Book 19: The Professor and the Madman

The Professor and the Madman: A Tale of Murder, Insanity, and the Making of the Oxford English Dictionary

Simon Winchester

I've been enthralled by the idea of the Oxford English Dictionary since I first encountered it in an undergraduate course about the history of the English language, and I figured that Winchester's account of two of its pivotal figures would be a nice way to learn a bit more about its remarkable history. While Winchester avoids the pitfalls that plague dry historical nonfiction (of both the popular and more academic varieties), The Professor and the Madman swings a bit too far in the other direction, coming across as impossibly disorganized despite its obviously good intentions and its ostensible focus on the quintessentially Victorian impulse to categorize (and thus make sense of) the world. The author's effort to interweave stories about editor extraordinaire James Murray, institutionalized power contributor William C. Minor, and the dictionary itself is a noble one, but the book and its readers become repeatedly lost in a seemingly endless stream of internal and external distractions.

Winchester seems to be an inherently capable writer, sticking to accessible (but refreshingly not condescending) prose even when halfheartedly posing existential questions and resorting to misplaced melodrama. It is, rather, the book's fundamental narrative incoherence that makes for a difficult and dissatisfying reading experience. Rambling asides range from obviously relevant and enlightening (the history of English-language dictionaries) to tangential, but potentially interesting (the history of schizophrenia as a psychological diagnosis) and, unfortunately, incidental and unnecessary (Irish participation in the American Civil War and possible post-Emancipation disillusionment with the Cause). Together, these diversions seem intended to pad an already slim volume instead of enhancing the story or providing meaningful historical context. Combined with a narrative structure that is fragmented at best and baffling grammatical errors as simple as mid-paragraph tense changes that render the surrounding text nearly incomprehensible, they contribute to the book's pervading sense of sloppiness.

The problems proliferate in the plot, such as it is. The book opens, predictably but reasonably enough, with a compelling anecdote that the surrounding stories can build up to and upon, but Winchester relates the same incident almost verbatim in a later chapter, only to immediately discredit it in favor of a more historically accurate version of events. I found the effect to be uncharacteristically condescending and almost infuriating in its pretension; moreover, why waste readers' time? The book shifts incessantly backward and forward in time and between plots concerning Murray, Minor, supporting characters (some of whom clearly don't deserve as much attention as they receive), and the dictionary itself, to the point where it has more conflicting and overlapping timelines than many time-travel stories I've encountered. I certainly don't believe that it is necessarily imperative to present a historically minded narrative in strictly chronological order, but the constant whiplash makes crucial cause-and-effect relationships and historical context nearly impossible to construct, understand, or follow: the book becomes a kind of postmodern jumble, isolated from meaning.

Winchester clearly has some good instincts, and it is possible to imagine the foundations of an intriguing historical tale herein, as haphazard as the book can seem. The deployment of well-chosen, straight-outta-OED definitions as the front matter for each individual chapter is effective and charming, and those portions of the book that do concentrate on coherent narratives are usually interesting and often well-told, at least until they inevitably veer into tangential territory. Both Minor and the dictionary itself prove to be compelling in their own right, and Murray provides a nice and necessary link between them. As Winchester's occasional existential, yet shallow, digressions prove, Minor's story is rife with opportunities to consider some very interesting existential questions, such as the morality of celebrating unmistakably positive events that occurred only because of a senseless murder. But the book, as it stands, is unforgivably clumsy and ultimately unrewarding, down to the marooned illustrations that the author and designer don't bother to caption or otherwise explain. Despite an interesting premise with plenty of potential, The Professor and the Madman instead conjures an ironic kind of chaos out of a story that is inescapably immersed in the history of efforts to codify and organize the world.

