We Shall Not Sleep (World War One Series #5)

( 12 )

Overview

Anne Perry’s magnificent Victorian mysteries established her as one of the world’s best known and loved historical novelists. Now, in her vividly imagined World War I novels, Perry’s talents "have taken a quantum leap" (The Star-Ledger), and so has the number of her devoted readers. We Shall Not Sleep, the final book in this epic series featuring the dedicated Reavley family, is perhaps the most memorably enthralling of all Perry’s novels.

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We Shall Not Sleep (World War One Series #5)

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Overview

Anne Perry’s magnificent Victorian mysteries established her as one of the world’s best known and loved historical novelists. Now, in her vividly imagined World War I novels, Perry’s talents "have taken a quantum leap" (The Star-Ledger), and so has the number of her devoted readers. We Shall Not Sleep, the final book in this epic series featuring the dedicated Reavley family, is perhaps the most memorably enthralling of all Perry’s novels.

After four long years, peace is finally in sight. But chaplain Joseph Reavley and his sister Judith, an ambulance driver on the Western Front, are more hard pressed than ever. Behind the lines, violence is increasing: soldiers are abusing German prisoners, a nurse has been raped and murdered, and the sinister ideologue called the Peacemaker now threatens to undermine the peace just as he did the war.

Then Matthew, the third Reavley sibling and an intelligence expert, suddenly arrives at the front with startling news. The Peacemaker’s German counterpart has offered to go to England and expose his co-conspirator as a traitor. But with war still raging and prejudices inflamed, such a journey would be fraught with hazards, especially since the Peacemaker has secret informers everywhere, even on the battlefield.

For richness of plot, character, and feeling, We Shall Not Sleep is unmatched. Anne Perry’s brilliantly orchestrated finale is a heartstopping tour de force, mesmerizing and totally satisfying.
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Editorial Reviews

Publishers Weekly

The depth and passion of Perry's fifth and final volume in her acclaimed WWI series won't disappoint readers who have followed this engrossing and moving tale from its inception with No Graves as Yet. In the last days of the war, the Reavley family—Joseph, an army chaplain; his brother, Matthew, an officer in the Secret Intelligence Service; and their sister, Judith, an ambulance driver—find themselves together in the mud, blood and trenches of Flanders. Throughout the series, the three have been locked in a deadly struggle with someone they call the Peacemaker, who they believe is a high government official who had their parents murdered in his quest to involve England in an odious peace effort with Germany. A breakthrough arrives with a German officer who's willing to go to England and reveal to the authorities the identity and mission of the Peacemaker, though the family must first solve the mystery of a murdered nurse before unmasking the Peacemaker. At the finish, Perry neatly and satisfactorily ties up all the loose ends from the preceding novels. (Apr.)

Copyright 2007 Reed Business Information
Library Journal
Perry closes out her World War I series with back-to-back titles that finally give featured players Joseph, Matthew, and Judith Reavley news regarding their parents' killers. With a ten-city tour by request. Copyright 2006 Reed Business Information.
From the Publisher
PRAISE FOR ANNE PERRY

Angels in the Gloom

“Perry creates a meticulously detailed backdrop, whether [on the] home front or [the] front lines, while leaving plenty of room for her characters to contemplate issues of honor, loyalty, and love.”
–Booklist

“Bloody battles at sea, gumshoe work, family ties and gentle love add flavor as the mystery nears a climax.”
–The Oklahoman

Shoulder the Sky

“An entertaining, suspenseful thriller . . . Perry is a skillful purveyor of popular fiction.”
–The Washington Post

“Perry’s bent for action and suspense greatly enlivens the story. . . . She is a careful researcher and [an] adept storyteller. But those talents have taken a quantum leap with the World War I series.”
–The Star-Ledger

No Graves As Yet

“Perry’s melancholy evocation of the ‘eternal afternoon’ that would soon turn to night all over England is lovely.”
–The New York Times Book Review

“Suspenseful, often heartbreaking and riveting . . . This is Perry’s probing, brooding landscape of the soul, which she masters and makes her own.”
–Providence Journal

From the Hardcover edition.

