THE PILOTS

Newcomer Spencer, awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross and three Air Medals, flew combat planes during WWII—and no one who reads his novel-in-stories will doubt it for a minute.

There’s testosterone at the boil in this tale of kids barely out of adolescence and addicted to risk, violence, and showing off, cocky sky-dragsters dazzled by a sense of invulnerability that’s crazily coexistent with being terrified (“On this morning, as on others, Steve Larkin was half drunk with the sizzle of take off”). But there’s also sheer accomplishment. Without these boys’ heroism, whatever its source, without their dedication and their indestructible disbelief in death, an Allied victory would have been impossible. From the time Stevie Larkin could think, he envisioned himself air-borne, and to him—whatever else it meant—war meant opportunity. In l944, then, 20-year-old Lieutenant Larkin was living his dream—jockeying his beloved P-38 Lightning all over New Guinea and points south, protecting B-24 bombers, dog-fighting Japanese Zeroes. Sensitive and troubled, as well as lethally skilled, he’s the central figure in a cast that’s large, varied, and vividly evoked. There are the aces, for instance, Danovich and Bixby, fiercely competitive, as much at war with each other as with the enemy. There’s Courtenay, with the face of an angel and the heart of Iago. There’s Doc, the flight surgeon, so desperately involved with the men-children in his care that the ultimate crackup is his own. Then there are the women: Addie, the Australian girl widowed much too young and hurt by it beyond repair; and Patsy, the spunky American whose grace and intelligence become the building blocks of Stevie’s redemption. Told in 15 interlocking pieces, Pilots is a story about war and warriors, of course, but also about Stevie Larkin’s harrowing coming-of-age.

A riveting and poignant debut of young people facing war.