Grade: C

Book 16: Rally 'Round the Flag

Rally 'Round the Flag: Chicago and the Civil War

Theodore J. Karamanski

Though it has recently become apparent that I will soon be leaving my recently adopted town, I still feel a strong connection to Chicago and its history. After attending a library-sponsored event about Camp Douglas and realizing that I should keep up on my American history, I picked up Rally 'Round the Flag. All told, I wasn't really disappointed, which is kind of an endorsement. Though the book does have some fundamental flaws (alas), it doesn't fall prey to many of the pitfalls of that particular brand of nonfiction that aims academic inquiries toward the general public. What author Theodore J. Karamanski does is make the war era accessible, conjuring the muddy streets of Chicago and its people despite focusing on a few standout themes and individuals. Though he spends quite a bit of time focusing (probably unnecessarily so) on the Republican Party convention of 1860 and the kind of favors and bargaining that drove mid-century, he manages to do so in a way that is interesting and more or less understandable to the uninitiated. Throughout the book, Karamanski's descriptions of war-era Chicago are vivid and accessible, and he is always careful to attempt to place the people and events of his narrative in their proper historical context.

It is a shame, then, that Karamanski allows the book's thematic organization to overshadow some of the narrative threads he so carefully develops. The book is littered with non-sequiturs occurring both after and without section breaks; whether the printers simply missed a few page-ending breaks is unknown, but as a result the book often becomes choppy and confusing. Its most egregious error comes at the end of the Camp Douglas chapter, where Karamanski builds suspense (yes, nonfiction historical accounts can thrive on suspense (and the good ones often do!)) only to dissipate it by shifting abruptly away into another chapter. His thematic organization is a great idea given his general audience and does follow a general timeline that serves his story, but here he strangely adheres to chronology where he could have continued the story within the chapter or moved the chapter entirely- after all, it and the opening installment are the pieces that stand strongest on their own. Nonetheless, Karamanski is an academic who is refreshingly aware of his audience without condescending to him, and his history is explanatory without being condescending. If even I am on board with the descriptions of economic affairs, you know the author is doing something right. All told, Rally 'Round the Flag is, apart from a few non-sequiturs, a well-researched and engaging history of one of the country's fastest-emerging cities during its most troubling times.

Grade: B+

Book 9: Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter

Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter
Seth Grahame-Smith

This is a book where you know you're getting exactly what's on the box: Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter takes the standard biography of Abraham Lincoln and inserts the unholy undead. It's a clever- and fun- conceit, one that is both the book's greatest asset (somewhat obviously, perhaps) and its largest liability. The promise seems great at first, with a present-day introduction ripped straight out of Hawthorne and a sly twist on Lincoln's early biography that sets up the main idea of the narrative. Unfortunately, however, that twist- namely, and this will surprise no one, that vampires are real- becomes the novel's only surprise, and every insertion of vampires into the standard lore surrounding Lincoln's life weakens the novel considerably. By the time the fourth or fifth Great Crisis has been re-attributed to vampires, readers can be forgiven for thinking the author rather more lazy than creative; sure, the idea of re-crafting one of our finest leaders into a menace to the undead is creative, but simply adding vampires where it is convenient is not. Why vampires? What does this say about our re-fashioned Honest Abe? I hardly expected the book to be a pinnacle of insightful literature, but without even an attempt at these deeper questions of meaning, the book's conceit quickly becomes tiresome, even as the tension increases and the nation plunges ahead toward Civil War. It's not like Grahame-Smith was unaware of the promising ambiguities littered throughout the text; indeed, he even attempts to introduce such moral grappling into his text as different vampires choose sides and begin to spar. Instead of exploring the moral questions raised by this development, which have implications that impact the novel to its very final line, Grahame-Smith seems content to rest on his laurels, which are trifling indeed. His complacency turns a novel from a seemingly slam-dunk romp into a tedious recapitulation of well-trod history. With vampires.

Yet even when he adds vampires in ways more intriguing than "this pivotal death in Lincoln's life was a result of vampire poisoning," Grahame-Smith can't quite pull it all together. I applaud the attempt to weave vampires' unquestioned evils with those of the South, but simply stating a proposition does not a case make. There is so much more that can be done with this premise, and while I understand that the book is meant to be just surface fun, its flippant ability to raise intriguing propositions while instantly proceeding to ignore- or even outright undermine- them is downright maddening. The book so frequently shows potential, only to ignore it for easy laughs that simply stop coming after the first 50 pages or so. That the author does not seem entirely bereft of talent only makes things worse. His grasp on straight-up horror writing is firm, and some scenes are truly chilling, particularly when juxtaposed with what seems at first a silly premise and with hilariously altered photographs and other illustrations. I may question, and be subsequently annoyed by, the choice to refer to Lincoln as a folksy "Abe" throughout the entire narrative, but it does effectively render the famous President far more accessible than more formal histories might. Likewise, a clever usage of dreams is effective, but as similarly over-used, overwrought, and worn as the remainder of the novel's greatest tricks; it's great the first time, but any subsequent reappearances should have been consigned to the cutting-room coffin. Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter is not meant to be a serious novel, but its intimations of serious implications raise expectations that simply aren't met; the book is fun for a while, but the charm wears off, and instead it is a clever, but ultimately futile, endeavor, exactly what one would expect from the box.

