Kathryn is married to Jack, a pilot on the Boston-London run. It's a normal-enough life. Adding to her horror are airline investigators, pilots union investigators, and TV crews all looking for Kathryn to reveal something about Jack that will lead them to the source of the explosion. Each day, it seems, the news generates new bits of information and rumors. Each day there is a new wrinkle in what might have been a simple, tragic story: Take a family of three and subtract one.
The Pilot wife book room alarmed her, the wrongness of it, like an emergency room at midnight. Jun 06, Carolyn F. But Kathryn knew that it was true. It was kind of boring in the first two thirds, and then when the main character travelled to England and discovered the "twists," it just seemed kind of silly. Thirty seconds passed. The Pilot's Wife by Anita Shreve was given to me in passing. Sorry folks, the whole having to get Anal nun movie early to teach the children how to read is eife my own leisurely reading time. Sound Mix: Mono.
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Full access is for members only. Fiction or nonfiction when reading for pleasure. Could there be any truth to the increasingly disturbing rumors that he had a secret? Audiobook I wish Melanie Griffith Pilot wife book have narrated other books because she does Cerita malaysia perempuan sex fantastic job. Edit Cast Cast overview, first billed only: Christine Lahti Then the usual fairy-tale ending for books of this genre The idea is compelling, and could have been so much more. Unintentionally my small collection on Goodreads has a very common theme! There's a receipt for a silken bathrobe that never arrives at Kathryn's house. Her husband, along with other people, died in the accident. Ahh, those were the days. Learn more. The book is beautiful.
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As Kathryn struggles with her grief, she descends into a maelstrom of publicity stirred up by the modern hunger for the details of tragedy. Could there be any truth to the increasingly disturbing rumors that he had a secret? Fighting the impulse to protect herself and her daughter from the details of the crash and the mystery surrounding it, Kathryn sets out to learn who her husband really was—whatever that knowledge may cost.
The search will lead her to shocking revelations, testing both the truth of her marriage and the limits of her ability to face it. From the bestselling author of The Weight of Water , this taut, impassioned novel asks fundamental questions we all have about how well we can really know anyone—even those or especially those we love the most. Compulsively readable….
To create both sympathetic characters and an enticing plot is no small feat, but Shreve does it seamlessly. We go where Shreve leads because the writing is so sure. Shreve is extremely skillful at showing the stages by which someone learns to live with the unthinkable.
Her dream left her, skittering behind a closing door. It had been a good dream, warm and close, and she minded. She fought the waking. It was dark in the small bedroom, with no light yet behind the shades. She reached for the lamp, fumbled her way up the brass, and she was thinking, What? The lit room alarmed her, the wrongness of it, like an emergency room at midnight. She thought, in quick succession: Mattie. Then, Jack. Then, Neighbor. Then, Car accident. Kathryn had seen her to bed, had watched her walk down the hall and through a door, the door shutting with a firmness that was just short of a slam, enough to make a statement but not provoke a reprimand.
And Jack—where was Jack? She scratched the sides of her head, raking out her sleep-flattened hair. Jack was—where? She tried to remember the schedule: London. Due home around lunchtime. She was certain. Or did she have it wrong and had he forgotten his keys again?
She sat up and put her feet on the freezing floorboards. She had never understood why the wood of an old house lost its warmth so completely in the winter. Had dreamed it, in the way she sometimes had dreams from which she woke into other dreams. She reached for the small clock on her bedside table and looked at it: She peered more closely at the black face with the glow-in-the-dark dial and then set the clock down on the marble top of the table so hard that the case popped open and a battery rolled under the bed.
There was another knock then, three sharp raps on glass. A small stoppage in her chest traveled down into her stomach and lay there. In the distance, the dog started up again with short, brittle yips. She opened the latch of the bedroom door with a soft click and made her way down the back staircase. She was thinking that her daughter was upstairs and that she should be careful.
She walked through the kitchen and tried to see, through the window over the sink, into the driveway that wound around to the back of the house. She could just make out the shape of an ordinary dark car. She turned the corner into the narrow back hallway, where the tiles were worse than the floorboards, ice on the soles of her feet. She flipped on the back-door light and saw, beyond the small panes set into the top of the door, a man.
He tried not to look surprised by the sudden light. He moved his head slowly to the side, not staring into the glass, as if it were not a polite thing to do, as if he had all the time in the world, as if it were not in the morning. He looked pale in the glare of the light.
His topcoat collar was turned up, and his shoulders were hunched. He moved once quickly on the doorstep, stamping his feet. She made a judgment then. The long face, slightly sad; decent clothes; an interesting mouth, the bottom lip slightly curved and fuller than the upper lip: not dangerous. As she reached for the knob, she thought, Not a burglar, not a rapist. Definitely not a rapist. She opened the door. It was in the way he said her name, the fact that he knew her name at all.
It was in his eyes, a wary flicker. The quick breath he took. He caught her elbows as she went down. He held her elbows, but she wanted her arms back. Gently, he lowered her to the floor. She bent her face to her knees and wrapped her arms over her head. Consciously, she tried to breathe, to fill up her lungs.
