Between Shades of Gray

Between Shades of Gray

Dear Book Club Members,
 
History holds secrets.
When I embarked on the journey that became this novel I stepped into a world of secrets–millions of people who had been affected by something terrible but hadn’t spoken of it for over fifty years. Some discouraged me from writing the book. They told me that no one cared.
 
So imagine my surprise when I learned that Between Shades of Gray was chosen as a National Blue Ribbon Selection! It was a moment of complete shock, disbelief, and most of all, joy.
 
The book chronicles the fictionalized journey of fifteen-year-old Lina who risks everything, including the boy she loves, to save her family amidst Stalin’s terror. It’s a story of courage, love, and the miraculous power of the human spirit.
 
I am the daughter of a Lithuanian refugee and I traveled to the Baltics to conduct research for the book. In meeting with survivors of Stalin’s atrocities I learned things that would forever change my life. I was left with questions such as, “What does it take to bear the unbearable?” and “How do you keep hope alive?”
 
History can be painful and secrets can be destructive. But through this experience I have learned that love is the most powerful army. Through love we can experience the miracles that are hope and courage. I am so grateful to the book clubs for selecting Between Shades of Gray and am deeply honored to present the story of so many people who weren’t able to speak for themselves.
 
Sincerely,
 
Ruta Sepetys

Between Shades of Gray

They took me in my nightgown.

Thinking back, the signs were there—family photos
burned in the fireplace, Mother sewing her best silver and
jewelry into the lining of her coat late at night, and Papa not returning from work. My younger brother, Jonas, was asking questions. I asked questions, too, but perhaps I refused to acknowledge the signs. Only later did I realize that Mother and Father intended we escape. We did not escape.

We were taken.

June 14, 1941. I had changed into my nightgown and settled
in at my desk to write my cousin Joana a letter. I opened
a new ivory writing tablet and a case of pens and pencils, a gift from my aunt for my fifteenth birthday.

The evening breeze floated through the open window
over my desk, waltzing the curtain from side to side. I could smell the lily of the valley that Mother and I had planted two years ago. Dear Joana.

It wasn’t a knocking. It was an urgent booming that made
me jump in my chair. Fists pounded on our front door. No
one stirred inside the house. I left my desk and peered out into the hallway. My mother stood flat against the wall facing our framed map of Lithuania, her eyes closed and her face pulled with an anxiety I had never seen. She was praying.

“Mother,” said Jonas, only one of his eyes visible through
the crack in his door, “are you going to open it? It sounds as if they might break it down.”

Mother’s head turned to see both Jonas and me peering out
of our rooms. She attempted a forced smile. “Yes, darling. I will open the door. I won’t let anyone break down our door.”

The heels of her shoes echoed down the wooden floor of
the hallway and her long, thin skirt swayed about her ankles. Mother was elegant and beautiful, stunning in fact, with an unusually wide smile that lit up everything around her. I was fortunate to have Mother’s honey-colored hair and her bright blue eyes. Jonas had her smile.

Loud voices thundered from the foyer.

“NKVD!” whispered Jonas, growing pale. “Tadas said they
took his neighbors away in a truck. They’re arresting people.”

“No. Not here,” I replied. The Soviet secret police had no
business at our house. I walked down the hallway to listen and peeked around the corner. Jonas was right. Three NKVD officers had Mother encircled. They wore blue hats with a red border and a gold star above the brim. A tall officer had our passports in his hand.

 “We need more time. We’ll be ready in the morning,”
Mother said.

“Twenty minutes—or you won’t live to see morning,” said
the officer.

“Please, lower your voice. I have children,” whispered
Mother.

“Twenty minutes,” the officer barked. He threw his burning
cigarette onto our clean living room floor and ground it
into the wood with his boot.

We were about to become cigarettes.

From BETWEEN SHADES OF GRAY by Ruta Sepetys. Published by arrangement with Philomel, a member of Penguin Group (USA), Inc. Copyright © 2011 by Ruta Sepetys.