“Stonewall in the Valley: Thomas J. “Stonewall” Jackson’s Shenandoah Valley Campaign Spring 1862”, by Robert G. Tanner

 

436 pages, Doubleday, ISBN-13: 978-0385121484

Stonewall in the Valley: Thomas J. “Stonewall” Jackson’s Shenandoah Valley Campaign Spring 1862 by Robert G. Tanner was one of my Father’s books, bought at the height of his Civil War Mania in the 80s and 90s and read by him in preparation for one of our Civil War vacations that we took every summer. What it recounts is the Shenandoah Valley Campaign, conducted by Jackson from February to June, 1862, during the American Civil War, at the end of which Jackson’s reputation as a military genius would be cemented by both sides. Fighting six relatively small battles – Kernstown, McDowell, Front Royal, Winchester, Cross Keys and Port Republic – Jackson managed to defeat Union generals Nathaniel P. Banks, Irvin McDowell, John C. Frémont, James Shields, Robert H. Milroy and Robert C. Schenck.

Jackson managed to tie down Union forces in the Valley that could have been thrown against the Confederate capitol of Richmond, Virginia; and Jackson was in no way blind to the importance of his actions, stating that “If the Valley is lost, Virginia is lost” and, thus, the War. Everything relating to Jackson and the Campaign can be found in abundant detail and exhaustive documentation, including several appendices that discuss the orders on various critical days and how they were (or were not) interpreted, understood, carried out completely, partially, or not at all; the fog of war laid bare. All one associates with Jackson – the bravado, the daring, the Foot Cavalry, all of it – was earned over the course of these four brief months, and as Tanner shows, it was a well-earned and hard-fought reputation.

Well, mostly; for in spite of Jackson’s obvious drive and brilliance, the man had his flaws as a commander. First and foremost were the expectations placed and his soldiers and himself, which were often outrageously high if not downright ridiculous; the forces of the Valley District of the Department of Northern Virginia were fortunate indeed to escape relatively intact on several occasions, all because of the excessive demands placed upon it by Jackson, with Port Republic being the prime example. Maybe this insane audacity was necessary when fighting forces that, were they ever to combine, would have outnumbered his own 4-to-1. But it all caught up to them in the end as Jackson and his forces, recalled by Lee during McClellan’s Peninsula Campaign, were all but asleep during the battles, worn out no doubt by the constant fighting and marching.

Besides its strategic success, the Valley Campaign provided a much-needed boost to Confederate morale after a spring season of defeats, which made Jackson’s death at Chancellorsville all the more devastating to the South and made defeat all but inevitable. Stonewall in the Valley deserves its reputation as a modern-day classic of the Civil War, Stonewall Jackson and the price of audacity in war: fame, immortality, exhaustion, and the weight of expectations.

“American Comics: A History”, by Jeremy Dauber

 

592 pages, W. W. Norton & Company, ISBN-13‏: ‎ 978-0393635607

Everything I know about comic books I learned through osmosis from my older brother, Tom. He was the true collector, and while such mainstream titles – like X-Men – made it into his collection, he seemed to favor the more independent titles, like Alien Legion, published by Epic Comics (an imprint of Marvel). I tried my hand at comics for a time, reading every issue of House of Mystery I could get my hands on (especially when they ran the I…Vampire recurring storyline), getting in on the ground floor with the resurrected Firestorm in 1982, along with such New Universe titles as Star Brand in 1986 (to say nothing of my beloved Groo the Wander). But all for naught, as I was well and truly under the sway of history, and these fictional beings couldn’t match the exploits of men (it was mostly men) who really lived and shaped their worlds.

So with all that said, it may make you wonder why I read American Comics: A History by Jeremy Dauber, seeing as I was a tangential fan of the medium, at best. Well, it was because I was ignorant of so much of what has occurred surrounding this most American of mediums, and decided to cure this ignorance the best way I know how. American Comics is exhaustive in its approach, starting with the birth of newspaper comics in the late 19^th Century and continuing on through to the present day, when these mainstays of every geek’s life (he said with nothin’ but love) conquered the movies and popular culture. While the big names everyone has heard of are represented, Dauber does justice to the underground comics of the 60s and 70s, as well as those publications attached to comics, like MAD Magazine and its imitators.