Grade: B-

Book 39: The Last Full Measure

The Last Full Measure
Jeff Shaara

From Gettysburg to Appomattox (and a slight ways beyond), thus concludes the Shaaras' Civil War trilogy, and the younger of the pair has penned a fitting conclusion, though overshadowed by its predecessor. Because, by now, the general idea of the series is familiar, and because the book follows successfully enough the example of its predecessors, there is little to add. This particular installment of the series displays many of the problems evinced in its opener; that is, the timeline is unevenly spaced and occasionally poorly marked, with the additional frustration of misplaced maps appearing far before, or slightly after, their optimal position with regard to the text. This can make everything a bit confusing for non-Civil War aficionados, but the in-depth portraiture continues throughout the novel, and Shaara truly excels when channeling the emotions of Robert E. Lee as his army inevitably embarks on a disastrous final cat-and-mouse chase across central Virginia. This is some of the most effective, riveting, and moving characterization in a series who takes personalization as its, well, point, and because of this the novel is one of the most effective looks at the final excruciating days of an excruciating conflict. That said, however, there are some grammatical quirks that mar Shaara's emotional achievements. His over-use of ellipses is only rarely effective and more often simply becomes…stunting, as does the unfortunate application of "gotcha" gimmicks (on the day of his death, Lincoln makes a point of telling Grant he's going to the theater- cute, but poorly executed). The deliberation this evokes is even more striking in contrast to the author's near-religious avoidance of the use of "and" when describing several actions undertaken by a person. The effect can cause the action to become unnecessarily jumbled and, at its worst, makes the writer seem inexperienced and can dull the reader's ability to clearly picture what is taking place. This, then, is the embodiment of the crucial contradiction within the series: while it so clearly portrays character and emotion, it still must rely on action, and Jeff Shaara's contributions miss some crucial pacing both within the technical aspects of the prose and across the larger movements of the army. Regardless, however, the Shaaras' Civil War series is a remarkable achievement, and in both its strengths and its flaws, The Last Full Measure creates a fitting conclusion and solidifies the books as an important tribute to those who witnessed the horrors of the nation's worst days.

Grade: A-

Book 38: The Killer Angels

The Killer Angels
Michael Shaara

This book is the second installment of the Shaaras' Civil War trilogy but, though it covers the pivotal events at Gettysburg in July 1863, it was actually the first to be written. And, though Shaara's son Jeff pulls the trick off admirably in his own work, The Killer Angels does an impeccable job of getting to the hearts- and souls- of leaders both in blue and in gray. Even readers with little previous knowledge of the battle itself or even of military strategy can jump directly into the heart of the action, and despite the meticulous research that makes the book so plausibly realistic, it is immediately accessible. Accented with the occasional map, the narrative clearly traces both larger strategies, primarily through the eyes of Robert E. Lee, and the terrors of direct combat. Indeed, though it is truly moving to sense Lee's achingly portrayed heartbreak, the most emotionally riveting scenes belong to corporal Joshua Chamberlain on the Union's extreme left flank, who experienced the horrors of war firsthand. Shaara has taken events that are seared in to the popular American memory and has thoroughly reinvigorated them, and while the book is certainly a novel and contains some speculation, it presents a readable history that reminds us that history is not the work of predestined events but, rather, reflects the outcomes of an impossibly tangled web of human actions. The prose reads nearly flawlessly, completely subservient to its narrative, a technique particularly apt for this story, the scene is set with crystal clarity, and the characterization is believable, consistent, and sympathetic. Beautiful and moving, The Killer Angels is a powerful testament to the humanity of history.

