IN PRAISE OF THE DOORSTOPPER

Ken Follett's "Fall of Giants" takes me back to my roots: the small-town girl with book in hand, preferably a really big book. Taylor Caldwell and James Michener were my kind of authors, writing truly voluminous works of fiction that kept me occupied for hours, of which I had plenty to spare. In spite of the heaviness in both the size and writing of Dreiser's "An American Tragedy," I slogged through because of the terrific plot line (he stole it from real life). I read "Gone With the Wind" four times -- although on every repeat Scarlett misbehaved and Rhett didn't give a damn, and I cried as if I thought this time things might be different.

At nearly 1,000 pages, "Fall of Giants" fits nicely into this bigger-is-better formula. But the novel reads quickly because it's less about savoring the style than the story. Yes, dear readers, I felt an "ouch" when I hit a wooden cliche, and his characters are more or less plucked from central casting. But big friggin' deal. Follett's gifts as a yarn spinner turn these faults into mere quibbles. Experts may contest his point of view, but it seems consistent with my understanding of the period, and he gives a terrific feel for the broad sweep of history and massive economic and cultural changes that were occurring.

In this, the first of three novels on the century just past, he builds an upstairs-downstairs view of European society and the catalysts for change, World War I and the Bolshevik revolution. Here's the Twitter version of the book: Hierarchy is out, workers' and women's rights are in. But consider the cost: slaughter in the trenches that broke the spirit of a generation and a continent while setting the stage for another conflagration.

The starvation and bloodshed in Russia may have started in 1917 but continued on through Stalin, with a trickle-down effect that became the Cold War. The self-destructive tendencies in Europe give America an opening to become the leading world power, with all the prosperity that allows but also a steep price (in lives and dollars) that we're still paying today in Iraq, Afghanistan and elsewhere.

But I shouldn't get ahead of Follett's tale. He may see it differently. So bring on those big, fat sequels.  



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