The Princess and the Goblin by George MacDonald

I'm loosely following the Close Reads podcast, and they read this book. I'm familiar with George MacDonald, one of C.S. Lewis' inspirations, so I decided to give it a try. The Princess and the Goblin by George MacDonald is an adorable story I hope to read to my grandkids someday.

It's a sweet fairy tale, in the best possible sense, about a young princess growing up in the shadow of the mountains that house the Goblins. A young man, the eleven-year-old son of a miner, named Curdie, befriends her. With the help of her ancient, mystical great, great, grandmother Princess Irene grows into a true princess, battling goblins and rescuing the boy! Throughout the story, she must learn to patiently love those around her who don't believe what she believes and in the process grows in grace.

It's a delightful tale, one of the "right" kinds of books that Lewis says Eustice had not read!

A Praying Life by Paul E. Miller

Our book club made an odd choice: Non-fiction and theological. But I loved A Praying Life by Paul E. Miller. The author calls the reader to a prayer life filled with helplessness, humility, and childlike faith.

He begins by describing the relationship Jesus had with the Father. It's one of utter dependence. Despite the fact that Jesus, alone among humans, is the only person who could truly declare himself capable of living independently of God, he is the only human who has ever fully dedicated himself to live at one with the Father. We are to become "like little children," wholly trusting in and depending on the Father, moment by moment. Miller says about Jesus when he contemplated the separation he would feel on the cross, "He had never experienced a moment when he wasn't in communion with his Father. Jesus' anguish is our normal." (p. 33) This hit me hard. Do I anguish over my lack of engagement with God the way Jesus did?

Unfortunately in our modern era, we have allowed cynicism to replace trust. Even Christian will try to give their cynicism a gloss of religiosity by becoming stoic and acting as if they are fine with whatever God does, that it doesn't matter to them at all. Jesus was neither a cynic nor a stoic nor an eternal optimist. He wholeheartedly gave himself to the Father and cried out with anguish when he saw hurt and injustice. The Father wants us to come to Him aware of reality but fully trusting in Him. Miller says, "I am not called to put on rose-colored glasses and see everything in life as pretty and good and uplifting. Rather, I am called to trust that God sees what I see." (p. 72)

As children, we are to come to the Father asking "anything" in Jesus' name, that is, with his authority. That's an overwhelming promise if we truly believed it. The problem is that we don't. Again and again Jesus says that whatever we ask will be granted to us. But how does that work? Can I ask for a million dollars and expect it show up on my doorstep? Apparently not. Rather we are to have an attitude of ask in expectancy and desire, while maintaining a sense of surrender: Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego's "if not" faith. We desire, we ask for our deepest desires, trusting that God placed those desires in our hearts in the first place, we hope, we wait, and we accept His perfect answer. He said we can ask for the impossible, for "nothing is impossible with God." He gave as an example asking for a mountain to fall into the sea, yet we struggle to ask for renewed relationships, remarkable healing, and the resurrection of long abandoned dreams. We have not because we ask not. What a convicting truth. God wants me to come to him with my real childlike self and ask for anything. So often we think either that God doesn't care about a particular desire, or that it's too selfish or frivolous. But how do you have a relationship with someone to whom you cannot tell your heart's desire. He gives the example of a vacation home. What if, instead of worrying and saving and planning and researching and stressing about our ability to afford a vacation home, we simply told the Father that it's our desire, but that we would rest and submit to His good plan. Let Him delight to provide and "make our joy complete." What a waste to not ask, not because then we won't receive, but because when we do receive we fail to see it as a gift from Him. In all this asking, we must also ask that he change me. I must allow Him to conform me to the likeness of His Son so that my desires begin to align with His. This one scares us because He might actually do it!

But what happens when we ask and the Father is long in answering? We learn to live in the story. So often God's answer is, "Not yet." He's working, moving the pieces, waiting for the time, and so often that feels like abandonment. It's ok to feel abandoned. In fact, one of the charges against Israel was that they failed to cry out to God when they felt alone and hopeless. God wants us to come to Him in lament when we are in the midst of the story. God is not a genie for whom we snap our fingers, and He obeys our command. What kind of relationship would it be if we did not learn to wait and trust? It would not be a relationship at all. In fact, Miller says that we live in the "Desert" between "Hope" and "Reality." This is where our story is being written. If we fall into denial, or determination, or despair, we miss the story He is writing. Rather we are to turn to Him, (not complain to those around us) with our reality and then place our hope in Him. It is in the desert that we experience communion with Him as together we walk the path He has laid out. Not knowing how the story ends is the hardest part. That takes us back to that childlike trust. As we walk in the desert, we must believe "three things about God: First, God is sovereign. He can do something. Second, God is love. He is for me. He wants to do something. And finally, God is a covenant-keeping God. He is bound by his own word. He will do something." (p. 186)

I love the way Miller sums up our role:

"1. Don't demand that the story go your way. (In other words, surrender completely.)