Grade: A

Book 37: Gods and Generals

Gods and Generals
Jeff Shaara

This is the book that made Jeff Shaara famous, a chronologically-minded prequel to his father's famous intricate look at the Battle of Gettysburg, and though it has some missteps, it is easy to see why the Shaaras are many historians' dirty little fiction secret. To start, however, this is not a book for those uninitiated to the events of the Civil War; indeed, for readers new to the conflict, a primer is almost certainly necessary to make any sense out of the jumbled events at hand; this confusion, however, is also one of Shaara's greatest strengths, as Gods and Generals provides a personal, close view of pivotal figures in the Virginia campaigns leading up to Gettysburg. That the action can sometimes become a bit frantic reflects not a fault of the author, but rather his ability to bring the fight down to the individual level, focusing on the commanders at the thick of the action, placing words in their mouths and thoughts in their heads until they become as real as any fully-fictional character. The approach may seem a bit disingenuous, as it sticks as closely to the facts as possible, but overall it makes the somewhat abstract concepts of old-timey warfare a bit more palatable for modern readers more used to, say, bombing raids than the antics of Jeb Stuart's cavalry. Shaara concocts an interesting mix of strategic scheming, hard-fought battle scenes, and introspection, and keeps the plot moving even as the armies aren't; strangely enough, some of the most interesting scenes in the novel take place away from the battlefield, while the author slowly probes the minds of American history's eminent figures.

While Shaara's talent and approach are no doubt commendable, the novel does suffer some hang-ups. It is often difficult to tell what, precisely, is happening at a given moment, and though this may accurately reflect some of the fog of war, readers can become confused and may benefit from a handy reference volume. Additionally, Shaara can occasionally become hampered by the actual flow of the real events he represents in his novel, and his cast of main characters feels uneven as he focuses on Lee and Jackson, the South's brightest lights, and resigns himself to less important Northern counterparts. It is not so much that the book biases itself toward the South, though Shaara's opinions about the highest echelons of Northern generalship are strongly and repeatedly stated, but rather that the preface sets up a more balanced vision of the conflict, one that is not matched by the contents therein. Perhaps the author's greatest accomplishment is to so deeply humanize each and every one of his characters that battles seem almost incidental to the grander narrative of the book; and, like the faults of the book's triumphant realism, this grand achievement also ultimately hampers the work by focusing exclusively on those in command. Even the great and terrifying battle scenes are relayed, with a few excellently executed exceptions, by those removed from command, and though readers are up close and personal with the war, they are safely shielded from battle, making the book seem unfocused and choppy. Shaara's depictions of Joshua Chamberlain's exploits at Fredericksburg showcase his undeniable talent for relaying the terror of battle, and his prowess at psychological profiling, but ultimately the book rings a bit hollow. Gods and Generals is satisfying and a very competent personalization of the Civil War, but it does not consistently reach beyond the grasp of cold fact that can, at times, dampen its effects.

Grade: B+

Book 36: Battle Cry of Freedom

Battle Cry of Freedom: The Civil War Era
James McPherson

The task of writing a one-volume history of what is almost certainly the most talked about period in United States history can't be a particularly enviable task, and to do so without being rigidly polemic, insufferably academic, or unremittingly dense seems nearly impossible. James McPherson's Battle Cry of Freedom defies all of the odds and presents a readable, informative, and comprehensive tome that manages to remain interesting and accessible despite retaining an extremely high educational value. Perhaps the best and, sadly, most distinguishing feature of the book is McPherson's reluctance to use it as a self-aggrandizing platform or a sharpening block for any particular axe; though he obviously advocates slavery as the leading cause of the conflict and takes other critical liberties throughout the text, he does not allow a particular thesis to dominate his work. Moreover, the author is keenly aware of his purpose, and makes a special point of noting where numbers are estimates and, much more vitally, where scholarly opinion differs upon a particular point. This book is very much in conversation with the long and contentious, varied histories of the Civil War in its many aspects, and as a standalone, introductory volume this self-awareness raises it to heights of great achievement.

