Praise (with some embellishment) for Connie Lapallo's Jamestown Trilogy

At times, when finishing up a chapter of Connie Lapallo’s Jamestown trilogy, I caught myself near breathless, shaking my head with amazement. I’ve studied and loved Virginia history my whole life and I’ve written six books, so I know a thing or two about the effort and hours she’s exerted to craft these tales. I offer her a nod of respect. I hope the work of historical fiction I’m in the midst of researching will be as good.

Okay, so now you know why I bought Dark Enough to See the Stars in a Jamestown Sky from Connie at the Williamsburg Book Festival last fall. I wanted to see how she handled a work of “local” historical fiction. Knowing the hard work for little reward that goes into book writing, I also wondered if she’d like to take my research and make it into her fourth book. It seemed to suit too, since my story starts where hers ends, in 1652.

But once into the book, I found it to be a page-turner. I wanted Book 2! And then, I was inspired to hold on to my research and write it “better.” (More on my critique later.) My husband must have heard my thoughts since for Christmas, he gave me the next two books in the trilogy: When the Moon Has No More Silver: The Continuing Story of the Women & Children of Jamestown and The Sun Is But A Morning Star. What a treat.

It took a while for me to read the second book, due to that universal problem: life got in the way of my reading! But when I started the third, I pressed through quickly. Reading the Jamestown trilogy inspired me to dig into my own project every minute I could spare. Research is the fun part. (More on that later too.)

So what did I like and dislike? Well, I am a history buff, especially a Tidewater, Virginia, history buff. Even though I already knew a bit more than the average person about Jamestown, I discovered to my surprise that I’ve digested names and dates that hadn’t stuck before. The slow pace of the book allowed me to make friends with the characters whose names and relationships really have stuck to my few spare neurons. For example, when I read in the local newspaper that there would be a program at Historic Jamestowne led by Edmund Brewster, I knew who he was! The good man came to Jamestown on a mission to manage the estate of my Lord la Ware. Ah ha! This book of historical fiction peopled around my knowledge of dates and events. Now, Jamestown is more personal. I feel like I know the people. In fact, I plan to head out to Jamestown Island tomorrow to visit the Pierce’s house.

At the same time that I love the history that came to life, I also know that I must be careful to double check it before speaking about it around my historian friends. For instance, I had to cheat a bit by stopping to check with Martha McCartney (Virginia Immigrants and Adventurers: A Biographical Dictionary, 1607-1635) and others on the details. Tom Pierce was killed in the 1622 Massacre, so says Martha. Hmm. Connie has Tom outliving his mother. Martha names Joan’s daughter Joan too, not Jane as Connie did. Perhaps Connie did this to prevent confusion?

Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe she took a bit of literary license. As a person who lives in a college town (my alma mater!) with lots of scholarly friends, I know a mere B.A. in history and a genuine interest in Virginia history does not make me a historian. I will say up front that my book is going to be historical fiction.

I have a problem with Connie a) labeling herself as a historian and b) saying that her books are true when they aren’t always. Take for instance the Postscript: In my opinion, the last chapter of the third book was the best of the hundreds that went before. I was about to hoot my approval, run out to tell my husband, when it occurred to me I’d better check the back for her “What’s Fact and What’s Fiction?” section, included in each book with the back matter. The sad news was right there on the second page of the Author’s Note: “While Joan is a real person and did live these events (with a few embellishments),” . . . What!? Oh wait, maybe I better not quote the rest since that will spoil your fun. Suffice to say the Postscript "embellishment" was fiction. Maybe I should check all the back matter to see if there is an apology for letting Tom live so long and naming young Joan Jane. Maybe not. See? This is my big problem with a book that’s touted to be true, yet the author admits is embellished. You can’t have it both ways.

My other problem: I am not a big fan of Western theology and the fact that this book drips with it is off-putting. Luckily, I was quick to put on my “historian” hat and realized she wasn’t proselytizing. Literal faith in deities was just the way the Western world turned in the late Middle Ages.

