BOOK REVIEW
WAR ZONE
THE LONGEST MARCH
by Kristy Dark
"I have feasted on life and feasted on death, yet I have never been full."

George Armstrong Custer
MARCHING TO VALHALLA

Don't expect a nice guy who dances with wolves. This one kills with "Wolverines."

Penned by the best-selling author/Academy Award-winning screenwriter of DANCES WITH WOLVES, in Michael Blake's MARCHING TO VALHALLA we again journey West to the savage frontier of post-Civil War days. Only this time our guide's no Indian lover -- he's an Indian fighter. And an immortal legend. George Armstrong Custer.
But as we accompany him on this journey through uncharted territory, we discover -- soul-wrenchingly -- he's as mortal as the rest of us.
It is 1876. On a long march to what Custer hopes will be his most glorious campaign, he decides to record his daily thoughts and observations, as well as the events that led him here, in his Journal. It is through this Journal that we enter the secret catacombs of his "true heart."
The skeletons of fallen Confederate soldiers unearthed by rain. The dark entombment of Custer's dreams during his court martial and suspension from military duty. The taste of blood-lust, more satisfying than the finest wine, when he commands the brigade known as "Wolverines" on the battlefield. And piercing the mists as magically as the rainbow-colored suns he glimpsed during the Washita Campaign, the love Custer shared with his wife, Libbie.
Through Custer's eyes we see the beauty of the prairie flowers, the way light "dances" through the cottonwood leaves. And through his eyes we see the horrors of war. Battlefield carnage. Three mutilated bodies found at a stage station. The senseless burning of a Cheyenne village.

Michael Blake's a master, and his imagery flows like warm, golden honey. His words ambush us and hold us captive. But secretly we hope he'll never let us go.
When Blake sends us riding across the plains to that final destination, Custer's thoughts whisper tragically through our own hearts. And for that brief, flickering moment we know the name of the horse we ride -- Fate.

 

Published Ojai Valley Times  August 7, 1997

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