The protagonist is a weakness, but buffs will find compensations here. More than 80,000 books have been written about the...



A sickly, sensitive, Shakespeare-spouting 17-year-old becomes a Confederate Army killing machine.

The trouble is that Charlie Merrill spends much of his time stretching credulity. As he assesses the illustrious General Joe Johnston, he hardly seems his age: “He has restored hope,” Charlie tells his own commanding general, adding that that’s “[no] small thing for a man young or old.” This at 17? And a private talking to a general? Which army? What planet? Clearly, General Patrick Cleburne, hero of the Tennessee campaign, has taken a shine to youthful Charlie: he plays chess with him, swaps philosophies and literary quotations with him, sends senior officers to fetch him to his tent whenever the press of military affairs permits, and presents him with the last of his precious Whitworths: that marvelous rifle issued only to super-snipers. The process of Charlie’s achieving sharpshooter stardom could have been interesting, but it gets short shrift, offered as just one of those ironic contradictions: Charlie’s “a bookish boy who also loved guns.” At 15, he was almost carried off by a lingering illness, recovered, fell in love with a beautiful Bostonian, lost her, then left for the war a year or so later, where he slays with biblical ferocity in behalf of a cause he’s lost faith in. Flash forward to 1914, and there’s Charlie, venerable now, a respected writer and retired newspaperman, preparing to give a speech on the 50th anniversary of the Battle of Atlanta but in a funk because he doesn’t quite know what to say about it. Never mind, Charlie being Charlie, he delivers, and the crowd erupts accordingly: cheers, screams, tears even—bull’s-eye!

The protagonist is a weakness, but buffs will find compensations here. More than 80,000 books have been written about the American Civil War—and, with authoritative, vividly rendered battle scenes, Williams (Blue Crystal, 1993, etc.) earns a place somewhere, well, at least in the upper quadrant.

Pub Date: Sept. 20, 2004

ISBN: 0-312-33252-1

Page Count: 320

Publisher: Dunne/St. Martin's

Review Posted Online: May 20, 2010

Kirkus Reviews Issue: July 15, 2004

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A strict report, worthy of sympathy.


A violent surfacing of adolescence (which has little in common with Tarkington's earlier, broadly comic, Seventeen) has a compulsive impact.

"Nobody big except me" is the dream world of Holden Caulfield and his first person story is down to the basic, drab English of the pre-collegiate. For Holden is now being bounced from fancy prep, and, after a vicious evening with hall- and roommates, heads for New York to try to keep his latest failure from his parents. He tries to have a wild evening (all he does is pay the check), is terrorized by the hotel elevator man and his on-call whore, has a date with a girl he likes—and hates, sees his 10 year old sister, Phoebe. He also visits a sympathetic English teacher after trying on a drunken session, and when he keeps his date with Phoebe, who turns up with her suitcase to join him on his flight, he heads home to a hospital siege. This is tender and true, and impossible, in its picture of the old hells of young boys, the lonesomeness and tentative attempts to be mature and secure, the awful block between youth and being grown-up, the fright and sickness that humans and their behavior cause the challenging, the dramatization of the big bang. It is a sorry little worm's view of the off-beat of adult pressure, of contemporary strictures and conformity, of sentiment….

A strict report, worthy of sympathy.

Pub Date: June 15, 1951

ISBN: 0316769177

Page Count: -

Publisher: Little, Brown

Review Posted Online: Nov. 2, 2011

Kirkus Reviews Issue: June 15, 1951

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Unrelenting gloom relieved only occasionally by wrenching trauma; somehow, though, Hannah’s storytelling chops keep the...


Hannah’s sequel to Firefly Lane (2008) demonstrates that those who ignore family history are often condemned to repeat it.

When we last left Kate and Tully, the best friends portrayed in Firefly Lane, the friendship was on rocky ground. Now Kate has died of cancer, and Tully, whose once-stellar TV talk show career is in free fall, is wracked with guilt over her failure to be there for Kate until her very last days. Kate’s death has cemented the distrust between her husband, Johnny, and daughter Marah, who expresses her grief by cutting herself and dropping out of college to hang out with goth poet Paxton. Told mostly in flashbacks by Tully, Johnny, Marah and Tully’s long-estranged mother, Dorothy, aka Cloud, the story piles up disasters like the derailment of a high-speed train. Increasingly addicted to prescription sedatives and alcohol, Tully crashes her car and now hovers near death, attended by Kate’s spirit, as the other characters gather to see what their shortsightedness has wrought. We learn that Tully had tried to parent Marah after her father no longer could. Her hard-drinking decline was triggered by Johnny’s anger at her for keeping Marah and Paxton’s liaison secret. Johnny realizes that he only exacerbated Marah’s depression by uprooting the family from their Seattle home. Unexpectedly, Cloud, who rebuffed Tully’s every attempt to reconcile, also appears at her daughter’s bedside. Sixty-nine years old and finally sober, Cloud details for the first time the abusive childhood, complete with commitments to mental hospitals and electroshock treatments, that led to her life as a junkie lowlife and punching bag for trailer-trash men. Although powerful, Cloud’s largely peripheral story deflects focus away from the main conflict, as if Hannah was loath to tackle the intractable thicket in which she mired her main characters.

Unrelenting gloom relieved only occasionally by wrenching trauma; somehow, though, Hannah’s storytelling chops keep the pages turning even as readers begin to resent being drawn into this masochistic morass.

Pub Date: April 23, 2013

ISBN: 978-0-312-57721-6

Page Count: 416

Publisher: St. Martin's

Review Posted Online: Feb. 18, 2013

Kirkus Reviews Issue: March 1, 2013

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