Long Remember has been long forgotten. MacKinlay Kantor's 1934 novel, which chronicles the Civil War's Pennsylvania Campaign and Battle of Gettysburg from the perspective of civilians unlucky enough to be in Gettysburg on those three crucial days of July 1-3, 1863, caused quite a splash in its time; it was a Literary Guild main selection, and no less an authority than the Southern novelist and critic Allen Tate praised its battlefield realism.
Yet while Kantor's later Civil War novel Andersonville (1955) won the Pulitzer Prize, was praised by historian Bruce Catton as "the best Civil War novel I have ever read, without any question," and has remained continuously in print, Long Remember was out of print for decades, and only reappeared in print in 2000. How was it that Long Remember came back onto literary radar screens around the turn of the millennium, and how and why did it disappear from sight in the first place?
As to the reasons for the reappearance of Long Remember, I have my suspicions. When I first purchased this 2000 reprinting of Long Remember, I placed right next to it, on the desk of my Central Pennsylvania office, a 1996 Ballantine Books trade edition of Michael Shaara's The Killer Angels (1974). Shaara's Pulitzer Prize-winning novelistic treatment of the Gettysburg campaign and battle, unlike Kantor's, has remained popular ever since its publication; it inspired Ronald Maxwell's 1993 film Gettysburg, and can be said to have had virtually a controlling influence on the way in which much of the reading public views the battle.
What struck me, looking at the two books together, was how much they look alike. They are the same size, and both have similar cover illustrations: for Shaara, a portion of Paul Philippoteaux's Cyclorama painting that shows Pickett's Charge from the Union perspective; for Kantor, a painting by popular Civil War artist Don Troiani, also depicting a portion of Pickett's Charge, also from what could be the point of view of an ordinary Union soldier. (Virtually all Civil War enthusiasts will recognize, within about one second of glancing at the cover, that the cover painting shows Confederate General Lewis Armistead with his hat stuck to the tip of his sword.) If the publishers hoped that the ongoing enthusiasm for The Killer Angels meant that Long Remember could find a readership among some members of that same audience, such a hope would be perfectly understandable.
But take The Killer Angels off the table, and leave Long Remember there by itself, and you will find that what you have is a pretty good Civil War novel. The author of a Civil War historical novel must make one of two choices: either take the characters to the war, or bring the war to the characters. Shaara in The Killer Angels made the former choice, introducing us to his fictive Chamberlain, Lee, Longstreet, et al., while the Army of the Potomac and the Army of Northern Virginia were already on the way to Gettysburg. Kantor in Long Remember makes the latter choice, introducing us to ordinary people of Gettysburg and letting the war come to them.
Kantor, an award-winning journalist and popular author of his time, often turned to war for his subject matter; his blank-verse novel Glory for Me (1945) was adapted into William Wyler’s Oscar-winning film The Best Years of Our Lives (1946), about World War II veterans adjusting to post-war life back home in the U.S.A. For Long Remember, Kantor’s main character is Dan Bale, a man who has seen war and wants no more of it.
Having left his hometown of Gettysburg and gone west to Minnesota, Bale managed to be on hand when the Dakota War of 1862 broke out there, and came back a bitter sort of philosophical pacifist. As far as he is concerned, the Union and Confederate armies can grind one another into bloody paste if they like; he wants no part of it. American readers of 1934, seeing the rise of warlike totalitarian regimes less than two decades after the end of the First World War or "war to end all wars," might well have identified with Bale's expressed belief that all war is futile, and with his intent to stay out of this war. Seventy years before the isolationism of the time between the world wars, Bale is a sort of proto-isolationist.
But as his home is on the Chambersburg Pike, just northwest of "The Diamond" (the town square that marks the heart of Gettysburg), he soon finds that his home falls within rebel lines. Kantor thus gets an opportunity to dramatize a good part of the action of July 1, the first day of the Battle of Gettysburg, showing us events along McPherson Ridge and around the Lutheran Theological Seminary. As Bale's home becomes a Confederate field hospital, we also get to see the physical mayhem that that war inflicted, in a time when innovations in weapons technology had far outstripped advances in medical science.
