The Last English King has the primary ingredients for an outstanding historical novel: Harold Godwinson, Edward the Confessor, William the Conqueror and the epic events which culminated in the Battle of Hastings. This is the Norman Conquest, 11th century England, political power-play and court intrigue at it's best. Yet, somehow, Julian Rathbone manages to take these ingredients and present something of a flop.

He selects Walt, a Godwinson housecarl (bodyguard), as his protagonist who fails to die with his king at Hastings and, guilt-ridden, wanders the breadth of Europe seeking to find himself. Along the way, he meets a defrocked monk who communicates in anachronistic psycho-jargon, an illusionist whose 11th-century repertoire would put David Copperfield to shame, and a wealthy, bewigged gem dealer whose intense interest in these transients is never fully explained. This wandering troupe is the audience to which Walt tells his story. Indeed, disconcertingly, an audience is all they ever become.

Rathbone chooses to employ a strictly modern vernacular which takes something away from the period setting. But, it is in Walt's recounting of events where this novel begins to find some merit. As with most historical novels, the reader can extract swaths of information about the life and times in which it is set. The Norman Conquest is a compelling story and even Rathbone's somewhat nonsensical premise cannot destroy it.

Still, The Last English King manages to conclude itself with a final nod toward mediocrity. Walt's tale finished, he abruptly bids adieu to his traveling companions in Asia Minor and hops aboard an adjacent ship loading for England. If readers haven't spotted the artifice of this traveling band of "ears" and the utter superfluousness of their trek, they will now and they will likely be disappointed.

I'd love to rate The Last English King higher because it's easy to see what it could have been. As it is, it is largely forgettable and, given the subject matter, this is a shame. 3 stars.

Didactic, comprehensive, tragic, and challenging, Tolstoy's Anna Karenina is immutably powerful 150 years after it's original telling. A searing juxtaposition of Constantine Levin, a confused, cautious, and questioning man and the impulsive, emotive Anna Karenina, Tolstoy's masterpiece gives reason to long reflect on the net results of adultery. Levin, a man of simple tastes and patient plodding, ultimately achieves love, family, and inner-peace while the cosmopolitan Anna, in her haste for self-gratification, throws it all away.

Amidst the often supercilious affectations of Russian nobility in Petersburg and Moscow, Tolstoy's refutation of the timeless notion of "greener pastures" plays out with striking effect. Of course, the impact of any 19th-century literature is directly proportional to one's predilections. However, Anna Karenina will engross, may even occasionally bore, but will never be less than a lesson well taught for those of the mind for reflection.

The Bushes: Portrait of a Dynasty is a wholly readable, if not entirely engrossing, family biography which seeks to exploit unprecedented access to the broad Bush network of family and friends. Though "breezy" is far too light a term, this effort seems more a 500-page People Magazine article than a scholarly work of heft, analysis, and insight. Coverage of issues and events are largely superficial as the Schweizer's concentrate mainly on the emotive reactions of persons involved. Though this is not unexpected in a biography, momentous events have occured throughout the Bush dynasty. Unfortunately, for those desiring a broader contextual experience, the authors seem content to merely swipe at them and move on.

Those of an anti-Bush stripe will undoubtedly uncover the subtle (and not so subtle) pro-Bush underpinnings of the book, but the pro-Bush contigent may walk away equally dissatisfied as the Schweizer's don't really provide much ideological grist for either mill. The Bushes: Portrait of a Dynasty may affirm positive or negative gut feelings for the reader, but don't look to it to provide scholarly insight, policy analysis, or even moderate discussion of historical context. It provides no practical, encompassing historical vantage point. It's simply not that kind of book.

In 1522, Suleiman the Magnificent, the Shadow of God, ruler of the Ottoman empire, fulfilled his grandfather's quest to subdue the Knights of St. John on the island of Rhodes. Fresh from victory in the Balkans, Suleiman flung the might of his armies at a fortress defended by 500 knights and assorted mercenaries. The arduous siege was to last for months. This is a tale of the Ottoman's victory.

