Neriya knows that the crows of her shtetl are far smarter than any she’s met anywhere else. Every summer when her family returns to the country, she is amazed at how quickly the corvids figure out the puzzles and games she sets for them. But Neriya may never get to follow her dreams of studying her crows and their behavior at university. World War II is ripping through Eastern Europe, and Lithuania is no longer safe.
Driven from her home by the pincer of the Red Army on one side and Nazi forces on the other, Neriya is separated from her family and flees deep into the forest. There, she teams up with three other young survivors in a desperate bid to survive: a Romani girl named Kezia, a Red Army deserter named Czeslaw and a boy named Innokentiy, who does not speak. As the four struggle to survive the onslaught, it becomes clear that Neriya’s friendship with the forest’s crows is more precious—and more wondrous—than they ever could have imagined.
Ray Nayler’s Palaces of the Crow is an evocative and deeply human portrait of survival and awe along the Eastern European front of WWII. Told in a nonlinear format from multiple perspectives, the novel mirrors the scattered nature of memory, particularly memory borne of the trauma of war. While the jumps could be confusing, Nayler builds strong thematic through lines that hold the scattered memories together, gently nudging them into a cohesive whole. Elements of speculative fiction within Palaces of the Crow are sparing, as the book leans more toward historical fiction. However, each tidbit readers learn about the teens’ relationship with the crows serves as a powerful respite from the desperation of war, showing the possibility of life beyond petty human squabbles. Palaces of the Crow reminds both its readers and protagonists that wonders can still exist alongside even unfathomable tragedy—and that those wonders are still worth protecting.