She raised her head up and took in great gulps of air. From behind her, the man was trying to lift her up. She swung her head from side to side. She wanted him to let her go.
She wanted to sink into the tiles, to ooze onto the floor. Quickly, she pushed him away with the palms of her hands and leaned against the wall for support. She coughed and gagged, but there was nothing in her stomach. When she looked up, she could see that he was apprehensive. He took her by the arm and made her round the corner into the kitchen. He swiped for the switch and found it.
She put a hand up in front of her face to ward off the light. Instinctively, she did not want to be seen. She pointed to a cabinet. He braced her fingers while she took a sip. He took off his topcoat and his jacket and put the jacket around her shoulders. He made her slide her arms into the sleeves, which were surprisingly silky and warm.
Is your daughter here? Do I have to wake her now? He glanced quickly at his watch, then at Kathryn, as if considering how much time was left to them. The telephone rang, a serrated edge in the silence of the kitchen. Robert Hart answered it immediately. She watched him lay the receiver back on its cradle and massage his forehead with his fingers.
He had thick fingers and large hands, hands that seemed too big for his body. She could almost feel the joy of that.
She shook her head. She lowered her eyes and fixed them on the cabinet under the sink. What was in it? Pine Sol. She bit the inside of her cheek and looked around at the kitchen, at the cracked pine table, the stained hearth behind it, the milk-green Hoosier cabinet.
Her husband had shined his shoes in this room not two days ago, his foot braced on a bread drawer he had pulled out for the task. It was often the last thing he did before he left for work. She would sit and watch him from the chair, and lately it had become a kind of ritual, a part of his leaving her. It had always been hard for her, his leaving the house—no matter how much work she had to do, no matter how much she looked forward to having time to herself. She often felt, watching him walk out of the door with his thick, boxy flight bag in one hand and his overnight bag in the other, his uniform cap tucked under his arm, that he was, in some profound way, separating from her.
And, of course, he was. He was leaving her in order to take a ton airplane into the air and across the ocean to London or to Amsterdam or to Nairobi. Sometimes Kathryn would become so accustomed to his absence that she bristled at the change in her routines when he returned. And then, three or four days later, the cycle would begin again. To leave, after all, was not the same as being left. Used to say.
They had a daughter together, who had to learn the truth about her father in the end and make peace with his good memories, as well as the legacy he left behind. Goodreads helps you keep track of books you want to read. But, knowing does not change that. It would have been stronger and more to the point. But then, about two thirds into to book it becomes clear Jack was having an affair, leading a double life, ect ect. I never could have imagined the impact this book would have on me, or the way it would guide my reading habits from that time forward.
Pilot wife book. Book Summary
And it feels good to be able to bitch about it every once in a while especially to those who are going through the same things. But there are definitely some perks, too. Last October we took a trip to Disney World and had a great time! But when it works out it can be awesome! Before kids, we used to hop on flights all the time — hell, one time we spontaneously flew to Santa Barbara because we felt like having a date on the beach!
Ahh, those were the days. Oh, yes. So when my husband is gone and I finally get the kids to bed — I look around like a kid in a candy store. Where to start?! I can do whatever I want!
The remote is mine, I can eat whatever I feel like eating, the world is mine for the taking! Reading a magazine with no interruptions is heaven. Sure, I miss my husband, but I still have things I like to do that do not include him.
My son loves when Daddy is able to go to his school functions and parties, he lights up as soon as his dad walks into his classroom. Not to mention, traffic is usually better as long as you avoid rush hour. Dad Duty. One of my favorite parts of my husband coming home is that he takes over with the kids. This in turn feeling appreciated makes him happy to help.
Win win! The sense of pride that swells up in your chest is like falling in love all over again. Flying an airplane. This is why movies are made about it and people still react when they find out what he does for a living. Even if it gets old for all of us sometimes.
We need as many of those moments as possible. There are wonderful groups on Facebook that are available, and some are even broken down by airline. I am forever grateful for the pilot wives I have met and who have become friends of mine. They help me not feel crazy, they help with giving ideas, advice, support and so much more. Time Apart. When we get time apart, we get to do our own thing. Having time apart lets the anticipation build.
Definitely a perk. What do you think? Comment below! I always love hearing what you have to say. The more she probes into her husband's life, the more she realizes that she really did not know the man she had been married to for 16 years. Ultimately, Kathryn learns that he had another family in another country, and a whole life separate from the life he shared with her and her daughter. Can we ever fully know the people we love? Can we trust them to be open and honest? And what are the repercussions when that trust is betrayed?
Anita Shreve's novel will leave you wondering just how much you do know about the people closest to you. The Pilot's Wife by Anita Shreve. The Book Report Network. Skip to main content.
The Pilot's Wife - Wikipedia
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Other editions. Enlarge cover. Error rating book. Refresh and try again. Open Preview See a Problem? Details if other :. Thanks for telling us about the problem. Return to Book Page. A pilot's wife is taught to be prepared for the late-night knock at the door. But when Kathryn Lyons receives word that a plane flown by her husband, Jack, has exploded near the coast of Ireland, she confronts the unfathomable-one startling revelation at a time.
