"He had forgotten the Cause."

"... When the guns began firing he had forgotten it completely. It seemed very strange now to think of morality, or that minister long ago, or the poor runaway black. He looked out across the dark field, could see nothing but the yellow lights and outlines of black bodies stark in the lightning."

In The Killer Angels (1975), Michael Shaara captures the human side of the Civil War, specifically the Battle of Gettysburg, by focusing on the key players involved. Much like the movie Titanic, there is no risk of spoiling the ending; everyone knows the South loses this famous battle and most of its men in the processes. However, Shaara breaths new life into an old story by taking it back to the people, by introducing the human element that history books lack, caught up in the whos and the whats but not the motivations, the relationships and the passions.

Not much one for historical fiction, not to mention gory war novels, I was riveted, rushing headlong into the bloody battle, knowing perfectly well how it would end but wanting the soldiers to live. I had become invested. They had become people.

They were real men fighting for a dream, for a cause, for a lie. Each of them with a different motive; each of them with something to prove: courage, loyalty, that they are better men than most. These men were not ordered to fight by a king but willingly volunteered for the Cause, for the idea. My heart ached for the friends, Armistead and Hancock, finding themselves separated by the war and as enemies at the top of Cemetery Hill. "If I lift a hand against you, friend, may God strike me dead." Breaking a vow of friendship for the sake of loyalty to an idea, a Cause. The reason for the war as varied as the perspective of players.

Does it matter in the end? Lee asks the question "If the ware goes on- and it will, it will - what else can we do be go on? It is the same question forever, what else can we do? If they fight, we will fight with them. And does it matter after all who wins? Was that ever really the question? Will God ask that question in the end?"

God must grow tired of being called down on both sides of a war.

Up next... The Travels of Jaimie McPheeters by Robert Lewis Taylor, winner of the 1959 Pulitzer.

Until then my friends... Happy reading.

"But there are still the hours, aren't there?"

"...One and then another, and you get through that one and then, my god, there's another." Winner of the Pulitzer Prize in 1999, The Hours is a glimpse into the lives of three women: Virgina Wolfe, Laura Brown, and Clarissa Vaughan. All three exist in different places in time, but their lives intertwine in an unsuspecting twist. So understanded, that I almost missed it, and I believe I did miss it when I watched the movie. Perhaps I can pass that off to time and ignorance. I was over ten years younger and spend most of the movie marveling at Nicole Kidmans prosthetic nose.

I digress...

The book revolves around Wolfe's novel Mrs. Dalloway: Virginia is in the process of writing the novel, Laura (a 1950's suburban housewife) is reading the novel, and Clarissa, an independant New Yorker, finds herself in a parrallel universe, unknowingly portraying Mrs. Dalloway as she goes about planning a party in honor a beloved poet. All three women go about their lives, getting through the hours and struggling with their own demons: Virginia with the voices in her head, Laura with the mundane existence as a housewife and her embarrassing failure in baking a birthday cake for her husband, Clarissa with the actuallity of her life and the memories of a past she cannot get back.

At this point in my life, I found this book especially poignant for at times, I find myself frustrated with the mundane events that can take up the hours of a day: loading the dishwasher for the eighth time, washing an almost identical load of laundry as the previous week, picking up my daughter's dirty socks that mysteriously migrate from room to room without the aid of tiny feet. Not to mention the eight hours spend improving the lifes of others, or at leaset attempting to. It is easy to get bogged down in the hours of the day, the hours that you almost have to 'survive,' that you forget to enjoy, to revel in the thrill of living. As Cunningham so aptly states, "We live out lives, do whatever we do, and then we sleep - it's as simple and ordinary as that. ... There's just this for consolation: an hour here or there when our lives seem, against all odds and expectations, to burst open and give us everything we've ever imagined, though everyone but children (and perhaps even they) knows these hours will inevitably be followed by others, far darker and more difficult. Still we cherish the city, the morning; we hope, more than anything, for more."

