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With his acclaimed novels of World War II, David L. Robbins awakened a generation to the drama, tragedy, and heroism of some of history’s greatest battles. Now he delivers a gripping and authentic story set against one of our greatest wartime achievements: the Red Ball Express, six thousand trucks and twenty-three thousand men–most of them African-American–who forged a lifeline of supplies in the Allied struggle to liberate France.

June 1944. The Allies deliver a staggering blow to Hitler’s Atlantic fortress, leaving the beaches and bluffs of Normandy strewn with corpses. The Germans have only one chance to stop the immense invasion–by bottling up the Americans on the Cotentin Peninsula. There, in fields crisscrossed with dense hedgerows, many will meet their death while others will search for signs of life. Among the latter are two very different men, each with his own demons to fight and his own reasons to risk his life for his fellow man.

Joe Amos Biggs is an invisible “colored” driver in the Red Ball Express, the unheralded convoy of trucks that serves as a precious lifeline to the front. Delivering fuel and ammunition to men whose survival depends on the truckers, Joe Amos finds himself hungering to make his mark and propelled into battle among those who don’t see him as an equal–but will need him to be a hero.

A chaplain in the demoralized 90th Infantry, Rabbi Ben Kahn is a veteran of the first great war and old enough to be the father of the GIs he tends. Searching for the truth about his own son, a downed pilot missing in action, Kahn finds himself dueling with God, wading into combat without a gun, and becoming a leader among men in need of someone–anyone–to follow.

The prize: the liberation of Paris, where a ruthless American traitor known as Chien Blanc–White Dog–grows fat and rich in the black market. Whatever the occupied city’s destiny, destroyed or freed, he will win.

The fates of these three men will collide, hurtling toward an uncommon destiny in which people commit deeds they cannot foresee and can never truly explain.

From the screams of German .88 howitzers to the last whispers of dying young soldiers, Robbins captures war in all its awful fullness. And through the eyes of his unique characters, he leaves us with a mature, brilliant, and memorable vision of humanity in the face of inhumanity itself.

• Sales Rank: #772044 in Books
• Brand: Bantam
• Published on: 2004-12-28
• Released on: 2004-12-28
• Ingredients: Example Ingredients
• Original language: English
• Number of items: 1
• Dimensions: 9.55" h x 1.30" w x 6.41" l,
• Binding: Hardcover
• 464 pages

Features

• Used Book in Good Condition

From Publishers Weekly
In his latest WWII novel, Robbins powerfully integrates the theme of racial bigotry from Scorched Earth with the successful formula of his previous three combat novels (The End of War, etc.). The 688th Truck Battalion is part of the famed Red Ball Express, which struggles to supply the fast-moving combat following D-Day as American forces fight through the French hedgerows and villages toward Paris. In recounting the battalion's heroic saga, Robbins's tale unfolds from several perspectives—that of Ben Kahn, an aging Jewish army chaplain from Pittsburgh, who fought as a doughboy in the trenches in WWI; Joe Amos, a young, black, college-educated truck driver; and "White Dog," a shadowy, corrupt downed B-17 pilot profiteering on the black market in German-occupied Paris. Bolstered by desperate hope he might find his son—a B-17 pilot shot down over France—Kahn lands on Omaha Beach five days after D-Day and hitches a ride to the front on a GI two-and-a-half ton Jimmy (GMC truck) with Amos. Both men are quickly seasoned by the horrors of war as Kahn heads for a showdown in Paris and Amos makes sergeant and finds romance with a Frenchwoman after shooting down a German plane. Although this isn't quite up to the standard of Robbins's best work—it's occasionally slowed by overwriting and repetition—it's a fine effort from an ambitious storyteller.
Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.

Review
"Robbins--emerging as the Homer of WWII--re-creates the mighty drama in all its deadly beauty."
--Kirkus Reviews, starred review

"David Robbins has done it again. In LIBERATION ROAD, he presents an inspirational WWII tale of personal courage and racial tension through the eyes of a rabbi chaplain and an African-American truck driver on the Red Ball Express--the twenty three thousand men manning the six thousand trucks that transported the beans and bullets needed to defeat Germany. A riveting read."
--James Bradley, author of Flags of Our Fathers & Flyboys

"Powerful... a compelling tale of the final days of the most catastrophic event in tall of recorded history."
--Washington Post on The End of War
"Deeply-felt. Robbins renders his real people superbly but the heart of his story is his imagined cast. Brilliant storytelling by an author in absolute control of his material."
--Kirkus Reviews (starred review) on The End of War

From the Inside Flap
June 1944. The Allies deliver a staggering blow to Hitler's Atlantic fortress, leaving the beaches and bluffs of Normandy strewn with corpses. The Germans have only one chance to stop the immense invasion--by bottling up the Americans on the Cotentin Peninsula. There, in fields crisscrossed with dense hedgerows, many will meet their death while others will search for signs of life. Among the latter are two very different men, each with his own demons to fight and his own reasons to risk his life for his fellow man. Joe Amos Biggs is an invisible "colored" driver in the Red Ball Express, the unheralded convoy of trucks that serves as a precious lifeline to the front. Delivering fuel and ammunition to men whose survival depends on the truckers, Joe Amos finds himself hungering to make his mark and propelled into battle among those who don't see him as an equal--but will need him to be a hero. A chaplain in the demoralized 90th Infantry, Rabbi Ben Kahn is a veteran of the first great war and old enough to be the father of the GIs he tends. Searching for the truth about his own son, a downed pilot missing in action, Kahn finds himself dueling with God, wading into combat without a gun, and becoming a leader among men in need of someone--anyone--to follow. The prize: the liberation of Paris, where a ruthless American traitor known as Chien Blanc--White Dog--grows fat and rich in the black market. Whatever the occupied city's destiny, destroyed or freed, he will win. The fates of these three men will collide, hurtling toward an uncommon destiny in which people commit deeds they cannot foresee and can never truly explain. From the screams of German .88 howitzers to the last whispers of dying young soldiers, Robbins captures war in all its awful fullness. And through the eyes of his unique characters, he leaves us with a mature, brilliant, and memorable vision of humanity in the face of inhumanity itself.

Most helpful customer reviews

10 of 11 people found the following review helpful.
Humanity & War
By Glaukes
Although ardent fans of his eastern front trilogy might disagree, David Robbins' latest book strikes me as his finest story yet. It is appropriate that a national periodical described him as the "Homer of World War II." The pathos of war is timeworn, as old as the western literary tradition itself, but Robbins has captured the profundity of this subject in a manner that is fresh even as it is familiar. On the one hand, his prose is magnificent, his turn of the phrase certain to capture and enthrall. On the other, he has crafted characters with whom the reader can identify. We are privy to the hopes and fears of Ben Kahn and Joe Amos. They are people we know. These men are our neighbors. They live and they breathe. This is no mean feat given that both men speak to us across time and race. Moreover, both men have to compete with the larger story unfolding around them for our attention. Nevertheless, Robbins successfully weaves their two tales into one account that conveys as well the enormity of the allied drive on Paris in the summer of 1944. Anyone reading this book will come away from it with a better understanding of that crucial campaign, Robbins' research, as always, is superlative. More immediately, however, readers will be reminded that this great crusade was the sum of millions of individual accounts, most of which are lost in the maelstrom of history. In this work of fiction, Robbins has provided two such imagined histories, and left us with a universal story of humanity striving to assert itself in the face of mortal carnage and moral confusion. This book is a study of war, but most particularly, of the American experience of war. As such, it is also a commentary on the American character, on our inimitable national optimism, and the shadows that have darkened our national experience. I cannot recommend enough that you read it yourself, that you encourage your friends to do so as well, and that you leave your thoughts on the book in this forum.