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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9781593550721
  • Publisher: Brilliance Audio
  • Publication date: 4/10/2007
  • Series: World War One Series , #5
  • Format: CD
  • Edition description: Unabridged
  • Product dimensions: 5.00 (w) x 5.50 (h) x 0.75 (d)

Meet the Author

Anne Perry
ANNE PERRY is the bestselling author of the World War I novels No Graves as Yet, Shoulder the Sky, Angels in the Gloom, At Some Disputed Barricade, and We Shall Not Sleep; as well as five holiday novels: A Christmas Journey, A Christmas Visitor, A Christmas Guest, A Christmas Secret, and A Christmas Beginning. She is also the creator of two acclaimed series set in Victorian England. Her William Monk novels include Dark Assassin, The Shifting Tide, and Death of a Stranger. The popular novels featuring Thomas and Charlotte Pitt include Long Spoon Lane, Seven Dials, and Southampton Row. Her short story "Heroes" won an Edgar Award. Anne Perry lives in Scotland. Visit her website at anneperry.net.

Biography

Born in London in October 1938, Anne Perry was plagued with health problems as a young child. So severe were her illnesses that at age eight she was sent to the Bahamas to live with family friends in the hopes that the warmer climate would improve her health. She returned to her family as a young teenager, but sickness and frequent moves had interrupted her formal education to the extent that she was finally forced to leave school altogether. With the encouragement of her supportive parents, she was able to "fill in the gaps" with voracious reading, and her lack of formal schooling has never held her back.

Although Perry held down many jobs—working at various times as a retail clerk, stewardess, limousine dispatcher, and insurance underwriter—the only thing she ever seriously wanted to do in life was to write. (In her '20s, she started putting together the first draft of Tathea, a fantasy that would not see print until 1999.) At the suggestion of her stepfather, she began writing mysteries set in Victorian London; and in 1979, one of her manuscripts was accepted for publication. The book was The Cater Street Hangman, an ingenious crime novel that introduced a clever, extremely untidy police inspector named Thomas Pitt. In this way an intriguing mystery series was born…along with a successful writing career.

In addition to the Thomas and Charlotte Pitt novels, Perry crafts darker, more layered Victorian mysteries around the character of London police detective William Monk, whose memory has been impaired by a coach accident. (Monk debuted in 1990's The Face of a Stranger.) She also writes historical novels set during the First World War (No Graves as Yet, Shoulder the Sky, etc.) and holiday-themed mysteries (A Christmas Journey, A Christmas Secret, etc), and her short stories have been included in several anthologies.

Good To Know

Some fun and fascinating outtakes from our interview with Anne Perry:

The first time I made any money telling a story I was four and a half years old—golden hair, blue eyes, a pink smocked dress, and neat little socks and shoes. I walked home from school (it was safe then) with my lunchtime sixpence unspent. A large boy, perhaps 12 or 13, stopped me. He was carrying a stick and threatened to hit me if I didn't give him my sixpence. I told him a long, sad story about how poor we were—no food at home, not even enough money for shoes! He gave me his half crown—five times sixpence! It's appalling! I didn't think of it as lying, just escaping with my sixpence. How on earth he could have believed me I have no idea. Perhaps that is the knack of a good story—let your imagination go wild, pile on the emotions—believe it yourself, evidence to the contrary be damned. I am not really proud of that particular example!

I used to live next door to people who had a tame dove. They had rescued it when it broke its wing. The wing healed, but it never learned to fly again. I used to walk a mile or so around the village with the dove. Its little legs were only an inch or two long, so it got tired, then it would ride on my head. Naturally I talked to it. It was a very nice bird. I got some funny looks. Strangers even asked me if I knew there was a bird on my head! Who the heck did they think I was talking to? Of course I knew there was a bird on my head. I'm not stupid—just a writer, and entitled to be a little different. I'm also English, so that gives me a second excuse!

