historical fiction

The 19th Wife

11 Comments

by David Ebershoff
ages: adult
First sentence: “In the one year since I renounced my Mormon faith, and set out to tell the nation the truth about American polygamy, many people have wondered why I ever agreed to become a plural wife.”

Three bloggers, whose opinions I respect and who are all members of my church, have read and reviewed this book. Two had positive reactions to it; the other didn’t. Needless to say, it made me curious, and when Lisa Munley of TLC Tours offered me the chance to be a part of another tour of The 19th Wife, I accepted.

My dad once said, when we were watching Chariots of Fire and I made some sort of comment about how amazing it was that something happened “that way”, that the movie makers were out to make a good drama. And good drama isn’t always good history.

That thought ran through my mind quite often as I read The 19th Wife.

The story is both basic and complex: it’s a historical “biography” of a real person, Ann Eliza Young, the 19th polygamous wife of Brigham Young. It’s also a murder mystery: Jordan Scott, who has been kicked out of the Firsts’ polygamous compound in Southern Utah, is drawn back to his home because his mother has been accused of killing his father. The two stories are interwoven and intertwined (in more ways than one) as the book unfolds.

The problem I had with the novel was not with its portrayal of the LDS church’s past, or its portraits of our first two prophets, its portrayal of an early form of something I hold sacred, or even its implied criticism of the church’s present stance on gay marriage. No, the thing that bothered me most was that the line between history and fiction was incredibly blurred. Chalk this up to Ebershoff being a great writer, or my being overly paranoid, but I couldn’t tell, especially in the Ann Eliza sections, where history stopped and fiction began. Which led me to wonder what Ebershoff’s motivations in writing the book were. To tell an interesting story, obviously, but what else? Why does he compare the early church to a modern polygamous cult? Is he exploring the nature of faith and belief? Or how far people will go in following an egomaniacal leader? Is he passing judgment on the LDS Church for its history with polygamy (or suppressing women), and comparing that, to a lesser degree, to its stance on gay marriage?

Am I just reading too much into this novel?

Okay, yeah, I know it’s a novel, and the job of a novel is to blur the lines between fact and fiction. But, while reading this, I also thought of the myriad of reactions to The Da Vinci Code when it first came out; a friend of mine told me to read it, because it was brilliant, because she’d never been told the truth before. I wondered if this book — for both members of our church and those who aren’t — might serve the same purpose. It’s not that we shouldn’t question our history, or that Ebershoff doesn’t have a right to rewrite it for us, but that it’s a fiction book, a story being told, and I wonder if people won’t take it as “truth”.

Which brings me to what I felt was the crux of the novel. It’s a “letter” from Ann Eliza’s son, Lorenzo Dee, to a fictional scholar, circa 1939:

Even so, history has one flaw. It is a subjective art, no less so than poetry or music. The true historian has two sources: the written record and the witness’s testimony. This is as it should be. Yet one is memory and the other is written, quite often, from memory. There is nothing to be done about this defect except acknowledge it for what it is. Yet this is your field’s Achilles’ heel. You say in your letter the historian writes truth. Forgive me, I must disagree. The historian writes a truth. The memoirist writes a truth. The novelist writes a truth. And so on. My mother, we both know, wrote a truth in The 19th Wife — a truth that corresponded to her memory and desires. It is not the truth, certainly not. But a truth, yes.

I should note that Ebershoff is coming to Wichita and will be at Watermark Books on June 9th at 7 p.m. (Hey, Bobby, can you help spread the word?) I am planning on going, not only because I was asked as part of this tour, but because now that I’ve finished the book, I’m quite curious to meet the author — and his motivations for writing this — behind this book.

