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Henry James called the novel a "loose, baggy monster," and the challenges of the genre are evident in David L. Robbins's The End of War. Robbins won acclaim in 1999 for War of the Rats, a knockdown-dragout retelling of the bloody Russian defense of Stalingrad against Nazi assault. Here, in The End of War, he weaves together six points of view as the final months of World War II march inexorably toward a familiar conclusion. The great strength of Robbins's novel is also its chief fault: the plot simply can't sustain the splintering effect of so many points of view. Ultimately, the star of this novel is war itself, not the novel's three representative civilians or its "Olympian gods," Roosevelt, Stalin, and Churchill. Particularly in the last chapters, World War II images flicker before our eyes like fragments of vintage newsreels. Robbins draws explicitly from those eerie images when Life magazine photojournalist Charley Bandy visits a death camp heaped with barely alive bodies. Robbins demonstrates a mastery of his subject that should enthrall World War II buffs, and splendid moments are scattered liberally throughout the book, as when German cellist Lottie escapes a burning death by crawling through a narrow tunnel into the next bomb shelter, only to discover she's left behind her cherished, circa-1750 cello. Another is certainly when Roosevelt dreams of sledding in the moment before he is wheeled before Congress in his first public appearance in his wheelchair. Though the Churchill chapters routinely downplay that statesman's wit and shrewdness, gratifying moments of intense character study abound in Robbins's book. By the time the Allied forces finally converge in Berlin, Robbins has given us enough information to appreciate both the extraordinary diplomatic maneuvers and their effects on ordinary citizens' lives. Robbins deliberately constructed The End of War along the lines of a Greek tragedy: "the gods discuss the affairs of man, then their Olympian intents are played out at human level." As a rule, the ordinary folks are more compelling and believable than the real historical figures. Perhaps this is because those figures are over-determined in the public imagination, whereas Lottie, the Russian soldier Ilya, and the American photographer Charley are rooted and credible--the sources of suspense in the novel. Although the plot of The End of War converges neatly in Berlin, that unity of time and place does not tighten the loose macramé that knits Robbins's story together. Lottie and Ilya change in surprising ways during the ravages of war, however, and that character development gives the novel an epic feel. Fans of World War II will enjoy Robbins's fully realized world; fans of less specialized thrillers might enjoy the warmth and acuity of the assorted players. --Kathi Inman Berens
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