Lincoln, A Novel by Gore Vidal

I’m not a Gore Vidal fan. I thought Burr was a hash, especially from a historical perspective. Lincoln is a better novel, though still blemished, primarily because of Vidal’s penchant for showing off. A novel is a story, and the cardinal rule of storytelling is to never jerk the reader out of the story. Yet, Vidal continuously interrupts his characters mid-scene to take a bow, with witty asides, overly clever dialogue, and meaningless period gossip. Vidal also focuses on the trivial when the reader yearns for the big picture.

The absence of transitions is jarring. Vidal goes from one scene to another with a different cast of characters without even a “by your leave.” It's like, “Hey, I veered off over here, catch up or I’ll leave you behind.” And you do … but it takes rereading several sentences, and poof, the magic is gone.

The book is titled Lincoln, but Ol’ Abe comes across as a side character, explained by countless others who surround the supposed protagonist. Most of these characters, however, come across as untrustworthy narrators. Characterization is not Vidal's strong suit. Everyone seems similar, and each carries a dose of Vidal’s rapscallion nature. Vidal has an affinity for rogues, scoundrels, and outright villains, and ascribes his characters' motivations to humanity's dark side.

Some historians have questioned the historical accuracy of Lincoln. As a historical novelist, I’m aware that strict adherence to facts presented in their proper order does not lend itself to good storytelling. In this reader’s opinion, Vidal’s may skew events and people, but, for the most part, his violations are inconsequential. Lincoln is a well-researched book, and Vidal’s relaying of events, large and minuscule, is generally accurate for the genre.

If you prefer history presented as a story, Lincoln is the best available novel about Lincoln ... until I publish Maelstrom.