For more opinions, head over to the other stops on the tour:

Monday, May 18: Hey, Lady! Whatcha Readin’?
Wednesday, May 20th: A Guy’s Moleskin Notebook
Thursday, May 21st: Becky’s Book Reviews
Tuesday, June 2nd: Biblioaddict
Thursday, June 4th: A Life in Books
Friday, June 5th: Bookgirl’s Nightstand
Monday, June 8th: Live and Let Di
Tuesday, June 9th: Ramya’s Bookshelf
Wednesday, June 10th: As Usual, I Need More Bookshelves
Thursday, June 11th: A Novel Menagerie
Monday, June 15th: The 3 R’s: Reading, ‘Riting, and Randomness
Tuesday, June 16th: The Book Faery Reviews
Wednesday, June 17th: Shelf Life
Friday, June 19th: In the Shadow of Mt. TBR

Flygirl

1 Comment

by Sherri L. Smith
ages: 12+
First sentence: “It’s a Sunday afternoon, and the phonograph player is jumping like a clown in a parade the way Jolene and I are dancing.”

Ida Mae Jones has always wanted to fly. Ever since she was put behind the wheel (is it a wheel?) of her daddy’s Jenny and taught how, she knew that this was what she was born to do. Except, she’s an African American (yes, I am being politically correct here), and lives in the outskirts of New Orleans. Not only can she not get a pilot’s license because she’s a woman; she can’t get one because she’s the wrong color.

It’s only when her younger brother spies and article about the Army’s WASP program (that’s Women’s Airforce Service Pilots), and that there was a Chinese-American woman in it, that Ida gets an inkling of an idea. She forges her daddy’s pilot’s license, and since she’s light enough skinned to pass for white, she applies. And gets in.

The part in the program is what interested me the most about Smith’s book. I thought that while the conflict between black and white, and Ida’s internal conflict about lying about who she really is, was interesting (and probably worth some thought), I really liked Ida learning how to fly military planes. I liked the challenges posed by the program, the obstacles she had to surmount in order to succeed in a man’s world. It was not only historically interesting, but had a universal appeal: what woman hasn’t faced the “you can’t do it because you’re a girl” and fought her way to success in whatever that is?

It’s books like these that make one grateful for the pioneers, the women who were courageous enough to break the race, sex, or whatever barrier, and achieve their dreams. And it’s good to have a book like this to remind us of it. As well as being a cracking good story.

Chains

7 Comments

by Laurie Halse Anderson
ages: 10+
First sentence: “The best time to talk to ghosts is just before the sun comes up.”

Isabel is a slave. But this is not a plantation in the Civil War South; it is 1776, and New York is bristling with the news of an impending British invasion. Isabel and her younger sister Ruth’s former master died, and instead of being set free, like they thought they were, they are sold to a couple of Tories: Mr. and Madame Lockton, and taken to New York, where they are caught in the middle of the revolution. It’s just a matter of time, and circumstances, before Isabel decides which side she will be on. And what price that will cost her.

First: this book is beautiful. I’m not usually a tactile reader, but in this instance, I kept looking at the more-than–perfect cover, stroking the pages, and loving the font. Especially the blurb on the back cover. I could tell much care was taken with the design of the book. And I, for one, appreciated it.

Moving on…

In the interview at the back of the book, Anderson says that the whole slave issue cannot be broken down into “good guys” and “bad guys”. Which is an understatement. There are sympathetic characters on both sides of the revolution — while the politics of the revolution play a role in this book, it is not an indicator of character. (Nor should it ever be.) Chains is thoroughly complex and unflinching, presenting the issues at hand — freedom, slavery, revolution — with honesty. Anderson doesn’t write down to the reader; the book is quite brutal at times. That’s not to say the book is harsh. Rather, interspersed with all the brutality are moments of absolute poignancy. The book just about ripped my heart in two at parts. Isabel as a character is not just compelling, she’s strong and captivating, and honest. I felt for her, I adored her, I cheered for her.

In short, it’s historical fiction at its finest. But then, it’s Laurie Halse Anderson.

(And yes, I do need to read her other books. I know that. Which one to start with, though?)

