The Great Alone by Kristin Hannah was an intriguing story that pulled me into its very heart. In it, a former POW, his wife, and daughter move to Alaska for a much needed “new start.”
The book is about Alaska – its wildness and beauty, and the people who are drawn there: the coming-of-age and strength-gathering of Leni, the daughter: a wide variety of love stories: and above all, I left the book with the sweet remembrance of all forms of a mother’s love.
The tough parts of PTSD, and abuse, and injuries that seem impossible to overcome, and the repetition of bad patterns of behavior – plus a “Legends of the Fall” series of one disaster after another – were all hard to read through.
But the richness of the character development and the beauty of the language made this, in my mind, a wonderful read. Not a day has passed since I completed it that I haven’t thought about some aspect of this tale.
I just read a review that called it “satisfying, predictable, easy to read.” Those, to me, are good qualities, but apparently that reviewer doesn’t prefer those things in a book. And she also didn’t like Little Fires Everywhere by Celeste Ng. So… we obviously have different tastes.
I was so sorry for this book to end. I miss the characters as if they were real people I know. I thought The Great Alone was a great book.