There is one characteristic that is prevalent in every great writer’s works and that is the unmistakeable quality of “honesty.” Most people are lucky to write one honest sentence in their lives. The great novelists, poets, and playwrights, past and present, have managed to write tens of thousands of pages that exhibit honesty at its core.
Kristen Hannah’s novel, “Winter Garden,”manages to do just get. At its core is the functioning of a family looking for an identity through the inscrutable and enigmatic behavior of their mother. The story is told with such power and honesty that days after I finished reading it I can’t get it out of my mind. Truly, an amazing accomplishment.
Ellen Marie Wiseman’s “The Lost Girls of Willowbrook,” is a fascinating, horrific, somewhat fictionalized account of the massive abuse suffered by the disabled, mentally challenged residents who lived in the Willowbrook State School by many of the workers, doctors, and administrators. In 1972, Geraldo Rivera, brought a film crew into House Six of the Willowbrook campus and exposed the inhumane conditions the residents were living under. That was the start of major reforms introduced into the state institutions in New York State. Willowbrook finally closed down in 1987.
I have read numerous books on the holocaust, The Russian and Chinese Gulags, the colonization of the African continent by the Europeans, the slave trade, and the torturous conditions inside state institutions like Willowbrook. It usually takes me a day or two to fully recover from reading these accounts and to, once again, find hope in the human race.
I am always reminded of a quote attributed to many people, “All it takes for evil to prevail is for good people to do nothing.”
For many Americans who grew up in the 40′,50’s, 60’s, 70’s, and 80’s, they have asked the question how much different the United States would have been if President Kennedy was never assassinated and Lyndon Johnson never became President? Even though President Kennedy did send fifteen thousand advisers to Vietnam, surely he would never had escalated the situation to all out war and by the end of his term have nearly sent half-a-million soldiers to Vietnam in hope of never being known as the first President to lose a war. And to make things worse, Nixon never would have become president nor his secretary of state Henry Kissinger finding no fault with killing hundreds of thousands of Cambodian and Vietnam citizens while another 26,000 American soldiers were killed and another one-hundred thousand wounded.
The same could be said of President Lincoln’s assassination. If he was never killed, surely the reconstruction period would have looked so much different. Unlike his incompetent successor, President Johnson never would have allowed the south to resurrect slavery under the disguise of state rights.
Ms. Millard’s extraordinary account of President Garfield’s life and presidency, short lived as it was (five months) before he died from the hauntingly inept treatments prescribed by a self serving Dr. Bliss for a bullet wound, inflicted by the assassin Charles Guiteau, that if left alone would have healed on its own.
President Garfield came from dirt poor roots that didn’t hinder his rise, rising to rank of General on the Union side during the civil war, to a scholar and president of a university, to a renowned congressman and the President of the United States who was intent on changing the nation’s corrupt political establishment.
A few quotes from this great man and what a full term or two would of meant for our country:
“There is no horizontal stratification of society in this country like the rocks in the earth, that hold one class down below forevermore, and let another come to the surface to stay there forever. Our stratification is like the ocean, where every individual drop is free to move, and where from the sternest depths of the mighty deep any drop may come up to glitter on the highest wave that rolls.”
“The chief duty of government is to keep the peace and stand out of the sunshine of the people.”
“I never meet a ragged boy in the street without feeling that i may owe him a salute, for I know not what possibilities may be buttoned up under his coat.”
President Garfield was a man with a loud laugh that filled his family and nation with a feeling of goodness and caring. He was a man who lived by the morals he preached, and when he passed away the nation mourned for their President in a way few presidents have ever been mourned. It is hard not to believe that if he lived, civil rights for all Americans would have been far more advanced and our country and the world would have been better off.
Many and many a year ago, when I still had dreams of making it in Hollywood, I embarked on a project that would easily take up a number of years of my life. My project was to write a screenplay on the Civil War in Angelo with the Soviet Union (with help from Cuba) backing the government and the revolutionary leader, CIA backed, madman Jonas Savimbi fighting against the government.
That was the first half of the screenplay. The second part of the screenplay took place in South Africa and the fictitious over throw of the racist, apartheid, government by the ANC (African National Congress) led by a figure similar to Nelson Mandela.
The screenplay was amazingly well received and I was promised by prominent talent agencies “Not to worry. They would take care of me.” Naturally nothing came of their promises. Note to all future Hollywood writers: When an agent or even a studio head tells you, “Not to worry. They will take care of you.” Start looking for other avenues to sell your work.
So when I picked up Candice Millard’s fantastic biography, “Hero of the Empire: The Boer War, a Daring Escape, and the Making of Winston Churchill” I thought I at least had an idea of the situation she was examining. In fact, I learned so much from this novel that all the research I did for my screenplay seemed like nothing. What I would learn of a young Churchill I simply had no idea about. The man was after glory on the battle field in such a way that’s it’s hard to believe he made it passed twenty-five. Naturally, the glory he sought was in hope of advancing his political career which it did.