6 of 6 people found the following review helpful.
Powerful story, compellingly told, moving conclusion
By Edgar Toland
I have to admit I was impressed with the erudition and the effort clearly on display in the review below. I normally don't write Amazon reviews, but I felt the opinion expressed prior to this should be countered. Mr. Robbins is a familiar author for many of us who love historical fiction; his prose is first quality and his research unquestioned and, I believe, on a par with no contemporary writer - you have to go back to a Leon Uris to find a writer who packs as much information and authenticity into his books as does Robbins. This being said, I disagree strongly with any contention that Liberation Road delivers less than a powerful punch. The reviewer who follows me seemed to feel cheated that Robbins spent time developing memorable and conflicted characters; apparently he wanted more blood and less heart. Robbins's books have always been a splendid combination of the two - action that resounds off the page combined with fine shavings of the human will to fight, survive, and, yes, even love. Liberation Road, after an exhilirating ride of grueling battles, swift heroism, deep historical context, and intense moral confusion, gave me a shattering ending to the novel. I did not see it coming and was moved to a real tear, something rare from a book or movie. This happened not because I was treated to just a cavalcade of action but because I was touched by the authenticity of the characters, their delimmas, and their pain. Throw in that Robbins deals with a tale of combat told from the postures of two non-combatants, that he exposes the history of the famous Red Ball Express, that he makes heroes out of a chaplain and a humble African American soldier, that he addresses issues of racism and anti-Semitism, and that his characters sacrifice themselves in the name of greed, or passion, or hatred, or bravery - then can you ask more from an author? Not me. Robbins has again upheld the very high expectations I have of him. If you have enjoyed his work before, trust this book to be more of the same, and perhaps his best yet. I'm a former Marine gunnery sergeant, and to be fair, I think I know a good war story when I see one. This is certainly one of the best this year. I recommend it to those who want more than smoke and explosions. Turn to other writers for that (Jeff Schaara, Pressfield). Robbins lays it all out, the human spirit, asd well as the machinery, of war. Highly recommended.

8 of 11 people found the following review helpful.
'Showboat' comes to Omaha Beach
By Larry Scantlebury
Let me start off by saying I am very disappointed in David Robbins most recent effort. I found that it spent all of its time on the characters, who were stereotyped and who should be more irritated than the reader, that it pandered to issues both current and past in an effort to generate a 'lifetime channel' view of the simplicity of humans, and finally it nearly mocked the efforts of millions to target the flaws of a few.

OK. I recognize that to comment negatively on the enormously complex topics of racism and anti semitic behavior is foolish, certainly wrong, and insensitive. The WWII German treatment of its Jewish citizens is so horrific that it deserves solitary, focused treatment. Not third rate actors in a fourth rate story. I don't mean to do that here.

First of all, Mr. Robbins has written enormously popular novels. For what it's worth, I have given them 5 stars as have many others. To write historical fiction is a difficult task. If you stick to just the facts, you've just written another treatise, frequently aloof, often sacrificing the human pathos for statistics. On the other hand, you can change the facts and end up being accused of rewriting history. Also a blunder of mammoth proportions.

Here Mr. Robbins leaves the brilliance of his former trilogy about Stalingrad, Kursk and Berlin, and writes singularly of two characters, Joe Amos, an educated African American truck driver bringing supplies from the chaos of Omaha Beach to the front lines, and Rabbi Ben Kahn, struggling with his hatred of himself and the lives he took in the First World War and searching for his son, who unbeknownst to him has become a prominent black marketeer in occupied Paris. That's it. That's the story. Nothing more than that.

Was there racism in 1944? Yes. Hell. There's racism now. It's the most debilitating problem that this nation faces. But I thought that we applauded the universal effort of the battle of good over evil in 1942, 43, 44, and 45? I thought that when Brokaw wrote that 'this was the greatest generation ever' he was talking about everyone. Now I read Robbins and I find that the officers at Omaha in charge of the enormously complex supply train to ensure that the boys on the front line were never denied bullets, band aids, gasoline, mail and food, were for the most part racist, frequently willing to take bribes, and that the enlisted men Joe Amos and others were taking to St. Lo and beyond were overtly ignorant pigs, and that the Uniform Code of Military Justice had a set of white rules and a set of black rules. Frankly, I thought it pandered, trying to raise issues that had been addressed, were addressed, were still seeking resolution, that good men and women deal with every day, and that it was done just to get a reaction.

Chaplain Ben Kahn? Good man. But I wanted the history of how we supplied the war effort. That's what I thought Robbins promised me. That's what I thought the book was about. In the other trilogy, the most important character was the war, the hideous, immoral, evil effort of the two psychopaths, Hitler and Stalin. The human story was a distant second. Here we spend hundreds of pages dealing with Chaplain Kahn's post traumatic stress.

It took an effort to finish this book. Important issues? Most assuredly. Other authors frequently examine them in focused writing. "A Death in Vienna" for a fictional view. "Hitler's Willing Accomplices" for a non fiction view. But "Liberation Road" is misleading in the context of what Mr. Robbins told us he was going to write about. 2 stars. Larry Scantlebury

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She's hunting a killer—
and shattering every boundary—
she's ever known.…

Part vamp, part werewolf, Riley Jenson plays by her own rules, whether it’s her stormy love life or her job as a guardian. But when her family’s alpha male demands that she solve the mystery of a vanished girl, Riley can feel a trap closing in around her. Because the job comes with a catch: if Riley fails, her own mother will die.

Now the stakes are raised, the hunt is on...and when more women vanish, Riley is caught between a lover who demands that she give up her work, a serial killer who knows no boundaries, and a club where humans and supernaturals mix—at their own peril. Thrust into a realm of seduction and violence unlike any she could have imagined, Riley has to battle to save everything she holds dear. But the ultimate hunt has only just begun....

• Sales Rank: #748958 in Books
• Brand: Dell
• Published on: 2007-07-31
• Released on: 2007-07-31
• Original language: English
• Number of items: 1
• Dimensions: 6.88" h x 1.04" w x 4.19" l,
• Binding: Mass Market Paperback
• 384 pages

Features

• Great product!

Review
"Packed with fast-paced action, paranormal intrigue and passion at every turn, Embraced by Darkness is a steamy addition to this thrilling series." ---Media Boulevard.com

About the Author
Keri Arthur first started writing when she was twelve years old, and to date, she's finished fifteen novels. Her books have received many nominations and prizes, including making the final five in the Random House Australia George Turner Prize. She has also been nominated in the Best Contemporary Paranormal category of the Romantic Times Reviewers Choice Awards, received a 'perfect 10' from Romance Reviews Today, as well as being nominated for Best Shapeshifter in PNR's PEARL Awards. She's a dessert and function cook by trade, and married to a wonderful man who not only supports her writing, but who also does the majority of the housework. They have one daughter, and live in Melbourne, Australia.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Chapter 1


The only trouble with getting away from it all was actually getting away from it all.

Six weeks of lazing around on secluded and luxurious Monitor Island, with nothing to do except eat, drink, and lust after the occasional hot-bod sounded like heaven itself. And it was.

For the first three weeks.

But now, with the fifth week done and dusted, the wolf within hungered for the company of my own kind. Werewolves are not, by nature, solitary souls. We tend to live in packs just as much as our animal counterparts.

My pack might now only consist of my twin brother Rhoan, his lover Liander, and my lover Kellen, but I was missing them all something fierce.

