THE SILENT STARS GO BY

Sally Nicholls is a renowned author whose first novel, Ways to Live Forever, won the Waterstones Children’s Book Prize and inspired a feature film. Her books have been short-listed for the Guardian Children’s Fiction Prize, the Costa Children’s Book Award, and the Carnegie Medal (twice), and have been translated into more than twenty languages. She lives in Oxford, England.

Author Website

“The novel’s strong pacing alternates between wartime and its aftermath, vividly capturing postwar life. . . At the heart of this story lies a tale of young love interrupted by the realities of war and life’s complications. A textured historical romance that is far more than the sum of its parts.” —Kirkus Reviews (starred review)

“Emotionally layered. . . While Margot and Harry’s chemistry proves palpable, and their series of romantic misunderstandings provide tension, it’s Margot’s longing for James, the strain of her perceived shame, and her desire for forgiveness that underpins this deeply resonant post-war tale.” —Publishers Weekly

“Smoothly written, well-plotted. . . will be catnip for both adult and YA romance fans.” —Booklist

“A gorgeous, poignant, unputdownable new Christmas classic.” —Hilary McKay, author of The Skylarks’ War

“Sally Nicholls conjures another era with a miraculous lightness of touch that fills me with joy and envy. Her characters don’t just leap off the page, they grab you by the collar, demand your sympathy, and surprise you at every turn.” —Frances Hardinge, author of The Lie Tree

“A festive treat of a story about family, lost loves, and finding yourself again after tragedy.” —Emma Carroll, author of In Darkling Wood

Crowshurst Farm Crowshurst
North Yorkshire
9th December 1919

Dear Margot, I do not wish to be a millstone round your neck, and if you really would rather have nothing more to do with me, I won’t be such an ass as to insist that you uphold your promises or anything beastly like that. But I think it only polite to inform you that I shall be coming home for Christmas and we are likely—in the usual run of things—to find ourselves somewhat in one another’s pockets.

We may no longer be lovers, but I would hate to think we were ever anything but friends. I cannot claim to understand why you chose to ignore my previous communications, but I trust that you have your reasons. I must say, I think you might have the decency to tell me what they are.

If you have heard any ill of me, please allow me the chance to explain myself. Though I can’t imagine what the devil it is you might have heard.

I remain your most obedient etc.
(truly, Margot, I do),
Harry Singer

Margot Allen sat in the corner of the third-class compartment carriage and read this letter for the fifteenth time. Her mother had forwarded it without comment from the vicarage. The wheels of the train went clackety-clack, clackety-clack over the tracks, the little steam heater blasted hot air into the compartment, and outside the windows the Vale of York swept past, all gray and dark green beneath the midwinter sky.

Her small hands, in pale, rather worn leather gloves, rested on her skirt, which was the exact blue of her eyes. Her blond hair was perfectly arranged.

The darns in her overcoat were almost—but not quite— invisible.

Margot was nineteen, but right now she felt herself fully forty-five at least.

The letter, like those that had preceded it, remained unanswered.

I trust that you have your reasons . . .

She leaned her head back against the seat.

Clearly things couldn’t go on like this. This secret should never have been kept from him. One way or another, they were going to have to face it.

Note From the Author

I was born in Stockton-on-Tees in England, just after midnight, in a thunderstorm. My father died when I was two, and my brother Ian and I were brought up my mother. I always wanted to write – when people asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, I used to say “I’m going to be a writer” – very definite.

I’ve always loved reading, and I spent most of my childhood trying to make real life as much like a book as possible. My friends and I had a secret club like the Secret Seven, and when I was nine I got most of my hair cut off because I wanted to look like George in the Famous Five. I was a real tomboy – I liked riding my bike, climbing trees and building dens in our garden. And I liked making up stories. I used to wander round my school playground at break, making up stories in my head.

More…

I went to two secondary schools – a little Quaker school in North Yorkshire (where it was so cold that thick woolly jumpers were part of the school uniform) and a big comprehensive. I was very lonely at the little school, but I made friends at the comprehensive and got on all right. I didn’t like being a teenager very much, though.

After school, I got to be an adult, which was fantastic. I went and worked in a Red Cross Hospital in Japan and then travelled around Australia and New Zealand. I jumped off bridges and tall buildings, climbed Mount Doom, wore a kimono and went to see a ballet in the Sydney Opera House. Then I came back and did a degree in Philosophy and Literature at Warwick. In my third year, realising with some panic that I was now supposed to earn a living, I enrolled in a masters in Writing for Young People at Bath Spa. It was here that I wrote Ways to Live Forever. I also won the prize for the writer with most potential, through which I got my agent. Four months later, I had a publisher.

I now live in a little flat in Oxford, England, writing stories, and trying to believe my luck.