Mrs. Millard, like any great biographer, does not take sides in the war between the Boers and the British. In fact, at times I found myself rooting for the racist Boers to beat the ever expanding British empire.
Anne Applebaum’s, “Iron Curtain: The Crushing of Eastern Europe, 1944-1956,” is a fantastic, riveting, brilliant analysis of the cruelty inflicted on the East European nations after World War 2 by Stalin and his puppets in Poland, Hungary, Czechoslovak, East Germany, Romania, Bulgaria, and Albania. As if the Nazis’ inhumanity, torture, and murder wasn’t enough, The Red Army picked up right where the Germans left off.
A list of the top three most brutal dictators of the 20th century:
1.) Mao- up to 70 million deaths. 2.) Stalin – up to 40 million deaths. 3.) Hitler – up to 17 million deaths.
All Totalitarian, paranoid, dictators promising a better, alternative world for the people they ruled over.
In the 21 century:
President Donald Trump – responsible for at least 300,000 deaths…refusing to release information about the covid 19 virus because he thought it would hurt his re-election chances, and then spreading disinformation about the virus which proved nearly as deadly as his refusal to come clean about the virus at the very beginning.
Currently, The 2024 Republican Presidential nominee.
On a very basic level this biography is the story of three men and their exploration to find the location and headwaters of the Nile River. Richard Burton, an intellectual, who can speak over twenty-five languages and 11 dialects and who can jump back from one serious illness after the other, including a spear that goes through both sides of his jaw, and yet he continues on.
The second man, John Hanning Speke, an army officer whose main passion, besides hunting, is to find the source of the Nile and claim the prize for England and to make his mark in the world. Like Burton, he can suffer one deadly illness after another and somehow find the strength to continue on.
The third man, Sidi Mubarak Bombay, an ex-slave whose freedom is granted when his owner dies is a testimony to goodness and an extraordinary guide.
On a much higher level this is the story of the brutal colonization of the continent of Africa by the Europeans. It is in many ways the non-fiction equivalent of Joseph Conrad’s classic, “Heart of Darkness.” In fact, Mr. Conrad is mentioned in the book.
Myth and an up side down interpretation of Darwin’s theory are used as reasons why the native Africans, mostly blacks, are captured and sold into slavery.
Ms. Candice Millard’s, “River of the Gods,” is a riveting, fast paced biography that takes place mostly between the 1850’s to the middle and late 1860’s. Sadly, the brutal colonization of Africa continued into the 1950’s and its consequences can still be seen to this very day in the many wars still taking place on the continent.
I would like to thank Dmitri for recommending this book. Great choice.
For most of my childhood and early teen years, The Vietnam War was a back story. The Johnson Administration and the military were infusing the American public with out and out lies…proclaiming that we were winning. That unless we stopped the Communist, these Godless crickets, that it would be only a matter of time before they took over our God fearing country.
When Johnson saw that public opinion turn against him and the war, one of our worst presidents ever, decided not to run for re-election and he finally had his people sit down at the table with the Godless Communist and just as they were about to sign a peace treaty a bigger evil than even Johnson secretly entered the negotiations. Behind the back of the current administration, Nixon told the corrupt South Vietnamese Leadership that the peace treaty being negotiated would be the end of their country and the North would have complete control. And so, the negotiations broke down and the second worst President in our country’s history prolonged the war for another four years resulting in the deaths of at least another 26 thousand Americans, hundreds of thousands wounded, and quite possibly the death of a half-a-million innocent Vietnamese.
It was just around 1969 that I remember my parents having one of the only arguments I remember them having. My father told my mother that if this war continued for another ten years, which seemed much more of a possibility than ever, that he would support his sons going to Canada. “That this wasn’t a war worth fighting. That it was all a bunch of lies and it was disgraceful that we were even there.”
My mother, in turn, argued that she “would never allow none of her sons to go to Canada and that the idea that her sons would be looked upon as cowards made her sick.”
In one year’s time, as the coverage of the war increased and our presence in Vietnam didn’t make any rational sense, my mother changed her mind.
Kristin Hannah’s marvelous novel, “The Women,” followed the career and life of Frances McGrath and her girlfriends who volunteered as nurses in Vietnam. They experienced the horror, they held in their hands the livers, hearts, and decapitated arms and legs of dying soldiers. They treated the severely wounded and helped save the lives of countless soldiers and civilians. They passed by the countless body bags piled up outside the morgue as they made their way to the outdoor showers and latrines. They knew war, because they lived war.
After returning to the states they were spit on, and when they told people they were Vietnam vets the usual reply was, “No you’re not. Only men are over there.” Actually, nearly ten thousand women served in Vietnam and a number of them were killed. It took years after the war was over for their honorable and courageous service to be finally recognized.
“The Women,” by Kristin Hannah tells their story through the fabulously detailed, fully developed character of Frances McGrath and it is a story that I strongly recommend.