Especially Kellen. He'd been here for the first three weeks, and the result had been a deepening and strengthening of our relationship. I might be totally capable of looking after myself, but it was an absolutely delicious sensation to have such a big strong wolf wanting to take care of me. In some ways, he reminded me of an ex. Talon might have been as crazy as a March hare, but he'd also been a wolf who knew what he wanted, and who went to great lengths to get it. Kellen was built in that mode, but he was far more caring than Talon ever could have been. Add to that the fact he was a great lover, and you had an overall package that was nigh on irresistible. At least to this wolf.

Even so, I hadn't really expected to miss him this much. Not after only a couple of months of being together—and especially considering we'd probably spent more time apart than together in those months. Of course, I knew now that a lot of that separation was due to Quinn, the enigmatic vampire who swore his feelings for me ran deep—even as he used me to achieve his aims of killing the people who had destroyed his lifelong friend and creator. Even now, despite the feelings I had for Kellen, part of me still hungered to be with Quinn. Would probably always hunger to be with him.

Because I had a connection with Quinn that I'd never found with any other man. Not even Kellen.

But Quinn was out of my life for the moment—maybe even permanently—and I couldn't really regret that. I'd never condoned force in any relationship, and that's basically what Quinn had done when he'd used his vampire wiles to curb my nature. His methods might have been psychic rather than physical, but in the end, it was the same thing. Anything that forced someone down a path they would not otherwise have taken was abuse, no matter how prettily the situation was wrapped.

What I needed to do was forget him. Just get on with my life, and stop remembering he was ever part of it. Even if the very thought made my soul weep.

But the last two weeks alone had left me with nothing to do except think about the people in my life and the events of the last ten months. In fact, all that I was supposedly here to forget.

I rubbed a hand across tired eyes, then leaned my forearms on the balustrade of the small patio lining the front of my pretty little villa unit.

The breeze coming off the sea was cool, teasing my short hair and sending goose bumps fleeing across my bare flesh. I briefly thought about going inside to grab a shirt, but in the end, I couldn't be bothered.

I let my gaze roam across the waves, watching the foam hiss over the white sand. It was a peaceful sound, as peaceful as the night itself, which made me wonder what the hell had woken me in the first place.

Certainly there was little noise coming from any of the other villas that lined this half-moon section of beach. Not even the newlyweds were stirring, and they'd been at it nonstop since their arrival five days ago.

And they thought werewolves had stamina.

I smiled and plucked a leaf from the nearby eucalyptus branch that draped over the railing, then flicked the leaf skyward from the stem, watching it twirl all the way to the ground.

What I wanted was to go home. To get on with my life and my job. To spend more time with Kellen. But I had just under a week of vacation left, and while I might be going slowly insane with boredom, I couldn't just pack up and leave. Rhoan and Liander had given me this holiday as a gift to help me rest and recuperate, and I couldn't—wouldn't—hurt their feelings by returning before my time was up.

"Riley."

My name whispered across the wind—a demand rather than a mere attempt to get my attention.

I straightened quickly, my gaze searching the moonlit night for some sign of the caller. Some hint of where the voice had come from.

A difficult task when it seemed to come from everywhere and yet nowhere at once.

"Riley."

Again the voice rode the night, stronger than before, and clearly male in its resonance.

It wasn't a voice that belonged to any of the men who inhabited the five other villas in this small cove. Nor did it belong to any of the staff members who looked after the villas or who worked in the main resort complex one beach over.

But there were three other accommodations scattered across the island, and I hadn't really had much to do with their guests or employees. But even if it had been one of them, why would they know my name? And why would they be calling me in the dead of the night?

It was odd—and the mere thought of something odd occurring had excitement racing through my veins.

Which was a rather sad statement about just how bored I was. Or perhaps how addicted I'd become to the adrenaline rush of being a guardian. Hell, I'd give away the killing any day, but not the thrill of the chase. The hunt was everything to a wolf, and no matter how long I might have denied it, I was a hunter—every bit as much as my brother.

I studied the night for a moment longer. The wind whispered through the trees, void of any voice but its own. I could sense nothing and no one near, and yet something was. The electric charge of awareness raced across my skin, making the small hairs on my arms stand on end.

I spun on my heel and walked back into my room. I didn't mind walking around sans clothes, but most of the guests currently on the island were human, and humans tended to get a little antsy about the whole naked thing.

Though up here in Queensland, that attitude was a whole lot less noticeable than down in Victoria. Of course, the weather in my home state often precluded the desire to strip down, simply because the weather was about as predictable as a tiger snake during mating season.

I pulled on a low-cut T-shirt and a baggy pair of shorts, then returned to the patio.

"Riley, come."

The voice swirled around me, rich and arrogant. A man who used—and probably abused—power. And my wolf soul reacted to the command in that voice, but not in the way I expected. Not fiercely, with anger, but meekly. As if she wanted to do nothing more than tuck her tail between her legs and cower.

And there could be only one reason for that.

The voice belonged to a pack member. And not just any pack member, but the alpha. The wolf who ruled the pack as a whole.

Only the voice didn't belong to my alpha, the man who had ruled the pack for as long as anyone could remember. I would have recognized the voice of my own grandfather.

So what the hell was going on?

Frowning, I walked down the steps then strode through the trees and out onto the moonlit sand. The wind was sharper out from under the cover of the eucalyptus, and filled with the scent of the sea.

And nothing else. No musky male scent, no hint of wolf. Nothing to suggest there was another soul awake and aware out here on the beach.

A shiver ran down my spine. Maybe I was imagining it. Maybe this was nothing more than a dream, and any minute now I'd wake up and laugh at my own stupidity.

After all, our pack had threatened to kill us both if we ever contacted—let alone went near—any pack members. And not even our mother had dared to contradict that particular order.

Not that I thought she'd tried. Though I had no doubt she loved us, she'd always seemed as relieved as the rest of the pack to see the back of us.

"Riley, come."

Again the order ran across the night, stronger than before. I closed my eyes, concentrating on the sound, and tried to define just where the voice was coming from.

After a moment, I turned around and padded up the beach. The villas gave way to thicker strands of eucalyptus and acacia trees, the strong scents filling the night.

It didn't matter. I wasn't relying on my olfactory senses to track this particular trail, but rather my "other" senses. The senses that were new and somewhat unreliable.

The part of me that could see souls rise.

Of course, seeing—and hearing—the souls of dead people wasn't a gift I particularly wanted. Hell, I had enough trouble dealing with the living dead without having to worry about the actual dead popping along anytime they pleased.

But as was often the case in my life of late, it seemed I had little choice in the matter. The experimental fertility drug I'd been forcibly given by Talon had not only kick-started some latent psychic abilities, but had given them a little twist, just for the fun of it. Clairvoyance had been one of those latent skills—until recently, anyway. Seeing dead people walk through the shadows was the not-so-tempting twist.

And I was hoping like hell it was the only twist the drug caused. I didn't want to be like the other half-breeds who'd taken the drug. I didn't want to gain the ability to shift into any animal or bird form I chose, simply because while such an ability might be a buzz, it came at a price. Every one of the others had lost their ability to retake human form. I might love being a wolf, but I didn't want to spend the rest of my life in that shape. Or any other shape, for that matter.

Seeing dead people wasn't that bad by comparison. And until tonight, the dead hadn't contacted me long range. I'd only seen them close to their bodies. Well, mostly, I thought, shivering as I remembered the lingering, insubstantial wisps in Starr's bloody arena.

Not that I was entirely sure I was hearing the dead now, but it just seemed odd I couldn't see or smell anyone else. My senses were wolf-sharp. If someone had been close, I would have known.