Captain Alatriste

2 Comments

by Aturo Perez-Reverte
ages: adultish
First sentence: “He was not the most honest of pious of men, but he was courageous.”

Call this one the Spanish The Three Musketeers. It’s 1623, Madrid, Spain. Alatriste is a former soldier, who has taken to dueling for hire to keep money in his pockets. He is hired one night by some unknown men, high-born from what Alatriste can tell, to take out two Englishmen. Alatriste doesn’t — mostly because one begs for mercy for the other man — and as a result saves the life of the Prince of Wales. This is not a good thing for Alatriste — for the people who wanted the Prince dead are now after Alatriste’s life. Our narrator through this journey is Inigo Balboa, son of a former soldier and collegue of Alatriste and who has become a protege of sorts to the good Captain.

I liked this book, mostly because it felt like (and made references to) The Three Musketeers. Same time, same feel, similar characters (the Duke of Buckingham, who plays a role in Dumas’ work, makes an appearance, and Richelieu is talked about) — from the noble, yet misguided soldier, to the young impetuous lad (though not as impetuous as d’Artangnan), to the corrupt Church official… it’s all there. I liked the narrator, too. He was circular in his telling (I never could figure out who he was telling the story to; he would call them”Your Mercies”), jumping forward and backward in time, and talking so much about the history of Spain that I felt like Madrid and its people were almost another character. But when the action got going — as it occasionally did — it really got going. (Which, in many ways, is also like The Three Musketeers.)

I knew it was the first in a series when I started it, though I thought it would stand on its own more. It doesn’t end in a cliff hanger, but so many storylines and threads are started in this book, and never resolved, that it’s almost imperative that one read the next book. If only to find out why Inigo keeps calling Angelica a “Devil” because she never really did anything…

I’m just not sure how much I care. I may find myself a couple months down the line thinking about it and wondering what the next step in the story is, though. It’s definately one to mull over. Either that, or I’ll just watch the movie, which I didn’t even know existed. Anyone know anything about it??

Yellow Star

5 Comments

by Jennifer Roy
ages 9-12

This is not a happy book. Then again, what book about the Holocaust is a happy book? Granted, this one has a happy ending — it’s a story based on the life of the author’s aunt, and she survived — but getting there is harsh, depressing, and painful. Which means that Roy did an incredible job depicting the life and circumstances of her aunt Syvia’s childhood.

I’m trying to figure out a way to sum up the book without giving a mini-history lesson. For those who don’t know their World War II history, this story of one of the 800 survivors — only 12 of which were children — of the Lodz, Poland ghetto is not a fun one to read. Written in verse, I think to mimic the spare conditions of Syvia’s life, Roy captures the faith and family togetherness in the face of pure hopelessness quite well. There were parts that made me cringe — the Nazis deported all the children at one point, tearing them from their family; it was only through the courage and resorcefulness of Syvia’s father (and herself) that she managed to survive that time — and others that made me cry. I am amazed at Syvia, and at the luck — miracles? providence? chance? — that she had during her life. There were so many (more than 270,000 people lived in the ghetto at one time) that didn’t get her chance.

I’m not sure I can separate a critique of the book (can I say that in this instance I felt the verse was good, but unnecessary?) from the life. It’s a good book — not a great one — with a worthy story. And a story worth reading. Which makes the book worth reading, too.

Shooting the Moon

4 Comments

by Frances O’Roark Dowell
ages 10+

Sometimes, when I read a book, I’m so moved by it that I’m at a loss for words. This is one of those times. This book hit me hard, in the gut. I loved it, I was moved by it… but I have no idea how to write what I’m feeling right now.

Instead, I’ll send you to read Becky’s and Betsy’s reviews. They pretty much sum up everything I’d like to say.

(Just for the record: because this is a Cybils nominee, I’ve been asked to make sure y’all know this is my opinion only, and not that of the panel.)

