Yes, I know that it's brilliant and I know that I should have read it long ago, but I approach World War II books with trepidation. Because, there somewhere, even at the distant edge, the Holocaust is going to be looming. My European family didn't have survivors. My husband and children are here because my husband's parents managed, against all odds, to survive. And even when the work of art with the Holocaust -- front and center or lurking at the edge -- does a wonderful job, the horror of it always feels candy-coated. For a long time, the only things I'd read about it were well-researched non-fiction or first person survivor accounts; no Life is Beautiful or Boy in Striped Pajamas for me. So here we have Code Name Verity, and I am cracking open the cover. I want to read this book, and I'm not going to let doctrinal rigidity stand in the way of me reading it. Here goes.