I padded along the white sand until I reached the peninsula rocks. The wind here was sharper, the sea rougher, slapping across those rocks and sending white foam flicking skyward. The tide was up, so I'd be getting wet if the voice wanted me to clamber around to the next cove.

I stopped and scanned the horizon. This section of the main island was closest to Lighthouse Island, the larger of the two small islands that sat within swimming distance of Monitor. It housed the Monitor Island Research Center, a joint government and private concern that was investigating the sea life and the reefs. I'd done the tour last week, and had been bored to tears. Sure, reefs were pretty. So were the myriad of fish that lived amongst them. And we surely had to know why they were all disappearing. But hey, I just couldn't get all worked up about the science. Wolves are hunters by nature, not conservationists. We usually haven't the patience for occupations that involve long hours of inactivity.

Awareness tingled across my skin, as sharp as needle stings. Whoever the voice belonged to, he was close.

"Riley, turn around."

For the first time, memories stirred. I'd known that voice in the past. I turned and studied the trees.

A man stood amongst them. Though at first glance he appeared solid, a more careful study revealed an almost gossamer look to his hands and feet. As if, by the time he got to his extremities, he didn't have the strength to maintain the illusion of substance.

He was a tall man, rangy in build, with strong arms and blunt features. Not attractive, not ugly, but somewhere in between. But even if he'd been the ugliest spud on the planet, it wouldn't have mattered, because the sense of authority and power that shone from his gray eyes was all that would ever matter to a wolf.

And this wolf wanted to hunker down before it.

But I wasn't just wolf, and the other half of my soul bared its teeth and got ready for a fight. I locked my knees and skimmed my gaze up to his hair. Thick and red. Definitely red pack. Definitely my red pack. But who?

As I dropped my gaze to his, recognition stirred again. I knew those eyes, knew the cold superiority behind them. But I'd be damned if I could dredge up a name.

"Why are you calling me?"

Though the question was soft, my voice seemed to echo across the silent night. A tremor ran down my spine, and I wasn't sure whether it was due to the chill wind hitting my bare arms and legs or the sudden sense of trepidation creeping through my soul.

Amusement sparked briefly in the translucent gray depths. "You do not remember me?"

"Should I have any reason to remember you?"

This time, the amusement reached his thin lips. "I would think you'd remember the wolf who threw you off a mountainside."

Shock rolled through me. Oh my God . . .

Blake.

My grandfather's second-in-command, and the wolf who would have killed both Rhoan and me if he could. The wolf who almost had when he'd thrown me off that cliff. Ostensibly to teach Rhoan a lesson about never back-talking the pack second.

Hate followed the shock, swirling thick and sharp. I clenched my fists, and found myself fighting the sudden urge to punch the cold amusement from his lips. But he wasn't here, he wasn't real, and I'd only look like a fool. So I simply said, voice low and venomous, "What right have you got to call me?"

"My right is pack-given."

"The Jenson pack ceded its rights over me and Rhoan when they kicked us out."

"Pack rights are never surrendered, no matter what the situation. Once a pack member, always a pack member."

"You threatened to kill us if you ever saw us again."

"A statement that still stands."

Most helpful customer reviews

18 of 19 people found the following review helpful.
Fifth in the 'Riley Jenson, Guardian' series
By Helen Hancox
This book is a real improvement over Keri Arthur's earlier stories in Riley Jenson, Guardian series - there is a greater focus on plotting and characterisation and less emphasis on sex to carry the story along. The book starts with Riley on holiday on an island to recover from all the events of the last year (and last four books). She is contacted there by a member of her former pack who demands that she looks into the disappearance of a pack member, Adrienne, and threatens to hurt Riley and Rhoan's mother if she doesn't comply. Shortly afterwards the Directorate ask her to look into the strange murder of a woman who appears to have been torn limb from limb by her fiancé and Riley discerns a supernatural element to the crime. She works on both investigations at the same time, also finding herself under attack from an unknown assailant, dealing with the memories that contact with her pack has dredged up, and trying to make sense of her relationship with Kellen who wants to 'go solo' with her. Riley's not sure if she can commit to that and clearly has some feelings still for vampire Quinn, although he doesn't appear in person in this story.

The plotting in this book was excellent with good pacing and with the variety of two simultaneous investigations. The caustic relationship between Riley and Salliane, 'The Cow', is very amusing, and adds some light relief in a story with a fair amount of darkness. Riley's skills are growing and strengthening and she discovers a new aspect of her nature in this book following the drug treatment that she received in the first instalment. Her brother Rhoan features in this story as he helps Riley at the denouement at the end of the story when they uncover the evil behind a string of grisly deaths from the UK to Germany to Australia.

This book relied far more on plot and characterisation, particularly Riley's workaholic nature and her complete absorption in being a Guardian and how that plays out with her personal relationships, rather than sex; for me, this made it a much stronger read and made Riley a more sympathetic character. It ended on a cliffhanger in Riley's personal life (although the major plot lines were all completed) and made me look forward to the next book. Although part of a series all the relevant backstory was given in a smooth and concise way and so this book would be easy to understand for a first-time reader despite the complex supernatural world and the varied skills that the non-humans have. "Embraced by Darkness" is a great addition to the series and a book that will probably win this author new readers.

Originally published for Curled Up With A Good Book, [...]. © Helen Hancox 2007

13 of 16 people found the following review helpful.
Super cops
By Detra Fitch
Riley Jenson is part vampire and part werewolf. She had been forcibly given an experimental fertility drug in her past. She has developed a few interesting powers due to side effects, such as the abilities to see souls rise and spirits walk in the shadows. Riley never knows when another ability will pop up. However, they tend to come in handy during her job.

Riley and her brother, Rhoan, are Guardians; they are the super-cops, hunter-killers, of the nonhuman world.

When Blake Jenson, her family's alpha male, demands Riley help the pack, Riley is ready to tell him to get lost. Riley and Rhoan had been thrown out of the red pack back when they had been thirteen-year-old pups. But Blake throws down a verbal gauntlet when he informs Riley that should she refuse to help or fails in the mission her mother's life would be forfeit. Riley is now on the hunt for a serial killer. At the same time, Riley's lover is trying to convince her to quit her work. Yet should Riley do so, many will die.

**** This is the fifth book in the Riley Jenson Guardian series. The plot starts out immediately, on page one. Readers are able to dive right into the scenario. The action slows down two or three times during the course of the novel, but gets hotter than a blow torch by the end. This may be the fifth book of the series, but new readers will not find themselves totally lost. The author does a good job of filling them in. I found this to be a compelling story that held my attention well. ****

Reviewed by Detra Fitch of Huntress Reviews.

1 of 1 people found the following review helpful.
Can't Wait for Book #6
By Marbee
I loved this series since the first installment. It's true that this book doesn't have the "heat" of some of the previous books. Here we see Riley starting to develop more as a character who isn't a complete prisoner to her hormones.

Hopefully, Riley will have someone new come into her life. Quinn has his own issues, and can't accept her for herself. As for breaking off her relationship with Kellem, it was no great loss. His character always seemed a little flat to me.

Ms. Arthur has a good imagination so hopefully she will surprise us all in the next book.Embraced By Darkness (Riley Jensen, Guardian, Book 5)

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^ PDF Ebook What the Night Knows: A Novel, by Dean Koontz

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#1 NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER

In the late summer of a long-ago year, Alton Turner Blackwood brutally murdered four families. His savage spree ended only when he himself was killed by the last survivor of the last family, a fourteen-year-old boy.

Half a continent away and two decades later, someone is murdering families again, re-creating in detail Blackwood’s crimes. Homicide detective John Calvino is certain that his own family—his wife and three children—will be targets, just as his parents and sisters were victims on that distant night when he was fourteen and killed their slayer.

