My father's house

Set during the Nazi invasion of Rome in WWII, O'Connor's historical novel describes the unwavering courage of a real-life Catholic priest, Hugh O'Flaherty, who set up the "Rome Escape Line," a network that helped smuggle those at risk from Nazi persecution out of Italy. Born in Ireland, Monsignor O'Flaherty lived in Rome for decades. When the Nazis take over his beloved city, O'Flaherty is safe in the Vatican, but that's not the case for Jews and for soldiers who have escaped Nazi prison camps. Father O'Flaherty's conscience won't let him rest until he's done what he can to help. He forms "the Choir" from a small cadre of friends; ostensibly a musical group, its real purpose is to aid soldiers and others whose lives are at risk. His chief adversary is Gestapo head Paul Hauptmann, who is determined to plug the leaks that are allowing those targeted for death to evade his grasp. As portrayed in this gripping tale, the bravery and ingenuity of O'Flaherty and his Choir are astounding; they save hundreds of lives, despite Hauptmann's efforts to stop them. O'Connor is a masterful storyteller, weaving a violent, terrifying, suspenseful, yet ultimately uplifting story of one man's courage and determination to fight back against Nazi brutality, whatever the risk. Superb!

The riveting latest from O'Connor (Shadowplay), the first in a trilogy, chronicles the meticulous planning and execution of the escape of hundreds of Allied prisoners and Jews hiding in Vatican City during WWII. It's December 1943 and Monsignor Hugh O'Flaherty and seven associates who refer to themselves as "the Choir" have exploited the Vatican's sovereignty as a minuscule neutral state to hide refugees from the Nazi occupation of Rome in numerous abandoned sheds, bombed-out buildings, and tunnels. Though they undertake their work with extreme caution--using aliases and forged IDs, referring to their charges in formal communications as "Books" and the hiding places as "Shelves"--they have aroused the suspicion of brutal Gestapo Obersturmbannführer Paul Hauptmann, whose efforts to apprehend the fugitives come to a head early Christmas morning. Through wonderfully developed and varied characters, O'Connor conveys both the painful privations of life during wartime and the nobility of the Choir's goals, and the unfolding of O'Flaherty's marathon of undercover subterfuges that lay the groundwork for their mission in the middle section is a storytelling tour de force. This is top-drawer WWII fiction. Agent: Isobel Dixon, Blake Friedmann. (Jan.)

A priest in Vatican City leads a perilous rescue effort surrounded by Rome's Nazi occupiers. In 1943 and 1944, Obersturmbannführer Paul Hauptmann terrorizes a starving Rome. But he is forbidden to enter Vatican City, at one-fifth of a square mile, the tiniest country in the world. If Jews or escaped Allied POWs can manage to get there, they may have a chance to be smuggled to safety. The novel is inspired by a real historical figure named Monsignor Hugh O'Flaherty, an Irish envoy to the Vatican. O'Flaherty and a small group go to great lengths to secretly aid as many people as they can. Discovery means death, so the group uses elaborate ruses--they form a choir as a cover, and O'Flaherty quietly passes along individual instructions during choir practice. They speak in code--"Books in the Library" means escapees being protected. It's a risky game they're about. Hitler only tolerates the Vatican's existence and could wipe it out in the blink of an eye, so O'Flaherty's superiors are deeply uneasy about the monsignor's activities. Meanwhile, Hauptmann knows there is an Escape Line, and he is eager to prove it. And given that his "favoured interrogation tool is the blowtorch," his odds look better than O'Flaherty's. But the "nuisance of a priest" is not nicknamed Hughdini for nothing, and he is moral to his core. If the story were told in typical thriller style, emphasizing action over language, it would still be good, but O'Connor's phrasings are a special joy. One unnamed cardinal is "a long drink of cross-eyed, buck-toothed misery if ever there was, he'd bore the snots off a wet horse." On Christmas Eve, three bitterly cold German soldiers are invited indoors for some holiday cheer. They are "fine examples of the super-race": One of them is "a haddock-faced, lumpenshouldered, Wurst-fingered corner boy, that ugly the tide wouldn't take him out." And the Vatican Embassy has "rats you could saddle." A deeply emotional read. And when the action is over, the coda could water an atheist's eye. Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.