2. Look for the Storyteller. Look for his hand, and then pray in light of what you are seeing. (In other words, develop an eye for Jesus.)

3. Stay in the story. Don't shut down when it goes the wrong way...When the story isn't going your way, ask yourself, 'What is God doing?'" (p. 205)

We are not victims in our story. We are constantly being made to die to self and trust in the Giver of Life. It is only in relationship with the Father that any of this life begins to make sense and achieve purpose. And that relationship is formed in the crux of the desert as we ask, wait, and watch. He is for us, not against us and delights to give us the desires of our hearts, while transforming both our hearts and our desire.

The Quartet by Joseph J. Ellis

I'd had The Quartet by Joseph J. Ellis on my list for awhile. I don't even remember where the recommendation came from. But I am so glad I read this book. 

Obviously, I know a thing or two about American history, but this book brought some events at the time of the Founding into sharp relief and connected dots I had not. 

It's contention is that Washington, Madison, Hamilton, and John Jay together, through their sheer force of will, reimagined what the American Revolution was about and shaped the American Constitution to reflect their will. It's pretty compelling.

What was clear to all was that America stood on a precipice. What would it be now that it had won its independence from Britain. That single goal united all thirteen colonies, but they were united by little else. 

In fact, all the struggles Washington faced to fund the army through a recalcitrant Congress presaged the even harder battle after the war was won. Each state truly saw themselves as independent states. They united to defeat the British, but how to pay for that or how to run a united country afterwards was not a consideration. They had no desire to be the United States. Once the war was over, they did not even see the need for a functioning Congress. Of the delegates elected after the war, less than half even bothered to show up. The fact that we did not have an Executive or Judicial branch made perfect sense. Why would these thirteen, independent states need either. After all, hadn't they just thrown off an executive and judicial system which had tyrannized them? The Articles of Confederation, which controlled the colonies during the war, were intentionally weak, and apparently probably temporary. 

Washington recognized right away the trouble the nation was in. He despaired that he had fought for an independent United States just to see it quickly devolve into myriad self-interested, squabbling petty kingdoms. As long as each state retained its sovereignty, they did not think about common commerce, paying debts, military protection, or foreign policy. Any attempt to promulgate a stronger central government was derided as a return to the monarchy they had just thrown off. Yet Washington clearly saw the anarchy this opened America up to. Small states would be helpless in the face of an unpaid and angry military. States would eventually war with each other over boundaries, navigation rights, etc. And all would be sitting ducks to European powers just waiting for the dust to clear. 

John Jay went to England to negotiate the peace treaty after the war. So ineffective was the Continental Congress he left behind that he had no clear instructions or even a way to actually ratify the treaty he finally negotiated. Even when he came back with a phenomenal acquiesces from the British giving Americans all the land east of the Mississippi, the states' suspicions of each other prevented us from taking advantage of it. Unbelievably the North and South already looked at each other as competitors. Since the treaty would open up so much heretofore unclaimed land, both believed the other would use it to their disadvantage. Washington, a surveyor, knew the unbelievable gift the land was and was horrified that no one else seemed to see it. Jay saw what Washington saw and knew that a collection of infighting states would lead to one of the biggest missed opportunities in history.

Because Hamilton was not raised in a colony, he had no prejudicial connection to any one territory. In fact, he clearly saw the need for a united nation and the promise of political and economic advancement on the table. He also believed the war was about independence, not the overthrow of a particular type of governing system. He might have been ok returning to a monarchy as long as it was an American monarchy. He believed in America. He believed in the United States. He had no patience for The Thirteen Headstrong Squabbling States. 