As a detective, John is a man of reason who deals in cold facts. But an extraordinary experience convinces him that sometimes death is not a one-way journey, that sometimes the dead return.

Includes the bonus novella Darkness Under the Sun!

• Sales Rank: #84756 in Books
• Brand: Bantam
• Published on: 2011-10-18
• Released on: 2011-10-18
• Original language: English
• Number of items: 1
• Dimensions: 7.50" h x 1.50" w x 4.20" l, .82 pounds
• Binding: Mass Market Paperback
• 608 pages

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• Great product!

Amazon.com Review
In the late summer of a long ago year, a killer arrived in a small city. His name was Alton Turner Blackwood, and in the space of a few months he brutally murdered four families. His savage spree ended only when he himself was killed by the last survivor of the last family, a fourteen-year-old boy.

Half a continent away and two decades later, someone is murdering families again, recreating
in detail Blackwood’s crimes. Homicide detective John Calvino is certain that his own family—his wife and three children—will be targets in the fourth crime, just as his parents and sisters were victims on that distant night when he was fourteen and killed their slayer.

As a detective, John is a man of reason who deals in cold facts. But an extraordinary experience convinces him that sometimes death is not a one-way journey, that sometimes the dead return.

Here is ghost story like no other you have read. In the Calvinos, Dean Koontz brings to life a family that might be your own, in a war for their survival against an adversary more malevolent than any he has yet created, with their own home the battleground. Of all his acclaimed novels, none exceeds What the Night Knows in power, in chilling suspense, and in sheer mesmerizing storytelling.

A Letter from Author Dean Koontz

Villains and Vegetables
Readers ask certain questions over and over again. Such as, "How often have you been institutionalized?" and "How does your wife sleep at night, knowing what kind of stories spring from your mind?" and "If you could be any kind of vegetable, what vegetable would you be?"

Because I found most schoolwork tedious, I felt as if I had been institutionalized for fifteen years--throughout grade school, high school, and college. In the grim institution called high school, as a kid in a small town, my therapy consisted of reading novels and listening to rock-and-roll on tower-of-power radio stations in distant cities. In college, my therapy was all-night pinochle tournaments. I cut more classes than Sweeney Todd cut throats.

My wife sleeps peacefully, thank you. She knows I'm basically a pussycat. We have been together since high school, and in all those years, the only living thing she has seen me cut is myself; any time I pick up the simplest tool or kitchen implement to do some minor household task, my blood will inevitably flow. I've been known to cut myself accidentally with something as seemingly safe as a rolling pin.

Sugar snap peas.

Another frequently asked question is "How do you create such bizarre yet convincing and terrifying villains." The glib answer is to say I watch the evening news. In fact, however, the antagonists in my novels create themselves, just as do the protagonists. I conceive a character around a seed of truth, some essential fact that lies at the core of him, then I give him free will, and I discover more about him as the story unfolds. Sometimes, when characters surprise me with their revelations, it seems as if they are indeed real, that I am writing in a kind of dream state that allows me to bridge this world with some parallel reality and tap the consciousness of people living

Alton Turner Blackwood, the villain of Darkness Under the Sun and of the forthcoming novel What the Night Knows, literally appeared to me in one of those exceedingly vivid dreams that are peculiar to many of us who, suffering allergies, take two or three Benedryl every night for too many weeks. Benedryl dreams are, in my experience, never flat-out nightmares. They generally do not have much in the way of storylines, but the people in them are so dimensional and so exquisitely detailed that they seem as real as anyone you would meet in real life. They are sometimes strange, as well, and menacing, though these are for the most part dreams without action, so their menace is implied.

The morning after the Benedryl dream in which Alton Turner Blackwood appeared (though he had no name in the dream), I wrote down a physical description of him, which I used word for word in the finished novel:

He stood six feet five, scarecrow-thin but strong. His hands were immense, the spatulate fingers as suctorial as the toe discs of a web-foot toad, large bony wrists like robot joints, orangutan-long arms. His shoulder blades were thick and malformed, so that bat wings appeared to be furled under his shirt.

As for how his face looks and as for the explanation of how and why such a specimen might be born: I'll let you discover those things in the novella and the novel.

Of the scores of evil characters I have created, none has so affected me as Alton Turner Blackwood. In spite of all his physical and mental strangenesses, I would not be surprised to see him one evening, walking along a lonely highway or perhaps standing under a lamppost across the street, still and watchful. Of all the eerie characters met in Benedryl dreams--many of them like people you might expect to see in Tim Burton movies--he is the only one who has made a second appearance in my sleep. And he's appeared three times. I don't know what to make of that. If his repeated appearance means anything, I guess I'll find out eventually.

Baby carrots are also cool.

From Publishers Weekly
In this less than suspenseful supernatural thriller from Koontz (Breathless), 14-year-old Billy Lucas's inexplicable slaughter of his entire family awakens the fears of homicide detective John Calvino, who as a child was the sole survivor of a similar family massacre. Though Calvino slayed the fiend who did the deed, he has always worried that the killings were demonic in nature and that the evil spirit responsible would return and harm his wife and three children. Sure enough, after Calvino visits the psychiatric ward where Lucas is held, something starts to haunt every member of his close-knit clan, though improbably and conveniently they all fail to share this disturbing development with each other. The detective believes he has a deadline to thwart the force bent on repeating the earlier murders. The terror level never reaches that of similarly themed works such as the movie Fallen. Clunky prose (e.g., Andy Tane, a cop, "is figuratively and literally a horse") doesn't help. (Jan.)
(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved.

From Booklist
*Starred Review* John Calvino horns in on two fellow homicide detectives’ case because it uncannily resembles the slaughter of his family two decades ago, which he, out on a surreptitious heavy date, came home to in the middle of the night, too late to do more than kill the killer. He has kept that night’s details secret, so he’s knocked for a loop when the present-day perp repeats verbatim one of the last things the Calvinos’ murderer said. He becomes convinced that the murderer’s spirit, leagued with a demon, has returned to execute a similar series of family-slaughters whose last victims will again be the Calvinos—his own brood. The evil spirit will follow the same schedule as 20 years ago, using persons its demon partner helps it possess as its baleful tools. Events start bearing John out, but there’s a wrinkle in the murderer’s plans. Koontz worked out a family-at-risk scenario in last year’s Relentless;but whereas that book was breakneck-paced, science-fictional, riddled with screwball humor, and concerned about cultural politics, this novel is deliberate, highly supernatural, somber throughout, and motivated by religious dread—one of Koontz’s weightiest performances. High-Demand Backstory: Koontz is Koontz; every library will need his newest. --Ray Olson

Most helpful customer reviews

529 of 625 people found the following review helpful.
What Ever Happened To The Dean Koontz From Yesteryear?
By Bobbewig
Whatever happened to the Dean Koontz who wrote such excellent books as Watchers, Intensity, Dark Rivers Of The Heart, From The Corner Of His Eye, and Velocity -- just to name a few? It's sad to see when an author goes from being "can't miss" to "don't bother." For me, this has been the situation with Koontz's books over the past several years.

I was hoping, however, based on the description in Amazon Vine, that What The Night Knows was going to be like Koontz's books from yesteryear -- i.e., edge-of-the-seat excitement, fully developed credible characters, realistic dialogue, and non-stop suspense. The plot is described as involving a Homicide detective who believes that his wife and children are being marked for murder in the same way his parents and sisters were brutally killed twently years earlier by a crazed murdered out on a killing spree. A killing spree that ended when the detective, then fourteen years of age, killed the murderer of his family.

