Margaret Vandenburg

Margaret Vandenburg’s tale of moral certainty is threaded with past mystery, and leads inexorably on a path through the streets of Fallujah. The hunter, the soldier, the sniper, Billy Sinclair is a singularly honorable man, willing to give his all for the sake of freedom, and as filled with unshakeable faith in the American dream as any Christian colleague’s faith in God. But how do the dreams of one nation play out in the land of another? When does support become conquest? And when should death be mourned?

The details of battlefield tactics and weapons feel awesomely authentic, even down to the “shock and awe” of an aerial attack—I never understood why that curious phrase was used, despite TV images, until I read this book. The sniper looks down on life from his roof, uninvolved, unemotional, yet totally responsible to see, inform and act. But this is a sniper who didn’t see the approach of his best friend’s death, didn’t inform, and didn’t act. A dangerous truth bears down over his certainties, and readers will find themselves guessing, through snippets of memory, just where this truth might lead.

The reader’s uncertainty, combined with the character’s unquestioning loyalties, create an intriguing dichotomy in this novel. Political nuance feeds into silences, like life through cracks in the ground. But Billy remains clear-headed and strong, even as the battle for Fallujah rages almost out of control. He relates the stories of his past as convincingly as any other member of the squad—and it’s stories, with all their irreverence and pain, that keep these soldiers sane. He remembers family and friends with appealing honesty. He fights convincingly. And his flashbacks will never deter his aim.

The question, of course, is where the sniper should be aiming. When women might hide hand grenades, and teenagers draw guns; when children, who could hunt game with their fathers, make a game of hunting Americans instead; and when lives are given and lost, who counts the cost?

Weapons of Mass Destruction is a hauntingly beautiful book; a swift read, carried forward with the force of battle; an enthralling read, looking back on childhood’s idylls and teenage hurt; and a convicting read for the present, for all our moral high grounds, political postures, and generous desires, and for freedom wherever it fails.

Disclosure: I was given a free bound galley by the publisher and I offer my honest review.… (mere)

In Margaret Vandenburg’s The Home Front, there’s real, there’s virtual, and there’s secret, both in life and in war. But keeping the three in balance is more than any one person can achieve.

At home, Todd remembers a normal family life that’s fallen apart. His small son Max has been diagnosed with autism, and now his wife is on a campaign to “heal” him. Max blends real, virtual and secret into one, banging his head on the walls when they try to fall apart, and keeping order with cars that don’t move and food and clothes that don’t change. But his therapist keeps intervening with things that aren’t the same, painting and demanding communication from the child who would rather retreat.

At work, Todd rules an almost virtual world that’s governed by realities oceans away. His team controls the drones that watch over targets in foreign wars. His bosses control the orders and secrets and call the shots. And between these two worlds of home and work, Todd keeps his own secret yearnings to himself, ordering the days ahead instead of lining up model trucks, and failing to see the changes that surround him.

Todd’s wife keeps secrets too, retreating to her own expensive virtual realities. And communication—that gift the therapist urges on little Max—just might be the key to destroying or uniting them all.

The author renders her characters’ points of view convincingly, and invites an intriguing comparison of war’s virtual realities with online temptations and Autism’s secret life. Todd’s organized compulsions might not be so far from his son’s, though they’re better controlled. Rosa’s disorganized dreams and frustrations might well be reflected in Max’s banging head. And the therapist’s painted stick-figures explore a need shared by them all.

By turns tragic, humorous, con fusing, convincing and scary, The Home Front draws on a wide emotional palette to paint a picture of homes and people, the real behind the virtual and the secret, and the promise of hope. If Max’s inner thoughts seem sometimes over-verbal, perhaps that’s just the only way we readers can understand his non-verbal world, or even our own.

Disclosure: I was given a free preview edition by the publisher and I offer my honest review.… (mere)