Anne of Green Gables and Anne of Avonlea, by L.M. Montgomery

Again, these reviews are from my children's literature journal. Please don't get mad at me if I am not as gushing as many women are about Anne and her struggles. I was reading as an adult evaluator, not my romance-burdened adolscent self. Don't worry, the early books hold up well. The following site has some great images: http://officialanneofgreengables.wikia.com/wiki/Anne_Shirley

Montgomery, L. M., Anne of Green Gables

NOTE: Part of my exhaustion with this book was its extremely small font. I squinted the whole time and had to take frequent breaks. I’m not reading this edition of any of the other books.

This book opens the Green Gables series. And it is exhausting. Anne is excessively talkative and talks breathily and extravagantly. I feel every bit of Marilla’s impatience with her. Little less talk, little more action, please. Still, I could hear Anne’s voice—she is distinct as a character, as are her adoptive parents, Marilla and Matthew (who are unmarried, elderly, brother and sister), Mrs. Lynde, and others. The early part of the book is filled with pathos as we learn about Anne’s life before her adoption and see the adjustments the threesome must make to form a family. Anne bemoans her red hair, meets her “bosom friend” Diana, starts school, breaks her ankle, goes off to teacher’s college, has concerts and social events, and learns, learns, learns. All while talking. Much ground is covered, although I hope for less distance and more detail in the next books. I craved a bit of the detail that I got in the Little House series—Anne learns to bake, but bake what, and how? And what is Matthew doing out there on the farm all day? How does money and food come into their lives?

Still, this is an engaging book, with a feminist slant (sadly missing from the Little House books). Anne competes head-to-head with a boy for top scholastic honors and either ties or wins every time. She sees herself as someone who will have a working life outside the home. She doesn’t want to compromise herself. She is lively, loving, intense, driven, and wonderfully observant.

I especially liked cranky old Mrs. Lynde. She poured a little vinegar on the treacle every now and then.

This is a good book, told both directly and indirectly (through third-person accounts, letters, and implications). It brings to life a particular time in a particular place (still longing for more detail…) and is loyally Canadian. It is still fresh after lo these many years in print. What girl cannot relate to an orphan finding a home? It’s what we all wish for. There’s an inner orphan in most of us, that part of us that feels unappreciated, homeless. Onward to Avonlea…

Montgomery, L. M., Anne of Avonlea

The second book of the series is more of the same—lots of fun and pathos. Anne is growing up. She teaches school at Avonlea, gets involved in the romances of others, but still doesn’t see the role of romantic love in her own life—her relationship with Gilbert Blythe (the obvious love interest from the time Anne was ten) remains elusive and undeveloped. The last chapter of this book indicates that Anne may be awakening to the hunkiness of Gilbert. But I recall from an earlier read that it takes a few more books before Anne and Gilbert straighten out their love affair.

This book introduces the twins, Dora and Davy. At the end, Mrs. Lynde joins the household. A new neighbor, Mr. Harrison, is introduced, along with his cursing parrot. And Anne gets involved with Miss Lavender, and facilitates a romance and wedding.  There are more cooking disasters (Davy lands on the pies, way too much sugar is added to the vegetables, an important platter is broken).

Anne continues engaging and sweet. She really is likable, and her inner life is fully developed. She strives to do right, but without giving up the beauty she has always seen in the world. She is as beloved to the reader as she is to the fictional residents of Avonlea.

I notice that these books were written closer to the time they occurred than some of the historical treasures on this list. That explains the lack of historical detail (although there is a bit too much in this book about how to kill chickens!) of how the people lived. The author was writing for her contemporaries, not for those a generation (or generations) removed. These books are morally instructional, but mostly they seem to be written for fun—and to encourage girls to lead a more morally and educationally exciting life.

Ivanhoe, by Sir Walter Scott, 1819

This is a big book (bigger than its 500 pages), so this is a lengthy review. I apologize in advance.

Ivanhoe is the second of the four books by Sir Walter Scott that are on my children's literature reading list. The list classifies Ivanhoe as "young adult." And, for once, I agree with the list's designation. Although the story takes place in a relatively small space of time and a limited geography, the action is epic in feeling. I felt as though a great pageant were proceeding in front of me, great in its emotions, actions, characters, and themes. At the same time, the romantic stereotype the book established taints the book in retrospect--seeing it as strictly a romance makes some of the action laughable. I succeeded, however, in seeing both the epic and the silly at one and the same time and enjoyed the stomach-tickling sensation where one rubbed up against the other.

