I must confess a weakness of mine. It has to do with history. But not quite history exactly. You see . . . I have found that I’m addicted to historical fiction. That’s right, I’m far beyond the liking and holding hands stage. I ravenously devour these books and then prowl the lirbary and local Borders for more. There is no end to my desire for the next novel.
<%image(20050607-never call retreat.jpg|83|127|retreat)%>The latest fix for my habit has been the series of books concerning the civil war put together by Newt Gingrich and William Forstchen. Their first book entitled Gettysburg was a fascinating creation of a “what if” scenario for that monumental battle. The two books that followed explored the possibilities had the outcome of Gettysburg been different. I have just finished the third book, Never Call Retreat, and though it pales in comparison to Gettysburg, it is a fascinating look at some of the major characters in our history, even if the scenarios are all fictional.
So there it is, I’ve fessed up. I love historical fiction, Gingrich, Shaara, whoever and whatever, I can’t get enough. Of course I am now in the crisis of trying to find the next book that will satisfy my cravings.
Though I’m not positive about this, I’m pretty sure that reading an average book is better than most television programs. At least you’re locked in to one story and your brain is fairly active no matter how cheesy of simplistic the plot may be.