I applaud Burke making such a great transition to historical fiction. As with Lehane’s metamorphosis, he can’t keep mysteries out of the plot or a few behind the scenes murders. But the hero here, Weldon Holland, is in no way a detective. He is a Texas oilman in the post-war boom. He has the soul of a writer, an old ambition from his college days, one that aligns with capacity to see people as if they were actors in a Shakespearean play or Medieval romance. And indeed he ends up playing some roles with chivalry at their core.
Weldon’s father abandoned his family when he was a kid, resulting in his mother breaking down and being institutionalized. The vacuum was filled by his grandfather, a cantankerous but loving man, whose work as a fair but tough sheriff instilled in Weldon a respect for justice and old fashioned family values. An experience when he was 12 in which his grandfather chased Bonnie and Clyde and associates off their land has a big impact on Weldon, as he ended up shooting at their car after the run-in injured his grandfather. The twist in his heart was that he had developed a crush on the outlaw Bonnie Parker when visiting with them earlier. I love how Burke uses this improbable experience to prefigure events later in the book and nurture some mythic overtones.
Another stage-setting event at the beginning of the book is the experience Weldon had as a lieutenant at the Battle of the Bulge. I won’t spoil the plot, but merely say he becomes bound forever to his sergeant Hershel Pine and saves his future wife, Rosita Lowenstein, from a concentration camp. Back in Texas after the war, he and Hershel capitalize on a German welding method to start a successful pipeline company. The details of their struggles to stay independent was fun to experience. But it brought them into conflict with a certain greedy and super wealthy oilman. His son, Roy Wiseheart, professes to respect them for standing up the father he hates. He also claims to envy Weldon for being a self-made man and a true hero in the war. In contrast, his career in the war as an aviator was driven by a desire to prove himself to his father, and in the process his pursuit of status as an ace pilot in numbers of downed enemy planes led to the death of his squadron leader.
This history provides a rich foundation for themes of loyalty and honor and redemption throughout the book. Roy can’t resist trying to help Weldon and Hershel, despite the hatred his aristocratic wife has for their low-status origins, especially Hershel’s country girl wife, Linda, who desires to join her Houston country club. Her virulent anti-Semitic attitudes come out for Rosita, who is tagged as a Communist because of her family’s alliances during the Spanish Civil War before fleeing to France. Roy wangles it so Linda gets an opportunity to try out as an actress in a Hollywood movie he is an investor in. Her surprising success and dive into the Hollywood high life puts a big strain on her marriage. Mobsters such as Bugsy Siegel are part of the background. Slowly the work of powerful enemies out to destroy the families of Weldon and Hershel come to the fore, and we are left to wonder who is behind their minions and to wait anxiously to experience the roles of each of the four in the drama of saving themselves.
You should be getting the picture now that this story is reaching for a classic sprawling tale that portrays people with traditional rural values at odds with the corrupting forces that come into play when the American Dream gets married to big oil and the Hollywood engine. I think Burke did well at the ambitious effort, grounding the plot in compelling character development and excellent sensory evocation of a sense of place. I got almost as much satisfaction as I did from Meyer’s multigenerational Texas saga, “The Son.” I do find fault in Burke’s tendency to have his characters all speak in complete sentences and expound articulately on their moral outlook. For example, the following concept of evil appears in all of his Robicheaux detective books, though it isn’t central in this one:
There are times in your life when you know, without any demonstrable evidence, that you are in the presence of genuine evil. It is not generated by demons, not does it have its origins in the Abyss. It lives in the breast of our fellow man and takes on many disguises, but its intention is always the same: to rob the innocent of their faith in humanity and to destroy the light and happiness that all of us seek.
Also, I like the paradoxes in his characters, but I felt he spelled them out too much in a particular revery by Weldon. Close your eyes if you think the author’s plan for character traits is a spoiler; read on if you want a feel for them as an impetus to pursue the book:
The Greek tragedians viewed irony, not the stars, as the agency that shaped our lives. They were probably right. I was a river-baptized Christian, but I married a Jew who was a better Christian than I. I wanted to be an anthropologist, but I became a pipeline contractor and a rich man through the use of machines that made the tanks that tried to kill me. Roy Wiseheart was born with everything except the approval of his father and consequently seemed to value nothing. Hershel Pine was a man of humble birth who could have served as a yeoman under Henry V at the Battle of Agincourt, yet he possessed the chivalric virtues of an Arthurian knight. Clara Wiseheart owned imaginable amounts of money, and seemed governed day to day by the vindictive child living inside her. Linda Gail had stopped for gas at a country store and stepped off the gallery into a camera’s lens and a career in Hollywood. And since 1934, the single most influential ongoing event in my life had been my encounter with Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow, people who had the cultural dimensions of a hangnail.