Rob Roy was a here-and-now book, and instantly engaging, rather than this pastry from the past. But both books deal with loyalty and chivalry and honor. Both books view chivalry as doing the right thing, even when it hurts. Both books are darn good reads. When I look around me and am surprised to see my walls and furniture when I thought I was in a castle dungeon or under a giant oak tree or watching a jousting tournement, that's a good read.

Where do I begin? Ivanhoe is supposedly one of the first works of English historical fiction (with an emphasis on fiction) and led to a resurgence in interest in a glamorized vision of the Middle Ages. Set in the 1100s, the story is bathed in a sort of golden glow of chivalry and honor--where wrongly applied, righted; where rightly applied, glorified. Uppity Normans, who famously invaded in the fatal year 1066, rule the roost and belittle, cheat, and terrorize those who still identify themselves as Saxons. King Richard has headed out on a crusade, leaving a power vaccuum his odious brother John seeks to fill. Saxons roam the forests in guerilla bands (yes, Robin Hood is in da book). Rather than Richard or John, chaos reigns.

Upon the scene, enters Ivanhoe, disguised as a pilgrim returned from the crusade. The first main scene (a banquet in Cedric's castle) introduces almost every main character. Ivanhoe's father, the Saxon Cedric, Cedric's beautiful ward Rowena, the man Cedric wants Rowena to marry--Athelstane, a Knight Templar and a priest, both violating their own vows, and many other interesting folk. Scott includes two characters not of the nobility, and their perspective serves as an antidote to all the finery and frippery. The first is Wamba, jester to Cedric. As all fools, he is the one who can tell the pithy truths. The other is Gurth, a pig-herding slave. And, most intriguing is the inclusion of two Jews, Old Isaac and his beautiful daughter Rebecca. O-ho, you say. Two beauties and one knight! More than the romantic plot thickened at that dinner. I will not here detail every feature of the plot...

As in Rob Roy, Scott demonstrates that good and evil are not segregated upon one class or group. Wamba and Gurth both show natural chivalry, loyalty, and courage. However, the Normans do come across the worst, as piggish and hyper-military. Catholicism permeates every aspect of life. The wealth of the land is hoarded by the church and the nobility, often passing through Jewish hands on the way from one to the other. One of the saving graces of this book is that each male character is seen to encompass a range of good and bad qualities.

Not so the women. Rowena and Rebecca (the only women  really seen in the book) are steadfast, faithful, true, skilled, courageous. We do not see a bad side--Rowena doesn't pout when she doesn't get her way and Rebecca doesn't withhold medicine from those she dislikes. The two women are saints. Rowena, who should be the heroine of this book, is somewhat flat and lifeless. The author's fancy was captured by the Jewess Rebecca, who is drawn in much more detail and has a lot more scenes. I saw a 1950s movie of Ivanhoe in which Rebecca was played by Elizabeth Taylor, and that was marvelous casting. Scott couldn't have known that he was writing the part just for her, but he did. Both women end up kidnapped and subjected to the attentions of smarmy men. Both retain their honor. Rowena is rescued and restored to grace. Rebecca is pulled through a series of ordeals before obtaining her freedom.

I was surprised that Isaac and Rebecca played such a large part in this book. Jews are so often left out when the age of chivalry is discussed. One article I read suggested that the inclusion was due to a Jewish rights campaign that was taking place in England in the early 19th century. There was a new awareness of the ill-treatment and prejudice of Jews. For whatever reason, Isaac and Rebecca are more fully developed than any other characters. They are unwanted most of the time by almost everyone, except when they are wanted (as money-lenders or healers, for example), when they must be instantly ready to subserviently serve. If any character engaged my heart, it was Rebecca. The injustices she faced put her in real peril and left her with no place to turn for aid. She is rescued from a hideous death by, of all things, the inner conflict of her captor. It is a genius scene, full of surprise, action, suspense, horror, grief...you name it. The interesting article is at:
www.newenglishreview.org/custpage.cfm/frm/41391/sec_id/41391

Scott is much better in Ivanhoe than in Rob Roy at pushing the action to a fever pitch and then rescuing the reader at the very last nick of time. It's wonderful stuff. There is also a traditional dependence upon disguise. The character of the hermit (who in Robin Hood lore is Friar Tuck), switched back and forth between outlaw and priest quite literally with a change of robe, sometimes right in front of everybody, his staff being either cudgel or cross as needed.