But even with these heavy hitters, America owes all to Madison. It was he who saw most clearly the need for a central government to unite the colonies. Despite the fact that he felt a strong connection to his native country, Virginia, he worked tirelessly behind the scenes to push and prod the biggest players to come together to write a new governing document that would unite the disparate states into one country. A true politician, he waited until the moment was right, after Shay's Rebellion scared men like Washington into action. Although Hamilton jumped the gun in his excitement, calling a convention to "revise" the Articles, Madison politicked behind the scenes making sure delegates amenable to radical change would be the ones to show up. 

Then he developed a plan: The Virginia Plan. It gave each state power based on population, which coincidentally Virginia excelled in, and it gave the central government control over states' laws, meaning Virginia control over states laws. He lost in both arenas, rightfully so. But, he sparked a conversation about how to maintain the states' role in a federal government. Myriad compromises meant the line between state and national power would be blurred again and again. It would be up to future generation to find that line, but the seed was planted. Together these four laid out the principles that the Revolutionary War should have been fought for, but honestly wasn't. 

The book does a fantastic job of showing how close we came to winning our independence only to lose it again due to our own stubbornness, pride, and stupidity. Without these four men, we do not get the United States of America. These men saw with an exceptional kind of clarity the opportunity being handed to the states, a kind of clarity other mere mortals did not have. Through sheer force of will they created the nation we have today.

Theo of Golden by Allen Levi

A good friend recommended Theo of Golden by Allen Levi. It is the sweet tale of a stranger, Theo, who arrives in Golden, Georgia. 

After noticing portraits lining the walls of the local coffeeshop, he sets out on a mission to bestow the portraits on their subject.

His generosity is always met with incredulity and a story. Each person he meets becomes a friend and a bit of a confidant. Some of the people remain in his life throughout the year he lives in Golden and some move on soon after receiving the gift.

Relatively early in his stay, however, he has the need to confide his full name and story to a local businessman from whom he rents a third-story apartment. It is in this small way that we begin to realize that there is more to Theo than he lets on.

Most of the book continues filling up with people and stories and the interactions they share. It's sweet, but certainly is not a plot-driven book. But the secret of Theo's identity hangs out there, tantalizing the reader. Occasionally Levi reminds us that there is more to the story, but it often sounds nefarious. 

This is where I hate myself for saying it, because so much of the book is worth reading, but the fact that this is Levi's first book becomes apparent. 

He ends the book in a way that is so pat and so obviously planned from before the book was written. It's the "elevator pitch" come to life. I felt very let down by the many strings all suddenly revealed and then connected. In the hands of a much more skillful writer, like a Charles Dickens, it could have been so much better. It's too abrupt and too perfect. 

Oh well. It was a sweet read while it lasted. 

Virgil Wander by Leif Enger

Our book club decided to read Virgil Wander by Leif Enger. He also wrote Peace Like a River, which we loved.

I thought this book was really sweet. 

It follows the life of Virgil Wander after he experiences a near-death crash into the ocean. He is saved by a witness and returns to his own life as a bit of an outsider looking in. 

A visitor to the small town, Rune, arrives flying kites and asking about the death of his newly discovered son, Alec. Because of Virgil's accident, he needs someone to watch over him while he recovers and Rune needs a place to stay. It's a perfect match. 

The small town is full of eclectic characters, none more so than the son of the founder, Adam. He comes off as slightly menacing, but we're not sure why. Regardless, a pattern of "bad things happen when he's around" starts to emerge. 

In the climax of the book, while the town faces a literal existential threat, Virgil and other townsfolk finally kill a giant sturgeon that's been terrorizing them. And suddenly both Adam and the threat disappear. It wasn't until I discussed the book with my book club that I even made that connection.

The book is a really enjoyable read. We definitely love getting to know the characters and the town itself. But if the connection is not made back to Adam and his family, the ending falls flat and feels very anti-climatic. Enger loves to introduce the supernatural and that's definitely woven in this book as in his other book, Peace Like a River. You just have to look for it.

 

Being Mortal by Atul Gawande

Somehow the book Being Mortal by Atul Gawande was recommended. After getting it from the library, I got jammed up with other, more pressing books. I considered skipping it. I do judge books by their covers and this one seemed boring. 

This is one a handful of books that I believe will stick with me... probably forever. 

I'm glad that I read it, and also exhausted!

Here is the money quote at the end:

Being mortal is about the struggle to cope with the constraints of our biology, with the limits set by genes and cells and flesh and bone. Medical science has given us remarkable power to push against these limits, and the potential value of this power was a central reason I became a doctor. But again and again, I have seen the damage we in medicine do when we fail to acknowledge that such power is finite and always will be.

