And the Caissons Go Rolling Along . . .

Soldier and War Books Sparky Has Worked On

• Soldiers’ Lives through History: The Ancient World
• Soldiers’ Lives through History: The Middle Ages
• Soldiers’ Lives through History: The Early Modern World
• Soldiers’ Lives through History: The Nineteenth Century
• The American Army in Transition, 1865–1898 (in the American Soldiers’ Lives series)
• Life during Wartime: Civilians in Wartime America from the Colonial Era to the Civil War
• Civilians in Wartime American from the Indian War to the Vietnam War
• Civilians in Wartime Asia From the Taiping Rebellion to the Vietnam War
• In Pursuit of Liberty: Coming of Age in the American Revolution
• The Vietnam War (in the Daily Life through History series)
  Daily Lives of Civilians in Wartime Europe, 1618–1900

Fact 1

I have somehow become the Editor-Who-Does-All-War-Books at my place of employment. I am also the Editor-Who-Does-All-Horribly-Written-Biographies (Dr. Dre: A Biography, Alex Rodriguez: A Biography), much like my workmate, Mr. Reliable, who is the Editor-Who-Does-All-Books-Related-To-Christianity (The Destructive Power of Religion: Violence in Judaism, Christianity, and Islam: Condensed and Updated Edition) as well as the Editor-Who-Does-All-Craft-Related-Encyclopedias (The Art of Jewelry Making: An Encyclopedia, The Art of Needlepoint: An Encyclopedia).

Fact 2

I do not actually like soldier books or war book or books about the lives of soldiers at war (never mind the Horribly Written Biographies).

Sparky's Hypothesis

It’s Karma. The Karma Police found out that I eked by in college with the minimum history requirement and that I used to pass my multiple choice history tests in high school by using a Very Elaborate Method of guesswork. They also found out that I generally think most talk of soldiers and wars is Very Boring. This is, I believe, a hang up from growing up outside of Boston, 30 minutes away in any given direction from some great American Revolution battlefield or monument or bathtub where Paul Revere might have bathed, where every grade school field trip ever revolved around visiting a village green or a rude bridge or an old boat off of which tea might have been thrown.

I was born in the Cradle of the Revolution. At the time, I would have settled for perhaps the Cradle of Love, or maybe even a Rather Nice Hammock. In grade school, I didn't care about the bullet hole in the old window that probably dated back to a 1776 musket. The Freedom Trail didn't seem all that free to me or to my classmates, forced, as we were, to listen to senior citizen volunteers drone on about the path the Redcoats probably took through the city as it stood at that time or about the architecture of the Old North Church. Then, I didn't care. Then, I didn't want to know.

Now, though . . . now, I have to know. It's my job to know.

It’s all about some Karmic Payback.