Unfortunately, virtually none of what I hoped for turned out to be the case. While What The Night Knows has its moments of suspense, there are not enough of them nor are they of the caliber of suspense Koontz used to be able to create; suspense that used to make the hairs on the back of my neck stand up on end.

Even more disappointing to me was Koontz's inability to create believable, fully developed characters as well as realistic dialogue. For me, this was particularly true about the child characters in What The Night Knows. These children, pre-teens, are so poorly developed and speak such unrealistic dialogue that I often had to stop reading in order to get my eyes to stop from rolling around in my head in astonishment. I know that Koontz doesn't have children of his own, but I am amazed that he could be so clueless as to how young children behave,think and speak.

As a result of my disappointments with this book I considered giving up on the book at various times. Instead, out of a sense of respect for an author that used to be one of my favorites, I decided to read on -- but I could only get to the end by skimming through several passages.

Based on my above comments, it is obvious that I don't recommend this book. I know my one-star rating is perhaps going to upset some Koontz fans who want to read his latest work, and result in them giving my review a "no/not helpful" vote. Hopefully, other potential readers will view my review as helpful, in that it provides "food for thought" that differs from the majority opinion expressed to-date.

153 of 179 people found the following review helpful.
Scary and Haunting Suspense Thriller from Beginning to End!
By Tom McGee
What the Night Knows is my first exposure to Dean Koontz. While I am not a fan of books and movies that scare the life out of me, Koontz may be the exception.

This author really knows how to tell a story that grabs the reader and does not let go until the book ends. Further, he is a master of pace, suspense and thrilling action that is visual to the point that chills the reader to the bone.

Alton Turner Blackwood is the product of repeated inbreeding from 3 generations. He is the epitome of evil. He graduates from killing animals to torturing and murdering entire families.

One such family was that of now detective John Calvino who at the age of 14 was the lone survivor of Blackwood's evil quest, having shot and killed Blackwood in order to live on.

Unfortunately, early on we learn that Blackwood's ghost also lives on to enter the bodies of others to continue his evil quest that will reach John Calvino's home and family.

This is a book that is nearly impossible to put down and will keep the reader thinking about it for days to come. Enjoy!

35 of 38 people found the following review helpful.
DON'T WASTE YOUR MONEY
By Tracey5200
I'm sure Mr. Koontz has plenty of money and doesn't need to make another book sale for the rest of his life to be secure. His readers, on the other hand, are just regular folks on a budget and can't afford to throw away good money on what turns out to be junk. I bought the Kindle edition, so I can't recoup even a part of my investment in the first yard sale of the spring. Live and learn.

I will admit that the prequel to "What the Night Knows", a novella called "Darkness Under the Sun", was very good, good enough to "hook" me into pre-ordering the novel that promised to be a continuation of the same story. I started reading "What the Night Knows" immediately, and it drew me in at first. Then it began to wear on me, especially the thought processes of the very unrealistic children. But the real killer came at the end. The book has a totally unacceptable Deus Ex Machina type ending, like Mr. Koontz had written the book without any idea where he was going, got to a certain point and decided he was tired of it and had to end it somehow, and threw in the absolute WORST ending of any book I have ever read by any writer at any time. The ending was so bad, so disappointing, so unimaginative, and so trite that I can only compare it to a punishment meted out to the reader for staying with such a totally inferior book to the very end.

In short, the ending was a TOTAL RIP OFF, and not worth the time and effort invested to get there. If there were a way to give this book NO STARS, I would gladly do it.

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## Free PDF Homeland: A Novel, by Barbara Hambly

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Those who loved Cold Mountain or Geraldine Brooks’s March will embrace and long remember this spellbinding novel of two remarkable women torn apart by conflict, sustained by literature and art, united by friendship and hope.

As brother turns against brother in the bloodbath of the Civil War, two young women sacrifice everything but their friendship. Susanna Ashford is the Southerner, living on a plantation surrounded by scarred and blood-soaked battlefields. Cora Poole is the Northerner, on an isolated Maine island, her beloved husband fighting for the Confederacy. Through the letters the two women exchange, they speak of the ordeal of a familiar world torn apart by tragedy. And yet their unique friendship will help mend the fabric of a ravaged nation.

The two women write about books and art, about loss and longing, about their future and the future of their country. About love. About being a woman in nineteenth-century America. About the triumphant resilience of the human spirit.

Their voices and their stories are delineated in indomitable prose by an award-winning writer who captures in intimate detail a singular moment in time. In Homeland, Barbara Hambly takes readers on a unique odyssey across a landscape treacherous with hardship and hatred. She paints a passionate masterpiece of a friendship that not only transforms our understanding of the most heart-wrenching era of American history but celebrates the power of women to change their world.

• Sales Rank: #1109951 in Books
• Published on: 2009-08-25
• Released on: 2009-08-25
• Original language: English
• Number of items: 1
• Dimensions: 9.30" h x 1.10" w x 6.20" l, 1.18 pounds
• Binding: Hardcover
• 336 pages

From Publishers Weekly
Two women, one a Northerner with a husband fighting for the Confederacy, and one a Southerner yearning to attend art school in Philadelphia, exchange letters and find in their unlikely friendship the strength to survive the Civil War, and though shades of Scarlett O'Hara occasionally pop up, Hambly manages a mostly original take on a much-covered era. Newly wed to Tennessean Emory Poole, Cora Poole retreats to Deer Isle, Maine, to remain true to her husband among friends and relatives who abhor his allegiance and suspect hers. In Greene County, Tenn., Emory's neighbor, Susanna Ashford, dabbles in the arts while facing an increasingly dire reality. The correspondents share feelings, views of current events and accounts of their respective tribulations: Susanna nurses the wounded, hunts and sews to pay for her sister's midwife. Cora raises her infant daughter, cares for her demented mother and also sews as the war exhausts resources. The leads are three-dimensional, occasionally surprising and always sympathetic as they find in their unlikely friendship the strength to accept the loss of their ways of life and to seek new ways where they both might thrive. (Sept.)
Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.

About the Author
Barbara Hambly is the author of Patriot Hearts and The Emancipator’s Wife, a finalist for the Michael Shaara Award for Excellence in Civil War Fiction. She is also the author of Fever Season, a New York Times Notable Book of the Year, and the acclaimed historical Benjamin January series, including the novels A Free Man of Color and Sold Down the River. She lives in California.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Susanna Ashford, Bayberry Run Plantation
Greene County, Tennessee
To
Mrs. Cora Poole, Blossom Street
Boston, Massachusetts


Thursday, April 25, 1861

Dear Mrs. Poole,
Please, I beg you, tell no one what you saw.

You said it was nothing, and I pray that's the truth. I wish there had been time to speak to you before you got on the train. I will always be so grateful to you for helping me as you did, and did not dare imperil your situation by even a day's delay. But, you being Emory's bride, I know you've heard the stories.

[I'm afraid—crossed out.]

Please forget.

I enclose this in a package of the books Emory's father says he is sending you. I hope that it reaches you in safety and that you enjoy the books. I am killed with envy that you're getting his copy of The Hunchback of Notre Dame!

You are the only person here—the only person I've ever met, really—who has truly and disinterestedly acted as my friend. I don't want what happened to destroy that. Please tell me it's really all right.

Your friend,
Susanna Ashford

P.S. Enclosed is a sketch of us going to Nashville.