A simply fascinating, objective, and mesmerizing account of the famous Edward R. Murrow and his team of journalists covering World War II and their lives afterwards
A CURIOUS VIEW: A VALENTINE’S GIFT FOR MY UNCLE TONY
Forty–six years ago, on a mild, sunny Valentine’s Day in the Bronx, my Uncle Tony died.
And I cried and cried.
He was a bigger-than-life character, and he looked like a movie star. His hands were unusually large…like the hands of a prizefighter…and when he gripped the quart-size bottle of Rheingold beer that he had with his dinner every night, his hands covered the entire bottle.
He loved to fish and swim, and he especially liked company. He walked with a noticeable limp…a polio victim when he was just a child. He always lived with his parents (my grandparents), and his youngest sister, Rena (my aunt).
My Uncle Tony worked as a doorman at the ritzy ‘Sutton Place’ in midtown Manhattan. Occasionally, he would tell me about a famous movie star or ballplayer he had met, and how unimpressed he usually was…something I would learn first-hand years later.
He adored his mother and, as she would reprimand him from the makeshift living room where she was watching television, he always would reply, “I would never give the child any beer, Mom.”
Of course, he was lying and would give me a sip of beer, then stick a piece of garlic in my mouth from the nearby tomato sauce.
He would whisper to me, “Your grandma is the greatest woman in the world, and the only thing I ask of God is to let me die before she does.” Then, he would touch the large crucifix around his neck and kiss it softly.
Uncle Tony preached to me about the virtue of being a strong man. How a real man would never hit a woman…only a coward would do such a thing. He hated cowards, and he used to tell me over and over that the worst thing a man could be is a coward.
He told me wonderful stories about the old Bronx when he was growing up… how he would hit long homeruns in the park where they played, and then he would have my Uncle Sonny run the bases for him.
My parents, my brothers and I lived directly above my grandparents in an old apartment building. I was always down in my grandparent’s place, and I used to sit with my Uncle Tony every night when he got home from work, which was usually around eight o’clock.
My grandma always had dinner waiting for him. He was off on Mondays and Sundays, and those were the really great days because I could spend more time with him.
He promised me that he would teach me how to fish and swim like a champion. “I was just a year away” as he used to put it.
On a Monday afternoon as I rushed home from school to have lunch, my Uncle Tony had a massive stroke.
Three days later on St. Valentine’s Day, he passed away.
Today, whenever I visit the Bronx, I always go to the cemetery to visit my uncle’s grave. The tears still come as I look down at his name, engraved on the tombstone directly below the name of my grandmother.
And I always think of an old saying from the Bible, “In death, they were not parted.”
It is always a pleasant surprise when I am reading a novel and because the main characters or group of characters are so well written and developed that when I feel they are in danger I have to put the book down because I don’t want anything bad to happen to them.
That happen in this marvelous book by Ellen Marie Wiseman, three separate times. The character of Pia Lange is so amazingly written that anytime a dangerous or negative thing was about to happen to her I could feel my heart racing. Pia, the 13 year old child of German immigrants, sees her life turned upside down in a day when the Spanish Flu epidemic hit her home city of Philadelphia. Her mother Mutti, healthy one day was dead the next, as were thousands of people throughout the city. Her father was off fighting during World War I, and she was suddenly left with two twin brothers who she became responsible for. Living in a ghetto, she left her small brothers in their apartment and went searching for food. She suddenly got very sick and passed out and when she woke-up, six days later, after surviving the flu all she could think about were her baby brothers and if they were still alive. When she went back to her apartment her brothers were gone and a new family was living there and they couldn’t tell her much about her brothers but she would not give up her search and her journey in the hope of finding them alive is both mesmerizing and enthralling.
The novel takes place, as I wrote, during the Spanish flu epidemic in 1918 but it could have easily taken place during the covid epidemic. The anti immigrant phenomena during covid and riding high right up to this minute in the U.S.A. was very similar during 1918. They were blamed for everything. It’s sad to think that “nativism” could still be so out of control today.
The misinformation in 1918 about the epidemic was out of control and cost thousands of lives; similar to the misinformation spit out of the mouths of such God loving politicians as President Trump, Gov. Ron DeSantis, and Senator Rand Paul. Sadly, far too many people listened to these self-serving, evil individuals than to Dr. Anthony Fauci whose previously accomplishments saved millions of people during the HIV epidemic and other serious illnesses. Thankfully, he was not deterred by the criticism and continually pushed forward with the importance of the vaccinations.
“The Orphan Collector,” is a book I highly, highly recommend.
Note: “The Spanish Flu most likely originated in the United States. One of the first recorded cases was on March 11, 1918, at Fort Riley in Kansas. Overcrowding and unsanitary conditions created a fertile breeding ground for the virus.”
“The pandemic broke out near the end of World War I, when wartime censors in the belligerent countries suppressed bad news to maintain morale, but newspapers freely reported the outbreak in neutral Spain, creating a false impression of Spain as the epicenter and leading to the “Spanish flu” misnomer.”
A Curious View 