Someone should stage Ivanhoe as a gigantic outdoor drama, with horses and battles and jousting. It would be magnificent. It has been done as opera many times. But I imagine a setting as gorgeous as Chillicothe's Tecumseh in the open air, with actors and horses coming onstage from many directions, tables turning. I can see it so clearly. Penni AlZayer? Want to give it a try? Can I be Friar Tuck?

Best bits: The most compelling piece of writing is in Chapter 29, when Rebecca and Ivanhoe dispute the value of chivalry. Ivanhoe asserts that dying for glory is the highest calling a man can have. Rebecca replies,

Alas, and what is it, valiant knight, save an offering of sacrifice to a demon of vain-glory...? What remains to you as the prize of all the blood you have spilled--of all the travail and pain you have endured--of all the tears which your deeds have caused when death hath broken the strong man's spear, and overtaken the speed of his war-horse?...Alas! is the rusted mail which hangs as a hatchment over the champion's dim and mouldering tomb--is the defaced sculpture of the inscription which the ignorant monk can hardly read to the inquiring pilgrim--are these sufficient rewards for the sacrifice of every kindly affection, for a life spent miserably that ye may make others miserable? Or is there such virtue in the rude rhymes of a wandering bard, that domestic love, kindly affection, peace and happiness are so wildly bartered, to become the hero of those ballads which vagabond minstrels sing to drunken churls over their eveing ale.

Best surprise: This book has a wonderful reading of the Robin Hood tradition. Hints of it appear early in the book.

Other surprise: One of the stoniest characters dies of a conflict of emotions. Now that is cool! There is also a ghost who walks. Marvelous. Wonderful.

Main complaint: The dialogue was slow, and burdened with chivalric and religious traditions. Sometimes I felt that the dialogue was there simply to explicate those traditions and to make the story seem more historical. But instead it was ponderous and slow. Action! There was action a-plenty; let's speed up the interludes.

Physical description: This is a nice edition, from the Great Illustrated Classics line. However, it was never trimmed properly, making it hard to riffle through the pages to see what chapter you were on for example. The story is 500 pages long, in 44 chapters. This edition has plates that, weirdly, don't go with the action, but serve more as background information. There is a strange introduction that I don't understand--something about Scott pretending to be someone else writing the book; and very strange fake footnotes (I think they are fake). Bizarre.

Typos: This book is littered with typos. Yuck. Better luck with whatever edition you end up reading.

Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas

I work with young people and we are always trying to get them to set big goals--but develop small steps by which to reach them. In that spirit, I searched for a task for myself--something big that I would need to pursue with diligence and determination. In looking for appropriate reading for these 16-24 year-olds, I came across a fusty old list of "great" children's literature. That became my quest--to read every one of the 500 or so books on the list, which ranged from The Pokey Little Puppy to Dickens' Bleak House. Here's my review of Count of Monte Cristo. (After reading Rob Roy, I only have about 149 books to go.)

I am grieved to have completed this book. For the past 10 weeks or so, I’ve had this group of friends who live in Paris who have shared their lives with me. The Count and his friends and enemies have been worthy companions, redeemed, damned, struggling, showing the best and worst. The plot has been used many times—a wrongly imprisoned man survives great deprivation and, after his release, exacts revenge against those who wronged him. Along the way, Count does wonderfully generous things and hideously gruesome things. He ferrets out the most secret details of people’s lives and then fashions them into inescapable nets.

Much of the first third of the book explores a landscape contrast—prison vs. ocean. The cold confinement of the isolated prison cell was claustrophobic. But the scenes of sailing on the ocean contained huge possibilities and freedom. This contrast struck me. I was also ensnared by the Count’s huge treasure—diamonds, rubies, emeralds, pearls, metals, rich objects. It is a pirate’s treasure times 1,000. He snapped his fingers and his needs were met. Everything larger than life.

I was surprised by how dislikable the Count approached being. Dumas walked a very fine line to keep the Count a hero, rather than a great villain. The more he revenged, the more he expressed remorse, to the point that he let his last victim go, just go. He could see that his revenges had what we would, today, call collateral damage or unintended consequences. So I ended up seeing the book as more about love than about hate, and more about transformation than about stasis. In the end the Count opened himself to love, a most unexpected outcome for him, which he as well as the reader felt as a surprise.