On the other hand I'm not totally scatty. I like maths, and I used to love quadratic equations. One of the most exciting things that happened to me was when someone explained non-Euclidean geometry to me, and I suddenly saw the infinite possibilities in lateral thinking! How could I have been so blind before?

Here are some things I like—and one thing I don't:

  • I love wild places, beech trees, bluebell woods, light on water—whether the light is sunlight, moonlight, or lamplight; and whether the water is ocean, rain, snow, river, mist, or even a puddle.

  • I love the setting sun in autumn over the cornstooks.

  • I love to eat raspberries, pink grapefruit, crusty bread dipped in olive oil.

  • I love gardens where you seem to walk from "room to room," with rambling roses and vines climbing into the trees and sudden vistas when you turn corners.

  • I love white swans and the wild geese flying overhead.

  • I dislike rigidity, prejudice, ill-temper, and perhaps above all, self-righteousness.

  • I love laughter, mercy, courage, hope. I think that probably makes me pretty much like most people. But that isn't bad.
  • Read More Show Less
      1. Also Known As:
        Juliet Hulme
      2. Hometown:
        Portmahomack, Ross-shire, U.K
      1. Date of Birth:
        October 28, 1938
      2. Place of Birth:
        Blackheath, London England

    Read an Excerpt

    CHAPTER ONE

     Home for Christmas this year, Chaplain?" Barshey Gee said with a wry smile. He turned his back to the wind and lit a Woodbine, then flicked the match into the mud at his feet. A couple of miles away in the gathering dusk the German guns fired desultorily. In a little while the shelling would probably get heavier. Nights were the worst.

    "Maybe." Joseph would not commit himself. In October 1914 they had all imagined that the war would be over in months. Now, four years later, the situation was dramatically different. Half the men he had known then were dead; the German army was in retreat from the ground it had taken, and Joseph's Cambridgeshire regiment had advanced nearly as far as Ypres again. They might even make it tonight, so every man was needed.

    They were waiting now, all around him in the gathering darkness, fidgeting a little, adjusting the weight of rifles and packs on their shoulders. They knew this land well. Before the Germans had driven them back they had lived in these trenches and dugouts. Friends and brothers were buried in the thick Flanders clay around them.

    Barshey shifted his weight, his feet squelching in the mud. His brother Charlie had been mutilated and bled to death here shortly after the first gas attacks in the spring of 1915. Tucky Nunn was buried here somewhere, and Plugger Arnold, and dozens more from the small villages around St. Giles.

    There was movement to his left, and to his right. They were waiting for the order to go over the top. Joseph would stay behind, as he always did, ready to tend the wounded, carry them back to the Casualty Clearing Station, sit with those whose pain was unbearable, and wait with the dying. His days were too often spent writing the letters home that told women they were widows. Lately the soldiers were younger, some no more than fifteen or sixteen, and he was telling their mothers how they died, trying to offer some kind of comfort: that they had been brave, liked, and not alone, that it had been quick.

    In his pocket Joseph's hand tightened over the letter he had received that morning from his sister Hannah at home in Cambridgeshire, but he refused to open it yet. Memories could confuse him, taking him miles from the present and scattering the concentration he needed to stay alive. He could not think of evening wind in the poplar leaves beyond the orchard, or across the fields the elms motionless against a sunset sky, starlings wheeling up and out, black fragments against the light. He could not allow himself to breathe in the silence and the smell of earth, or watch the slow tread of the plow horses returning along the lanes after the day's work.

    There were weeks to go yet, perhaps months, before it was over and those who were left could go back to a land that would never again be as they had left it.

