It feels like a long time since I’ve read such an accomplished novel. Geraldine Brooks manages to catch the horror of war in a phrase: “…[men] were clinging [to the rocky bluff over the river] as a cluster of bees dangling from a hive, and slipping off in clumps, four or five together.” Her characters are so richly drawn and steeped in a historically accurate language that we feel transported, and are eager to delve into our own researches. In this novel she recreates the environment of one of our most beloved and earliest American writers, Louisa May Alcott. But instead of walking on furrowed soil, she moves back to imagine Alcott’s father, using his own journals and those of his friends, as well as the journals of Civil War chaplains, soldiers, medics, and slaves. She chose an unusual man, but she made him gracious, sympathetic, fallible, generous, and loving. This is essential to carry us through those bitter days of war, for we need a man willing to mull over events of that time but also to guide us.He was sincere, but must have also been painfully strict with his family: …I had come in stages to a different belief about how one should be in this life. I now felt convinced that the greater part of a man’s duty consists in abstaining from much that he is in the habit of consuming…None in our household ate meat but now we learned to do without milk and cheese also, for why should the calf be deprived of its mother’s milk? Further, we found that by limiting our own consumption to two meals a day, we were able to set aside a basket of provisions from which the girls were able to exact a pleasure far greater than sating an animal appetite. Once a week they carried the fruits of their sacrifice as a gift to a destitute brood of German immigrants. I laughed to read this, for the sincerity of the father must be the disappointment of the daughters.Part I is written in the voice of Captain March, chaplain of the Union Army. Though we learn the deepest secrets buried in his heart, we never learn his first name. Part II is written in the voice of his wife, Marmee March née Day of Concord, Massachusetts. The juxtaposition of the two voices shows us once again, should we need reminding, that gestures alone between husband and wife are often miscontrued and that we should try to give careful voice to our meaning and intentions if we wish the union to succeed.“Ragged scallop of cypress woods”, Jo's “lawless strands” [of hair], “a cold drizzle [falling] from heavily swagged clouds”: such phrases spike the book with rich flavor and bursts of color, and these are all Brooks. It is a masterpiece of historical reconstruction, but what I reveled in most was her smooth and seamless telling of the tale in backward glances and nineteenth century cadence and language, her use of metaphor, her rich imaginings, and its grounding in historical record. We can thank her for reminding us of our history and for remembering those men and women who left records of their lives and of our most uncivil war.For those contemplating the audio version, the Richard Easton narration is magnificent. His reading's fluency of expression and elegance of tone mirrors the beauty of the text.
I now know, having perused Geraldine Brooks' website, that March won the 2006 Pulitzer prize for fiction. I had not noticed that it had received such acclaim when I pulled it from the shelf at our modest library, but now, having finished the last page, I am not surprised it did. It is good. Brooks' is an authentic voice. Her extensive reading of primary sources, particularly the writings of Bronson Alcott, that was the inspiration for L.M. Alcott's father figure in Little Women, gives Brooks a handle on the cadences of 19th century prose. Combined with her literary skill, Brooks brings to her narrative journalistic details, a result of her experience as a correspondent in war-torn countries. In the novel, Brooks gives thoughtful consideration to a quandry common to many: how do we come to terms with the discrepency between our ideals and the realities of life? Mr. March is a pacifist, and enlists as a chaplain, seeking to live out his beliefs. Later, he later sees people in his care killed, and killed because of his own cowardice or in the effort to save him. It is a difficult cross to bear. Grace, the educated daughter of a plantation owner and his slave, offers this perspective to Mr. March as he flagellates himself for the horrors he believe he has caused: "'You are not God. You do not determine the outcome. The outcome is not the point.'"'The what, pray, is the point?' His voice was a dry, soft rattle, like a breeze through a bough of dead leaves."'The point is the effort. That you, believing what you believed--what you sincerely believed, including the commandment 'thou shalt not kill'--acted upon it. To believe, to act, and to have events confound you--I grant you, that is hard to bear. But to believe, and not to act, or to act in a way that every fiber of your soul held was wrong--how can you not see? That is what would have been reprehensible.'" (258)Later, Grace continues: I simply ask you to see that there is only one thing to do when we fall, and that is to get up, and go on with the life that is set in front of us, and try to do the good of which our hands are capable for the people who come in our way. (268) This embodiment of grace is probably the greatest reason I found to love March, and to appreciate it for more than the historical fiction it is in genre. Brooks is right, and she expresses the truth eloquently; we waste precious time beating ourselves up over past failures. The only hope is to forgive, ourselves, then others, moving forward with conviction and compassion. Related Links: "March to the Front," an article about Brooks' journey to writing March, by Catherine Keenan of the Sydney Morning Herald "The Writing Life," Geraldine Brooks' reflections on her craft
Do You like book March (2006)?