Dauber’s work is as thorough and comprehensive as one could hope for, and every character this comic book noob could imagine makes an appearance at some point; just as importantly, though, I learned about their creators, the often unheralded writers and artists (most of whom I’d never heard of) were brought forth and offered a bow. The big names are here, like Steve Ditko, Jerry Siegel, Stan Lee, Will Eisner and so many others besides, but the more obscure creators are given their due, as well. While some may kvetch that these lesser-known lights shouldn’t be given so much page space relative to their better-known colleagues, Dauber seemed intent on giving as complete a history of this American art form as possible, even if the reader hadn’t heard of whomever was under discussion.

Eclectic and incomplete, I’m sure, as I don’t think that Dauber spoke to a single comic-geek for a fan’s-eye-view of the medium, or any comic book store owners for any behind-the-scenes tales of selling these things. And when he speaks of so-called “toxic fandom” he really goes off the rails, availing himself of all the anecdotal evidence at his fingertips and assigning bad-faith motivations to fans who have reacted badly to the poor storytelling that is presented solely for the sake of achieving so-called “diversity”. Really, now, to pretend that this push for inclusion at all costs – while simultaneously cheering it on even as it subverts good storytelling for politics – hasn’t created a crisis in the industry is to ignore reality. And how in the hell do you write a book about comics with absolutely no pictures?

But, anyway…American Comics: A History did its job in informing me of what I didn’t know. Dauber doesn’t really bring anything new to the table that hasn’t been said before elsewhere, but he does provide a simple, concise history of this medium that conquered American culture and, thus, the world.

“Drive-Thru Dreams: A Journey Through the Heart of America’s Fast-Food Kingdom”, by Adam Chandler

288 pages, Flatiron Books, ISBN-13: 978-1250090720

I walk. A lot. It’s really the only exercise I get. I’ve walked at every job I ever had, doing lap after lap around the joint until I wore paths in the carpet. Most of my employers were cool with it – or at any rate didn’t complain about it – while others…weren’t. Ah, screw ‘em. I even walk when I’m not working, like when I’m at the library reading, or in the computer lab, and get up every half-hour (because that’s as long as I can sit still) and take a lap – which is when I saw Drive-Thru Dreams: A Journey Through the Heart of America's Fast-Food Kingdom by Adam Chandler and checked it out then and there. Because why not? Chandler’s book explores how modern American dining has changed over the course of the 20^th Century. While most pundits see fast food in only a negative light, Chandler uncovers the whole story by showing how fast food chains impacted Americans, both negatively and, yes, positively.

Personally, McDonald’s was THE fast food go-to joint. Saturdays my Dad would take Mom out for a well-deserved dinner at whatever place she chose; my brother Jonathan and I were basically left alone to watch TV (especially Airwolf) and scarf down our McDonald’s Happy Meals. On the many interstate vacations we went on we also inevitably had lunch at McDonald’s because it was cheap and reliable (dinner was something else; we always tried a local joint to add variety to our lives). Was all of this fast food good for me? Nope. But that’s the point of a guilty pleasure, isn’t it? If you want to eat healthy you don’t eat fast food; if you want to enjoy life a little you do. And Chandler relates these basic facts as he recounts the history of America’s greatest fast food chains and how fast food shaped America and how America shaped fast food, for fast food history is unquestionably American history, for good and for ill.

Chandler does a great job in showing how the Greatest Generation provided the perfect market for the explosive growth of seemingly every small-town burger joint into a much larger atmosphere which, when combined with a new advertising mindset, allowed them to become national icons – well, some of them at any rate, for with every international success there were a dozen failures (I still miss the Burger Chef that graced the strip mall opposite my childhood subdivision). If I had a complaint then it’s the double crutches of McDonald’s and Kentucky Fried Chicken that he leans on, to the detriment of other fast food chains. These other chains are discussed – White Castle, Hardees, Taco Bell and others, besides – but they all seem to come back to Mickey D’s and KFC at the cost of explaining how food tastes were changing overall. And the snide political commentary at times was as out of place as an onion ring in my large fries.

