William March's Company K is one of the original World War I accounts; published in 1933, it tells the story of the war from the viewpoint of all 113 men in Company K. And while Company K is fictional, the author March (a pen name for William Edward Campbell), served heroically in the war, earning such such distinctions as the Croix de Guerre, the Distinguished Service Cross, and the Navy Cross. From the writing, there can be no doubt that March has been on intimate terms with the war, as well as how it feels to return from the fighting.
Unlike such classics as All Quiet on the Western Front or Over the Top where a single perspective dominates, the story here is entirely balanced; some men recount their piece in a few pages, others in only two or three paragraphs, all woven together in a single narrative. The result is that the reader doesn't have an opportunity to know any man individually, to feel any great attachment to him, to think of him as anything other than one more cog in the great wheel of war. The war, then, dominates, becoming the main actor - the mud, the blood, the misery. The effect is altogether powerful - and powerfully disconcerting.
Because of the style and organization of Company K, I found it interesting. Somehow, even though the subject matter is dark and heavy, the style was so refreshing that it felt like a "break" from so many of the incredibly long (and also war focused) books I've completed recently, from Shogun to North and South.
World War I buffs would have the greatest interest in this book, along with those who are looking for something different, or something from another era.
Monday, October 30, 2017
Thursday, October 26, 2017
American Lightning: Terror, Mystery, and the Birth of Hollywood
In 1910, 21 people died when The Los Angeles Times was bombed. Other bombs planted around the city failed to explode. Eager, desperate even, to solve the "crime of the century," the city of Los Angeles hired private detective Billy Burns - himself the Sherlock Holmes of his day - to investigate. Billy finds his man, or men as the case may be, and then finds himself entangled in the shenanigans of Clarence Darrow, who has been hired to defend the bombers. All the while, both Burns and Darrow find their tactics being increasingly influenced by the nascent movie industry, particularly the work of D.W. Griffith who is in the process of creating Hollywood as we know it today.
All of this Howard Blum ties together brilliantly, in a face-paced, action-packed 300 pages that I could not read fast enough. Very quickly, Blum brings to life the people and events of 100 years ago, from Mary Pickford's pique at Griffith to LA Mayor George Alexander's underhanded deal to bring water to the city - and a profit to himself. In a day and age when the new cycle seldom lasts an afternoon, it's difficult to appreciate the way in which the bombing and subsequent trial dominated headlines. (In this way, I was reminded of the SS Eastland and other similar headline-dominating horrors, now long forgotten.)
Ultimately, Blum's work is the simultaneous telling of the creation of Hollywood and the early twentieth century battle between capitalism and labor. The way in which he connects these is fascinating; there's something here for everyone, from mystery and suspense to social commentary to film buffs, and I have no qualms about recommending it widely.
Four stars.
All of this Howard Blum ties together brilliantly, in a face-paced, action-packed 300 pages that I could not read fast enough. Very quickly, Blum brings to life the people and events of 100 years ago, from Mary Pickford's pique at Griffith to LA Mayor George Alexander's underhanded deal to bring water to the city - and a profit to himself. In a day and age when the new cycle seldom lasts an afternoon, it's difficult to appreciate the way in which the bombing and subsequent trial dominated headlines. (In this way, I was reminded of the SS Eastland and other similar headline-dominating horrors, now long forgotten.)
Ultimately, Blum's work is the simultaneous telling of the creation of Hollywood and the early twentieth century battle between capitalism and labor. The way in which he connects these is fascinating; there's something here for everyone, from mystery and suspense to social commentary to film buffs, and I have no qualms about recommending it widely.
Four stars.
Thursday, October 19, 2017
North and South
North and South is the first in John Jakes's Civil War trilogy by the same name. The book chronicles the forging of the bond between the Yankee Hazards and the Southern Mains, two family of long lineage and impressive wealth who are brought together by the sons' enrollment at West Point in the late (18)30's. Orry Main and George Hazard become best friends at West Point and then comrades-in-arms in Mexico before returning to civilian life, George to run his family's ironworks, and Orry to manage the family's low country rice plantation. As the country heads toward civil war, the men work to maintain an ever-deepening and evermore complicated friendship.