Mrs. Cora Poole, Blossom Street
Boston, Massachusetts
To
Miss Susanna Ashford, Bayberry Run Plantation
Greene County, Tennessee


Monday, May 6, 1861

Dear Susanna,
Did we not agree, when I escorted you down to Nashville in March that we were to be Cora and Susanna? So far as I am concerned, that has not changed. Indeed, after eight whole weeks of matrimony I still find the thought of being Mrs. Anything unsettling. Our Lord said, "Let your Yea be Yea, and your Nay be Nay," and when I told you, "It's nothing," I meant it. I may be a "mealymouthed Abolitionist bluestocking," as your Aunt Sally so tactfully put it at that frightful -tea—party, but having grown up in an atmosphere poisoned by gossip, I have no wish to either spread it, or credit it. Be reassured, I will keep the thing I saw to myself. Yet I cannot pretend that I am not profoundly disturbed by it, and more than a little concerned for your safety.

Your letter arrived Saturday. The books that accompanied it were consigned to the attic, for I do not read novels.

When I wrote my letters of thanks to my kind hostess for the -tea—party, I felt I should write one to you, as well. Mrs. Johnson and your sister-in-law offered warm Southern hospitality, but in you I sensed actual friendship. Thank you for it, from the bottom of my heart. To excuse my delay in responding I plead the exigencies of setting up housekeeping for the first time: sewing curtains, learning which farmers in the market can be trusted not to water their milk, setting up -account—books with grocer, butcher, and the man who delivers the coal, and finding a -servant—girl who is honest. Back on Deer Isle, everyone knows the girls who "help" and can complain of them to their mothers if they misbehave. Here, most prospective "helpers" are immigrant Irish or German girls, and their mothers speak little or no English.

I trust our efforts in Nashville have borne fruit, and your admission to the Academy is secured? I know you were apprehensive. Yet I cannot see how your father would object to your hope of attending the Academy, much less of going on to advanced training in Art. Were you your father's son, rather than a daughter, there would be no question of keeping you from the technical training that shapes ability into excellence. One look at your sketchbook convinced me how extraordinary your talent is.

Forgive me if I write too warmly. My own father took great care, and suffered no small amount of criticism, that I should have an education equal to my brother's, and it is a matter very close to my heart. Please let me know, as soon as you hear.

And thank you, for your concern not to delay our departure. Happily, our train was not stopped by the militia bands one hears of. I trust that all remains quiet in your section?

Please extend my best wishes to Mrs. Johnson when next you see her, and thank her again for her hospitality.

Ever your friend,
Cora Poole

[N.B. April 12-14, 1861, Fort Sumter was shelled by Confederates and taken.]


Susanna Ashford, Bayberry Run Plantation
Greene County, Tennessee
To
Mrs. Cora Poole, Blossom Street
Boston, Massachussets


Monday, May 20, 1861

Dear Cora,
Thank you, thank you, thank you! I still don't know what to do—or even what to think—about what happened at the depot.

[I can't let—crossed out]

I bless you for your silence.

There have been housekeeping exigencies here, too, largely having to do with getting the tobacco seedlings transplanted. We have three hundred acres in tobacco, and about half again as much in corn, and my oldest brother, who oversees the day-to-day work of our plantation, leaves tomorrow to join the Army.

And thank you, more than I can say, for your words about going to the Academy. It's so true: were I a boy there would be no question whether I should go to the art academy in Philadelphia, even if it is in Enemy Territory now. There certainly wasn't any about my brother Payne going to the Virginia Military Academy.

I've kept house here since my Evil Stepmother died when I was nine—Pa likes the way I manage the servants, and do the accounts. When Julia was getting ready for her wedding, and didn't need me for a companion anymore, she was happy to tell Pa how nice it would be for me to go to the Academy. But now that Tom has gone into the Army, and Julia is home again, she doesn't want me to leave, either. When Pa shakes his head and sighs, "Now, Babygirl, there isn't a thing they teach at that Academy that you can't learn right here at home," I sneak up to my room and read and -re—read your letter, to remind myself that he says so only because I'm a girl. That I have as much of a right to be an artist, as a boy would.

Friday, May 24

I can't imagine not reading novels. When I was little, I would tag after Payne when he'd go up to Crow Holler to go hunting with Emory, and I'd sit on the -dog—trot and read Mr. Poole's books. Some of them I couldn't understand (a lot were in Latin and French and Greek), but sometimes Mr. Poole would come out of the woods and help me with them. Then at night I'd tell the stories back to Julia and Payne, or make up other stories about the characters. Even though I know you don't read them, I'm glad to know Mr. Poole's books are safe in your attic. The Secesh militia has been burning the houses of Unionists.

Didn't you even read Uncle Tom's Cabin?

Your friend,
Susanna

P.S. I enclose a sketch of your train being attacked by the Secesh militia. That's Julia down in the lower corner, fainting into President Lincoln's arms. (Does he still have a beard?)


Mrs. Cora Poole, Blossom Street
Boston, Massachusetts
To
Miss Susanna Ashford, Bayberry Run Plantation
Greene County, Tennessee


Monday, June 3, 1861

Dear Susanna,
Had I known—as I now do, thanks to your sketch—that Confederate militia bands include elephant corps, chariots, and archers firing from balloons, I would certainly have been even more apprehensive than I was at the thought of them attacking our -home—bound train. I will treasure your sketch, and take it to show the ladies of my Tuesday night Soldiers' Aid Society. What on earth is a "-dog—trot"?

". . . there isn't a thing they teach at that Academy"—fiddlesticks! I heard that from every one of our neighbors when I was preparing to go to the Female Seminary on the mainland: "What's wrong with the schools right here on Deer Isle?" Your father doubtless thinks there are plenty of -drawing—teachers in Greene County, as good as anything you'd find in Philadelphia, or Paris for that matter!

Of course I except Uncle Tom's Cabin from the general category of novels, written as it was with a higher purpose than mere frivolity. Even my father excepted it, once I had lent my copy to him. This was after my -school—friend Elinor thrust it upon me and declared she would never speak to me again, until I read it. And please forgive me my assumption that you would follow your family's lead on the question of Secession—an assumption unworthy of Mrs. Wollstonecraft, and Lucretia Mott, and other champions of the right of women to think and speak after the promptings of their own hearts. Or do I mistake your words? I am extremely curious to know what you thought of the book? I wept and wept over it.

Tuesday, June 25

An interruption. Only days after the receipt of your letter, my mother wrote me from Deer Isle that my brother Oliver quite astonishingly announced his intention to wed, and Emory and I took the train back to Maine to attend the wedding. (Mother is fit to be tied.) It was good to see again the friends with whom I grew up, though my darling bossy Elinor could not attend, being great with her second child. Most of the men were out with the -cod—fleet, and all my aunts and cousins and -second—cousins deep engaged in the cultivation of their gardens.

The talk was of nothing but the War, and of the parade when the first of the Maine regiments marched south; of how we will "make the Southerners pay for their audacity." Flags float from every public edifice and most private ones as well. Despite the joy of having milk and butter from our own cows, and good country vegetables—despite the beauty of the wildflowers in our woods and the pleasure of working in Mother's garden again—I was conscious as never before of how primitive is the life on our island, and how narrow the focus of its dwellers, though they be people that I love. Nowhere did I hear even the suggestion that all Southerners might not be degenerate -slave—holders.

I am profoundly glad to return to Boston. I so...

Most helpful customer reviews

12 of 12 people found the following review helpful.
Behind the scenes of the Civil War
By V. K. Vermooten
HOMELAND is an unusual novel, both in its epistolary style, and in the unusual situations of the two protagonists. (One is a Southerner who doesn't support the Confederacy; the other a Northerner whose husband left home in Philadelphia to join the army, but didn't join until he was in the South.) Acquaintances in person, they become friends through their letters.