But anyway – Drive-Thru Dreams was an informative look at an often misunderstood and much maligned market whose greatest crime is giving the public what it wants. While I think the book would have been better had it been more linear, instead of bouncing about from one corporation to the next, what Chandler makes clear is that fast food did not originate from a single place but was created throughout the country, virtually at the same time. And over time, with the interstate highways connecting the country, fast food, in a way, connected us all.

“The Three Locks”, by Bonnie MacBird

 

432 pages, Collins Crime Club, ISBN-13: 978-0008380830

The Three Locks by Bonnie MacBird is the fourth of her Sherlock Holmes adventures, the others being Art in the Blood (reviewed on September 18^th, 2024), Unquiet Spirits (reviewed on May 9^th, 2025) and The Devil’s Due (reviewed on July 20^th, 2026); The Three Locks just may be the best of her interpretations thus far. The locks of the title refer to three entirely different contraptions: a special box sent to Watson by his just-passed aunt which his long-dead mother meant for him to have; the contraptions invented by a husband-and-wife team of Italian magicians; and the river lock located on the River Cam. All three are connected in some fashion not obvious to the average person, but Sherlock Holmes is anything but average. What follows is an engrossing tale in which these riddles wrapped in mysteries inside of enigmas come to a head in true Conan Doyle fashion. As with the other books MacBird has written, her take on Holmes and Watson (and the underappreciated Mrs. Hudson) have an authentic feel that would make Conan Doyle proud. The atmosphere of and characterizations all have the true to life vibe of Victorian England.

MacBird is an excellent writer who employs good turns of phrase (turns of phrases?), and this book is full of sentences that causes one to chuckle like a major general as she channels Conan Doyle to display Holmes often overlooked wit; this undercurrent of humor is all the more enjoyable for not trying too hard, MacBird doesn’t force it on her reader but allows it to happen on its own. Holmes and Watson as characters are developed beyond simply describing their parts in the plot, as our author obviously is a fan of this most famous of detectives (and Watson). Speaking of which, Watson is a well-developed character on his own and plays a more active role than just being the most famous sidekick in literature; his knowledge and skills are called upon by Holmes to assist in the solving these crimes, and the insight MacBird gives on his past fleshes him out in ways his creator never really managed to do. The tragedy of his childhood, while perhaps not canon, makes for an interesting development and explains to a great deal just why John became a doctor. Really, MacBird does Watson justice.

There are several detailed descriptions of characters and settings, giving the entire book a virtual cinematic feel and scope, with even minor characters given their due. But it is Holmes and his reliance on Watson – an often overlooked aspect of the character, if I may be so bold – that is front and center. Their voices, characters and settings, as well as Holmes’ penetrating observations and brilliant deductions, will be instantly recognizable by anyone familiar with the classic Conan Doyle cases that “Watson” shared with the world decades ago. As I’ve said before, these new books are so unquestionably authentic that the most of knowledgeable and devoted Sherlockians would be excused for thinking that Bonnie MacBird’s conceit is real: that these stories were in fact written by Dr. John Watson and she is merely the transcriber, as was her predecessor, Arthur Conan Doyle. So here’s to hoping the MacBird finds more of these long-lost tales of Victorian daring-do and shares them with us jaded moderns; God knows we could all use some old-fashioned toxic men to ride in and save the day.

“The Daughter of Time”, by Josephine Tey

 

206 pages, Touchstone, ISBN-13: 978-0684803869

I said back on July 13^th, 2016, in my review of Richard III: England’s Black Legend by Desmond Seward that “what the JFK assassination is to Americans, the murder of the Princes in the Tower is to the English”; that is, a perennial conspiracy surrounding a supposed unsolved crime which is nothing of the sort – to wit, Richard III had his nephews King Edward V and Richard Duke of York murdered (oh, and Lee Harvey Oswald assassinated JFK and acted alone, too).

