Portugal was the last corner of neutral European territory from which refugees could sail to South America, Africa or North America to escape the Nazis’ wrath. And while it was a place of relative safety where refugees were protected under neutrality laws, there was always a constant threat of various visas expiring, resulting in arrest by the Portuguese secret police. Additionally, there was the perpetual fear that Germany would attack Portugal and refugees would once more be under Nazi occupation. The waits these refugees endured for their various visas and boat tickets were long and terrible, even for people who had maintained their wealth, though many arrived with only the clothes they wore.
Spies swarmed in this community where publications and news from all over the world mixed among the conglomeration of foreigners. They secretly paid the locals and police to listen and report, they rubbed elbows with the wealthy in glitzy hotels to gather intel, and they dotted disinformation around to spread like wildfires to keep the enemy from suspecting their next move. All of this made for a very exciting environment.
I was fortunate enough to be able to travel to Lisbon, despite the pandemic, during 2021. I had never been to Portugal, and it was important for me to experience the culture I had learned so much about in my research. I found it to be exactly as I had read: beautiful with incredible food and people who were kind and generous. I had an amazing tour guide, Raquel Estevens, whose 101-year-old grandmother shared details about how life was when the refugees came to Lisbon. Raquel not only planned out tours specific to what I needed for my research, but was always so patient with all of my questions. I’m immensely grateful to her and her grandmother.
One man I unfortunately did not get to mention in my book, but I feel also deserves to be noted here, is Sousa Mendes, a Portuguese consul in Bordeaux, France. In June 1940, when Germany took France, people were being attacked and cities were falling under Nazi control, and people were desperate to flee, he defied strict orders to not authorize visas. As the Portuguese consulate filled with desperate people, Mendes went with his heart and conscience and vowed to sign as many visas as he could regardless of nationality or religion, and he did so without taking payment. For three days, he signed and signed and signed, his name reduced to only “Mendes,” but the consulate stamp on those visas was enough to let refugees flow through the borders. Before he was forced to stop, he managed to sign at least 3,800—this number has been confirmed with certainty by the Sousa Mendes Foundation （survivors and descendants of the families he saved with those visas）， though estimates of the number range between 10,000–30,000. For his defiance, he was stripped permanently of his title, shunned by António de Oliveira Salazar, the prime minister of Portugal, and never again able to secure employment. Sousa Mendes is noted to have said: “I could not have acted otherwise, and I therefore accept all that has befallen me with love.”
Though I researched Lisbon during World War II extensively, please be aware that any errors are entirely my own.
Which brings me to the second narrative of The Librarian Spy in Lyon, France, with Elaine. While doing research, I happened to stumble upon a woman in France named Lucienne Guezennec. Plucky, brave and a woman of integrity and honor, she was a true inspiration. She gave her identity card to a Jewish woman to save her, joined the Resistance and became an apprentice at a clandestine newspaper, was the only survivor of a Nazi attack on the press, and even stood up for the women whose heads were being shaved in retaliation for collaborating with Nazis at the end of the war. I do not mirror her life, though I used her as a strong influence for Elaine’s character. Antoine, Jean and Marcel are also loosely inspired by the real men who worked with Lucienne at the clandestine press: Marcel after André Bollier, Antoine after Francisque Vacher and Jean after Paul Jaillet.
Another important character on the French side of my book was Kommandeur Werner. I made him from a combination of real officers who existed in Lyon during the occupation with a primary tie to Klaus Barbie—a man so cruel, he was dubbed the Butcher of Lyon. I won’t go into the unspeakable things he did to earn such a title, but I will say he did not stand trial for those heinous crimes until he was an old man. Even then, he received life in prison, where he remained only four short years before passing away. His victims never received such mercy as he was afforded. I confess, I am a reader who likes to see a villain get what they deserve and so I created Werner.