The Diviners author Libba Bray shares exclusive excerpt from new novel Under the Same Stars

Libba Bray has been weaving stories to enchant YA readers for over two decades now.

But her latest might be her most ambitious novel yet (and her first in almost five years!). Under the Same Stars spans three periods of time — 1940s Germany, 1980s West Germany, and 2020 New York City — to track a historical mystery that examines truth, rebellion, reconciliation, and sacrifice.

The three intersecting narratives are connected by the legend of the Bridegroom's Oak, a tree that is rumored to be the ultimate matchmaker. If you write a letter to the Oak, it is said your true love will answer back.

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In the 1940s, Sophie eagerly awaits a message from a mysterious suitor that comes via the oak, while her best friend Hanna uses the tree for other purposes — resistance against the Nazis. In the 1980s, American teen Jenny struggles to fit in as she befriends crush Lena, a punk-rock girl rebelling against the Berlin Wall, and Frau Hermann, a kindly old lady holding unexpected secrets. And in 2020 New York, best friends Miles and Chloe struggle to cope with COVID lockdown when a package from Chloe's grandmother leads them to investigate a mystery about two teenagers who went missing under the oak in the 1940s, tying the storylines together.

Under the Same Stars doesn't hit shelves until next year on Feb. 4, but Entertainment Weekly has an exclusive excerpt to give you a taste of the magic and mystery to come. Read on for more below.

Excerpt from Under the Same Stars, by Libba Bray

An air of loneliness hung over the apartment except for the bookshelves. These were teeming with well-loved, dust-free books of every color and size. Jenny sneaked over to study the spines in the hopes there might be one on witchcraft she could tell Martina about later. There were some of the usual suspects—encyclopedias, dictionaries, Gray’s Anatomy, but one whole shelf was dedicated to fairy tales, another to mythology, and yet another had been crammed with psychology titles like A Psychiatric Study of Myths and Fairy Tales and The Uses of Enchantment: The Meaning and Importance of Fairy Tales. Off to the right hung a framed diploma in psychology from the Freie Universität Berlin.

“Have you ever tasted Pfannkuchen?” Frau Hermann called from the kitchen amid a rattling of teacups and plates.

“Nein, Frau Hermann,” Jenny said, quickly taking her seat again. 

Frau Hermann entered stiffly carrying a tray with two steaming cups of tea and thick slabs of pastry on delicate white-china plates. “It’s a German specialty.” 

It looked like a jelly doughnut and smelled of fresh yeast. Jenny bit into the soft, powdered-sugar-topped dough.

“You like it?”

“Yes, ma’am. It’s very good. Um, kostlich.”

“Your German is good,” Frau Hermann said, digging into her pastry with abandon.

“I’m taking classes.”

“Ah. Das ist gut.”

“Are you a doctor?” Jenny asked. “I saw your diploma.”

“A psychologist, yes. I work with patients suffering from trauma. The war, the wall . . . both have left deep scars.” 

Jenny had never met a psychologist before, let alone someone who did such important work. “That’s very . . .” She searched for the right word. “Noble.”

Frau Hermann’s shoulders gave the tiniest shrug. “I try to help. What do you like to do, Jenny?”

“Oh. Um. I have a camera. I like to take pictures.”

“That is a good way of seeing, yes? Shows you things you might have missed at first glance.”

“I never thought of it that way,” Jenny said. “I also play violin.”

“You shall have to come and play for me next time.” 

Next time. What had she been thinking? She’d have to find ways to sneak past Frau Hermann’s door from now on. They fell into halting small talk—“Have you always lived in Berlin?” “Nein, I came to Berlin after the war. Do you miss your friends back home?” “Yes. Very much.” “Change is hard, ja?”—and scraped at their pastry in the awkward silences that followed.

“You have a lot of fairy tales,” Jenny said, gesturing to the bookshelves.

“I use them in my work at the therapy center, Die Eichel. With my patients.”

“You do?”

“Yes. It helps them to put words to their trauma or guilt. To think of it as a story that exists outside of them. Like a fable.” Frau Hermann seemed to be studying Jenny. “How old are you, my dear?”

“Sixteen. Almost seventeen. Well, in October.”

“Seventeen.” Frau Hermann sipped her tea with a sudden faraway look. “That’s how old they were when they disappeared.”

Jenny stopped chewing as if the pastry were poisoned. “Who . . .disappeared?”

“Two girls from my village up north,” Frau Hermann explained. “I suppose your youth brought them to mind somehow.” She smiles. “Now they, it was said, were witches. Descendants of the ancient Norn. They had a very special friendship. One for the ages.”

Jenny swallowed the bite in her mouth. “Were they friends of yours?”

“No. We were not friends. But it was a large village and tales get told for generations, you see. It was a story I heard about the girls, almost like a fairy tale in itself.”

“What happened to them?”

Frau Hermann gave a half shrug. “They disappeared without a trace on the night of the winter solstice. This was during the war. All sorts of things happened in the forest during the war.” Frau Hermann teased at her pastry with her fork tines. “The story goes that the girls believed in the old forest magic and particularly the magic of the Bridegroom’s Oak, and because of their belief, the Bridegroom’s Oak protected them when they needed it.”

“The Bridegroom’s Oak?”

Frau Hermann’s eyes brightened. “Ahhh! You have never heard of the Bridegroom’s Oak? That is a fable unto itself! It is a matchmaking tree in the Dodauer Forest up north. It is said that if you write to the Bridegroom’s Oak hoping for a match, someone will answer you. Many marriages have occurred this way. In fact . . .” Frau Hermann rose stiffly and returned a moment later holding a stamped envelope. “I have written my own letter, but . . . I haven’t worked up the nerve to send it.” Her girlish laugh was a surprise, as if a younger woman lived inside somewhere.

“I could mail it for you,” Jenny said impulsively. She was intrigued by the story of the lovers’ tree and the tale of the two lost girls. “I’m on my way out.”

Frau Hermann tapped the letter against the side of the table. She seemed to be assessing Jenny in some new way. Jenny hunched up her shoulders to keep her hair securely tucked in. “Well. Why not?” Frau Hermann extended the letter. The penmanship was elegant and formal. It fit her. Jenny tucked the letter into her bag.

“Didn’t anyone go looking for them?”

“You are curious about this story?”

“I just never knew anyone who disappeared before.”

Frau Hermann was looking at Jenny thoughtfully, the way a therapist might. “Come visit me again tomorrow and I will tell you more.”

Jenny felt a twinge in her belly. This was how it happened—you gave a lonely old woman half an opening and then you were committed to coming by and listening to her stories.

At the door, Frau Hermann thanked Jenny for mailing her letter. “They say the Bridegroom’s Oak is not really magic, but . . .” She tried for a smile that seemed like its own shrug. “I remain hopeful.”

Adapted from Under the Same Stars by Libba Bray, published by Farrar, Straus and Giroux (BYR). Copyright © 2025 by Martha E. Bray. Reprinted courtesy of Macmillan Children's Publishing Group.