    More men were passing through the shadows. Allied trenches were dug more shallowly than the German ones. You had to keep your head down or risk being caught by sniper fire. The earthen floor was always muddy, though not as bad now as times he could remember when the ooze had been deep enough to drown a man, and so cold some actually froze to death. Many of the duckboards were rotted now, but the rats were still there, millions of them, some as big as cats, and the stench was always the same--death and latrines. You could smell the line miles before you actually reached it. It varied from one place to another, depending on the nationality of the men who fought there. Corpses smelled differently according to the food the men had eaten.

    Barshey threw away the last of his cigarette. "Reckon we'll make Passchendaele again within the week," he said, looking at Joseph and squinting slightly in the last of the light.

    Joseph said nothing, knowing no answer was expected. Memory held them together in wordless pain. He nodded, looked at Barshey for a moment, then turned to pick his way over the old duckboards and around the dogleg corner into the next stretch. All the trenches were built in a zigzag so that if the enemy did storm them, they could not take out a whole platoon with one burst. The wooden revetting that held back the crumbling walls was sagged and bulging.

    Joseph reached Tiddly Wop Andrews just below the fire step. The young soldier's handsome profile with its quiff of dark hair was clear for a moment against the pale sky; then he ducked down again.
    " 'Evenin', Reverend," Andrews said quietly. He started to say something else, but the increasing noise drowned it out as a hundred yards to the left the machine guns started to chatter.

    It was time for Joseph to go back to the Casualty Clearing Station, where he could be of use to the wounded as they were brought in. He passed other men he knew and spoke a word or two to them: Snowy Nunn, his white-blond hair hidden by his helmet; Stan Tidyman, grinning and whistling through his teeth; Punch Fuller, instantly recognizable by his nose; and Cully Teversham, standing motionless.

    Like every regiment, the Cambridgeshires had originally been drawn from a small area: These men had played together in childhood and gone to the same schools. But with so many dead or wounded, remnants of many regiments had been scrambled together to make any kind of force. More than half the soldiers now going up and over the parapet into the roar of gunfire were almost strangers to him.

    Joseph came to the end of the dogleg and turned into the connecting trench back toward the support line and the station beyond. It was dark by the time he reached it. Normally the station would not have been busy. The wounded were evacuated to the hospital as soon as they were fit to move, and the surgeons, nurses, and orderlies would be waiting for new casualties to be brought in. But with so many German prisoners pouring through the lines, exhausted, defeated, and many of them injured, there were still nearly twenty patients here.

    In the distance more columns of soldiers were marching forward into the trenches. At the rate they were taking ground now, the front line would soon move beyond the old earthworks, abandoned in the retreat. In the open the casualties would be far worse.

    Joseph began his usual work of helping with more minor injuries. He was busy in the General Admissions tent when Whoopy Teversham came to the open flap, his face frightened and smeared with blood in the lantern light.

    "Captain Reavley, you'd better come. There's two o' the men beating a prisoner pretty bad. If you don't stop 'em they're loike to kill 'im."

    Joseph shouted for one of the orderlies to take over from him and followed Whoopy outside, almost treading on the man's heels. It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the dark; then he started running toward the pale outline of the Operating tent. The ground was rough, gouged into ruts and shallow craters by gun-carriage wheels and earlier shelling.

    They were ahead of him, a group of half a dozen or so crowded together--lightly wounded men on guard duty. Their voices were sharp and high-pitched. He saw them jostle closer, an arm swing in a punch, and someone stagger. A star shell went up and momentarily lit the sky, outlining them luridly for several seconds before it faded and fell. It gave him long enough to see the figure on the ground, half curled over with his face in the mud.

    He reached them and spoke to the only man he had recognized in the brief light. "Corporal Clarke, what's going on here?"

    The others froze, caught by surprise.

    Clarke coughed, then straightened up. "German prisoner, sir. Seems to be hurt." His voice was uncertain, and Joseph could not see his face in the dark.

    "Seems to be?" Joseph said scathingly. "Then what are you doing standing around shouting at each other and throwing punches? Does he need a stretcher?"