The plethora (hate that word) of secondary characters seemed a plague at first, but each one ended up having a part to play, either as an actor or a narrator. Much of the plot was revealed through gossip among the young men of the city. The most touching story was the love story of Maximilian and Valentine. Maximilian was the son of the one man who fought to get the Count released from prison. Valentine was the daughter of one of the Count’s most reviled enemies. There is a long subplot of poisoning which the Count started but which had such serious repercussions that it began the Count’s change of heart regarding revenge. The instigator of the evil act is responsible for all of its consequences, no matter how far removed he might be from them. The Count encouraged one character’s interest in poisoning, which ended up killing 5 people, although, slyly, Valentine was not really dead. The reuniting of the two lovers is sweet and satisfying, leaving the book feeling finished.

I loved this book. Its soap opera qualities kept my attention, and I certainly was engaged in the Count’s quest for revenge. But the book was more than its potboiler devices. The final statement of the book is “Wait…and hope,” the Count’s advice for young and old alike who suffer through adversity. “Wait…and hope.” The Count and his lover literally (and literarily) sail off into the sunset. I wish them well.

Rob Roy, by Sir Walter Scott, 1817

Photo that should have been on the cover.

Again, gladly, I have been transported to another place and time by a book. A piece of my heart remains in the Scottish Highlands, overlooking a highland lake, skirling bagpipes the soundtrack, keeping hopes alive for justice and honor that will never return.

Rob Roy tells the story of an Englishman, Francis (Frank) Osbaldistone (I kept reading it as Osbaldistan), who becomes entangled in the Jacobite uprising of 1715. Frank's cousin steals from Frank's father, an esteemed merchant, and Frank must recover the lost assets by journeying through a Scotland roiling with unrest, taut with trickery, and rife with rebellion. Conflicts center on religion (Catholic, Presbyterian, Episcopal), class [upper, middle (commercial), lower (servants)], and loyalty (George or James, and to one's family versus one's politics). And in the background, the impoverished Scots scrabble out a living on the fragments of fortunes and land left to them after the odious Union joined them with England. Scots children are starving, the people are desperate.

Frank's hero journey puts him in touch with all of these factions--lords and prisoners, papists and presbyies, English and Scottish, high, low, and middle. Frank's main learning is that his loyalty is owed primarily to his father, and that good and evil does not attach itself to a category, but is spread evenly among the groups listed in the paragraph above. He grows in tolerance, loyalty, and love. In essence, he achieves his full adulthood in the course of the book, a true hero journey. And he is rewarded with a great prize.

Diana Vernon, the woman Frank falls in love with, also undergoes this transformation, although it's portrayed from a distance. She is a mysterious woman whose loyalties--both personal and political--are unclear. She has secrets and also secret sources of power (not supernatural, though). She draws close to Frank, then retreats, over and over, but because we know she is a woman of principle, the push and pull of her affections adds to her mystery rather than making her a hopeless coquette. (Oh, I didn't know how bad I wanted to use that word.) I liked her--she was intriguing.

I thought it was interesting that the hero of this book was not from the nobility, but from the merchant class, which was presented, in the main, as honorable and necessary. Frank speculates that his father is driven more by the love of addition and subtraction, by making things happen, than by greed or avarice. Still, Frank sees himself as somewhat above that station in life. At the beginning of the book, he is recalled from his delusions of nobility by his father's request that he enter the family business. That's the action that sets the book in motion. Will Frank give up his pretensions? That's the question of the book.

I am both saddened and thrilled to know that the problems of the Union still exist to this day, with Scotland chafing for more independence and holding tight to a national/cultural identity. The embodiment of this in the book is the title character, Rob Roy, a.k.a., the Macgregor, a.k.a., Robert Campbell. Like many oppressed minorities (thinking of American indians), Scots had the names they gave themselves as well as names indicating geography as well as those imposed by rulers. Rob Roy tried to be a man of honor in dishonorable circumstances, but he was alternately heroic and bloodthirsty. The scenes of Scotch butchery are hard to get through. Rob was primarily a man of action, the personification of the crisis of the time. Frank's dealings with Rob Roy bring him face to face with the coexistance of contradiction--Rob was loving, loyal, rebellious, murderous, generous, thieving, trustworthy, fickle. Knowing Rob Roy is a crux, a crucible for Frank, a test by which Frank is judged.

Rob Roy started slow and spiraled at a leisurely pace and then swirled faster and faster. The last chapter is a poignant denouement, with a surprise twist at the very end. DO NOT READ THE ENDING FIRST, you people who are prone to do so. The book is not at all like the Liam Neeson movie version, so don't think you know the ending. You don't!