Nor is the text boring, or the prose labored; indeed, I had nearly given up hope on decently written intellectual books, but McPherson balances his intricate knowledge of the topic with a view of the larger picture. Though the narrative thread can become admittedly knotty at times, particularly in discussions of mid-century politics (yikes!), that is more an inevitable facet of the historical period than a fault of the author, and McPherson does an admirable job making a party system that continues to baffle bonafide historians almost understandable to the layman. Strictly military folks may be disappointed in the book's lengthy focus on the build-up to the war, as may those new to the complicated politics of the antebellum era; though it takes up a healthy portion of the book it still feels abbreviated, and McPherson would have done well to include more concrete explanations of, say, the provisions within the Compromise of 1850 rather than resting so heavily on tangled, incomprehensible implications. And while McPherson does a brilliant job adding chapters examining developments and effects on the respective home fronts during the actual war, these occasionally break up the narrative and the effect is not quite as seamless as one could hope. For what it is, however, this history is incredibly well-executed, a historical overview of a complex, overwhelmingly studied, and vital period of United States history, perhaps its most important test other than the initial push for independence. In Battle Cry of Freedom, James McPherson has created an ideal one-volume history for academic and more casual readers alike; though it necessarily has its flaws, the book deservedly takes its place as the go-to single volume history of the Civil War.

Grade: A

Book 6: If the South Had Won the Civil War

If the South Had Won the Civil War
MacKinlay Kantor

The alternate history genre that arises from the everlasting intrigue of "what if" is, really, inherent throughout all manner of fictional stories, from those that project a certain understanding onto the otherwise "real" world to the tales of galaxies far, far away from our own. If the South Had Won the Civil War is, however, an example in the vein one would expect from the genre, as amply evidenced in its title. If ever it is appropriate to judge a book not by its cover but from its title alone, MacKinley Kantor's effort is the epitome of such easily-judged literature. With a point of departure originating from the game-changing Union victories at Vicksburg and Gettysburg in July 1863, the book traces the brief continuation of the war and its aftermath until the time of publication, 1961. While there is nothing particularly shocking about the book, as it seems to exist primarily as a series of interesting postulations rather than as an exploration of Kantor's own reality, it is clearly well-thought out and dressed wonderfully.

That the book is engaging at all speaks to its wonderful engagement with its central conceit, and those times when the book goes a bit off script are jarring but in the amusing, overly explained way peculiar to alternate history. Posed as a brief centennial history written in 1961 (a nod to Kantor's own publication date), the book is complete with occasional invented footnotes and little details that flesh out its reality and at its best when subtly dropping sly hints to its core audience of Civil War aficionados. Unfortunately, the book does include the familiar, stereotypical traps of the genre, and while the posing of historical immutability at its introduction successfully and immediately lures readers with its camouflaged irony, the author offers numerous asides to the audience that do not play nearly as well. These nods to the narrator's own "what if" scenarios are few enough in number to be more annoying than actually troublesome, though they temporarily pull readers out of the narrative context and are particularly aggravating for readers who are less familiar with the original history's own particulars.

In Kantor's case, these winks tend to err on the side of tolerability because his knowledge of history is obvious through his meticulous concern to detail. The book is small but possesses a remarkable depth for those who have the background to recognize the many changed details within the book that characterize its wartime segment. Indeed, these are so numerous and trifling that readers less versed in the storied history of the 1860s may feel at times hard-pressed to continue amid the barrage of minor details that seems to reinforce such reader's claims of ignorance. Regardless, the general sketch of events hangs together well enough that the most meticulous portions of the book are worth its post-war vision of a tri-partite North America. It is here most obvious that Kantor has given his scenario a good deal of serious thought, despite a bizarre, wholly unlikely treatment of Lincoln's death. The post-war implications for racial segregation are briefly explained but not dodged, and indeed there are some sentences that seem to originate from a later sensibility than that of 1961 (I had to double-check the publication date after reading what I believed to be a sarcastic reference to presidential resignations), as well as the expected (but intelligently done) cameo appearance of the real-world Cold War. Despite a somewhat pedantic ending, the book satisfies with its enthusiasm and consistency. If the South Had Won the Civil War is a surprisingly rich novella, with bountiful rewards for knowledgeable readers on the subject and enough verve to sustain the merely curious.