    " 'E's a Jerry prisoner!" someone said angrily. "Best put him out of his misery. Bastards spent four years killing our boys, then think they can just put their hands up in the air, and suddenly we'll bust our guts bandaging 'em up and looking after 'em. Oi say the war's still on. Their brothers are over there"--he jerked an arm toward the gunfire--"still troying to kill us. Let's shoot back."

    There was a measure of agreement in murmured angry voices.

    "Very brave," Joseph said sarcastically. "Ten of you kick an unarmed prisoner to death while your comrades go into no-man's-land and face the Germans with guns."

    "We found him loike that!" The sense of injustice was hot and instant. Others agreed vehemently.

    " 'E was escaping!" someone explained. "Going off back to 'is own to tell 'em where we are, an' how many. We had to stop 'im!"

    "Name?" Joseph demanded.

    "Turner."

    "Turner, sir!" Joseph snapped.

    "Turner, sir," the man replied sullenly. " 'E was still escaping." The resentment in his voice was clear. Joseph was a chaplain, a noncombatant, and Turner obviously considered him inferior. Joseph had now compounded that attitude with his holy-Joe interference, interrupting natural justice.

    "And it takes ten of you to stop him?" Joseph inquired, allowing his voice to rise with disbelief.

    "Two of us," Turner replied. "Me an' Culshaw."

    "Go and join your unit," Joseph ordered. "Teversham and I will get him to the dressing station."

    Turner did not move. "He's German, sir--"

    "So you said. We don't kill unarmed prisoners. If it's worth bothering, we question them; if not, we leave them alone."

    Someone muttered a remark Joseph did not hear. There was a ripple of jerky laughter, then silence.
    Whoopy Teversham leveled his bayonet and poked the man nearest him. Reluctantly the group moved aside, and Joseph bent to the figure on the ground. The man was still breathing, but he was obviously badly hurt. If they left him here much longer, he might die.

    Slowly one of the other men stepped forward and helped lift the prisoner so Joseph could get his weight onto his shoulders and carry him at least as far as the Casualty Clearing Station. It might offer the man no more than a chance to die humanely.

    The German was not heavy; perhaps hunger had taken its toll. Many people, both army and civilian, were starving. Even so he was awkward to carry, and the ground under Joseph's feet was uneven. He knew it must be painful for the wounded man, but there was nothing he could do to ease it.

    He was almost at the Admissions tent again when an orderly ran out to meet him and helped them both inside. In the light Joseph was stunned to see the German's face. He was so badly beaten that his features were almost indistinguishable. His left arm was broken, and a deep wound in his thigh bled so heavily, it was impossible to tell if shrapnel or bayonet had caused it. His eyes were sunken with physical shock, staring in terror. Joseph could see now that he was very young.

    "You're all right," he said to him in German. "We'll dress the wound in your leg and clean you up a bit, then get you back to the proper hospital."

    "I surrender," the boy answered thickly, his words blurred by the torn and swollen flesh of his face. "I surrender."

    "I know," Joseph assured him. "We have lots of you. When we've got you bandaged and your arm set, we'll put you with the others."

    "You going to ask me questions?" The fear was still there in his eyes.

    "No. Why? Do you have anything to tell me?"

    "No. I surrender."

    "That's what I thought. Now be quiet until the doctor comes."

    Joseph left him with the medical orderlies and went back to assisting others, but the incident stayed in his mind.

    It was many hours later when he finally found the opportunity to go forward to look for Bill Harrison, Culshaw and Turner's commanding officer. He had known Harrison since 1915, and liked him. He was a quiet man with a nice sense of humor who had earned his promotion from the ranks.