The Boy Who Dared

6 Comments


by Susan Campbell Bartoletti
ages 12+

I’m not sure how many people know the story of Helmuth Hübener. He was a boy during the rise of Hitler to power, and a teenager during the war. He was a member of my church, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (the Mormons). He was increasingly disturbed by Hitler and the Nazis and the war, and decided to do something about it: distribute leaflets and paphlets, being helped by two of his friends, with information gained from the BBC. For which he was arrested. And executed.

He was 17.

I was familiar with Hübener’s story before reading this book; soon after I left to college, my two brothers were in a production of a play about Hübener’s efforts and outcome. I never saw the production, but I had one brother playing an SS officer and the other was one of Hübener’s friends (Karl Schnibbe). Needless to say, it was a pretty emotional event for everyone (including my mother, who sat in the audience and watched one son torture the other!), something so monumental that it made it into letters to me.

Needless to say, I was pretty interested in this book, not only because of the church connection but because of the play. Especially since I only knew the barest outline of Hübener’s life and what he had done, or tried to do. And on top of all that, there’s issues of church and state, and patriotism and doing one’s best. Not to mention is freedom of speech more important than obeying the law. It’s a complex story.

Bartoletti handled the whole thing marvelously. Told in flashback from Hübener’s reminsinces on his last day of life, she basically covers 10 years of his life… from Hitler’s initial rise to power in 1932 through to Hübener’s death in 1942. She treated Hübener’s beliefs and our church well, and accurately, and never made anyone out to be more than human. Hitler was evil, of course, but Bartoletti balanced the evil of Hitler’s deeds with the desire of the German people to save face, and their belief that Hitler’s promises would make everything better. She also addressed the complexities of obeying the law versus doing what one believes to be right, and Hübener’s efforts to fight the propeganda of the Nazis.

The only thing that I didn’t like — and it’s a minor quibble — is that because this is a book for younger readers, Bartoletti glanced over a lot of the harshness and violence. I felt like the trial and torture and prisonment of Hübener was glanced over, and almost downplayed. I think I would have liked a bit more, but that would have made this book more young adult than I think Barotoletti was going for. (Though my library has it shelved in the YA section.)

As I said, though, that’s a minor quibble. The afterword is fascinating, and the book is gripping. And I think this is one World War II story that deserves to be wider known.

(Just for the record: because this is a Cybils nominee, I’ve been asked to make sure y’all know this is my opinion only, and not that of the panel.)

A Thousand Never Evers

6 Comments

by Shana Burg
ages 12+

Over the years, when I have told people that the year we lived in Mississippi was hell for me, they always ask me what made it so hard. I have struggled to try and find the perfect answer… it’s a combination of moving from a huge city to a smallish rural town combined with the blatant racism of our neighbors that we encountered that made it the worst place on earth for me to live.

Now, when people ask, I’m just going to refer them to this book. Burg — no stranger to the situation, being both Jewish and the daughter of a Civil Rights lawyer — captured, for me at least, the hate that some white people down south had (and have) for African Americans so perfectly that it was both uncanny and disturbing.

It’s the summer of 1963, and Addie Ann just wants to figure out how to survive seventh grade. Then her boss, Old Man Adams, dies, and leaves his six acre garden to all of Kuckachoo — both whites and blacks. Of course, that doesn’t sit well with the mayor or the sheriff, so they conveniently forget to inform the white side of town that Mr. Adams wanted it that way. So, later in the fall, when the garden is discovered to be destroyed, the person that the town decides is at fault is Addie’s Uncle Bump. Being Mississippi, no one expects the trial to come out right, and it’s up to Addie to find the missing pieces in order to set Uncle Bump free.

Actually, this book isn’t that easy to sum up in one paragraph: there’s an awful lot going on. A lot of it centers on the basic conflict between white and black: in employment, in housing, in voter registration, in the administration of justice. Everything negative you’ve ever heard of makes an appearance: the Klu Klux Klan, cross burnings, home bombings. But, I think Addie’s narration has a softening influence — she’s an engaging main character, one who’s vulnerable and tough at the same time. Her voice makes this book worth getting through; without her, it would be too depressing.