Over some 800 pages, Jakes tells the story not only of the Main and Hazard families, but of a country slowly heading to war with itself. From the Republic of Texas to the California Goldrush, the political fights in Washington, and the John Brown's failure at Harper's Ferry, North and South is full of the zeitgeist of the antebellum period. The characters he creates are rich, and varied. There are plenty of villains, but also quiet heroes, and all of them fit seamlessly into place with the real people who lived and breathed at the time.
My only complaint is a general one: trilogies, and certainly the good ones, (whether the Shaara father and son Civil War trilogy Gods and Generals, The Killer Angels, and The Last Full Measure, or Gwen Bristow's Plantation trilogy) require such a commitment. I've already begun the middle book, Love and War, which weighs in at a whopping 1100 pages. When will I ever read anything else again??
Over some 800 pages, Jakes tells the story not only of the Main and Hazard families, but of a country slowly heading to war with itself. From the Republic of Texas to the California Goldrush, the political fights in Washington, and the John Brown's failure at Harper's Ferry, North and South is full of the zeitgeist of the antebellum period. The characters he creates are rich, and varied. There are plenty of villains, but also quiet heroes, and all of them fit seamlessly into place with the real people who lived and breathed at the time.
My only complaint is a general one: trilogies, and certainly the good ones, (whether the Shaara father and son Civil War trilogy Gods and Generals, The Killer Angels, and The Last Full Measure, or Gwen Bristow's Plantation trilogy) require such a commitment. I've already begun the middle book, Love and War, which weighs in at a whopping 1100 pages. When will I ever read anything else again??
Friday, October 13, 2017
The Widow's War
The Widow's War has been on my reading list since a librarian recommended it to me last fall. Given the title, it shouldn't spoil the story to say the main character, Lyddie, is a widow, made that way by whaling. Knowing that, I expected something along the lines of Ahab's Wife or even Hetty Green. But while whaling is certainly central to the story, The Widow's War is more more focused on women's rights in Colonial America than on the principal way by which the male population of Cape Cod makes its living. In that sense, its heroine has much in common with those of They Fought Like Demons (real heroines) and One Thousand White Women (imagined), for Lyddie yearns only to know freedom in all of its forms.
Edward Berry was a whaler, his wife long accustomed to managing in his absence. It comes as a shock, then, that his will renders her a ward of her son-in-law. Edward's death sets the stage for Lyddie's war. It is a war that will pit her against family, friends, and church, for her desire to direct her own life is so counter to the times as to estrange her from everything and everyone she once held dear.
Sally Cabot Gunning has endowed Lyddie with an endearing, determined nature, couple with a stubborn streak a mile wide. I couldn't help but alternately cheer for Lyddie and be utterly exasperated by her choices. Like a real flesh and blood human, Lyddie is complex, equal parts sympathetic and obnoxious. This, too, rings true.
In the end, if I did not love The Widow's War, I liked it very much and have no qualms about recommending it to avid readers of historical fiction. Those with a penchant for colonial-era literature should particularly enjoy it.
Edward Berry was a whaler, his wife long accustomed to managing in his absence. It comes as a shock, then, that his will renders her a ward of her son-in-law. Edward's death sets the stage for Lyddie's war. It is a war that will pit her against family, friends, and church, for her desire to direct her own life is so counter to the times as to estrange her from everything and everyone she once held dear.
Sally Cabot Gunning has endowed Lyddie with an endearing, determined nature, couple with a stubborn streak a mile wide. I couldn't help but alternately cheer for Lyddie and be utterly exasperated by her choices. Like a real flesh and blood human, Lyddie is complex, equal parts sympathetic and obnoxious. This, too, rings true.
In the end, if I did not love The Widow's War, I liked it very much and have no qualms about recommending it to avid readers of historical fiction. Those with a penchant for colonial-era literature should particularly enjoy it.
Monday, October 9, 2017
Luncheon of the Boating Party
I blame Shogun.