We've been wrong about what our job is in medicine. We think our job is to ensure health and survival. But really it is larger than that. It is to enable well-being. And well-being is about the reasons one wishes to be alive. Those reasons matter not just at the end of life, or when debility comes, but all along the way. Whenever serious sickness or injury strikes and your body or mind breaks down, the vital questions are the same: 

• What is your understanding of the situation and its potential outcomes?
• What are your fears and what are your hopes? 
• What are the trade-offs you are willing to make and not willing to make? 
• And what is the course of action that best serves this understanding?

Farewell to Arms by Ernest Hemingway

A friend in book club recommended that I read Farewell to Arms by Ernest Hemingway, despite my insistence that I didn't like Hemingway. She assured me I would like it. It's different, she said. 

I was right.

I didn't like it.

At all. 

I thought it would be similar to All Quiet on the Western Front which makes a damning case against World War I and probably all wars. This book does not do that. It makes a damning case against bad dialogue and a poor plot. 

I know I'm an outlier. It's Hemingway after all, and I suppose he's famous for a reason. But I'm not sure what that is.

The plot is thin: an American serves as an ambulance driver for the Italian forces in World War I before America enters the war. The unfamiliar terrain makes it even more difficult to perceive a plot. He gets hurt and spends a lot of time in a recovery hospital where he spends his evenings with a nurse. They say they love each other. She's feels married to him and he kinda/sorta agrees. We are never sure if they actually love each other or even know each other. It truly is all about the sex. For some reason, she's desperate to keep him. She is completely subsumed as an actual human to whatever he wants and says. Even if he doesn't know what he wants and says contradictory things. She's just there for it. He seems content to keep her around for as long as it lasts.

Once he returns to the war, things go south, and the army begins to retreat. Apparently that kind of failure leads to mock trials and summary executions of officers. Who knew? He and his now pregnant "wife" escape to Switzerland. Although the danger of being caught and executed is apparently a thing, we never see any real possibility of that. It's unclear if the army knows he's gone. 

When it comes time to deliver the baby, there are complications, and... spoiler... she and the baby die. He returns to the hotel. The end. (It comes with multiple endings in which the baby lives or dies. But in all the endings she dies. Each is just as abrupt and meaningless.)

No case against war. No growth as a human. No insight into the human psyche. Just a self-absorbed man. knocking up a horribly foolish and naive girl, and she dies. Oh yeah. At one point, he shoots a fellow soldier point blank in a field, and I could never figure out why. He neither struggles with that nor regrets it. It just happens, like most of his life.

It reminded me a lot of Catcher in the Rye and not in a good way. It's the internal musings of a narcissist. I'm not sure why I'm supposed to care what he thinks or thinks about. He mostly spends his time and money (where does all the money come from?) on alcohol. Even his pregnant girlfriend drinks because it keeps the baby "small"?!? 

Maybe the story is about two humans without a shred of humanity between them? Maybe it's about the ennui of war and the ever present sense of meaninglessness? Maybe it's about getting knocked up by an immature, self-absorbed, SOB?

One final note: the dialogue. Every character--male or female, young or old, American or not--spoke EXACTLY the same way. Boring drivel. (And interestingly all spoke like English was not their first language: halting, simple, non-reflexive.)

EXAMPLE conversation between Frederick (American, main character) and Catherine (British: the "wife"):

Catherine: "What are you thinking about now?"

Frederick: "Nothing."

"Yes you were. Tell me."

"I was wondering whether Rinaldi had the syphilis."

"Was that all?"

"Yes."

"Has he the syphilis?"

"I don't know."

"I'm glad you haven't. Did you ever have anything like that?"

"I had gonorrhea."

"I don't want to hear about it. Was it very painful, darling?"

"Very."

"I wish I'd had it."

"No you don't."

"I do. I wish I'd had it to be like you. I wish I'd stayed with all your girls so I could make fun of them to you."

"That's a pretty picture."

"It's not a pretty picture you having gonorrhea."

"I know it. Look at it snow now."

"I'd rather look at you. Darling, why don't you let your hair grow?"

"How grow?"

"Just grow a little longer."

"It's long enough now."