It was a very tough book for me to get through at points. But, I think it’s the toughness that comes from a well-written, and honest, book.

(Just for the record: because this is a Cybils nominee, I’ve been asked to make sure y’all know this is my opinion only, and not that of the panel.)

Little Audrey

Leave a comment

by Ruth White
ages 9-12 (though my library has it shelved in the Teen section…)

There are some books that just floor you when you read them. Either they’re so fabulous that they draw you into their world. Or because the so horrible that you wonder how on earth people existed like that. Little Audrey is the latter. When I read The Glass Castle this summer, I was moved by Jeannette Walls’s courage in dealing with her less-than-ideal living situation. I had much the same reaction to White’s book: it’s deeply saddening that anyone would have to live like they did, and it’s remarkable that they survived and thrived as much as they did.

Little Audrey is the story of a part of White’s childhood. Told (and somewhat fictionalized) though the eyes of White’s oldest sister, Audrey, this is the story of the White family in a mining “holler” in southwest Virginia in 1948. It’s not a pretty life: their father is a drunk, taking the scrips (they don’t get money) and spending most of it on alcohol. They’re barely making it from week to week. Audrey’s recovering from the scarlet fever, and is supposed to be gaining weight, but it’s hard when there’s not enough food to go around. Yet, through it all, and through the tragedy that happens in their life, they find hope. Audrey learns about the inner strength of her mother. She also finds kindness in those around her, from her neighbors to her schoolteacher to her friend, Virgil. It’s an inspiring and hopeful book, something which you don’t expect from the subject matter.

This is a book for younger readers, after all, and White only glances on the wreck that was her father. It’s probably a good thing — Audrey was young enough not to really notice or understand what was going on, but at the same time, she’s an incredibly perceptive girl. She knows her mother is trying to make do even though her father is trying to drink them all into oblivion. She knows her father beats her mother. She knows when to stay out of his way. And she knows that she will make do in spite of it all.

It’s a good book, one that surprised me how much I was drawn in and moved by it. And the fact that it’s a true story made it all the more powerful.

(Just for the record: because this is a Cybils nominee, I’ve been asked to make sure y’all know this is my opinion only, and not that of the panel.)

Little Leap Forward

2 Comments

by Guo Yue
ages 7/8-12

Little Leap Forward is a boy in Bejing, China in 1966. It is the height of Chairman Mao’s reign, but it hasn’t really touched Leap Forward’s life much. He still plays by the river with his best friend, Little-Little, and he still enjoys his silkworms and the music he hears around him. One day, the boys capture a little yellow bird, which Leap Forward calls Little Cloud. He takes the bird home, intending on taming it and enjoying it’s music. The bird, once caged, won’t sing. Then the Red Guards arrive and Leap Forward’s life — and perspective — change.

This is a small autobiographical novel that while not detailed, I think caputures something different about the Cultural Revolution and China during that time. Leap Forward isn’t running from anything, he isn’t being oppressed; he’s mostly just trying to be a kid. Yet, because of the bird and a bamboo flute and a desire, his life was changed. There is a simple humanity and kindness to the book that I don’t remember finding in the other books I’ve read about this time.

Additonally, I loved the paintings, done by Clare Follows, Gue’s wife; they’re simple, yet beautiful. Something that I could spend time absorbing. But I have to admit, what I enjoyed most was the author’s note at the end where Gue tells part of his story. It’s touching and sad and sweet and just perfect. He as also released a CD called Music, Food and Love, which I’d love to find and listen to. He sounds like a remarkable man, one with a fascinating story to tell.

(Just for the record: because this is a Cybils nominee, I’ve been asked to make sure y’all know this is my opinion only, and not that of the panel.)