And it’s my training in mindfulness that takes this to another level too. Joan is a classic example of NOT mindful, as she continually obsesses about the past and the future. Breathe, Joan. You can quickly stop your suffering by realizing that you can’t do anything about it. You can only be at your best right here and right now. Yes, I would have preferred the narrator to be more stoic, like Tempie. Jeez. All the monkey-mind worry added at least a hundred pages to the trilogy, me thinks, and resulted in a slow pace overall.

I thought, before reading her work, I might hand my research off to Connie. Now I think that research is, perhaps, the easy part. Good storytelling - sharp, quick, colorful, and insightful - is the real challenge. Hard work indeed, and you can’t please everyone, but I would rather give book writing another try.

Nevertheless, welladay, Connie Lapallo! If I see you at this year's Williamsburg Book Festival I will cover you up with praise.

Thoughts about War and Warriors on Memorial Day

While others find it easy to celebrate noble warriors on Memorial Day, I have always found it hard to do so because I couldn't separate the warrior from the war. Innocent people get killed, land gets damaged and, think about it, is the cause really worth fighting for? I am a pacifist.

But why am I this way? Why can't I bring myself to click on the thumbs-up button when my friends post photos of family members who have served? Perhaps there is a clue in that last sentence: family. Perhaps I don't express appropriate Memorial Day emotion because of conditioning experience. 

I grew up around a father who was bitter about the military. He joined the Merchant Marine when he was 19, in 1941, because it was the right thing to do. But while some signed up for the Navy and Army, he wore glasses, was "legally blind," so they wouldn't take him. He turned to the natural alternative. In his hometown of Mathews, Virginia, the Merchant Marine suited the seafaring tradition and many Mathews Men chose maritime careers in times of peace. Dad made multiple trips to Europe and one destined for Japan in convoys of hastily constructed Liberty Ships loaded down with munitions, attacked by German U-Boats. Amazingly enough, he survived.

But in the end he felt angry. His buddies came home from service to the GI bill. He would not be able to afford college and of course that affected his career prospects and life trajectory. Even after Reagan granted veteran status to those who served as merchant seaman he wouldn't sign up. It was too late then, he thought. All through his career as a civil servant, an electrician on the Fort Eustis army base, he would make his bitterness know with little asides about military men on the base who acted in entitled ways.

When my son was a Boy Scout and we went to Memorial Day services, I looked at veterans and saw men who thought they were better than my father. For years I couldn't feel a warm place in my heart for veterans or Memorial Day, until the last decade or so. 

It all started to change during a speech-language pathology practicum when I worked at the VA Polytrauma Center at Hunter Holmes Hospital in Richmond. I saw young boys whose lives were forever changed by an IED . . . or an attempt to commit suicide to get out of the service. Warrior. War. Two different things.

And then, while working on family genealogy, I came across a photo of my grandfather when he was 22, the same age as my son at that time. Sent from Maine, it simply said, "Dear Aunt, I expect to go to France in a few days. Love to all, Cpl. Frank Lewis." He enlisted 101 years ago, in May 1917, and was discharged in March 1919. He came home to a career with the US Lighthouse Service, serving out the rest of his life in lonely stints on Chesapeake Bay lighthouses. He died when I was 4-years old, in 1959. Warrior. War. Two different things.

Recently I watched with utter sadness and dismay the The Vietnam War film by Ken Burns. As if I hadn't know, it called out the fact that wars are the product of politics and leadership. And the warriors . . . are swept along. The Looming Tower brought it closer. Today we have a president who could recklessly spark yet another war.

Wars. Warriors. So many are sacrificed in body and spirit. Our lands and monuments are scared and destroyed. Why? Have we, has anyone, ever won? What did they win for the warriors? Yes, yes, some wars are about animals like Hitler, but many are not.

Memorial Day isn't about celebrating noble warriors. It is about opening our hearts to those who have seen terrible things, who have done the unspeakable. It is about embracing a world tired of war and focusing our next moves along a peaceful path with arms linked across nations. May we feel our common humanity and be weapons of war no more.