The first half of Anthony Goodman's book meets with some obvious problems. Characters are wooden, shallow, and untested. Chronology lurches and sputters as Goodman seems unable to provide the perception of smooth transitions in time. Indeed, I was listlessly committing myself to a mere 20 pages a day convinced I was in the midst of a 3-star effort.

But, then, as the latter half of this account opens, the siege begins. The pace quickens, suspense builds, shaky character formation and timelines fade to the background as Goodman's mastery at describing the inconceivably bloody, tortuous conflict sweeps to the fore. My 20-page patience level blossomed to the point where only much needed sleep interrupted. I was now in the midst of an excellent historical novel. The dichotomy was startling.

As this is Anthony Goodman's first published attempt, one hopes that his ability to build protagonists some day matches his skill at portraying events. Should he achieve this parity of crucial ingredients, he may rightfully be considered a historical novelist of note. Until then, the best he may warrant, as with Shadow of God, is a rating of 4 stars.

Two previous books prompted me to snatch Ironfire, a tale of the siege of Malta, from the booksellers shelf the moment I saw it. The first was David Ball's novel Empire of Sand which I ranked here a resounding 5 stars. The second was the definitive non-fictional account of this harrowing conflict between East and West by Ernle Bradford entitled Great Siege: Malta 1565, another 5 star effort. Surely, this combination of epic event and talented storyteller would produce a second home run for Ball. Yet, I had some doubts in the beginning.

Ironfire doesn't actually arrive at the siege until roughly the last 100 pages of the book. Admittedly, I was impatient to experience anew the pulse-pounding battles, the unimaginable struggle, the sheer perserverence culminating in the elation, indeed the utter surprise, of victory. But, a novel requires some foundation and David Ball chose a fictional Maltese peasant family named Borg to provide his.

Ironfire is the tale of a brother and sister swept up in the 16th century conflict of Christian vs. Muslim, East vs. West, Empire vs. Empire. As european kingdoms squabbled among themselves and sought to quell the Protestant heresy, the Knights of St. John stood alone against the might of Suliemen and his Ottoman empire. Hardly a sympathetic lot, the Knights nevertheless win the admiration of the reader through their absolute refusal to bend before insurmountable odds. The siege of Malta is a tale for the ages and David Ball's account blends outstanding research and competent storytelling to, once again, hit the ball out of the park. 5 big stars.

I have been keenly interested in world history for nearly 20 years. I read, on average, 30 non-fiction historical accounts per annum. With rare exception, I have always felt up to the task of both completion and comprehension. Braudel is an entirely different animal. What Braudel has presented in the form of 16th-century Mediterranean history is formidable, innovative, and exhausting.

As a layman, a mere history buff, I will be the first to admit that his interwoven narrative, his elucidation of historical strata, his dissection of the Mediterranean and it's people required a level of thought and concentration perhaps unnecessary with the vast majority of contemporary written history available. His is not a mere linear schedule of cause and effect, but a finely crafted history of regional parallels which render the methodology as thought provoking as the content.

Fully one-fourth of the book is devoted to economics in such painstaking detail that, while the specialist may revel, the layman may grow foggy, uninterested, and, unfortunately, bored. But, this does not detract from the overall value of Braudel's effort. The Mediterranean and the Mediterranean World is a singular achievement in written history which offers the reader a vantage point that I have yet to find elsewhere. 5 stars.

More than twenty years ago, James Michener's historically based novels Chesapeake, The Convenant, and Centennial provided the catalyst for a lifelong obsession with history as recorded in books; an obsession that quickly made ample room for non-fiction. As the spark for this terminal appetite, Michener continues to possess sentimental value though I've long ago completed his impressive list of novels. Iberia, a non-fictional piece of travel writing, had long sat upon my shelf awaiting the day that some stimulus would prompt me towards an in-depth view of Spain. When the moment arrived, I wasn't quite sure what to expect.