Most striking is the look at everyday life that develops in the course of the correspondence. Heroics are there, both obviously and also in the continued, determined survival in the face of overwhelming odds. More than any other book, this conveys the dogged, everyday struggle that each woman experiences, just because she sees no other choice. Others may give up; they keep going because they truly see no choice.

As Barbara Hambly's Benjamin January books give a view of slavery that is probably more accurate than any other that I've read, this book impressed me with the endurance required to survive insanity, horror, and the overwhelming pettiness of people at war.

It is a fascinating read, and I recommend it highly.

9 of 9 people found the following review helpful.
I was blown away
By ginnyk
I got the book because I know Barbara Hambly's work and enjoy her writing. Little did I know how good this book is. It is outstanding, and one I will recommend to all of my reading friends.

Hambly tells the story in letters between two women, one a Southerner, the other a Northerner, at the beginning of and through the Civil War. Neither woman quite "fits" into her culture and community, and each sustains the other's right to be different. They write of their lives, their frustrations, happinesses and unhappinesses. They tell of their everyday lives, with all of the tragedies that took place during that War, and how each struggles to be faithful to her own principles and beliefs. Their letters speak not only of the commonplace and extraordinary tragedies of the Civil War, but, to me, of all wars, of what happens to the women and children who are not fighting but are deeply and personally affected by this war and all wars.

I am going to buy another copy just to lend to close friends, because this is a story worth reading. I know it will haunt me forever, and I will probably re-read it at least once a year.

4 of 4 people found the following review helpful.
Excellent Book that transends time.
By A. Tooney
I read this book when it was first released. I am a fan of Barbara Hambly's writing from her earlier science fiction/fantasy books to her meticulously researched historical novels. This book shows a side of the Civil War rarely presented - the view of women who are friends on opposing sides. I found that there were many issues that the two women in this book dealt with are also issues modern women deal with today.
I recommend this book any chance I get. I will definitely be rereading and its a great addition to my Barbara Hambly collection.

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!! PDF Ebook The Killing Game: An Eve Duncan Forensics Thriller, by Iris Johansen

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A merciless killer on the hunt...an innocent child in his sights...a woman driven to the edge to stop him...

The killer knows Eve Duncan all too well. He knows the pain she feels for her murdered daughter, Bonnie, whose body has never been found. He knows that as one of the nation's top forensic sculptors she'll insist on identifying the nine skeletons unearthed on a bluff near Georgia's Talladega Falls. He knows she won't be able to resist the temptation of believing that one of those skeletons might be her daughter's. But that is only the beginning of the killer's sadistic game. He wants Eve one on one, and he'll use his ace in the hole to make sure she complies. And he won't stop playing until he claims the prize he wants most: Eve's life.

• Sales Rank: #176824 in Books
• Brand: Bantam
• Published on: 2000-05-02
• Released on: 2000-05-02
• Original language: English
• Number of items: 1
• Dimensions: 6.87" h x .92" w x 4.18" l, 1.20 pounds
• Binding: Mass Market Paperback
• 368 pages

Features

• Great product!

Amazon.com Review
Eve Duncan returns as the popular heroine of Iris Johansen's latest suspense thriller, The Killing Game. After the murder of her daughter Bonnie and years of work as a forensic sculptor, Eve had hoped to find some solace in semi-retirement. But when her friend Joe Quinn informs her of the unearthing of multiple bodies, including those of children, Eve cannot resist getting caught up. Those bones may be Bonnie's, and somewhere out there is a dangerous serial murderer. With Joe's loyal help, Eve grimly sets out to find a killer.

Determined to remain objective, Eve begins to reconstruct the face of one of the victims. But the killer wants her to become involved, and manipulates Eve's life like a puppeteer. Terrified of the killer but spurred on by her memories of Bonnie, Eve takes a gamble with her life. She will do whatever the murderer demands: she will be the bait, betting her life for the chance to save others.

As a great suspense novel should, The Killing Game keeps the action and the plot twists coming. Eve's job as a forensic sculptor is the perfect profession for a suspense heroine: she has official access to technical information and the emotional flexibility to react to the drama. Eve's grieving over the loss of Bonnie--and over her romantic complications--helps keep the story complex and appealing. Turn on all of the lights and keep the phone nearby--you won't want to be alone in the dark while reading this one. --Nancy R.E. O'Brien

From Publishers Weekly
Johansen is at the top of her game with this sinuous thriller. Emotionally damaged and self-contained forensic sculptor Eve Duncan (The Face of Deception) makes a return appearance, along with her old friend, the cynical, coolly smart cop Joe Quinn. At the start of the book, EveAdevoted to forensic reconstruction since her eight-year-old daughter was murdered in Johansen's previous novel, her body never foundAhas abandoned the day-to-day world for life on a Tahitian island. Eve's tropical exile is interrupted, however, when Joe shows up to tell her that a pile of bodies has been discovered in the Georgia woods, including that of a young girl he believes may be Eve's daughter. Determined to reconstruct the skull and hoping to lay her daughter to rest, Eve returns to the U.S. Her arrival draws the attention of Dom, the psychotic serial killer responsible for the Georgia murders. Random attacks on social outcasts don't produce the rush they once did for Dom, and now he needs to up the ante, by stalking and murdering more prominent people and interacting with his victims before he attacks. Eve, whose story he has long followed in newspaper accounts, becomes his next target. Delaying their confrontation until he feels it will have full impact, he interrupts her reconstruction work, plants doubts in her mind about the details of her daughter's death and threatens to kill a young foundlingAa redheaded girl like her daughterAwhom she befriends. An enthralling cat-and-mouse game ensues, throughout which Johansen maintains perfect pacing, always revealing just enough to keep the reader turning the pages. Aided by smart and realistic dialogue, the suspense holds until the very end. Major ad/promo; BDD audio. (Sept.)
Copyright 1999 Reed Business Information, Inc.

From Library Journal
Johansen aims for the four million mark (her previous thrillers having collectively sold over three million copies) with this story of a forensic sculptor stalked by the serial killer responsible for her daughter's death.
Copyright 1999 Reed Business Information, Inc.

Most helpful customer reviews

0 of 0 people found the following review helpful.
Five Stars
By Becky Gazdik
I enjoyed reading this as I do all of her books!

1 of 2 people found the following review helpful.
A wonderful rollercoaster page turning ride
By T. Bowen
The most exciting book I've read this year. Ms. Johansen stays true to her charaters (unlike Thomas Harris's "Hannibal"). The first book this year I truly had a hard time putting down. I laughed, I worried, I cried, I couldn't stop till I finished and then I was not dissappointed. A thrilling rollercoaster ride is the best way I can describe this book. If you enjoy mysteries and thrillers, you will not be dissappointed. I can't wait for the next chapter in Eve Duncan's life.

15 of 16 people found the following review helpful.
Fast read
By C. Lacher
This book is perfect for waiting in line for the ferry or killing time at the airport. It doesn't take a whole lot of concentration and the plot is interesting enough to keep your attention.
While the title implies some pretty gritty stuff, it turns out this is more of a suspenseful romance novel than a grim murder mystery. Although the heroine is being hunted by while hunting for a serial killer, there aren't tremendously gruesome and gratuituous descriptions of the killings which is a relief.
The plot is moved along primarily through the use of dialogue which makes for fast and easy reading. And while there aren't a whole lot of surprises in here (I mean does Mel Gibson or Bruce Willis ever actually die in their movies?), the ending was a nice little twist and Johansen does a good job of defining characters deftly with minimum words.
Not a deep book by any means, but a decent and quick read.

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