So here I sit at the computer, the soft glow of the screen drying my tired eyes. The sink is empty, and the dirty clothes safely stored until laundry day rolls back around. My daughter dreams blissful dreams of coloring books, crayons, and cows. The hour is growing late, and it is time to call it a night. And while there are times I desire to run away, to shrug off the cloak of responsibility, I will go to bed wanting another year, another day, another hour of this life.

Up next... The Killer Angers by Michael Shaara, winner of the 1975 Pulitzer.

Until then, my friends... Happy reading.

A Good Scent from a Strange Mountain

A Good Scent from a Strange Mountain by Robert Olen Butler won the Pulitzer in 1993. A collection of short stories, this work focuses on the various characters misplaced due to the Vietnam war. Some take place in New Orleans, the area in which most Vietnamese refuges settled as it was most like their home country. Some are simple expressions of longing and hope. All of them are beautifully written.

Perhaps it is because I am a mother, but my favorite short story is a mother spending a quiet moment before her husband returns from work to talk to her unborn daughter. Her mother spoke to her so she will speak to her daughter and her daughter will then share secrets with her child, as is the way with customs.

She tells her daughter secret things, "to begin counseling (her) in the matters of the world that (she) will soon enter. She tells her daughter of a time when she was young, sixteen, and she met the love of her life, Bao, at the Mid-Autumn Festival. Her families at agreed for them to marry, but fate would take them down a different path. Bao was called into the Army before the ceremony and died in battle somewhere in the mountains.

Tragically beautiful, but at the same time full of hope for the future of her unborn daughter, her daughter by a good man.

There are other great stories within the fairly short collection of work. The people are likable for the most part, some of them not quite developed as others (or perhaps I simply didn't pick up on the subtle nuances). However, I believe the work fills a gap in the American experience as I travel on this journey.

At the age of 29, I wasn't even a glimmer in my parents' eyes (I am not even sure my parents were even dating at the time.) What I know of the Vietnam War I learned from the history books or from the wonderful writings of Tim O'Brian. While the Civil War is a common subject upon which to write, Butler covers an equally important era in our nation's history and in an unsuspecting way: from the perspective of an immigrant. How fitting for a nation of immigrants!

Up next: The Hours by Michael Cunningham, winner of the 1999 Pulitzer.

Until then... Happy reading.

The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao

 I was very excited to start this book. It sounded great, and I had received many great reviews from fellow readers whom I love and admire. My excitement dwindled like a bored crowd the further I got into this work. With that said, I can get past my general dislike for the book and understand why it is great enough to be considered for and win the Pulitzer Prize.

The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao won the Pulitzer in 2008, and as the title suggests, it follows the brief life of one Oscar Wao, told from the mostly omniscient voice of Yunior, Oscar's on-again-off-again roommate and would-be boyfriend to Oscar's sister, Lola.

Oscar is a tragic character, an unattractive Dominican American who's most erotic years occurred at the age of 11. Through his awkward teenage years and on into young adulthood, Oscar is a depressed individual, immersed in graphic novels and longing to be a successful writer with the love of a beautiful woman. In the end, he obtains the love he seeks but at a great cost.
 
At times, I found this book a struggle, getting bogged down in the Spanglish and trying to brush back the cobwebs of the dark recesses of my brain where the intermediate Spanish classes I took nine years ago are stored. I also found it depressing as Wao is a self-destructive glutton feasting on trouble. It reminds me slightly of Wuthering Heights in the fact that it sent my own spirit into a downward spiral of depression.
With that said, I appreciate the skill that Diaz displays as well as his reverence, brushing off the flowery language of glorified literature and writing in the common man's prose.
 
Hopefully, I have not detoured anyone from taking this book in hand and learning it's inner-most secrets. Perhaps, I have fallen short in this regard. However, there is always another book to pick up and other characters to befriend. Perhaps I will have better luck next time.

Up next: A Good Scent from a Strange Mountain by Robert Olen Butler, winner of the 1993 Pulitzer.
 
Until then... Happy reading.