The March: A Novel
WINNER OF THE NATIONAL BOOK CRITICS CIRCLE AWARD
WINNER OF THE PEN/FAULKNER AWARD
NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER
In 1864, Union general William Tecumseh Sherman marched his sixty thousand troops through Georgia to the sea, and then up into the Carolinas. The army fought off Confederate forces, demolished cities, and accumulated a borne-along population of freed blacks and white refugees until all that remained was the dangerous transient life of the dispossessed and the triumphant. In E. L. Doctorow’s hands the great march becomes a floating world, a nomadic consciousness, and an unforgettable reading experience with awesome relevance to our own times.
Flat rocks and hunkering down there? And then before she knew it he had eased himself into that cold river water. And so this was how Wilma Jones, who grew up in the hills, learned about oysters. Coalhouse Walker came back with almost a bushel of them. He was sopping wet, and shivering and smiling broadly. They sat there in the sun on a flat rock and he shucked the oysters with his knife and swallowed them down raw, with his head thrown back. But she had no taste for any of that, and so they.
Of three set up in the field. Hospital tents held forty of the wounded, but there were nearer eighty needing treatment. Wrede was the only surgeon in the corps who did resections in the field. He was doing one now, a suppurating fractured long leg bone. The accepted view was that resections usually led to postoperative complications. Amputation was a cleaner and more successful procedure with a higher survival percentage. The soldier might lose a limb, but he had his life. Wrede knew this was.
Backside of his uncle Kil in the next bed. Uncle grunting and the spurs on his boots jingling and the bed creaking and the woman, whoever she was, yelping—all of it together was like a horse and rider at the gallop, and Buster, wide awake now, knew this was the getting-women-naked part of the evening that always happened after he was put to bed. But he had never seen it this up close before. Then after a while everything stopped and it was as quiet as it had been noisy and Uncle Kil jumped up.
Hatless and in his shirtsleeves, he said, Teack, can you tell me what in hell is going on? And he wandered off, Teack following. It was hazardous going. Flaming walls fell flat across the roadways. Unidentifiable, seemingly immaterial pieces of cotton fire floated in the heated air. His troops were everywhere drunk. Some stood in front of burning houses cheering, others lurched along, arms linked, looking to Sherman like a mockery of the soldierly bond. It was all in hideous accord, the urban.
Cases the patient is isolated lest he infect everyone around him with the fever. It has been known to ravage whole regiments. What do I care if these Rebs catch his disease? the officer said. More power to it. Sir, it doesn’t stop at blue uniforms. The officer jumped back, with a worried glance at the prisoner. Nor at officers, Pearl put in. I ain’t sick, said Jamie Jameson. The officer glanced at him with contempt. Get him out of here, he said, as if the order was his rather than the.