Going into this book, I didn't know what to expect. I hadn't read any of Fowler's other books, and to be honest, the idea of a novel about John Wilkes Booth's family struck me as... how shall I put it? A Petri dish for melodrama? But several GR friends really liked it so I decided to give it a try. I expected little.
I was wrong. "Booth" is now on my "favorites" shelf. It's difficult to explain why, because it's one of those novels where the story pulls you along and you find yourself observing and judging the characters, but you become more and more aware that there's a great deal more going on here than a compelling plot. "Booth" is many things, but melodramatic it ain't. It's an incisive look into the lives, personalities, and interpersonal dynamics of a real, larger-than-life family. It's historical fiction that actually cares deeply about history rather than merely using it as a stage set, and is deeply sensitive to how the currents of the times -- changing tastes and circumstances, major events, and controversies -- all work from the outside to shape the lives of individuals and families. It's a book filled with startling events, coincidences and chance encounters that bring the reader to a sudden halt to wonder, 'Can this be true? Did this really happen?' Based on what I've been able to discover thus far, yes, they did happen. (Fowler talks a little about this kind of thing in an afterword.)
The book begins with two epigraphs, both of which speak powerfully to our own time: "America is false to the past, false to the present, and solemnly binds herself to be false to the future" (Frederick Douglass) and "We cannot escape history" (Abraham Lincoln). It doesn't take long for the reader to understand how powerfully apt the two quotations are.
"I began thinking about this book," Fowler writes at the outset, before the story itself begins, "during one of our American spates of horrific mass shootings. Among other things… I wondered about the families of the shooters — how would such a family deal with their own culpability, all the if-onlys?" Something about the family of John Wilkes Booth drew her in the aftermath of a shooting, but what story should she tell? It was neither her intention nor her desire to write a book about John Wilkes Booth (“a man who craved attention and has gotten too much of it”), that much was clear to her. How does one write a novel about the family of the best-known murder in American history, the template for how all subsequent assassinations are framed and talked about, without making it about the assassin himself?
Fowler might well have taken a different narrative path than she ended up doing, but history intervened, gave her a nudge: "Donald Trump was elected to the presidency while I was still in the early stages of research. The shock and despair of this waylaid me for more than a year. It seemed pointless to be writing about anything else and it took me much longer than it should have for me to realize that I wasn’t writing about anything else. The more I read of Lincoln’s warnings concerning the tyrant and the mob, the more I immersed myself in the years that led to the Civil War, the more brightly lit the road from there to here became."
Fowler was midway through her final edit when the events of January 6, 2021, took place.
The story begins with the feel of a curtain rising on a stage. We see a two-room log cabin in Maryland with whitewashed walls and red shutters. A farm, or something like. Then the actors: a famous (and, many think, quite mad) Shakespearean actor. A paternal grandfather from England, working to translated The Aeneid into English and turning it into a play that his son can star in. An "indulgent" mother. A family with nine children, four who are already dead when curtain goes up. Although they themselves don't know it, we are told, the children are a secret. (We find out why soon enough.)
Next, the mise en scene, words that feel similar in purpose to the prologues in "Henry V" or "Romeo and Juliet." Here, the words are drawn from a speech given by a young Abraham Lincoln in 1838: Is it unreasonable to expect, that some man possessed of the loftiest genius, coupled with ambition sufficient to push it to its utmost stretch, will at some time, spring up among us? And when such a one does, it will require the people to be united with each other, attached to the government and laws, and generally intelligent, to successfully frustrate his designs.
It was Lincoln's first major speech. The occasion: two murders, one the horrible lynching by a mob of a 26 year old Black man (the grand jury convened afterwards was instructed by the judge not to blame the mob, but rather the abolitionists who were stirring up trouble). The other victim is White, a minister and newspaperman. He too is murdered by a mob... because he is an abolitionist. The chair of his jury was a member of that very mob, and the judge served as a witness for the defense.
And so history and mythology and fiction, past and present, all come together to form the lens through which we watch the Booths.
I won't try to provide any kind of summary of all that happens in "Booth." It would be pointless to do so, for the greater part of many lives unfold here. As I said, the book begins in the Spring of 1838. It ends, more or less, in 1893. In between those years we follow the lives of the Booth family: grandfather, Father and Mother, sons and daughters. Children who die young, others who grow into adulthood, some famous, two nearly invisible to us, one infamous. There are marriages (in one case, bigamy), deaths, successes, failures, moments of grace and moments of depravity and ignominy. Moments of rage, regret, and self-delusion.
The story is told primarily through the eyes of three Booth children (though Fowler does peek through now and again): Rosalie (oldest daughter, "neither dead nor beautiful though the first is easier for her to imagine than the second,"), Edwin (born with a caul, often beaten up as a child, desperate to become an actor like his famous father), and pretty Asia ("a strong and stormy nature"). And on the perimeter, appearing now on stage, now disappearing offstage, there is mercurial Johnny (who, as one man put it, "the whole neighborhood thinks is possessed by the devil"). It is a small detail -- one among many in the book -- that gave me a moment's pause: the notorious John Wilkes Booth, whom we cannot think of now without all three parts to his name, was once to his family a Johnny.