Luncheon of the Boating Party isn't bad, it just pales in comparison to Shogun, which leaves Susan Vreeland's work seeming a bit washed out. I'm getting ahead of myself, though. Luncheon of the Boating Party is the story of Renoir's painting by the same name, created in 1881, just as France was recovering its composure from the Franco-Prussian war, which would of course set the stage for World War I, but that's another story. Vreeland has taken pains to recreate the circumstances under which Renoir's masterpiece was painted, carefully considering the zeitgeist, as well as the individual models. The models ranged from upper-crust Charles Ephussi to Angele, a sometimes-streetwalker in Montmartre, to say nothing of Aline, who will many years hence become Madame Renoir, and Alphonsine, for whom Renoir's affection is apparent, until she is upstaged by Aline. As the French might say: ouf!
Vreeland has chosen to narrate her work in the voices of Renoir and seven of the models. Although this style can work well, in this case the story felt choppy, leaving gaps here and there. The effect was heightened by the fact that, while the perspective changed, the narrative voice seldom did, such that all of the characters seemed to act and feel alike. Both the characters and the era seemed to me to receive short shrift, although here I am especially cognizant of the fact that, consciously or otherwise, I am comparing them to Shogun, which is more than a little unjust. A more legitimate complaint, I'm certain, is the occasional usage of French, which frequently feels clumsy, interspersed as it is with English in a single phrase, for example the word "two" appearing in English, but the rest in French. I found this both confusing and distracting.
In the sense that Vreeland has imagined the thoughts and feelings of the models as well as Renoir, Luncheon of the Boating Party reminds me of A Piece of the World. In writing the latter, Christina Baker Kline has the advantage or imaging only one model, not the dozen-plus Vreeland faced; perhaps for this reason, Kline was able to create a depth of character that is lacking in Luncheon of the Boating Party.
So what's the final verdict? Those who love Renoir, or perhaps even Impressionism more generally, will enjoy learning more about the backstory of one his iconic works. It is certainly many measure above The Painted Girls, which belongs to the same genre of creating the backstory for a painting (in this case, Little Dancer Aged Fourteen). I preferred Luncheon of the Boating Party so much that I couldn't help but be that much more cognizant of my own present shortcomings here, in comparing Luncheon with the completed dissimilar Shogun. Alas.
Luncheon of the Boating Party isn't bad, it just pales in comparison to Shogun, which leaves Susan Vreeland's work seeming a bit washed out. I'm getting ahead of myself, though. Luncheon of the Boating Party is the story of Renoir's painting by the same name, created in 1881, just as France was recovering its composure from the Franco-Prussian war, which would of course set the stage for World War I, but that's another story. Vreeland has taken pains to recreate the circumstances under which Renoir's masterpiece was painted, carefully considering the zeitgeist, as well as the individual models. The models ranged from upper-crust Charles Ephussi to Angele, a sometimes-streetwalker in Montmartre, to say nothing of Aline, who will many years hence become Madame Renoir, and Alphonsine, for whom Renoir's affection is apparent, until she is upstaged by Aline. As the French might say: ouf!
Vreeland has chosen to narrate her work in the voices of Renoir and seven of the models. Although this style can work well, in this case the story felt choppy, leaving gaps here and there. The effect was heightened by the fact that, while the perspective changed, the narrative voice seldom did, such that all of the characters seemed to act and feel alike. Both the characters and the era seemed to me to receive short shrift, although here I am especially cognizant of the fact that, consciously or otherwise, I am comparing them to Shogun, which is more than a little unjust. A more legitimate complaint, I'm certain, is the occasional usage of French, which frequently feels clumsy, interspersed as it is with English in a single phrase, for example the word "two" appearing in English, but the rest in French. I found this both confusing and distracting.
In the sense that Vreeland has imagined the thoughts and feelings of the models as well as Renoir, Luncheon of the Boating Party reminds me of A Piece of the World. In writing the latter, Christina Baker Kline has the advantage or imaging only one model, not the dozen-plus Vreeland faced; perhaps for this reason, Kline was able to create a depth of character that is lacking in Luncheon of the Boating Party.
So what's the final verdict? Those who love Renoir, or perhaps even Impressionism more generally, will enjoy learning more about the backstory of one his iconic works. It is certainly many measure above The Painted Girls, which belongs to the same genre of creating the backstory for a painting (in this case, Little Dancer Aged Fourteen). I preferred Luncheon of the Boating Party so much that I couldn't help but be that much more cognizant of my own present shortcomings here, in comparing Luncheon with the completed dissimilar Shogun. Alas.
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