"No, let it grow a little longer and I could cut mine and we'd be just alike only one of us blonde and one of us dark."

"I wouldn't let you cut yours."

"It would be fun. I'm tired of it. It's an awful nuisance in the bed at night."

"I like it."

"Wouldn't you like it short?"

"I might. I like it the way it is."

"It might be nice short. Then we'd both be alike. Oh, darling, I want you so much I want to be you too."

"You are. We're the same one."

"I know it. At night we are."

"The nights are grand."

Insipid. Boring. Repetitive. Contradictory. Childish. Meaningless. Circular. It NEVER moves what little plot there is.

So how do I really feel?

Taking Manhattan by Russell Shorto

The book Taking Manhattan by Russell Shorto
was recommended to me somewhere, and since I am an American History nut, I had to read it. Shorto does an excellent job blending rich historical research and primary sources into an imminently readable story. We all know how it ends, but the journey is full of tension. 

Russell Shorto argues that the 1664 transition of New Amsterdam from Dutch to English control was a negotiated merger of cultures that established New York's multiethnic identity. The narrative highlights how the city's, and by extension America's, pluralistic DNA was formed through this pragmatic shift rather than simple military conquest. (AI)

He expertly crafts the narrative by highlighting the two key players: Richard Nicolls (for the English), and Peter Stuyvesant (for the Dutch). Both were ambitious and fiercely loyal to their respective authorities. Neither wanted to see the city destroyed. Together, they saved the city by reaching a compromise that would allow the island to continue to grow and flourish under the protection of the English using Dutch ways of doing business.

The best takeaway was at the end. He follows the Duke of York, for whom the city is named, into his role as King James II. When he appeared to threaten to push Catholicism on England, William of Orange, husband of James' sister Mary, seemed poised to invade. Much like the takeover of New Amsterdam, the English saw wisdom in compromising and allowing William and Mary to reign as sovereigns, pushing aside James II, in a bloodless, "Glorious" revolution. 

In the biggest irony of all, the English took Manhattan from the Dutch; the Dutch took England from the English.

Great book.

The Remains of the Day by Kazuo Ishiguro

This book was recommended by another woman in our book club. She claimed I would love it. She was right.

I'll be honest and admit my own bias. I had heard of this book, since it was made into a movie. And although I recollect the movie being English and bucolic, the Japanese name of the author threw me. I thought I had to be mistaken. And I was, frankly, not super interested in a novel about Japanese culture. That's me being biased and close-minded. 

I was wrong on every count. 

The Remains of the Day by Kazuo Ishiguro does reflect what I vaguely recollected of the movie. It is a British-themed book, seeped in British history and culture. 

It is the story of Stevens, a butler of the first order, reflecting on a life of service to a great lord. If I didn't know any better, I would say Ishiguro had either served as a butler himself or had somehow made himself intimately acquainted with the position. In my mind, he perfectly captures a man being passed over by time who is questioning his place and role. 

Stevens has set out on a journey across the country to contact a woman who used to work for him to see if she is interested in returning to the position. The estate has switched hands after the death of Lord Darlington to an American owner and although it requires far fewer staff, Stevens finds his team of four too small. Too many errors that would have been unacceptable in the prior era are surfacing. 

During the journey, Stevens has time to reflect on his life's work. He is particularly interested in what makes a "great" butler. Although he never implies that he, himself, should be counted among that small group, he clearly hopes he has approached greatness. 

His own definition includes "dignity," which he defines as the "ability to inhabit their professional role and inhabit it to the utmost; they will not be shaken out by external events, however surprising, alarming or vexing." (p. 43) This definition is very convicting to me. I think it should apply to the profession of teacher as well as butler. I'm not sure I'm always able to "inhabit [my] professional role...to the utmost." I'm often thrown "out of character" at the slightest provocation. 

In the end, however, Stevens is reflective. Perhaps his extreme loyalty to a man he may be coming to believe was wrong should have caused him to step outside that professional role on occasion, at least to think and develop his own opinion. It's an interesting conundrum. It definitely gave me something to think about personally. 
 

Crucial Conversations by by Kerry Patterson, Joseph Grenny, Ron McMillan, Al Switzler

A friend who is also a therapist recommended Crucial Conversations by by Kerry Patterson, Joseph Grenny, Ron McMillan, Al Switzler because it so impacted her.

It sounded like something I could use. It was indeed very helpful and hopeful.