    It was now gray dawn, with a thin east wind sending clouds ragged across the sky and ruffling the rainwater pools in the mud. Joseph had to pick his way past lifeless tree stumps, many of them scarred by fire, and around craters where rusted guns poked up through the oily surface. The bones of dead men and horses had been buried and uncovered by succeeding shellfire over the years. Attempts at interring them had become pointless. The stench was thick in his throat, but he was used to it. He found Harrison crouched in a small dugout in the side of the supply trench. He had made a cup of tea in a Dixie can and was sipping it. Joseph knew exactly how it would taste: like sour water and the residue of tinned Maconachie stew.

    " 'Morning, Chaplain?" he said questioningly as Joseph crouched beside him. "What are you doing this far forward?" He searched Joseph's face, knowing there must be some kind of trouble to bring him this close to the firing. "We lost Henderson. I'd like to write to his family and tell them myself," he added, a note of apology in his voice.

    Joseph had known he would. It was the sort of thing Harrison would not leave to others. Such news should always be broken by someone who had at least known the dead man. However good the regimental chaplain was, a letter from him was still in a sense impersonal.

    "It's about Culshaw and Turner," Joseph told him.

    Harrison frowned but waited for Joseph to continue.

    "Caught a German prisoner trying to escape," Joseph said, making it as brief as possible. "Boy of around sixteen, thin as a scarecrow. Beat him almost to death. Whoopy Teversham caught them and stopped it."

    Harrison stared at the ruined tree stump ahead of them, with the carcass of a horse beneath it. Joseph knew he loved horses. He even liked the stubborn, awkward regimental mules. "Hard to stop it," Harrison said after a while. "It just goes on and on, one death after another. Men get angry because they feel so helpless. There's nothing to hit out at. Culshaw's father was in the navy, and his elder brother."

    "Was?" Joseph asked, although he knew what Harrison was going to say.

    "Both went down last year," Harrison answered. "His sister lost her husband, too. No idea what he's going home to . . . if he makes it."

    From the Hardcover edition.

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    Customer Reviews

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    Sort by: Showing all of 12 Customer Reviews
    • Posted December 9, 2008

      more from this reviewer

      This is more than a mystery it is a human epic saga

      The year is 1919 and the allies are taking back what they have lost to the German soldiers. The Reavley siblings all play different parts in this war but all are united on figuring out who was the man they call the Peacemaker is. They call him that because he was maneuvering on creating an Anglo-German empire so that under their rule war could never break out. He failed but he is still trying to manipulate the outcome with England losing to Germany. If that fails too he has hopes that he can get good terms for Germany in the armistice so that in a few years it will be a power once again.----------------- Matthew Reaves gets word that one of the Peacemaker¿s top minions wants to meet with him and tell him and eventually the prime minister what is going on behind the scenes and who the Peacemaker is. They arrange to meet when Joseph, a chaplain in the trenches is administering to his men. When Matthew arrives there he finds the man he comes to meet is injured and a nurse has been brutally mutilated, raped and killed and the policemen in charge arrests Matthew since he can¿t explain why he is there. His sister Judith, an ambulance driver, starts asking questions and eventually is able to keep her brother from prison. Time is running out but the three Reaves siblings must find out who the killer is if they want to see England safe and ferret out a traitor.--------------------- This is more than a mystery it is a human epic saga that describes the affects of war on the line soldiers. As the war nears it ends, people are wondering how they are going to fit into a world that is some much different than the one they have known before the war began. The mystery is top rate but is the human drama that will move the hearts of the readers who empathize with the people adjusting to incredible societal changes. Anne Perry raises awareness as the audience will question their government¿s war decisions.---------------- Harriet Klausner

      2 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

      Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
    • Anonymous

      Posted March 16, 2012

      have enjoyed all in series

      I found it difficult to stay interested enough to finish this book and read it through to the end, unlike the previous books. The book kept going over and over the same story background, the same questions to the same people regarding the murders. But I will eventually finish reading and find out who the Peacekeeper is and bring the family back from war! Anne Perry is one of my favorite authors and I read as many of her books as I can.