Grade: A-

Book 36: Cloudsplitter

Cloudsplitter
Russell Banks

It would perhaps take only a novel of epic proportions to even attempt to do justice to John Brown, a central figure in the American pantheon, for better or for worse. Banks does justice to the great anti-slavery martyr and, more importantly, brings him into vivid historical context by rendering his tale through the eyes of his loyal son Owen. Though the novel is a fictionalized account of Brown's life, it is obvious that Cloudsplitter is meticulously researched and Owen's voice sounds roughly appropriate for its own time and place around the turn of the century. Though Banks often references events that are yet to occur, mentioning Kansas as early as the first couple of chapters, any reader brave enough to tackle this book is likely to have a fairly good background in the general history of events. Banks's assumptions regarding his audience's familiarity with the pre-Civil War history of the abolitionist movement are a little too optimistic at times, but those times when he has Owen briefly explain background are seamlessly blended into the narrative as a whole, due often to its existence as a prolonged epistle to a historian and his assistant. Cloudsplitter is nothing if not epic in scale and thematic ambition, and though it can become a bit too grandiose for its own good, it is an interesting and vivid portrait of the anti-slavery crusade that is often forgotten and ignored in the shadow of Lincoln and the Union's victory in the Civil War. It is vitally important, and never forgotten in the novel, that John Brown was opposed to the United States government and had complete skepticism regarding his fellow whites and their willingness to go to war over the fate of what most saw as a lesser form of humanity. Banks excells when describing this viewpoint, conscious of modern readers and our own prolonged struggle with racial inequality while creating a narrator whose own feelings about slavery and race seem entirely genuine and appropriate given his upbringing.

Owen, closest son to John Brown and a perfectly placed narrator, is not without his flaws, however. The opening pages of Cloudsplitter are boring and elusive, taking too long to jump into the engaging story at the heart of the novel. The least interesting sections of Cloudsplitter are those when Owen descends into a whiny, pathetic mess; appropriate, perhaps, given the trauma he has had in his life (he was present in Kansas and Harper's Ferry and must live with his actions), but still unhelpful to the novel as a whole. These sections, while they seem to validate the narrative by remembering its existence as an epistolary memoir, are unconnected to the whole and often break up incredibly interesting points of the plot. Just as the narrative is reaching its dramatic, present-tense climax at Harper's Ferry, Banks draws back and Owen retreats into his present, jaded, and most uninteresting state. When the narrative finally picks back up, there are only a few pages left in the book and they fall back into the past tense. Banks is on to something with his use of the present to solidify Owen's own journey through his memories, a journey marked by his occasional lapses into the time of writing and one that is, sadly, only a shadow of what it could have been. In this case, it is merely a distraction and disrupts the otherwise intense climax, leaving the novel to finish not with a bang but with a whimper as it meanders off into the pointlessness and inconclusiveness of its final paragraph. It is clear that Owen examines his memories only to elicit pity and because of his whiny presence readers cannot get a firm idea of the true nature of his relationship to his enigmatic and powerful father, perhaps left ambiguous on purpose to expose the faults of first person narration; if this is the case, however, the question is misplaced as the novel has plenty of other interesting and important themes to tackle.

The main fault of the novel is its narrator and arguable main character. Owen isn't particularly likable and is just as weak as he wishes to believe he is. It becomes clear early on that his is putty in the hands of his captivating father and that he is utterly incapable of independent thought. His constant calls to his individuality, instead of being enlightening and ironic in this context, are instead annoying as they come after Owen demonstrates his inability for independent thought. Owen many times refers to certain events as turning points in his life and personality; unfortunately, the narrative he presents hardly ever even offers the possibility of change or real growth. It is ultimately impossible to get a hold on Owen, a fault I feel comfortable allotting to Banks because of his awesome portrait of John Brown. Clearly Banks is capable of rendering a rich portrait of a strong and important character; unfortunately, any talent is spent entirely on John as Owen, the novel's pivotal character, is sorely neglected and refers to events and to pieces of the book that simply don't exist (Banks leaves readers hanging on until the end to finally realize the dark deed constantly referred to as Owen's great confession without providing any sense of closure).

