We

Rating:
Summary: This is a true Anerican adventure.
Review: For years I've wanted to read this book! I finely got to do it. Have the movie "Spirit of St. Louis" but the book puts you right in with the pilot. He flew this "mission" by the seat of his pants, and this was true flying. A must read!

Rating:
Summary: This is a true Anerican adventure.
Review: For years I've wanted to read this book! I finely got to do it. Have the movie "Spirit of St. Louis" but the book puts you right in with the pilot. He flew this "mission" by the seat of his pants, and this was true flying. A must read!

Rating:
Summary: Memoir of a superhero, '20s style
Review: Lindbergh certainly was the superstar of his day. Following his singlehanded flight from New York to Paris in May 1927, the public rapturously hung on his every word. In this memoir, written only days after the event and subtitled "the Famous Flier's Own Story of His Life and His Transatlantic Flight, Together With His Views on the Future of Aviation," the "Lone Eagle" tells about his childhood, how he acquired his first plane, his career as a stunt flier, his training in the Army Air Corps, and his work as an Air Mail pilot (including his four emergency parachute jumps). Then, in great detail, he describes the preparations for his epic flight, the flight itself, and the wild welcome that met him in Europe. The "spiritual meaning" of his flight also gets a lot of coverage.

Maybe it's just the cynicism of the latter part of the 20th century, but all the modesty seems somehow self-serving. The timing of this book makes it important to anyone interested in Lindbergh, but his later "The Spirit of St. Louis" is a far better book.

Rating:
Summary: A 1927 fresh-from-the-flight account by Lindbergh himself.
Review: Someone once said that nobody told his own story better than Lindbergh himself. When one considers the continuous flow of books written about him, this is an opinion to be seriously considered.

Thoughts naturally leap to his Pulitzer prize-winning The Spirit of St. Louis, which still has lavish praise heaped upon it by even Lindbergh's most recent biographers. Published in 1952, more than 15 years after Lindbergh's historic transatlantic nonstop flight from New York to Paris, its intriguing flow is heightened by what is known in the world of English grammar as the historical present indicative tense, a seldom-used approach by writers because it is said to be so difficult to sustain, particularly over the long haul of an entire book's length. In short, the author describes what is happening at a particular moment, but zig-zags flashback style out of the present while the author recalls moments in his history past.

Stay alert, Reader, for anyone writing in this manner must perform near-perfect writing artistry to maintain interest. Of course, The Spirit of St. Louis falls into that elegant category.

All but vanished into the shelves of juvenile literature in some libraries - or the collections of those who treasure its merits (or collect Lindberghiana) - is the long-forgotten Lindbergh memoir simply entitled "We."

Here comes the inevitable momentary comparison with The Spirit of St. Louis, which Lindbergh worked on for close to 13 years and sent to numerous critics and friends for review during the long writing process. This is not a criticism of Lindbergh, for he was a perfectionist; the book he then produced was worth its wait in spades.

But "We" is the one and only fresh-from-the-flight retelling of our newly crowned hero's lifetime adventures. Rushed to publication just three weeks later, making it the converse of its younger brother, this is precisely where the book's real value counts.

Consider the times: it was 1927 - those topsy-turvey twenties. Much as we know that they were famous for the Charleston, fashion, fun, and freedom, despite what Mom thought, they were dark times, nonetheless, for many veterans returning from World War I found their jobs had vanished. It was not long before sound waves coming from Europe were troubling. And - there was no hero in the White House, for Coolidge neither aroused enthusiasm nor had any sense that he should try. However, technology was being harnessed to an untold degree. Radio, telephone and Henry Ford's Model T were opening up linkages across America in unprecedented fashion. Aviation was being heralded as a form of communication where, unimaginably, it might even become possible to carry passengers from one destination to another.

Lindbergh's feat was not only a large miracle, but placed in his times, there comes the realization that he also had the benefit of a press and pubic longing to break the rules, see the world, and hoist a hero into history. His natural good looks and demeanor only added to the package; he was irresistible!

Written in straightforwaard, unvarnished prose, in "We," Lindbergh not only takes the reader into the fledgling wings of aviation, but recalls his early life, progressing from boyhood through planehood and on into herohood. How could anyone not be caught up in this real-life hero-in-the-making myth? Here we have simple language telling of a golden dream. Plainly told in boy next store sentences, the book is more than a dress rehearsal for the prize winner which succeeded it.

Beginning with the conventional, "I was born in... . My father was... .", of Lindbergh's still pristine memories, he wrote: "On several more occasions it was necessary to fly by instrument for short periods; then the fog broke into patches. These patches took on forms of every description. Numerous shorelines appeared, with trees perfectly outlined against the horizon. In fact, the mirages were so natural that, had I not been in the mid-Atlantic and known that no land existed along my route, I would have taken them to be actual islands."

Could anyone else have written this you-are-there recounting, told as only a young Lindbergh - not a seasoned, even embattled Lindbergh, could tell it? "We" is a near-instant, first person replay which history would be a little number without, and without which, THIS Lindbergh could not have been known.

And that almost happened, except our hero wouldn't allow it. Originally assigned to ghostwriter Carlyle MacDonald's pen by G. P. Putnam, Lindbergh was aghast to see what he considered either mistakes or misinterpretations in MacDonald's version. No one but he would write his book - which had been promised for publication in a matter of weeks. The hapless MacDonald did make one major contribution, for it was he who named "We" "We," having noted Lindbergh's overt use of the "first person plural" when referring to his plane and himself. One of the few rounds Lindbergh ever lost, "We" stuck! Perhaps it would not have mattered an iota aabout the title; it sold a riotous 190,000 copies in just two months and earned its author more than a hundred thousand dollars in the first six months, quite an achievement for that time or any other.

"We" still graces library shelves, albeit, you may have to look in the young readers' section. Or maybe, now that you are aware of it, you might try mentioning it to Aunt Isabel, because she just may have a copy sitting on her own oak library shelf!