how deeply they would hurt.”

Here Elise explores the conflict that can arise between maternal love and duty. Whereas her love for Mathilde urges her to keep her daughter with her, Elise’s sense of duty forces her to leave Mathilde behind where she can be safer. The parallels between Ruth’s decision to separate from her children and Elise’s are highlighted by her recollection of Ruth’s words.

“‘Tell her about me. Please.’ Elise reached out to grasp Juliette’s hand, squeezing so tightly that her knuckles turned white, the skin on a few fingers cracking into hairline rivulets of blood. ‘Whatever happens, don’t let her forget me.’

‘She will never ever forget you,’ Juliette replied, and this was when Elise realized that her friend was crying, her tears coming just as fast as Elise’s. ‘I will make sure of it. A mother is a mother forever.’”

The physical injury that Elise inflicts on herself reflects the emotional hurt that she feels. Harmel uses strong emotive language to convey a sense of desperation and produce a sense of deep pathos. There is irony in Juliette’s promise given the lengths she would later go to in order to erase and suppress Mathilde’s memory of Elise. The final sentence also reinforces the importance of the identity of “mother” to both women’s characters and foreshadows the seeming inevitability of Mathilde and Elise’s eventual reunion.

“Mathilde was still whimpering, but what could Juliette do? The sooner Mathilde forgot about Elise and Olivier, the better it would be for all of them. When Elise returned—if Elise returned—there would be plenty of time to right the wrong, but for now, this was how things had to be. Besides, Elise had left of her own accord. The more time that passed, the more Juliette’s stomach swam uneasily with the knowledge. How could a mother who really loved her child do such a thing? Juliette wanted so much to understand, but she couldn’t.”

This quote marks the moment when Juliette’s sisterly regard for Elise begins to sour. Elise was willing to leave Mathilde behind out of a sense of maternal duty, but Juliette’s own sense of duty demands she stay with her children no matter what. Juliette’s inability to reconcile their disparate views, as well as her defensiveness over knowingly encouraging Mathilde to forget her parents despite promising the opposite, eventually leads her to hate Elise. Juliette’s inner conflict is reflected in Harmel’s use of rhetorical questions and the description of Juliette’s physical discomfort.

“‘Good night, then. Sleep to gather strength for the morning. For the morning will come.’

—Winston Churchill, to the people of France, October 1940”

Winston Churchill was the Prime Minister of the UK through the majority of WWII and one of the main leaders of the Allied Forces opposing Nazi Germany and the other Axis Powers. He is known for his inspirational speeches and contributed to many of the radio broadcasts directed at the people of France throughout the course of the German Occupation. The quote reflects the novel’s idea that all darkness must pass eventually.

“The words hadn’t felt like a threat, but rather a warning from a place of concern. Did he know about something that was coming? Were she and the children in more danger than she thought?

‘Strange fellow,’ Paul said after a few seconds of silence.

‘Yes,’ Juliette agreed, but had he been strange? Or had he merely been human, someone who longed for a book he was forbidden to read, someone who worried for the children he couldn’t save?”

This quote uses a large number of rhetorical questions to show Juliette’s uncertainty about the motives of the soldier. Harmel also uses rhetorical questions here to emphasize the complexity of the moral situation faced by the Occupied Parisians, who spent years living alongside German soldiers. While the atrocities of the Nazi regime are undeniable, Hermel emphasizes here the common humanity between soldiers and civilians on both sides of the conflict.

“‘Père Clément said I could trust you,’ […]

‘I hardly know Père Clément,’ she said honestly. ‘I—I don’t want to mislead you. I’m not certain why he vouched for me.’

‘Because Père Clément has a better sense of people than anyone I know,’ the old woman snapped. ‘If he says you are trustworthy, you are trustworthy.’”

In reality, it is very unlikely that any successful member of the resistance would have trusted a total stranger with their illegal activities on nothing more than instinct. However, within the novel it is in keeping with the recurring theme of fate that Elise would end up in the exact situation where she can do the most good. Pere Clément’s faith in her also reinforces the narrative’s stance that Elise is a good person relatively blameless in her circumstances.

“She was a millimeter away from grabbing his hand, a centimeter away from Claude, when a sudden whistling sound above turned to an urgent shriek, and in the millisecond before the world went black, she knew exactly what was about to happen, though there was nothing she could do to stop it. It was already too late.

