Product Description

In an Author's Note at the end of his book The Widow of the South, Robert Hicks tells us that "when Oscar Wilde made his infamous tour of America in 1882, he told his hosts that his itinerary should include a visit to 'sunny Tennessee to meet the Widow McGavock, the high priestess of the temple of dead boys.'"Carrie McGavock, The Widow of the South, did indeed take it upon herself to grieve the loss of so many young men in the battle of Franklin, Tennessee, which took place on November 30, 1864.Nine thousand men lost their lives that day.She and her husband John eventually re-buried on their own land 1,481 Confederate soldiers killed at Franklin, when the family that owned the land on which the original shallow graves had been dug decided to plow it under and put it into cultivation.Before the battle begins, Carrie's house is commandeered for a field hospital and all normal life is suspended.Carrie is anything but normal, however.She has buried three children, has two living children she pays little attention to, has turned the running of the house over to her slave, Mariah, and spends her time dressed in black walking around in the dark or lying down lamenting her loss.She is a morbid figure from the outset but becomes less so as the novel progresses.The death going on all around her shakes her out of her torpor, but death is definitely her comfort zone.One of the soldiers who is treated at the house is Zachariah Cashwell, who loses his leg when Carrie sends him to surgery rather than watch him die.They are inextricably bound in some kind of a spiritual dance from then on.Their reasons for being drawn to each other are inexplicable, apparently, because they remain unexplained, and when Cashwell tells Carrie he loves her, she beats him nearly to death because she loves him too.At least, that is the reason Hicks gives.He violates that first caveat given to all writers: "show us, don't tell us."There is doubtless something deeply flawed in Carrie and screamingly symbolic about her behavior; it is surely elusive.Too bad, because Carrie was a real person whom Hicks lauds for her compassion and ability to grieve without end.Then, he throws in this gratuitous "love story" and confuses the issue.Carrie's relationship with her husband and children remains unexamined. Hicks is better at describing death and "the stink of war" than he is at life.If you read War and Peace and loved all the war parts and were bored senseless by the peace parts, this is your cup of tea. --Valerie Ryan

Product Details

• Amazon Sales Rank: #613066 in Books
• Published on: 2005-08-30
• Formats: Abridged, Audiobook
• Original language: English
• Number of items: 5
• Binding: Audio CD

Amazon.com Review
In an Author's Note at the end of his book The Widow of the South, Robert Hicks tells us that "when Oscar Wilde made his infamous tour of America in 1882, he told his hosts that his itinerary should include a visit to 'sunny Tennessee to meet the Widow McGavock, the high priestess of the temple of dead boys.'" Carrie McGavock, The Widow of the South, did indeed take it upon herself to grieve the loss of so many young men in the battle of Franklin, Tennessee, which took place on November 30, 1864. Nine thousand men lost their lives that day. She and her husband John eventually re-buried on their own land 1,481 Confederate soldiers killed at Franklin, when the family that owned the land on which the original shallow graves had been dug decided to plow it under and put it into cultivation.

Before the battle begins, Carrie's house is commandeered for a field hospital and all normal life is suspended. Carrie is anything but normal, however. She has buried three children, has two living children she pays little attention to, has turned the running of the house over to her slave, Mariah, and spends her time dressed in black walking around in the dark or lying down lamenting her loss. She is a morbid figure from the outset but becomes less so as the novel progresses. The death going on all around her shakes her out of her torpor, but death is definitely her comfort zone.

One of the soldiers who is treated at the house is Zachariah Cashwell, who loses his leg when Carrie sends him to surgery rather than watch him die. They are inextricably bound in some kind of a spiritual dance from then on. Their reasons for being drawn to each other are inexplicable, apparently, because they remain unexplained, and when Cashwell tells Carrie he loves her, she beats him nearly to death because she loves him too. At least, that is the reason Hicks gives. He violates that first caveat given to all writers: "show us, don't tell us." There is doubtless something deeply flawed in Carrie and screamingly symbolic about her behavior; it is surely elusive. Too bad, because Carrie was a real person whom Hicks lauds for her compassion and ability to grieve without end. Then, he throws in this gratuitous "love story" and confuses the issue. Carrie's relationship with her husband and children remains unexamined. Hicks is better at describing death and "the stink of war" than he is at life. If you read War and Peace and loved all the war parts and were bored senseless by the peace parts, this is your cup of tea. --Valerie Ryan

From Publishers Weekly
The grand scale of drama in this Civil War novel that recreates the life of Carrie McGavock, whose Tennessee home became a Confederate hospital and who later tended a massive cemetery in her backyard, feels ready-made for the movies and hearing it read aloud makes that feeling even stronger. The music that swells up under the tense and emotional parts is sometimes a little overblown or sentimental, but it captures the mood and enhances the listening experience. The readers (including Becky Ann Baker, Tom Wopat, David Chandler and Jonathan Davis) use Southern accents strong enough to be authentic but not too thick to be comical. Characters are not read exclusively by one person, and the men are less successful at getting the right tone for the female parts than Baker is when she reads men's parts. Her smart Southern belle voice for Carrie changes wonderfully into a gruff, bitter one to embody Zachariah Cashwell, a Confederate soldier Carrie falls in love with as she nurses him back to health. Extra tracks on the final disc includes an interview with Hicks on his inspiration and writing process; a computer program containing photos, artwork and archival material Hicks used; and an author's note that fills out more of the actual history. Even without accessing these enhancements, though, one quickly gets caught up listening to this sweeping novel.
Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.