But the credulous must be appeased, and so theses fictions march on. In 1951 Josephine Tey (that would be Elizabeth MacKintosh to you and me) put her hand to this tale with The Daughter of Time, in which her character, Scotland Yard Inspector Alan Grant, in hospital on leave nursing a broken leg, investigates the murder of the Princes in the Tower (the title comes from Sir Francis Bacon: “Truth is the daughter of time, not of authority”).

The topic has been popular for some six centuries, and this book no less so: the British Crime Writers’ Association named it number one in The Top 100 Crime Novels of All Time in 1990, while the Mystery Writers of America named it number four in The Top 100 Mystery Novels of All Time in 1995. Clearly, something is afoot for a book on a controversial subject to be so honored, and so let’s you and I figure out just why that is, shall we?

The Daughter of Time finds the aforementioned Inspector Grant researching an historical mystery at the suggestion of his actress friend, Marta Hallard, after she brings him some pictures of historical characters, one of them being Richard III of black fame. Grant prides himself on being able to read a person’s character from his appearance, and Richard seems to him a gentle, kind and wise man, incapable of the heinous acts set at his door. And so the game is afoot.

Whether Tey took her own premise seriously or not I cannot say; what I can declare is that it without question deserves inclusion The Top 100 Crime Novels of All Time (at number 1 or 4, whatever you like). It is taut and well-thought-out, with each premise and theory that Grant and his compadres investigate both fascinating and plausible. Whether or not you accept her conclusion (I don’t), it is an excellent mystery and a rollicking good read, to boot.

Tey was not the only one who believed Richard innocent, and throughout the 450+ years since Richard lived and died there have been loyal groups in Britain who have continued to believe that he has been falsely maligned and to work to rehabilitate his reputation. Tey’s book influenced that movement and convinced many to join it, such has been the far-reaching influence of this unique (fictional) murder mystery.

This a work of fiction, of course, and The Daughter of Time offered a fascinating journey through English history while giving a lesson in high-minded obsession. Grant becomes thoroughly convinced of the falsity of the charge against the accused and is determined to prove him innocent and bring the guilty to justice (it is, after all, what he does). That he is misguided is easy to forget as one reads this near-perfect mystery.

“Call It Sleep”, by Henry Roth

 

599 pages, Robert O. Ballou, ISBN-13: 978-224405329206

Just when in the hell did I read Call It Sleep by Henry Roth? I know I didn’t read it for personal growth or knowledge or anything like that. So I must have done so for a class, somewhere. But what class? Would it have been in Junior High? High School? Some college course, lost to the mists of history? Hmmmmm…anyway, I dunno. But read it I did, and here is my penetrating, insightful review. Call It Sleep was all but ignored for thirty-odd years when originally published in 1934, but when literary critic Irving Howe reviewed it in The New York Times Book Review in 1964 it was reborn and hailed as a modern American classic. So there’s that. In a nutshell, it is about 6-year-old David Schearl, a “dangerously imaginative” Jewish boy growing up in the immigrant ghetto of New York’s Lower East Side in the early 20^th Century and his coming to terms with conflicting forces as he tries to forge his own identity.

In many ways, Call It Sleep is a typical coming-of-age story, albeit the character is much younger than is typical of this type of tale; indeed, there’s really nothing overly special about his life until he meets and befriends Leo, a Gentile – which is perhaps the point, for David’s experiences mirror those of his fellow Americans, Jew or Gentile. But I can see why, when this book was published, it was scandalous and shunned by the Respectable. One can find everything from suggestions of sex between children to foulmouthed Irish gashouse workers, and there’s quite a bit in between the two. But it’s a hard book to read because of all of the hardships, heartbreaks and disturbing incidents, one after another, that David and his family must endure. I’m sure all of these dark developments did nothing to boost the Golden Streets narrative favored by many an American then, and I can’t imagine immigrants wanting to read about the suffering they were experiencing.