In the instant that existed between light and dark, between life and death, between the before and the after, the roar grew deafening, the flash of light eclipsed everything, and Juliette’s bones felt as though they’d been reduced to dust as the world around her disappeared.”

The detailed description of the moment of impact here builds tension for the reader and also mimics the slow-motion rush of adrenaline that is often experienced by people in crisis. Juliette’s helplessness is communicated by the inevitability of the bombing and by the specificity of the distance separating her from her sons. Harmel vividly describes the sensory imagery of the impact in order to create a vivid and effective impression.

“‘That’s not my name,’ the girl said. ‘That’s just the name they call me. It cannot erase who I am, though. I won’t let it.’

‘No one wants to erase you, dear girl,’ Elise said instantly. ‘But we’re not our names. We are who we are in the core of our beings. And God will always know you, wherever you go.’ She thought fleetingly of Mathilde, living with a name that wasn’t entirely hers, with parents she didn’t belong to.”

Elise associates the girl known as Therese with Mathilde, foreshadowing the fact that Mathilde would soon go by the name of “Lucie.” As Elise reassures Therese, however, Juliette is ultimately unable to erase Mathilde’s true identity. Elise’s naiveté as to the realities of the Holocaust is evident in her incorrect assertion that no one wants to erase the girl. It is natural that Therese would fear being erased, since that is exactly what the Nazi’s “Final Solution” aimed to do. Some of the desperation and determination felt by those resisting annihilation is expressed in the short, absolute sentences that make up Therese’s declaration of defiance.

“Was it Lucie? Juliette would die if it was; she was certain of it. […] and then she was pulling her little girl from the rubble, and it was indeed her, her hair matted, her face gray with ash, her arm streaked with blood, but she was here, and she was alive, and there was hope for them both, and Juliette had a reason to live.”

The detailed description of Mathilde’s state as she is pulled from the rubble as well as the clear juxtaposition between death and hope conveys exactly how perilous and traumatic the bombing was. It also fosters a deep sense of pathos for the victims. Juliette’s inability to accept that the survivor could be Mathilde rather than Lucie is made abundantly clear in the repeated assertions that Juliette could not live otherwise, setting up the groundwork for Juliette’s later desperate attempts to avoid facing the true extent of her loss.

“‘You’re eleven,’ Elise said. ‘That is all you two should be focusing on. Being children.’

Suzanne smiled sadly. ‘Madame LeClair, we have not been children for some time.’

‘That is a tragedy, Suzanne, and one that I won’t contribute to. I don’t want you to worry about a thing. It is time to begin again.’”

Elise acknowledges here the extent of the trauma that Suzanne and George have undergone. Through this interaction, Harmel notes the impact that war can have even on physically unharmed survivors and the tragedy of children who have to grow up too quickly. Elise’s protective instincts here reiterate her willingness to take up a maternal role for children not her own, even despite her own grief.

“‘Then you are our family now,’ Madame Levy said simply, and Elise felt a strange peace settle over her as she relaxed into an embrace she hadn’t known she so desperately needed. ‘You are our family,’ Madame Levy repeated, and Elise’s tears fell for the first time in months.”

In contrast to the prolonged mood of tension, tragedy, and uncertainty through the prior chapters, Harmel creates a moment of profound warmth and bittersweet joy. This reunion and Elise’s inclusion into the Levy family provides a sense of deep catharsis that is reinforced by the repetition of Ruth’s declaration and the use of evocative vocabulary such as “relaxed,” “peace,” and “family.” This moment emphasizes the novel’s ideas of changing families and found families.

“‘Do not be afraid; our fate cannot be taken from us; it is a gift.’

– Dante Alighieri, Inferno”

This quote marks the beginning of Part 3 and provides a reassuring message after the tragedy that unfolded in Part 2, hinting at the catharsis and reconciliation that is to occur before the novel’s end. Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) was one of the greatest poets and philosophers of Medieval Italy. His Inferno is part of the Epic Christian poem Divine Comedy and explores questions of morality, religion, and salvation through the protagonist’s journey through hell.

“Until the day Ruth Levy walked in and ruined everything, Juliette Foulon had managed to build a life that was exactly the way she wanted it to be.