Iberia was written in the mid-60's and is, in truth, an amalgamation of Michener's myriad trips to the region beginning in 1936. It is evident throughout that Michener was deeply in love with Spain. It is also evident that the scope of his intellect was profound. There isn't a facet of Spanish life - it's government, history, architecture, customs, cuisine, and geography - of which James Michener wasn't intimately aware. His ability to converse effectively on such a wide range of topics is beyond commendable, even if his opinions, on occasion, may grate.

If there's a downside to Iberia it's Michener's fixation with architecture. I, for one, do not enjoy detailed architectural description without accompanying photography or drawings. One can only absorb so many arches, statues, transepts, apses, bastions, crenelations, cloisters, etc. without a picture to look at. Another minor, though memorable, disappointment is Michener's defense of bullfighting. Yes, yes, bullfighting IS Spain, an art form, a tradition, but tormenting an animal to death played better 40 years ago than it does today.

At nearly 800 pages, Iberia is an abundance of finely crafted detail. It is beyond question worth the investment in time, though beyond question a dated look at a fascinating peninsula perched between the Old World and the New.

Prince Henry 'the Navigator' provides the reader an intricately detailed account of the life of this crusader, geographical visionary, and aggressive entrepreneur. Seeking an end around the Saharan caravan trade, Henry pushed maritime exploration down Africa's Atlantic coast into a region shrouded in myth and mystery. Ostensibly claiming a crusader's fervor for the conversion of the barbarous, Henry initiated the Afro-Atlantic slave trade, charted Africa's western shoreline, commercially developed the Azores, battled desperately for control of the Canaries, and, as time and events allowed, launched invasions of Morocco with varying degrees of success.

Henry thrust medieval Europe into the Atlantic providing the impetus for empires to come. Like any mortal, he was imprisoned by the consciousness of his times, yet unfettered in his drive to explore the unknown. Both flawed and famous, P.E. Russell's Prince Henry is placed firmly within the chronological context. He can be detested for his commerce in flesh, his cynical exploitation of faith, and his innate impulse to conquer, but he would then be measured not by the standards of his day, but of our own. In settling this score, Russell admirably adheres to objectivity.

Despite spotty source material, P.E. Russell has presented a comprehensive, entirely readable account of Henry the Navigator. This is a solid and satisfying book which easily merits a rating of 4 stars.

The story of Seabiscuit is a quintessentially American one of come-from-behind, underdog perserverence and triumph. Having seen the PBS documentary (outstanding), the movie (less so), and, finally, having read the book, it's hard to imagine any non-fiction story containing such a classic mix of dramatic ingredients.

Laura Hillenbrand, in Seabiscuit: An American Legend, has presented us with a fast-paced, easily consumed rendition of the legendary Seabiscuit which, while providing excitement and suspense, misses the mark just slightly somehow. While she should be highly commended for exhuming this heroic Depression-era tale for a modern-day audience, I can't help but wish that her book would have furnished the true glory and drama such a story deserves. Indeed, as I read, I kept rooting for her to do better. But, so enamoring is the subject matter, I found it eclipsed her attempt to present it.

Don't get me wrong. Hillenbrand has written what I consider a solid 4-star book. But, one would think, a story this grand, this enchanting, this utterly wondrous, might to some extent write itself. Seabiscuit: An American Legend fails to inspire a 5-star rating because the horse, the owner, the trainer, and jockey deserve a richer, more eloquent effort. I've added a quadruped to my short-list of heroes, however, and extend Laura Hillenbrand warm thanks.

Winds of War was magnificent and War and Remembrance is equally so. These two books represent the absolute epitome of what hefty, epic, and sweeping historical fiction can be. Global in scope, flawless in chronology, Wouk has woven the events of a fictional naval family within the triumphs and tragedies of world war in a manner engrossing and suspenseful - indeed, unforgettably so.

It's all here. Hitler, Churchill, Roosevelt, Stalin, Yamamoto, Mussolini, Moscow, Stalingrad, London, Berlin, Warsaw, Auschwitz, Teheran, Singapore, Pearl Harbor, and more. Winds of War and War and Remembrance are towering literary achievements and two of the best historically-based novels I have ever read. I loved them. 5+ stars.