Skylark

Paula McLain
73 pages2-hour read
Fiction
Novel
Adult
Published in 2026

A modern alternative to SparkNotes and CliffsNotes, SuperSummary offers high-quality Study Guides with detailed chapter summaries and analysis of major themes, characters, and more.

Themes

Content Warning: This section of the guide contains discussion of religious discrimination, gender discrimination, ableism, mental illness, physical and emotional abuse, and illness and death.

Medicine and Bureaucracy as Tools of Oppression

In Skylark, authoritarian power consistently relies on the weaponization of “objective” medical and bureaucratic processes to shore up power structures and vested interests. The novel explores how historical persecution has often been cloaked in clinical diagnoses or administrative procedure, enabling oppressive regimes to present systematic cruelty as rational, necessary, and—even—for the greater good. This theme is key to Skylark’s meaning and purpose as historical literary fiction: In both settings of the 17th-century monarchical Paris and the city during Nazi occupation of 1940-1944, the novel shows how social structures and methodologies like medicine and bureaucracy reflect an era’s ideologies and prejudices, and can also be used cynically by those in power. In Skylark, this manifests particularly as the subjugation of women, the persecution of Jews, and the elimination of the medically vulnerable.


The novel first illustrates this dynamic by showing how medical diagnosis can be used as a weapon of control. In 17th-century Paris, Alouette Voland’s independent creation of a brilliant blue dye is an act of genius that patriarchal Gobelin dyers’ guild cannot acknowledge, as to do so would disrupt their hierarchy and control. Instead of punishing her for producing the dye—an act that would acknowledge her achievement—the guild masters pathologize her autonomy as an “unnatural” act, reflecting historical misogyny around women’s abilities and agency. When the physician Maître Bernard diagnoses her with “hysteria” and “fureur utérine,” (167)—“uterine fury,” an inaccurate historical medical diagnosis which medicalized behaviors considered undesirable in women—Alouette’s transgression of established gender and power roles becomes a priori evidence of “madness,” circular reasoning that protects the vested interests of male authority. Her subsequent sentence to Salpêtrière is therefore punishment masquerading as “correction” and medical treatment, reflecting the rising medicalization of non-conformist female behavior in 17th-century France. The novel details the typical historical “treatment” of women in institutions run and shaped by patriarchal medical practice, which understood little about women’s bodies and was based on theoretical assumptions of inferiority and “otherness.” Monsieur Moreau uses bloodletting and purges to “restore balance” to Alouette, systematically weakening her body in order to “feminize” her behavior toward obedience. The novel creates a parallel to this when, centuries later, in occupied Paris, Dr. Claudel champions electroshock therapy as an efficient tool for managing psychiatric casualties of war, viewing patients as logistical problems rather than suffering individuals. This mindset culminates in the implementation of Aktion T4, a Nazi program that uses clinical terms like “nutritional efficiency protocols” to justify the systematic murder of patients deemed “unworthy of life” (261). In both cases, the novel explores how utilitarian approaches can often reflect—or further—discriminatory practices, leading to the dehumanization of those who fall outside arbitrary norms and standards.


Skylark also demonstrates how bureaucracy can provide the scaffolding of systematic persecution, weaponizing the operations of the state against its citizens. The Nazi occupation of Paris is depicted as a highly organized, incremental oppression, reflecting the expansion of established Nazi ideology across controlled territory. Tracing the real historical process, Skylark shows how the persecution of Jewish citizens in France was steady and incremental, beginning with official ordinances, censuses, and registration requirements that create a legalistic basis for stripping away their rights. This administrative machinery allows collaborators like the French police and Skylark’s fictional concierge Madame Gagnon to participate in persecution under the protection of legal compliance. The novel dramatizes these historical events through the experiences of the Brodsky family, thereby individualizing them and increasing their pathos and moral significance for the reader. When the Brodskys are arrested, Madame Gagnon begins to “inventory” their possessions, claiming, “now they belong to France” (320), but meaning that they will become hers. This same self-serving logic is present in the novel’s 17th-century storyline, where the dyers’ guild operates a rigid bureaucracy to maintain vested control, shown both when René Voland is arrested for allegedly violating guild rules, an act of “treason” against its authority, and when Alouette is tried based on the guild’s laws. In both eras, the novel explores how the ostensibly impersonal nature of bureaucracy masks the personal motives of those in power, allowing individuals to enforce cruelty while deferring moral responsibility to the system itself.


Through this theme, Skylark reveals that the social systems—whether medical or legal—can be effective tools for dehumanization and injustice, reflecting and perpetuating the prejudices of a society at a given time, and furthering the interests and control of those with relative power.

Art and Culture as Means to Preserve Memory and Identity

In Skylark, McLain examines how communities preserve their sense of self and memory by building rich inner worlds through art and culture, particularly as a response to erasure through imprisonment, persecution, or dehumanization. These acts of creation and preservation are portrayed as essential tools for survival, allowing individuals to maintain a core self and transmit their legacy across generations. By creating unique art, memorizing ancient literature, or passing down stories, the characters affirm their humanity against systems that try to eradicate them, or reduce them to a diagnosis, a number, or a label.