Well, not exactly, of course. Exactly would have been living a life where Paul, Antoinette, and her boys were still alive.”

This quote reintroduces Juliette’s character after the years-long time skip. The tone of Juliette’s perspective neatly shows the changes that her character has undergone since the bombing. Whereas once she was friendly, kind, and generous, she is now resentful and bitter. She and Ruth parted as friends at a time of great peril, but Juliette nonetheless sees the reunion as an imposition. The reiteration of Juliette’s loss also shows how the sting of tragedy has not been dulled by the years.

“‘I told you she would come,’ Paul whispered in her ear. She should have listened, should have prepared for this. But now, the past was here, uninvited, and there was nothing she could do to brace herself.

‘Paul?’ she said, but he had gone silent as he often did when customers entered the store.”

Harmel never explicitly states if Paul’s voice is supernatural in origin or simply a product of Juliette’s mind and possible brain injury. Regardless, Harmel’s inclusion of a dead man’s voice creates a sense of unease and highlights the distance between Juliette, who can hear him, and the rest of the world, who cannot. Paul’s subsequent silence, and Juliette’s inability to do aught but brace herself, hints at the helplessness she feels as events unfold around her.

“‘I’m the artist whose work you’ve stolen,’ she announced, her voice shaking. ‘So don’t you dare tell me you are closed.’

She didn’t recognize the steel in her own voice, and she felt a shiver of pride run up her spine. You’re stronger than you think, Bernard had told her all those years ago, in a truck headed to Paris to reclaim her life. Maybe he’d been right after all.”

Bouet’s treachery spurs Elise into an active role where she can finally assert herself and take steps to right the wrongs done to her. She equates reclaiming her art with reclaiming her life, showing the vital role that her identity as an artist plays in her sense of self. Her newfound strength marks a new chapter in her life and character development.

“There were no signs that morning that Captain Sawyer’s DC-8 jetliner would veer slightly off course, just as an American bomber had done seventeen years before. The fog was thick, the wind picking up, but Captain Sawyer had flown this route often, as had his first officer, forty-year-old Robert Fiebing, and the flight’s second officer, Richard Pruitt, a thirty-year-old flight engineer. If you were flying from O’Hare to New York International Airport in the snow, these were the type of men you wanted at the controls—calm, intelligent, experienced. There were seventy-six passengers aboard, four young stewardesses. It should have been a routine day of travel.

At 10:22 a.m., Flight 826 radioed air traffic control.”

This quote is representative of the tone and style of Chapter 33 in general. Unlike the rest of the novel, which is written with a focus on specific characters and their perspectives, this chapter is written as a matter of fact presentation of events. Specific numerical details such as the flight number and times are provided, juxtaposing the concrete details of the event with the emotional and physical fallout of the crash. Deliberate parallels are drawn between the crash in New York and the bombing in Paris.

“And on the far wall, painted in script, was the phrase that Elise had repeated to her daughter every night as they sat in the room of trees and sky and looked up at the painted heavens: Under these stars, fate will guide you home.”

This scene provides final confirmation of the fact that “Lucie” is in fact Mathilde. The reemergence of Elise’s phrase at this key moment of revelation and reunion, a phrase that explicitly mentions the power of fate, creates a link between mother and daughter that transcends both time and space. This is an important illustration of the link between art, fate, and identity.

“But the girl she’d saved from the rubble hadn’t been Lucie after all. She knew that now with a great, sad certainty, for Lucie was here, in this room, bathed in white light, waving at her, looking just as she had on that day in April 1943, before the world exploded. Her hair was in pigtails, her pink dress a bit too small, her white knee socks slipping down her shins, her black shoes scuffed.”

In this quote, Juliette explicitly acknowledges the truth of Lucie’s identity; something she was unable to do either to herself or to Lucie prior to her injury. The detailed description of Juliette’s vision of the real Lucie provides a deliberate juxtaposition to the adult “Lucie” with whom Juliette has been attempting to replace her, confirming why “Lucie” was never able to live up to Juliette’s memory of her original daughter. That the description of Lucie is so emphatically young and childlike conveys the full force of the pathos and tragedy of her death and of the deaths of all of the children like her who perished in the war.