There are romantic complications as well. Bale has enjoyed an interlude of illicit passion with Irene Fanning, a woman trapped in a loveless marriage. Irene thinks at one point, “[H]ow wicked I am, how completely fallen from some stupid estate”, but reflects at the same time that “I suppose…this is something I’ve been waiting for, all my life” (p. 101). Irene’s husband, a cold and embittered man (there are a lot of bitter people in this book), is a Union officer in a Pennsylvania regiment somewhere on the other side of the battle lines. Irene, guilt-stricken by what she and Bale have done, insists that Bale find Irene's husband and tell him that the affair never happened (even though it did).
To say that Bale does not like the mission that Irene has set for him would be an understatement:
Dan declared, “You want me to go over there and lie to him, and I will do it,” and there was hate in his voice. Not hate for her; she was to be pitied, she could not help herself. “But if he’s killed, will you agree to marry me?”
“You should know what I will do. But this way…he mustn’t die believing me – thinking that I did –” (p. 301)
Yet Bale accepts Irene's charge, and (in a series of events that seems to defy the laws of fictional probability) takes a pair of blue uniform trousers off a dead Union soldier, makes his way through the provost marshals and skirmish lines of two warring armies, and finds himself on Cemetery Ridge just in time for Pickett's Charge on July 3rd. One senses here the anxiety of novelist Kantor to make sure that his readers finish the book feeling that they've gotten a good look at their fair share of Gettysburg landmarks.
The other indispensable Gettysburg landmark, of course, is Little Round Top; and Kantor gets us there, too, in a post-battle sequence that has him exploring that part of the battlefield in search of a friend who joined the Pennsylvania militia just before the battle and is missing and feared dead. In short, this book suffers from a tension between the author's wish to provide a realistic, Red Badge of Courage-style view of the Civil War as seen through ordinary people's eyes on the one hand, and his sense of the need to give the viewer a panoramic view of the Gettysburg engagement in its entirety on the other. That contradiction is never fully resolved.
Yet Long Remember does have its virtues. I appreciated Kantor's determination to provide a realistic, unglamorous view of war, and his focus on the trauma that war inflicts, both physically and psychologically. In the time before the battle begins, Bale encounters a Union officer from Illinois – a Major Glenn from Illinois, who disapproves of Bale’s pacifist ways. Bale meets the officer’s son, whose “eyes were hazel as his father’s, but opaque and chilly; they were the eyes of a killer, ruthless with all the hatred of nineteen” (pp. 199-200). Bale’s conversation with Major Glenn ends on this note:
“You’re fortunate to have your son with you in the same regiment,” Bale said.
Glenn swung his hand against his hat rim. “I did have three,” he said. He cantered down the graveled path, past the dead horse, and rode away up the slope without looking back. (pp. 200-01)
The World War I veterans who read this novel twenty years after participating in that dreadful conflict no doubt appreciated Kantor's uncompromising depiction of the physical mayhem that war inflicts:
Bale said, “It’s a man,” and he found him under some vines. He was a Union soldier. The black blood crusted all over one side of him and he looked as if he were dead, but he wasn’t. Dan picked him up, and one swollen arm failed to hang limp even by its own weight. Bale moved the arm – the man screamed from the bottom of hell…. (p. 301)
The man's wounds are also maggot-infested; and when Bale takes the wounded man to a Confederate field hospital, the rebel surgeon there jocularly remarks, "Ha, when they've got the worms you can't wager much. There's one like that inside, only worse -- trochanters and neck of the left femur shattered, ball lodged near the acetabulum, and maggots by the wagon-load..." (p. 301). The American Civil War was that kind of war, I suppose. So was the First World War that was on novelist Kantor's mind as he wrote. So, I would imagine, is every war.
Long Remember takes its title from President Abraham Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address. In dedicating Gettysburg’s National Cemetery, four months after the battle, President Lincoln said that no speech he might give could compare with the valor and sacrifice of the slain Union soldiers who had been laid to rest at the cemetery: “The world will little note, nor long remember, what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here.” A century and a half later, both the speech and the soldiers it honored are of course well-remembered.
As for the less-well-remembered Long Remember -- it is a good novel, though it does not rise to the level of The Killer Angels. But if you are a Civil War enthusiast who is always looking for something new to read about Gettysburg, then it should work well for you. You might also want to read it in conjunction with nonfiction treatments of the ordeal of Gettysburg’s civilians during and after the battle – books like William G. Williams's Days of Darkness: The Gettysburg Civilians, or George Sheldon's When the Smoke Cleared at Gettysburg.