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    • Posted June 25, 2011

      Great world war one series

      I was sad to be finished with this book. I love all of the Anne Perry books. She makes it seem like you personly know the characters and that they are friends. Very good book.

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    • Posted July 25, 2010

      We Shall Not Sleep will not let you sleep.

      The skeleton for Anne Perry's grim murder mystery goes like this:
      World War I is in its last days.
      A shadowy figure known as "The Peacemaker" is trying to take control of the peace making process is such a way as to practically guarantee another war.
      A nurse is raped, mutilated and murdered at a British Army field hospital in northern France.
      A high ranking German official is coming through the English lines with information that sill expose The Peacemaker.
      A British Army chaplain at the field hospital and his sister, a nurse, undertake to solve the murder and get the German official safely to London to prevent the Peacemaker from succeeding in his designs.
      The doctors, nurses, ambulance drivers and others at the hospital are so bonded by their shared experiences with the horrors of trench warfare that they lie to investigators about the murder to protect their own. Even the chaplain's sister becomes involved in lying to protect a friend.
      The German official is wounded as he comes through the lines and is treated at the field hospital where he becomes a suspect in a second incident.

      Anne Perry skilfully blends all these ingredients into a plot that draws the reader in with each page. She mixes romantic love and love for one's companions into the plot and then subtly adds a dollop or two of suspicion about various people in the hospital.
      Since the field hospital is located in recently fought over trenches, and the fall weather provides enough rain to leave the area muddy, the reader gets not only the feeling and tensions of the people in the hospital, he also gets a sense of the horror of battle itself.
      Perry builds pressure as the pages turn by placing the German official under suspicion and making it a race to prove him innocent in time to get him to London to foil The Peacemaker.
      The final twists to the plot involve the chaplain and his sister in a race to London with the freed German official where they have to discover where their murdered parents had hidden documents that prove The Peacemaker's involvement in an earlier plot to align England with Germany against France as World War I loomed and to get those documents to the Prime Minister, That part of the story even involves the chaplain himself in violence.
      It is a real tribute to Perry's skill that she manages to weave all these disparate threads into a strong story that keeps her readers turning the pages.

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    • Posted March 23, 2009

      more from this reviewer

      Another Winner from Anne Perry

      This book was the last in the series but lost none of the wonderful color, diaglogue, and perception of the preceding books. Ms. Perry is a master at presenting the depths of humanity without destroying hope and goodness. I loved this entire series and was sorry to see it end. But I am looking forward to her new release in the Monk series.

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    • Anonymous

      Posted August 15, 2007

      Can the Series be Continued?

      We Shall Not Sleep is another excellent story of the WWI era. My father was a WWi veteran but I confess I knew little about what happened during that time. He did not talk about it except to relate humerous incidents or non-combat information. I wish he were live so that I could tell him how much I appreciate the sacrifices all of the soldiers made to win that terrible war. It would be interesting to see what happens to the character when they return to civilian life. There could be several books in a seris. Ms. Perry, remains my favorite female author.

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    • Anonymous

      Posted July 1, 2007

      Always waiting for a new Anne Perry novel -

      I have read every novel Anne Perry wrote and I loved them all. The older ones that I could not find in the book store or the library, I found in a used book store while on vacation. The combination of unforgetable characters, historic detail and mystery always create a great adventure. This series on WWI has not let me down, in fact I learned things about this great war that I never knew.

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    • Anonymous

      Posted May 26, 2007

      Another Outstanding Story by Anne Perry!

      I am such a fan of Anne Perry and have read and enjoyed all of her books. I love her fun characters and exciting storylines. Where does she get all of her ideas for stories? Wherever she gets them I'm glad! If you have not had a chance to read and enjoy any of her books then this is a great book to begin with! I know you will enjoy this book as much as I did!

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    • Anonymous

      Posted June 17, 2010

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      Posted October 26, 2012

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    • Anonymous

      Posted November 1, 2008

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    • Anonymous

      Posted November 11, 2010

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