Also, Roth was serious about capturing the dialect of his various urban characters, and I do mean the dialect, not just the flavor of their speech. Need examples? Okay: “My ticher calls id Xmas, bod de kids call id Chrizmas. I’ds a goyish holiday anyways. Wunst I hanged up a stockin’ in Brooklyn. Bod mine fodder pud in a eggshells wid terlit paper an’ a piece f'om an ol’ kendle. So he leffed w’en he seen me. Id ain’ no Sendy Klaws, didja know?” Or: “Beshnas mos hamelech Uziyahu vawere es adonoi yoshav al kesai rum venesaw, vshulav malaiim es hahahol. Serafim omdim memal lo shash kanowfayim, sash kanowfayim lawehhad, beshtayim yahase fanav uvishtayim yahase raglov uvishtayim yofaif”. And: “If I blyibm duh ywully ylyod, den he wonthye hilyt me so moyuch, myaytlybe”. Even reading those bits out loud – like I did with Margaret Mitchell’s similar attempt to recreate black speech in Gone With the Wind – didn’t help very much.

While at times a slog, Call It Sleep tells a tale that rings true for many an immigrant to the New World, whether they came over on the Mayflower or any number of steamships decades afterwards. Through the use of intricate analysis of David’s thoughts, Roth portrayed those innate emotions that we have all experienced and, from time to time, continue to experience, regardless of who we are or where we came from.

“The Dovekeepers”, by Alice Hoffman

 

 

528 pages, Scribner, ISBN-13: 978-1451617481

 

The Dovekeepers is the twenty-eighth novel by Alice Hoffman and is set around 70 AD after the Roman conquest of Judea and the fall of Jerusalem. Taking place over four years, it centers on the lives of four women who make their way to the Herodian stronghold of Masada and the families of several other survivors, especially the zealots who could rightly be held responsible for the whole thing (although the Romans needed precious little excuse for conquest).

• Yael, is treated like a dog by her father the assassin because her mother died giving birth to her, leaving her to maneuver life almost in a vacuum
• Revka, who could only stand by and watch helplessly as Roman deserters brutally raped and murdered her daughter, only to enact her revenge
• Aziza, who was raised as a boy and fought as a warrior by her stepfather, two facts that leave her adrift and without a place in the world
• Shirah, reputed to be a witch who worships Ashtoreth and has powers others believe in more than she does herself, and is the mother of Aziza

These four very different women are the Dovekeepers, whose work involves collecting these bird’s eggs for food and their droppings for fertilizer. The work is humble and dirty but, amid the filth and noise of the birdhouse, the women grow close, their lives becoming inextricably bound together as they inexorably change and the Romans come ever closer, all against the backdrop of the destruction of the world of these ancient Jews.

I was taken in by The Dovekeepers from the first word; Hoffman is a master storyteller who creates characters of flesh and blood and behave as they will in the situations she puts them in. Not once did I think that Yael, Revka, Aziza or Shirah did this act or spoke those words merely because that is what the plot called for. They behaved exactly as you would expect them to, knowing what you know about them. Their actions drive the story from one tragedy to the next, and the fact that you become so caught up in the lives of these women long gone speaks to the narrative power of the author. You truly feel for Yael, Revka, Aziza and Shirah – and for those who come into their orbit – and feel their every emotion as if it were your own. Being a little familiar with the Siege of Masada, I knew that the ultimate fates of most of these women would not be pleasant, and as I approached the end of the book, I became increasingly concerned for the well-being of them all.

Another strength of The Dovekeepers is how well Hoffman depicts the First Century AD in all of its dusty glory. This world in which the Romans sought to subjugate everything in their path merely for the sake of subjugation is as real within these pages as the world outside your door. From the fall of Jerusalem, to the deserts our protagonists wander through, to the relative paradise of Masada are all described in detail and brought forth once more. As much as her characterizations, the backdrop against which our heroines lived is as important to the story as they are, and this whole sun-drenched and sand-blasted place is made real once more by Hoffman. Between our four protagonists and everyone they encounter to the land they encounter them in, The Dovekeepers is that rare feat of historical fiction that is as informs like a textbook as it entertains like a novel. I will certainly miss Yael, Revka, Aziza and Shirah.