From The Washington Post
The battle of Franklin, Tenn., on Nov. 30, 1864, was one of the South's greatest disasters: 6,000 casualties; 1,400 dead, including four Confederate generals. Seventy-seven years later, the progress of this battle, more than any other, convinced Winston Churchill that America would eventually help the Allies win World War II. "They even fought each other to the very end," he said.

But what to do with the wounded and the dead in such numbers? The Widow of the South is a novel based on the life of Carrie McGavock, who took on the task of tending the wounded and burying the dead after the battle of Franklin. The McGavock Plantation, called Carnton, was used as a hospital during and after the battle, and Carrie McGavock was expected, like all women at the time, to nurse them. "Now hundreds of men lay about me, maybe thousands. Millions. I saw them clearly, the twisting limbs and the trembling chests, the rolling eyes in every head in every direction . . . and every one of them seemed to beg me for water. Please, ma'am. Please. This was the price of my redemption." Carrie requires redemption from something like perpetual mourning for several dead children, but it's never really clear what's driving her.

Each chapter shifts from one point of view to another: from Carrie to a wounded soldier named Zachariah Cashwell (a marvelous creation) to a Union lieutenant and others. The narrative begins at the moment that Confederate Gen. Nathan Bedford Forrest arrives at the McGavock plantation to appropriate her home for a hospital. It ends several years after the war, when Carrie disinters and reburies the Confederate dead from the old battlefield. She names and numbers each of them as best she can, in a grim reversal of Adam naming the animals.

Her obsession with the casualties of war seems to reflect a concern not so much with death as with dead bodies. One might expect her interest to evolve into something more: honoring the soldiers' sacrifice, or a commitment to pacifism, or considerations of life after death, or at least Ouija boards and table tappings. But Carrie's concern remains with, well, remains.

I had some quibbles, too: farm boys talking about "lunch" when nobody had "lunch" until about 1910, and Hereford cows didn't arrive in the United States until 1890. But the wounded soldier named Cashwell carries the narrative. He is a worthy descendant of Huckleberry Finn. Cashwell takes to the road again after the war, riding throughout the country despite his wooden leg. He gets into shooting scrapes in railroad camps, takes up preaching (in all novels about the South, there is never a Bible but what it is thumped) and ends up back near the McGavock plantation excavating an Indian mound. Cashwell's language is engaging and believable: "It was something to watch what happened to the country when the railroad came through. I don't mean the country, like the kind of thing you had to swear your allegiance to and vote about and all the rest of it. I mean the country, the place where we all from, at least those of us who didn't have much before the war and didn't have much to show for it after. I don't mind saying that it was a great relief, maybe on all of us to one measure or another, to come through the country to build something for once, and not burning or digging or chopping or shooting."

All the male characters, in fact, are well done. In scene after scene, they grab our attention: when John McGavock, Carrie's husband, visits a conjure-woman; when Gen. Forrest, dark and unstoppable, walks in and takes over Carrie's house; when Cashwell takes up the fallen regimental colors and carries them to the top of the Union breastworks, saying, "I didn't need my pistols anymore, so I flung them to the ground. I didn't say anything; I'm not one for speeches. I just turned and walked toward the bulwarks expecting at any moment to be cut down. I wasn't happy. I was euphoric."

But Carrie McGavock's convoluted internal monologues about why she feels impelled to rescue the wounded and bury the dead halt the narrative in its tracks. Better to stick with Cashwell; he alone is worth the read. I'd follow him anywhere, wooden leg and all.

Reviewed by Paulette Jiles
Copyright 2005, The Washington Post. All Rights Reserved.

Customer Reviews

A Meandering Look at the Battle of Franklin
This novel's premise intrigued me because I live close to Franklin, Tennessee, and have learned a good deal about the Battle of Franklin in recent years. McGavock is a well-known name around Nashville, which added to my interest. I eagerly picked this book up and dived in, prepared to meet the main characters and learn more about the battle and its aftermath, and previous reviews made the book that much more appealing. However, as I read, I found myself disappointed in the actual retelling of the battle itself; I was hoping for more action and deeper characterizations. The plot meanders between points of view and Carrie McGavock's motivations are particularly difficult to understand. On a personal level, I could delve into her darkness of depression over the loss of her children, but since it was a common occurrence in the mid 1800s, I found it a bit over-the-top. Her feelings for Zachariah are not in character and are never believable. Mariah is a strong character who never achieves her own voice and a few of the side stories seem forced as well. The novel finally achieves its goals in the last 100 pages as the focus for Carrie becomes clear and her determination shows. Hicks has a wonderful way with words but he needs to show the why of his characters rather than letting them stew in their own juices for much of the story. Overall this is a good book, but not as compelling as I'd hoped.