In the back was a chart that summarized the whole book. I think it is the best way to summarize it here.

The Distant Hours by Kate Morton

The Distant Hours by Kate Morton is a sweet and captivating novel chosen by our book club this month.

The protagonist is Edie Burchill, a young editor, who uncovers her mother's secret wartime past when a 50-year-old letter arrives from Milderhurst Castle, home to the eccentric Blythe sisters.

Edie, a self-declared romantic, finds herself at Milderhurst one day and decides to take a tour, neglecting to mention her mother's connection to the home. Over the course of the novel, Edie comes to understand, not only her mother, from whom she has long felt estranged, but the mysterious Blythe sisters as well. 

The story weaves back and forth through time and perspective. This can make it a bit hard to follow at times. Each narrator is not omniscient, so it can be confusing to remember who knows what. But that shift keeps the reader engaged in a way that a much more straightforward tale would probably not. 

Edie is front and center. Yet we also experience the world through the eyes of the eldest Blythe, Persephone. Although the other two sisters have their own interesting stories to tell, the "lesser" twin Seraphina, and the dazzling, eccentric youngest, Juniper, by the end, it is Percy whose story is the richest. All are unreliable narrators for one reason or another, and the author almost leaves us without absolute knowledge of what actually happened. Thankfully, she introduces one last vignette, making the reader the only truly omniscient participant. 

Much of the mystery of the novel surrounds Juniper and the fiancée who abandoned her fifty years earlier. Edie's mom had been living at Milderhurst Castle during the war and so knew the central figures. Yet she had kept the entire episode to herself her whole life. Bit by bit, Edie uncovers the "real" story.

So many relationships are showcased in the novel. There is much love and sacrifice, even in the secrets. Bouncing about in time, as we do, we see characters literally grow up before our eyes. Edie, however, is stuck in her own time and can have trouble seeing each person for their totality. It helps that she is "romantic" and can imagine what she never experienced. 

This sweet book makes me want to read more of Morton's books. She has real insight into the human character and relationships. 

1356: A Novel by Bernard Cornwell

I love historical fiction, and Bernard Cornwell is one of my favorites. This is one of his rare stand-alone novels. Since I was not looking to read a whole series, I picked up 1356: A Novel from the library, having no idea what it referenced. I simply trusted Cornwell to make it interesting.

He did.

In the epilogue, he states his reason for this book is because he feels that the Battle of Poitiers has been largely forgotten compared to the Battle of Crécy or the Battle of Agincourt, which bookended the Hundred Years War between France and England. He's right. I hadn't heard of it, and it deserves more attention. 

Because the battle and time period is unfamiliar, I had a hard time in the beginning. He introduces a lot of characters from all over Britain and France. That can be confusing. People from Gascony (France) could very well be fighting on the side of the Brits, while people from Scotland (Britain) are fighting on the side of the French. Not to mention the traitors. 

We begin with Thomas, le Batard. He is the bastard son of an English nobleman. But he has disavowed that heritage and roams France as the leader of a mercenary army-for-hire. At the same time, a "black friar" has set about to retrieve a long-lost relic, le malice, the sword used by Saint Peter to defend Christ in the garden on the night of his betrayal. It is said that the sword contains the power of God but can only be used for good by the legitimate ruler. After finishing his latest gig, defeating Count Villon and "rescuing" the wife of the Count of Labrouillade, Thomas is tasked with finding le malice. 

At the same time, the king of France, Jean, is under enormous pressure to take on the English, led by the Prince of Whales, Edward, who are ravaging the French countryside. 

Twists and turns and adventures ensue as Thomas seeks to find le malice, evade capture by Labrouillade for taking the rescued wife to protect her from Labrouillade's abuse, and avoid the evil clergy also searching for le malice. Along the way he adds some colorful characters to his horde of merry men. 

Eventually they catch up to le malice, but it slips through their grasp and into the hands of the French. Unfortunately Thomas and his men are ordered to report to the camp of Prince Edward to fight in the long-rumored battle with the French forces. Le malice will have to wait.

The battle is remarkably lop-sided. According to what little records we have, the French lose over 2,500 men to the English' 40. Cornwell does a great job taking the scraps of history and weaving them into a believable story of how that could have happened. 

The "good guys" win, love triumphs, and le malice threatens no more. Win, win, win. 

Fun book. Fast-paced and great storytelling.