The novel shows how creative expression can be a defiant act of self-definition, when practiced by those for whom it is taboo. Alouette Voland is central to this theme: Forbidden by the 17th-century guild from creating, she secretly develops her unique “Skylark blue” dye, a color that represents her personal genius and agency. This act of creation is a rebellion against the constraints placed upon her as a woman. After her escape from the Salpêtrière, her transgressive skill is manifested in a “color bible,” a collaborative archive that preserves formulas and the names and stories of the women who shared their knowledge, ensuring their legacy endures. Skylark engages with revisionist history, creating a narrative which rebalances the erasure of women from the historical record. In a parallel act of creation, Étienne Duchamp, an anonymous and illiterate quarryman, carves stone larks. These sculptures are a symbol of his continued, forbidden love for Alouette and an assertion of his own identity beyond his grueling labor, connected to his personal mission to achieve literacy and leave a mark on the world. The novel’s eponymous image of the “skylark” connotes both the wish for freedom and self-expression, and the inner part of the self which can resist control and assert the inalienable rights of personhood.


Beyond physical creation, the novel shows how active internal efforts to preserve memory and culture is an important tool for endurance. In the 20th century storyline, as the Nazi regime systematically strips away her rights and identity, Sasha Brodsky responds by constructing a “memory palace” to memorize Ovid’s Metamorphoses. Drawing on ancient methods of memory and leaning, this becomes a portable sanctuary for Sasha, a world of stories she can carry within herself when her physical world and belongings have been destroyed or stolen. The myths of transformation help her process her trauma and maintain a belief in survival, allowing her to remain a scholar and thinker when the world tries to reduce her through discrimination. As she tells her fellow refugees in the tunnels, “they can take our books, but they can’t take what’s inside us” (364). The novel blends the ideas of storytelling and stone-carving through imagery, also weaving the two timelines. In the tunnels beneath Paris, Sasha connects her silent storytelling to the markings left by past fugitives, feeling that one can “hear the stories being whispered from the walls” (328). This echoes Étienne’s thoughts that blocks of stone waiting to be carved “are mysterious keepers of secrets, whispering stories and clues to those with ears to hear” (86). In both cases, these stories are a consolation in the face of frustrated self-expression and identity.


The novel culminates this theme in the Epilogue, where the power of art and memory is shown transcending time. In 1857, Alouette’s great-great-granddaughter, a glass artist, incorporates the secret formula for “Skylark blue” into a stained-glass window for Notre-Dame, etching a tiny bird—the skylark—into the corner. This act ensures that Alouette’s defiance and identity, passed down through generations “in breath and memory,” (445) become a permanent, though hidden, part of a great cultural monument. Skylark thus suggests that the most lasting and meaningful human legacies can be those preserved through defiant and loving acts of creation and remembrance, rather than those recorded by official means.

The Physical and Conceptual “Underground” as a Space for Resistance

Skylark juxtaposes the heavily policed, oppressive worlds on the surface of Paris with the city’s vast, unmapped underground. Paula McLain presents these subterranean spaces—ancient quarries, sewers, and catacombs—as a realm of freedom, history, and radical possibility. In both the 17th and 20th centuries, this “souterrain” becomes is both a physical and symbolic network that enables escape, preserves a counter-narrative of rebellion, and is a base for organized resistance against authoritarian rule above.


The underground is, most fundamentally, a practical means for escape. For Alouette, Marguerite, and Sylvine in the 17th century storyline, the sewer system beneath Salpêtrière offers their only viable route, as the tunnels connected to the Bièvre river provide a dangerous but direct path to the Seine and to liberty. Their journey through the dark, flooded passages is a physical ordeal but, significantly, it is a self-directed one, contrasting sharply with their powerlessness within the asylum. This symbolic meaning is developed through Étienne Duchamp, for whom the tunnels are a private space where he can assert his identity by writing his name in soot on the walls—a quiet act of rebellion against his anonymity and illiteracy. In the later storyline, the novel creates parallels when psychiatrist Kristof Larsen uses the souterrain to lead Sasha Brodsky and three other Jewish teenagers out of occupied Paris after the 1942 roundup. Navigated by maps created by the resistance fighter Alesander Extebarria, the underground provides a hidden corridor to the countryside and the first step on a journey toward safety, and also links the fugitives to a wider network and movement for resistance.


The souterrain’s role as an historical archive and a hub for organized resistance is essential to the theme, with the novel combining factual historical and fictional elements. When Kristof is first introduced to the tunnels, Alesander shows him markings left by generations of fugitives and revolutionaries, including inscriptions like “Liberté ou la mort” (111)—"liberty or death”—referencing the real historical inscriptions found there. These symbols connect the characters’ contemporaneous struggle to a long history of Parisian defiance, drawing on the real cultural significance of the souterrain to underpin the novel’s meanings. When Alesander’s resistance cell establishes an operational bunker in the souterrain, complete with electricity and radio equipment, this again combines fact and fiction, creating a fictional parallel to the real underground command center of resistance leader Henri Rol-Tanguy in 1944. A similar dynamic is created by McLain in the 17th-century storyline, when the powerful fictional Gobelin family used the quarries for illicit smuggling, an activity that is known to have happened at the time. 


By weaving the novel’s two historical timelines with each other and with factual elements, the novel makes the idea of the “underground” central to resistance, suggesting that this is a perennial characteristic of Parisian—and human—history, albeit often concealed or overlooked. In Skylark, the souterrain represents the lasting human will to find freedom, leave a mark, and fight back from the margins. It is portrayed as a parallel world, where a person’s secret inner life may be nurtured, and where those who have been silenced can find a way to move, act, and survive.

blurred text
blurred text
blurred text

Unlock every key theme and why it matters

Get in-depth breakdowns of the book’s main ideas and how they connect and evolve.

  • Explore how themes develop throughout the text
  • Connect themes to characters, events, and symbols
  • Support essays and discussions with thematic evidence