Great History; Poor Plot
It is November 30th, 1864, and Carrie McGavick's Franklin, Tennessee plantation home is in a terrible spot. The Confederates and Unionists are about to have a major battle engagement only a mile from Mrs. McGavick's house, and Confederate General Nathan Bedford Forrest has commandeered her home as a field hospital.

Mrs. McGavick - later to become known as THE WIDOW OF THE SOUTH - is in mourning over the death of three of her children during a typhoid epidemic. And she spends most of her time in bed letting Mariah, a Creole slave, run the household. But the days of mourning her children come to an abrupt end as she must come to grips with the death of 9,000 soldiers in a single day, and care for the wounded whom blanket every square inch of her floors.

One of the injured is a tough and vocal man named Zachariah Cashwell, a Confederate nobody. During the day's bloodshed, Mr. Cashwell did an incredibly brave, heroic, stupid, and suicidal thing: After the color-bearer is killed, he picks up the flag and marches toward the enemy as they shoot at him. But he doesn't receive a scratch. Only after being captured and attempting to escape is he given a near mortal wound from a gunshot. Then he's taken to Mrs. McGavick's field hospital to recover or die. Here the two (McGavick and Cashwell) meet and clash ...and eventually fall in love, even after Mr. Cashwell's leg is amputated. Even though Carrie McGavick is married.

What follows is a denying of love, a race to save the graves of those who are buried outside of the McGavick home, and a woman who discovers her purpose in life: to honor the memory of those "boys" who died that day.

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This is Mr. Hicks' first novel and, luckily, he's chosen to write a historical fiction story. He must have poured over tons of information and had great difficulty deciding what to place in the book and what not to. Thankfully, he's chosen to write about the actual battle. And his prose during these scenes is topnotch; he can describe bloodshed and waste and near insanity and giving up and hanging on, in one graceful paragraph.

Where Mr. Hicks has fallen down is plotting. Although this story sheds light on a little known Civil War battle that incurred horrendous losses, it didn't seem to have a point. The love story between Mr. Cashwell and Mrs. McGavick (which takes up a large portion of the book) is never explored or explained. Why did they fall in love in the first place? We don't know.

The story seemed to meander between the battle, the hospital, Mrs. McGavick, Mr. Cashwell, General Forrest, and two other lovers whom we only see fleetingly. I mean, I felt kind of lost, as if I were wondering around a story with no aid from the author.

But even so, this book will likely be held in high regard by historical enthusiasts as more light is shed upon THE WIDOW OF THE SOUTH.

This should win every award.
THE WIDOW OF THE SOUTH is Robert Hicks's debut novel, but this beautiful, moving book is written with the style of a seasoned author.

First of all, I have to admit I've never been a big fan of Civil War history. But I saw an interview with the author on TV and I was fascinated by the story behind the book. Hicks wrote it to bring attention to his cause, which is to preserve Tennessee's historic battlefields from being turned into parking lots and condominiums. Hicks claimed he didn't know how to write, and the book took him seven years. It's fiction, but based on the life of a real person and a real battle.

Carrie McGavock was the mistress of the Carnton estate in Franklin, Tenn. One terrible day, a battle came to her backyard - literally. "Many consider the battle to be the bloodiest five hours of the Civil War," says Hicks. About 6,000 Confederate soldiers were killed or wounded that day, and many of the wounded were taken to McGavock's house, which was turned into a Confederate field hospital. According to Hicks, a visitor to the house today can still see blood stains in the wooden floor. Carrie McGavock made herself the "keeper" of the dead soldiers, deciding to give her own land for their burial and to maintain the cemetery in their honor.

The powerful images are vivid. Who would have thought someone could write about the utter carnage of the Civil War using such lyrical language? For example, after the battle, when the guns and cannons have shot up everything, including the cotton in the fields, Hicks describes the white, fluffy tufts of cotton settling like snow on the bodies of the dead. "It was horrible and lovely and unexpected."

Hicks includes many sensitive, thoughtful passages about death and war. He brings eyewitness immediacy to the work by sometimes writing in the first person, giving us the thoughts of a soldier going into battle, facing almost certain death. And he prints a letter from a man who lost his son in that battle. Its anti-war message applies even today: "My son, my loving and beautiful son, was sacrificed upon the altar of your insanity and your evil. I loved him, but I will not commemorate his actions, or the actions of any of those other boys, any more than I would celebrate a suicide. I've given you your sacrifice, ask no more of me."

You can really immerse yourself in the story. This excellent book should win every award out there.