Author: Paula McLain
Expected Publication Date: January 6, 2026, by Atria Books
Format: Kindle, 464 Pages
Genre: Historical Fiction
Source: My thanks to Netgalley and the Publisher for the opportunity to read an advanced copy of this book.
Blurb: 1664: Alouette Voland is the daughter of a master dyer at the famed Gobelin Tapestry Works, who secretly dreams of escaping her circumstances and creating her own masterpiece. When her father is unjustly imprisoned, Alouette's efforts to save him lead to her own confinement in the notorious Salpêtrière asylum, where thousands of women are held captive and cruelly treated. But within its grim walls, she discovers a small group of brave allies, and the possibility of a life bigger than she ever imagined.
1939: Kristof Larson is a medical student beginning his psychiatric residency in Paris, whose neighbors on the Rue de Gobelins are a Jewish family who have fled Poland. When Nazi forces descend on the city, Kristof becomes their only hope for survival, even as his work as a doctor is jeopardized.
A spellbinding and transportive look at a side of Paris known to very few—the underground city that is a mirror reflection of the glories above—Paula McLain’s unforgettable new novel chronicles two parallel journeys of defiance and rescue that connect in ways both surprising and deeply moving.
My Opinion: The novel unfolds across two distinct timelines: 1664 and 1939–1942. At first, they feel like separate novels stitched together, each compelling in its own right. The 1664 thread follows Alouette, the daughter of a dyer, who is unjustly confined to the Salpêtrière asylum. Her story is harrowing, a portrait of how women’s lives could be crushed under the weight of power misused and medicine weaponized. The later timeline introduces Kristof Larsen, a medical student beginning his psychiatric residency in Paris just as the Nazi occupation takes hold. His path leads him into the resistance, where courage and quiet acts of defiance become his daily custom.
Both narratives are rich with atmosphere and deeply human struggles. McLain explores resilience, identity, and the fragile line between good and evil. She reminds us that history repeats itself and that the fight to preserve one’s humanity is timeless. The novel also forces readers to confront uncomfortable truths about exploitation, particularly of women, within systems meant to heal.
Yet, for all its strengths, the book asks for patience. At the halfway mark, the connection between Alouette and Kristof remains elusive, and the reader is left puzzling over how two stories separated by nearly three centuries will converge. Only in the epilogue, when a skylark etched in stained glass is discovered after the 2019 Notre Dame fire, does the link finally surface, and the reader must remember the beginning pages of the novel.
That reveal, however, feels too little, too late. After investing in two powerful journeys, the conclusion lands abruptly. It offers hope and resilience, echoes of what the novel has already emphasized, but not the deeper resolution the story seemed to promise. I wasn’t looking for a neat happily-ever-after, but I did want something more than repetition.
In the end, Skylark is a novel of courage and endurance, beautifully written in parts, but one whose final note does not reach the heights I was looking for.
1939: Kristof Larson is a medical student beginning his psychiatric residency in Paris, whose neighbors on the Rue de Gobelins are a Jewish family who have fled Poland. When Nazi forces descend on the city, Kristof becomes their only hope for survival, even as his work as a doctor is jeopardized.
A spellbinding and transportive look at a side of Paris known to very few—the underground city that is a mirror reflection of the glories above—Paula McLain’s unforgettable new novel chronicles two parallel journeys of defiance and rescue that connect in ways both surprising and deeply moving.
My Opinion: The novel unfolds across two distinct timelines: 1664 and 1939–1942. At first, they feel like separate novels stitched together, each compelling in its own right. The 1664 thread follows Alouette, the daughter of a dyer, who is unjustly confined to the Salpêtrière asylum. Her story is harrowing, a portrait of how women’s lives could be crushed under the weight of power misused and medicine weaponized. The later timeline introduces Kristof Larsen, a medical student beginning his psychiatric residency in Paris just as the Nazi occupation takes hold. His path leads him into the resistance, where courage and quiet acts of defiance become his daily custom.
Both narratives are rich with atmosphere and deeply human struggles. McLain explores resilience, identity, and the fragile line between good and evil. She reminds us that history repeats itself and that the fight to preserve one’s humanity is timeless. The novel also forces readers to confront uncomfortable truths about exploitation, particularly of women, within systems meant to heal.
Yet, for all its strengths, the book asks for patience. At the halfway mark, the connection between Alouette and Kristof remains elusive, and the reader is left puzzling over how two stories separated by nearly three centuries will converge. Only in the epilogue, when a skylark etched in stained glass is discovered after the 2019 Notre Dame fire, does the link finally surface, and the reader must remember the beginning pages of the novel.
That reveal, however, feels too little, too late. After investing in two powerful journeys, the conclusion lands abruptly. It offers hope and resilience, echoes of what the novel has already emphasized, but not the deeper resolution the story seemed to promise. I wasn’t looking for a neat happily-ever-after, but I did want something more than repetition.
In the end, Skylark is a novel of courage and endurance, beautifully written in parts, but one whose final note does not reach the heights I was looking for.
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