''The Sirens'' by the New York Times bestselling author Emilia Hart is our "GMA" Book Club pick for April.
Like her debut novel, ''Weyward,'' this story explores the strength of women -- this time through the mysteries of the sea.
'Count My Lies' by Sophie Stava is our 'GMA' Book Club pick for MarchSpanning three timelines, ''The Sirens'' follows:
"A breathtaking tale of female resilience and the bonds of sisterhood across time and space, 'The Sirens' captures the power of dreams, and the mystery and magic of the sea," the book's synopsis states.
Read an excerpt below and get a copy of the book here.
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This month, we are also teaming up with Little Free Library to give out free copies in Times Square and at 150 locations across the U.S. and Canada. Since 2009, more than 300 million books have been shared in Little Free Libraries across the world. Click here to find a copy of ''The Sirens'' at a Little Free Library location near you.
Read along with us and join the conversation all month on our Instagram account, @GMABookClub, and with #GMABookClub.
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The drive into Comber Bay is tinted green by gum trees that swoop low and close over the road. She winds the window down and breathes in the rich air: the tang of eucalypt, the heady sweetness of wattle.
Cicadas hum, and she catches the throaty music of a magpie's call, the familiar sounds reassuring.
She's almost forgotten she's near the coast until the bush falls away on one side and the bay comes into view, stopping Lucy's heart in her chest.
She checks her rearview mirror before slowing down to get a better look. It's breathtaking: a green tangle of scrub, brightened by red flashes of banksia, gives way to the sandstone haunch of the cliff.
And then the sea, bright and unreal as a painting. She's never seen so many shades of blue: gleaming turquoise near the breakers; further out, a blue so dark it's almost black.
Lucy shivers, thinking of the world beneath the spangled waves. The coastline curves around, so that she can see the cliffs on the other side of the bay, honeycombed with caves.
Devil's Lookout. It's the same view she's seen already, on Jess's postcard, but the photographer hadn't quite captured the eeriness of the cliff face.
In person, the caves look deeper and darker; one in particular, closest to the waterline, is large enough that she can almost imagine a demon lurking there, surveying the sea below.
A prickle starts at the base of Lucy's spine. Maybe it's the knowledge of what the water would do to her skin.
She imagines the waves lapping at her like tongues, stripping her of flesh until she is nothing but bone, gleaming white.
The other women's voices seemed to Mary one awful, endless sound, like a creature had stowed away with them in the hold.
The moans and cries and whimpers melted together, pulsing with the waves.
Everything was louder in the dark.
How she hated it, this blackness.
When the night was at its deepest -- when no light shone through the cracks between the floorboards above -- she no longer knew where her body ended and the darkness began.
Sometimes, she was grateful for the cramping hunger in her belly, the rawness of her skin. It reassured her that she still existed.
It was Eliza who taught her how to tell the women apart, how to navigate this world of dank wood against her body, of creaking ropes and sloshing bilges.
"You must learn their voices," she whispered, lacing her cold fingers through Mary's. "Each has a difference, a tell. Start with those in the berth above us."
Mary listened, and realized Eliza was right. Slowly, different voices emerged, like a river splitting itself into smaller streams.
"That is Bridie," Eliza whispered, as a woman laughed when the ship pitched, upending the slop buckets. "I think she must be very beautiful. That laugh -- rich as the pouring of ale into a glass."
Mary recognized the laugh, realized that she'd noticed its owner before: had seen the fingers of light pick out the fire of her hair, the milky curve of a cheek.
"Yes," she told Eliza, squeezing her hand. "She has red hair; I have seen it."
Together, the sisters listened, learning the rhythm of each woman's voice. For the first time, Mary noticed what Eliza must have always known, that a voice had valleys and crags, telling you of sadness or delight.
You could almost feel it under your fingers, like it was land.
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From "The Sirens" by Emilia Hart. Copyright © 2025 by the author and reprinted by permission of St. Martin's Publishing Group.
