Earthy, sun-warmed and a little smoky, it tastes like the dusty roads of the French countryside in the summer of 1940. A humble, honest red for ordinary lives under extraordinary pressure.
Ripe and golden with a bittersweet finish, it captures the tenderness and loss threaded through the novel. A glass for reflection.
Written as the Nazi occupation unfolded, it follows Parisians in flight and villagers under occupation with clear-eyed compassion. Unfinished and unforgettable, it carries both beauty and dread.
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