History has a strange way of shaping our present — it influences our choices, defines how we live, and sometimes, what we become. World War II, as dark and tragic as it was, taught humanity just how precious life is and how pointless violence can be. In today’s world where aggression is once again on the rise, stories like “The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society” feel more important than ever. They remind us why empathy, kindness, and humanity should never go out of fashion.

I’ve never been a fan of history — at least not the textbook kind. It always felt too dry, too detached. Statistics like “the occupation lasted 1,975 days” or “2,000+ residents were deported to camps” never really hit until I saw them through the eyes of fictional (yet so real) characters. That’s why historical fiction is different for me — it makes the past feel human; It gives you faces, feelings, and real stories to remember history by. And this book? It nailed it.

The story kicks off when Juliet Ashton, a war writer, receives a letter from Dawsey Adams, a man from Guernsey who happened to get his hands on one of her old books. What starts as a simple exchange turns into an entire web of letters between Juliet and the quirky, charming residents of Guernsey. Through these letters, they share their love for books, their memories of surviving Nazi occupation, and above all, their unbreakable spirit.

At first, I’ll admit — I had to read the first few letters multiple times to wrap my head around the format. But once I got past the fourth or fifth, I was hooked. It felt like I had been given a front-row seat into the lives of real people — people who suffered, laughed, coped, and clung to stories and each other to make it through hell.

The literary society itself was born out of a lie — a clever excuse to cover up a gathering during curfew — but it blossomed into something so meaningful. A safe space. A lifeline. A community built around shared love for books and survival. I loved how even in the middle of horror, they found humor and moments of joy. Juliet recalling a cartoon of Doodle Bombers she once laughed at during the war, only to later feel shocked at how they found it funny — that’s the kind of emotional nuance that makes this book so real.

What surprised me most was the sheer isolation Guernsey experienced. No radio, no letters, no contact with the outside world. In my privileged little bubble, I had assumed they must have had some access to news — but they didn’t. That sense of abandonment and silence hit hard. That kind of loneliness, that uncertainty? Unimaginable. It was a stark reminder of how privileged we are today.

One of the most powerful parts of the book was its balanced portrayal of human behavior during war — not just the cruelty of the Nazis but also moments of unexpected kindness. Some German soldiers helped villagers in small ways — dropping potatoes or sneaking them coal. And yet, there were betrayals too — islanders who turned on friends to gain favor. That part gutted me. I still can’t wrap my head around how people could do that… but the book handles it with empathy and honesty.

At the center of all this is Elizabeth McKenna — a woman we never directly hear from but who ties everyone and everything together. She’s the heartbeat of the story. Whether it was helping children escape, forming the literary society, or sheltering a todt worker, she was a quiet force of goodness. The kind of person we all wish we knew. This book, in many ways, is a tribute to real-life Elizabeths — the unsung heroes who gave hope when there was none.

Though romance takes a backseat, there’s a lot of emotional intimacy in the book — connections that are deep, sincere, and full of platonic love. It’s likely to resonate more with women readers, maybe because of Juliet’s emotional vulnerability and her instant affection for an island and its people she’s never met. But honestly, the human connection here is for everyone.

What makes this book even more special is the format — written entirely in letters. There’s something so personal, so raw about reading someone’s correspondence. It felt like eavesdropping in the best possible way. I’ve always loved the idea of letters and this book reminded me why. Also — it’s a book about people who love books. How can that not tug at a booklover’s heart?

Honestly, it made me want to write my name and address in a random book, leave it at a café, and hope someone writes back. Who knows? Maybe that’s how lifelong friendships begin.

One of the most beautiful lines in the book, and one that really stayed with me, is:

“I wonder how the book got to Guernsey? Perhaps there is some sort of secret homing instinct in books that brings them to their perfect readers.”

Isn’t that just… wow? This quote captures the heart of the entire story. Books have an almost magical way of finding the people who need them most. They bring comfort, spark friendships, and sometimes — like in this case — bring people together in the darkest times. This was one such book for me. It helped me understand what the people of Guernsey went through and how books gave them the strength to carry on. The connection they shared with literature mirrored the way we, as readers, sometimes cling to stories to make sense of our own world.

“The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society” is a heartwarming, quietly powerful story about resilience, found family, and the magic of stories. It made me smile, tear up, and feel deeply connected to a world far removed from mine — and yet, not so different. If you love emotional stories, are curious about the human side of war, or simply want to read something that feels like a warm cup of tea on a rainy day, pick this one up.

I promise it’ll stay with you.