Best bits: There is some mighty fine writing. Listen to this description of insomnia:

I paced the library until I had chafed myself into a temporary fever. I then threw myself on the couch, and endeavoured to dispose myself to sleep; but it was in vain that I used every effort to compose myself--that I lay without movement of finger or of muscle, as still as if I had been already a corpse--that I endeavoured to divert or banish disquieting thoughts, by fixing my mind on some act of repetition or arithmetical process. My blood throbbed, to my feverish apprehension, in pulsations which resembled the deep and regular strokes of a distant fulling-mill, and tingled in my veins like streams of liquid fire.

Appreciated gift: The many points of view by which the action is seen.

Main complaint: Not since Twain have I come across such dialect as Scott's Scottish brogue. The use of a buh-jillion apostrophes and odd word formations was difficult and hard to fathom. Still, if I read easy instead of trying to sound out every word, I seemed to get the sense of it pretty well. I know there is a Scots component to my genetics and I think that helped. If you have too much trouble with it, it might be good to find a translating dictionary or something. The word it took me longest to get was waur, meaning worse.

 Physical description: Nice Penguin edition, good size and binding, good typography with ample margins; 501 pages, 39 chapters. Short biography at the beginning was helpful to comprehension; some back matter advertising other Penguin titles. The cover was an authentic portrait of a Scotsman, but was not attractive.

Black Fox of Lorne and A Door in the Wall by Marguerite de Angeli

I work with young people and we are always trying to get them to set big goals--but develop small step by which to reach them. In that spirit, I searched for a task for myself--something big that I would need to pursue with diligence and determination. In looking for appropriate reading for these 16-24 year-olds, I came across a fusty old list of "great" children's literature. That became my quest--to read every one of the 500 or so books on the list, which ranged from The Pokey Little Puppy to Dickens' Bleak House. Here's a selection from my reviews of a couple of those books. (By the way, I only have about 150 books to go.)

Angeli, Marguerite de, Black Fox of Lorne

I got this book from interlibrary loan (thanks, Tammi) after I read A Door in the Wall. Black Fox of Lorne far surpasses A Door in the Wall in excitement and totally lacks the cloying sentimentality. Twin brothers, Jan and Brus, are shipwrecked on the shores of Scotland. Their family and friends are lost at sea, and their father is brutally killed by a local warlord. The twins’ family was attempting to emigrate from Norway. An enlivening subtheme in the book is the seeing of Scottish culture through Norwegian eyes, which explicates both. The boys separate, following instructions from their father that if they were ever in danger, being separate would give them more strength than staying together. Thus, each boy has to develop strengths through the adventure that he had depended on his brother for in peaceful times. They individuate as characters and souls.

A subtheme that seems almost quaint and certainly would not pass muster in this century is the gradual conversion of the boys to Christianity. Scotland is Catholic and the brothers are exposed to it at every turn. Today, it seems heavy-handed, but really, in the context of the book, it is beautifully done, and with a light touch.  And, it does reflect the enculturation that the boys undergo. I am sad that they do not mourn their own ways, and at the end of the book (the very last words) declare “We are Scots!” There is a clear winner in this culture war.

But, I recommend this book. Its pace is quick, vocabulary is mild, and the details of medieval castle life and historical events are compelling. The suspense built by the twins’ separation and their frequent exchange of identities kept me going till the end.

Angeli, Marguerite de, A Door in the Wall

I substituted this book for The Black Fox of Lorne, which was unavailable. A Door in the Wall is a Newberry winner written in the mid-1950s. It’s a medieval tale about a boy who loses the use of his legs but nevertheless saves the day. The book was engaging and read quickly. It was an interesting portrayal of medieval life in plague-ridden London, with accurate details and historical references. But, it was pretty Pollyanna-ish in terms of the boy’s predicament, which was never all that bad, since he had so many friends helping him all the time. For younger schoolchildren, however, it may be appropriate to soften the impact of the boy’s disability so they are not afraid for him. The messages of the book, that if you feel along a wall long enough, you’ll find a door; and that you certainly can NOT do something but you only CAN if you try; are both wholesome and useful. I liked this one.

Now You See Her by James Patterson and Michael Ledwidge, 2011

In Now You See Her, a woman is terrorized by a man, then is rescued by a man who terrorizes her, then is terrorized again by that man and is rescued by yet another man. The third man makes the boo-boos all better and she lives happily ever after. I don't think Patterson is going to end up on my top-10 authors list.
Once again, breathlessly short chapters launch the reader through a roller coaster of terror and despair. The main character, Nina/Jeanine, has a horrible experience with her boyfriend while on Spring Break in Key West during college. She steals a car and runs--and runs right over and kills a person. A mysteriously friendly police officer lets her off the hook--and takes her home and marries her. Happily ever after, right? But no. The husband is corrupt and maniacal--and in cahoots with a purported serial killer. So Nina/Jeanine steals a car and runs--runs right into the serial killer. The constant sense of menace is pervasive in this book. Her escape is miraculous.

