"March" - by Geraldine Brooks , a tale of sublime sensitivity..
I have always loved the genre of historical fiction. Some of my most memorable reading experiences have been books that entertain as well as educate. Coleen McCullough's bulky, meticulously researched tomes of Roman history; or the admirable chronicles of English royalty by Philippa Gregory; or James Cavell's magical journey of eastern culture in six glorious volumes; or Leon Uris's wonderful modern and ancient historical dramas; or James Michener's unparalleled stories of diverse seminal societies; or Irving stone's throbbing biographies of intellectual, political and artistic giants; or Edward Rutherford's penetrating study of English origins;; or Hillary Mantel's insights into sixteenth century Cromwellian era; or Herman Wouk’s Pulitzer winning novels on World wars; or Sir Walter Raleigh’s breathtaking stories of the knight Templars; or Ellis Peter’s ecclesiastical mysteries seen through the eyes of brother Cadfael; or Umberto Eco’s bibliophilic tales of