This is some of the finest fiction I’ve read from a new writer for me. Thanks to the dear departed Kirk and my friends for helping me find this author. I’ll read his body of work now and give this one. Full review later.
This is the style of novel that works well for me. I can learn some real history and the characters are rich, entertaining and seem authentic for the time. Especially I loved the visit from the James brothers, as I recall their misadventure in Minnesota, and they have a history in my local Missouri. The brutality of the battles was grisly and realistic. 2018 was the year of the native American for me, and this was my fourth of the type, and my favorite. Maltman has a special gift for understanding men and women and familial love. The bird theme was throughout, and a constant reminder of the spirit world that inhabited these characters. Some felt this novel jumped around too much, and the case of characters complicated, but I found it well structured and the layers built on each other nicely. It is perhaps a characteristic of historical novels, and there were a few logical gaffes, but overall the style was effective for me. This was an emotional novel, and touched me deeply in the maternal and otherworldly love that the main character Hazel brought - she was a heroine to me.
p. 22: "I hesitated, thinking on the bits of information I'd managed to wheedle from my mother over the last nine days. That Aunt Hazel 'knew things a Christian woman out not to,' her way of implying the woman was a witch. That Aunt Hzel hadn't resisted when taken captive, had wanted it even. Now this woman stodd before me and she was not the wispy, white-haired vision I had imagine. Not a woman with faraway eyes and long yellow fingernails, but one who looked you straight in the face and saw the fears you hid in your underbelly and smelled the regret on your skin. To tell the truth, she frightened me. But despite certain recent lapses, I was an obedient child and so went to her and let her put her on my cheeks until I looked up into her eyes and tried to still the quivering in my stomach. Only a woman does a thing like that: takes you into her hands like she held a sparrow and was divining its lifespan, the good and the bad. Men are keen about other things, but not very often about people. Aunt Hazel didn't' say anything about what she saw in my eyes, not at that time."
p. 48, some beautiful yet ominous nature writing: "A white flash rippled and faded outside the window, followed by a close grumble of thunder. It was early in the year for such weather; a surge of warm air that came fromt eh south and made men think and act in ways that went against nature."
p. 143, Maltman's exquisite descriptions of bodily sensation: "Jakob felt it first, an itch that spread through his hands and arms like the pox. No sores, appeared on his winter-pale skin, but he couldn't stop scratching. It spread from him to all of them, and invisible rash that burrowed into their veins. Hazel tried everything: a lotion of mullein leaves, tea made from willow bark, but the itch continued to burn beneath their skin like prickles of white-hot flame...They wanted to tear the very skin from their flesh, to strip themselves down to sinew and ligament.
p. 346, on the precipice of consciousness / death " There is a place inside us beyond blood and breath. Picture rolling grassland spilling over the edge of a cliff in a green wave. The other side of the cliff is molten with rivers of light winding toward the jaws of the mountains. All around you smell the rain, and in the wind there are voices of those you lost. You are afraid of this edge inside of you, of what will happen when you step over. Maybe in your ordinary days you forget it even exists. Children know it, and the elderly."
p. 358, Jesse James' sadness for what will be lost: "We aren't' anything before what's coming. An age of machines. The great plains tribes will fall before the Gatling gun. Wires will whirl a voice across mountains and deserts in a blink. The railroads and steamships will go on reducing ocean and distance into nothing. I stand in the way of such an age. I want to throw a cog into the churning wheels of these machines. Such things will consume us."