It's not that I don't like any historical fiction, I just think that it's a really hard thing to do right, without simplifying everything. Nah, I really just hate historical fiction. And I think that March is a perfect example of historical fiction gone wrong. 1. I hate it in historical fiction when... the author seems to cling to one or two details in history and repeat them over and over again. In this book, the author seems intent on measuring everything in rods, no matter how short or long the distance, no matter how unimportant it is to the rest of the story - "the field was six rods away," "he was one rod tall," "I love rods." She does the same thing with the word score - three score, four score, five score... there are never ten or fifty or ninety of anything. Perhaps there was never ten, fifty, or ninety of anything in the 1860s? I suppose I'm not a historian...2. I hate it in historical fiction when... huge events, such as the Civil War, are simplified down to the most basic historical and moral levels. Sure, I understand that an entire war is too complex to fully cover in a three hundred page novel, but you can still do better than, "War is bad! But slavery is also bad! So is a war to get rid of slavery good?" 3. I hate it in historical fiction when... the main character seems to be best friends with every famous person of the time period. In this book, the main character hangs with Waldo Emerson, Henry Thoreau (notice she drops the "Ralph" and "David" parts because, you know, they're like close friends), Nathaniel Hawthorne, and John Brown. As if, because I live in the 2000s, I am best buds with Dick Cheney, Britney Spears, and Bill Gates. Hi, Brit! Luv Ya!!!
—Sarah
This is the story of Peter March, the absent father of Meg, Jo, Amy and Beth of Little Women. Clever, poignant, informative, inspiring, heartbreaking, interesting and historical, Brooks takes Louisa May Alcott's famous Little Women, and writes a parallel story about their father's experience during the same year. Little snippets are taken from Little Women, and it's as though you can see that famous play happening in the background in each scene. Sort of like Wicked and The Wizard of Oz, only more serious and important. After all, Peter March wasn't out flying on a broom, he was trying to serve the Union troops in the United States own Civil War.Brooks bases Peter on Alcott's own father's journals, just as Alcott based her Little Women on herself and her sisters. Bronson Alcott, and his fictional representative, Peter March, are part of the intellectual elite who reside in Concord Massachusetts alongside their contemporaries, Walden, Thoreau, Hawthorn and Brown, who each make an appearance in the story. Idealistic abolitionists with Quaker leanings, March leaves his family to support the union's cause to end slavery and finds great conflict between his inner values and his outward actions.Brooks writes exclusively in the first person and as a result, I, the reader, was able to understand Peter March as he was, as he wanted to be and as he failed to be. He is a fantastic character. My only complaint with the book is that she abandoned Peter for a few chapters and wrote as Marmee, his wife, when he lay sick with fever. She eventually returns to Peter's voice, which gives the story the resolution it needs, and while Marmees' thoughts are equally moving and necessary, it made the ending a little choppy.Despite that lack of continuity, I enthusiastically recommend March. It will force you to examine your own viewpoints about war, education, race, marriage, courage, pride and love.
—Lucy
As I read March, I repeatedly wondered why I wasn't enjoying this novel more. Initially, I thought my lack of adoration was the result of historical-fiction burnout. March feels and sounds like so many other novels I've read. And this may have been part of my disinterest. But I think a larger part of my feeling (or lack of feeling) rests in a different comparison.March offers another perspective of Louisa May Alcott's Little Women, that of the father. I've had a good record with novels that take minor characters and make a full story from them: Ahab's Wife is one of my favorites. That said, I thought I'd really like a Civil War tale about the March father. But Mr. March never really separates himself from his little women. His continual reminders leave a link I could not shake; I never felt like it was his story. As such, it was impossible not to compare.March is written extraordinarily well. The structure and language are both great assets. As far as craft, March is a step above its predecessor. But the endearing beauty and magic of Little Women isn't here. It isn't supposed to be, as this is the tale of a father who suffers much. It is the story of a man who endures a year of horror and grit knowing radiance awaits him at home. It's a great contrast to Little Women, which I believe is the intent, but the comparisons make this novel drag in the mud behind the names Meg, Amy, Beth, and Jo. It was during the scenes with these four girls that Mr. March seemed the most real to me. Though we have only a glimpse of Mr. March in Little Women, it seems that the actions of March's protagonist are uncharacteristic, as are some of the actions and thoughts of Marmee, his wife.This novel doesn't feel so much like another chapter in Alcott story as it does a complete reworking. Only in the final chapters did March evoke the real warmth of its inspiration. A most fitting end to an otherwise unequal novel.
—Chris Blocker