Soon drawn into a maelstrom of publicity fueled by rumors that Jack led a secret life, Kathryn sets out to learn A pilot's wife is taught to be prepared for the late-night knock at the door.
Soon drawn into a maelstrom of publicity fueled by rumors that Jack led a secret life, Kathryn sets out to learn who her husband really was, whatever that knowledge might cost. Her search propels this taut, impassioned novel as it movingly explores the question, How well can we ever really know another person? Get A Copy. Paperback , pages. Published March 30th by Back Bay Books first published More Details Original Title. Fortune's Rocks 3. Maine United States. Other Editions Friend Reviews.
To see what your friends thought of this book, please sign up. To ask other readers questions about The Pilot's Wife , please sign up. Ooops I just bought this, the third in the series, do I have to go back and read the first two?
Kenda Nasuti No. They are stand alone. However it was neat while reading book 2 and 3 and the references to the house and who used to live there thru the years. I …more No. I do recommend reading the other ones! Lottery ticket at end? Am I supposed to remember that? Jessica I couldn't figure that out either. See all 5 questions about The Pilot's Wife…. Lists with This Book.
Community Reviews. Showing Average rating 3. Rating details. More filters. Sort order. Apr 01, Julie rated it it was amazing Shelves: mystery-shelf , re-read , contemporary-fiction , e-book , I read this book a long time ago, before I become a member of Goodreads and well before I started writing book reviews.
But, eventually, my curiosity got the best of me. I never could have imagined the impact this book would have on me, or the way it would guide my reading habits from that time forward.
Life is pretty good, and Kathryn has learned to accept the ebbs and flows within her marriage. But, when she gets the news a plane Jack was piloting exploded in midair, everything she thought she knew about her daughter, her husband and even herself is thrown into question. Was it a mechanical malfunction, or pilot error- or something far more sinister? His job also comes in handy when it comes to sustaining secrets and hiding things from his wife and daughter.
Or should she have remained in a state of hyper awareness at all times? Is is wrong to enjoy contentment? Even now, with the passage of time, the emotions the book stirred in me the first time around, resurfaced once again, as strong as before, maybe even more so, even knowing everything that was going to happen in advance.
The suspense is still nearly unbearable at times, the characterizations firm, if not always likeable, and the tantalizing and teasing pacing, is genius. View all 71 comments. Jul 15, Debbie Petersen Wolven rated it it was ok. This review has been hidden because it contains spoilers. To view it, click here. Another bomb from Shreve. Her husband had a secret life She can't confront her grief and betrayal over finding this out, because he is dead.
Then the usual fairy-tale ending for books of this genre View all 7 comments. I watched the movie many years ago and still remember it. The movie was more action-driven in a way, and less emotionally orientated than the book, although the ambiance of the book was perfectly captured. Kathryn Lyons mourned the idyllic life she has lost after learning about her husband's deceit.
In the end she did not mourn her husband Jack, but the good life he had cheated them out of. They had a daughter together, who had to learn the truth about her father in the end and make peace with his good memories, as well as the legacy he left behind. Being a teenager, Maddy had to navigate the start of an adult life with a mother gone to Ireland, searching for Jack's alleged connection to the IRA and the smuggling of explosives between Boston and Ireland.
She discovered much more than that. I was in a mood for a placid, gentle read after a few high-voltage murder mysteries and literature. This was the perfect choice. Although the author's books lean heavily on the emotional turbulence it ignites in the reader, the stories are always a moral showground with many questions left for the readers to find answers to.
The longer one lingers on the issues, the more intricate the answers become. Jack was a good man. He could have been anyone of us. But then he was not. Nothing in life is cut and paste or black or white. Between Kathryn's and Jack's version of the events, the facts had to be found, but it was not as easy as it sounded and Jack was dead The book is beautiful.
It is enhanced by the movie. I've been wanting to read this book for so long. I'm so happy it finally happened. It was an Anita Shreve experience and I loved it. View all 24 comments. Aug 01, Laura rated it did not like it Shelves: best-seller. This is one of those books you pick up in Costco when the line is really long and you need something to kill time, but then it accidentally gets rung up so you go ahead and read it. In England!!! How could a book about loss, betrayal, and really bi This is one of those books you pick up in Costco when the line is really long and you need something to kill time, but then it accidentally gets rung up so you go ahead and read it.
How could a book about loss, betrayal, and really big secrets fail to entertain? Unfortunately, none of the characters was even marginally appealing, and overall the story was just bleak and boring. There was even a contrived "love" story that, weirdly, made the story even grimmer. Jun 02, Gemma rated it liked it Shelves: sentimental-education , separated-lovers , usa. It dragged to begin with and virtually nothing happened for the first hundred pages. Unfortunately, for me, neither was the case.
Katheryn always seemed more of a device than a living character. For me it was neither literary nor commercial fiction but struggled half way between the two.