Through these characters we see vividly enacted the complicated dynamics of familial relationships — the balancing acts between love and anger, care and resentment. This dynamic might be dramatic stuff in any family, but in so theatrical (in all senses) a clan as the Booth family, it becomes the stuff of legend, particularly with regards to Father -- away on theater tours more than he is home but always a presence in the house. The children adore their father, world-famous actor, a drunk ("the children all believed inebriated was the very highest praise until Grandfather, in an unkind moment, told them otherwise"), who controls their lives, they want to follow in his footsteps, they dread being like him. Do they have a choice? It's unclear. This was, after all, a time when the father made decisions for the family. But perhaps another hand is at work? I found myself wondering at times whether the characters were acting out some preordained fate. Indeed, at one point Johnny goes to a palm reader who tells him, "Now, young sir, I've never seen a worse hand, and I wish I hadn't seen it, but every word I've told is true by the signs." Reading groups will doubtless wrestle with the question of how much control the children of Junius Brutus Booth really had over how their lives played out. Were their paths essentially predetermined, fated in some way? Hamlet's words to Horatio -- "There's a divinity that shapes our ends/ Rough hew them how we will" -- seem apt.
The Booth family saga is compelling and dramatic, of course. We know these people existed but they're ciphers to us before we meet them on the page; we arrive with no preconceptions. Who are they? What forces are shaping their personalities? (Early on we read, "Grief has destroyed Rosalie's parents right before her eyes. No wonder Edwin was born so anxious. No wonder Asia was born so angry. It seems to Rosalie that God has reached down and scooped out the middle of her family as casually as if He were eating a watermelon.".) We know what's coming but we don't know how we'll get there, how the family will react when it comes. We become invested in the lives of these people, compelled to find out what will become of the children as they age. Their loves, marriages, disappointments, failures, feelings of envy and guilt.
There are lighter moments, to be sure. The father-child relationship, more often than not troubled here, offers an opportunity for some amusing moments, as when Father imperiously announces one evening that young Edwin will not become an actor but a cabinetmaker. Mother, cowed as always, waits until Father leaves the room to feebly remark, "Jesus was a carpenter." Edwin's unspoken rejoinder: "As if Jesus is remembered for his woodwork."
And elsewhere: "The way Rosalie sees it, pretty much everyone in London was abandoning their wives to run away with their sweethearts around the time Father met Mother. It seems to have been quite the fad. Sodom and Gomorrah with tea."
This is as good a place as any to acknowledge with awe the research Fowler must have done in writing the book. As she acknowledges, most of what she writes about Rosalie is made up because so little is known now about her life. As for the rest, their actions, comments, etc., are based on memoirs, surviving letters, and numerous other resources. (Though as Fowler playfully reminds us, "No one in the world is a reliable source for their own story.")
There are countless treasures to be discovered here, some related to the narrative itself, others historical. I didn't know, for example, that southern states simply refused to put Lincoln's name on the ballot for the 1860 presidential election.
Most arresting -- to me, at least -- are the countless times (all historical) when the lives of the Booths and Abraham Lincoln crossed paths. I won't share a list of them, that would ruin the experience. I'll give but one example: One evening, Lincoln was so impressed by John Wilkes Booth's performance in a play called "The Marble Heart" that he actually invited the actor to visit the White House. Booth, who loathed Lincoln, didn't bother to respond.
Other things that struck me: The evocative way in which Fowler brings in Abraham Lincoln -- quotations from speeches and events from his life, all of them eerily apposite... if not to the story, then to the times. so many of Lincoln's experiences and life circumstances parallel those of the Booth family or stand in counter-point. (We get a lot of Shakespeare too, of course.)
Also: How deftly Fowler shows us the world in which her characters move, a world that would feel quite alien to us today: pigs roam wild through city streets, as do violent gangs with names like the Gumballs, Neversweats, and Cock Robins; the act of voting could very dangerous (if you were lucky, you'd get a beating; if not... some elected officials stopped voting altogether rather than take the risk); travel was perilous (a trip Father and Edwin take across Panama is hair-raising); theater and actors play a much greater part in the lives of ordinary people of the time (deadly riots erupted over disputes about which actor was to be on the stage -- most notably, the Astor Place Riot); tastes in theater and acting styles are changing, though actresses are still thought of in much the same way as prostitutes; the ubiquity of alcohol; the awful risks of childbirth and childhood disease; the constant presence of death; and of course, the angry -- and then deadly -- debates over slavery and secession.
Powerful motifs that run through the book, all more than a little Shakespearean in tone: characters fearing they are teetering on the precipice of madness; attempts at suicide; episodes of drunkenness; dark presentiments and ghostly visitations; a nation at war with itself, a family at war with itself.
I found "Booth" difficult to put down. It's filled with life and substance and ideas, and is thoroughly satisfying: as story, history, and as something of a mirror to our times.
My sincere thanks to Putnam and Netgalley for an advance digital copy in return for an honest review.