Fast forward 15 years. Nina/Jeanine is a successful attorney with lots of secrets. Guess who shows up? Oh yeah, it's the husband, who is now even more corrupt and maniacal. Nina goes on the run again--runs right into the arms of another man, who turns out to be the savior she's needed all along. Many harrowing experiences later, the story resolves. Bad guys are not just murdered, but pretty much butchered. Glass, mirrors, sharp objects. There's no lack of gore.

Anyway, I didn't relate to Nina right from the start--her behavior was amazingly unrealistic and panic-driven. And she did not change during the book. Her personality (everyone's personality) was static. Bad was bad. Good was good. Victim was victim. I can't believe woman-as-helpless-victim still plays in Peoria.

Now You See Her is shallow and sensationalized and turned me off Key West forever, which is quite a feat. I think maybe Patterson is stretching himself and his franchise a bit too thin.

Best bits: The last minute stay of execution--Nina was instrumental in freeing a wrongly convicted man. Of course, it took all the way until part of the killing cocktail had already been injected into the IV, a long and grueling scene. But still, justice prevailed.

Physical description: Normal book shape; decent typography; 117 chapters (I need the number of chapters to be divisible by two or five); main story 383 pages long, with 10-page preview of another book; list of Patterson's works that is two full pages.

Buried Prey, by John Sandford, 2011

Spoilers: Some structural, but no plot revelations

Buried Prey is another book club offering. I joined a book club to get some free books, so now I have to buy a certain number of their titles before I can quit. So far, I've gotten mostly crime novels such as this one. I guess crime novels beat romances, but whatever happened to that old category "general fiction"? (One Summer was general fiction, but written by an author known for thrillers.)

The first chapter of Buried Prey was intense--the discovery of the bodies of two little girls who had gone missing 15 years earlier. However, from there the book took a lengthy detour into the past, following the main character (Lucas) as he investigated the initial disappearance--and helped convict the wrong man against his own instincts. This section of the book is detailed to a fault, like a "Law & Order" episode that lasts 4 hours and never gets past the police procedural part of the show.

It is when the book returns to the present that the book gets good. The pace quickens and by the last 100 pages, I couldn't read fast enough. Lucas gets progressively closer to the perpetrator, but some form of misdirection keeps sending him off on tangents. He refocuses over and over, consulting with a sterling group of friends and co-workers. When the final assault is planned, I was riveted. The procedural stuff was golden--who would go in which door, timing issues, even a discussion of whether or not the group was truly planning an assassination under the guise of taking down the fugitive. The pressure was on, door kicked in...well, get the book and find out what happened!

There is a weird amount of family interaction in this book, which would be absent from a typical detective book. I think some of this is from my old bugaboo--the need to catch readers up with recurring characters. But I rather liked it. Lucas was a person who ate and slept and worried about his fitness for his work. Hard boiled detectives smoke, drink too much coffee and whiskey and never sleep. The crime is their life. Not Lucas. He continally evaluated the impact his actions would/might have on his family. That's cool. He drew strength from his wife and daughters.

So, I guess I would recommend this book as a good getaway vehicle for a quiet weekend. You can tough it through that slow early stuff. I did. Trust me, the payoff will be there for you.

Best Bits: I loved the community of friends that coalesced and strengthened over the course of the book. They were looking out for each other in life and death settings, really supporting each other. Nice to see in such a manly book.

Main Complaint: The text tried to run off the bottom of the page, while a horsey header took up too much space at the top of the page. I read with the book propped on my stomach and I'm sorry to say that my bosom obstructed the last 2-3 lines of type. Margins! That's what it's all about. Anyway, this is shoddy bookmaking.

Petty Complaint: I thought the author photo on the back was absurd, like beefcake for the senior set. The whole focus is on Mr. Sandford's crotch! (OK, maybe I have a dirty mind, but really...) (See photo below.)

Physical Description: Book-shaped; little front matter and no end matter; 390 pages; 25 chapters (I like a good divisible number of chapters--how can an author write a book with, like, 31 chapters or somesuch?); awkward design and faulty layout (see Main Complaint).

Typos: None found.


     Well? What do YOUR eyes focus on?