The book, despite these major flaws, is indeed a good one. Its passages that actually see action and movement provide a richly detailed portrait of the pre-war North, a society often ignored in light of the South's rich representation in today's popular culture. Banks does a good job representing pre-war thought, putting abolitionist views in the words of a man who has seen the Civil War and Reconstruction come and go, a man who has lived long enough to feel the effects of his actions and who is conscious of his place in history. It is true, of course, that John and Owen Brown represent the absolute extreme of the pre-war antislavery movement, but their ardent abolitionism puts the state of the nation into a far sharper resolution than a novel about more mild abolitionists ever could. Owen Brown was brought up with the sole intention of outlawing slavery and liberating the slaves by any means possible or necessary and Banks wisely makes Owen aware of the uniqueness of his views and actions, an awareness that only enriches the novel and its quite candid discussion of slavery. Banks's choice of a narrator is spot-on even if his presentation of character is a bit off, and he throws John Brown into such vivid relief that readers should leave feeling eager to dive headfirst into the actual history of the life and times of the great American martyr.

Cloudsplitter is clearly a novel on a mission, and Banks is keenly aware of his talent and of the scope of his work. Unfortunately, this often leads to a cluttered book; its 750 pages present the proper scale for the work but Banks gets confused and meanders into boring territory instead of focusing on or highlighting his incredible abilities. The story of John Brown, where it exists without Owen's presence in the plot or well after, in reflection, is utterly fascinating and provides an entirely new point of view on this most pivotal chapter in American history. Despite its flaws as a novel, Cloudsplitter will richly reward diligent readers who plow through its slow spots and concentrate their efforts on the historical world recreated before modern eyes. The book may not be a hallmark of subtlety or literary restraint, but Banks is nonetheless talented and even Owen's misplaced and misguided digressions contain their nuggets of wisdom (particularly vivid is a discussion of point of view and how it comes across in the perfectly appropriate story of Abraham and Isaac). Overall, Cloudsplitter is an intriguing fictionalization of one of history's most outlandish and interesting characters, a sweeping work of historical fiction that suffers occasional missteps but that will enrich readers seeking perspective on the vast complexities of the American Civil War or the effect of strong individuals on historical forces and those closest to them.

Grade: B

Book 29: Gone with the Wind

Gone with the Wind
Margaret Mitchell

What a book. I was afraid that this beloved novel would fall far short of my expectations, as so many highly recommended books must. This book, however, deserves every bit of hype it gets and then some. It is obvious that Gone with the Wind has been a staple of women's reading lists for many good reasons. The thing that startled me (and impressed me) most about the book was its realism. The book doesn't strain to make things happen that are unrealistic or that make us feel better about Scarlett. Scarlett is selfish and, though she comes to her realization, has already blown her chances at happiness. The story is tragic but true to life and, therefore, far more interesting than most.

The plot of the book is engaging and, though epic, doesn't strike one as incredibly fanciful. Scarlett shows a few hints of early feminism probably more congruent with the 1930s than the 1860s, but the reader is eager to accept a healthy, strong-willed female challenging societal conceptions. Scarlett may be a hellion of sorts to her society, but she still belongs firmly in it; her devotion to old customs despite her recognition of her own abilities is entirely believable, as are her numerous taboos regarding certain social conventions. Scarlett may be uncommonly strong, but her strength is rooted in her story and derived from it, not from ulterior motives. Scarlett herself is refreshing- here is a character we love and hate, a leading lady whom we root for but still chastise when she furthers her own bad habits.

Another refreshing aspect of this book is its lack of political correctness. I believe that there are some elements of truth in Mitchell's presentation of black life during the period concerned, and I think that it is important to remember that slaves were ingrained in Southern life in ways that we cannot fathom today. The book is a little quick to condemn Emancipation and blacks in general, but the views within seem representative of the period and add to the sense of reality in the book. It doesn't feel like reading about the past; the book invites us to step into the past and experience it. To this end, an incredibly interesting detail I picked up on was the use of the n-word to describe blacks. I believe Mitchell is onto something. Scarlett is shocked when she first hears the word used by Northern whites to refer to blacks, but by the end of the novel the Southern whites are using it as well. I believe that Mitchell attempted to capture the changes in racial balance that were brought about so suddenly, and I think that the representation of the culture shock should be carefully studied, if with a keen eye towards skepticism.

This book is carefully constructed and beautifully written. If a bit nostalgic, Mitchell succeeds entirely at giving present-day readers a glimpse of a world locked into time, made even more stunningly real by the characters' recognition of their own nostalgia. Gone with the Wind is simply stunning, and epic story that defies conventions left and right and should remain a classic for years to come.

Grade: A