High does for climbing what the movie The Thin Red Line did for combat: It explores not the details of the event, but the inner thoughts of the participants. You read what it feels like to have a climber dying in a tent next to you. You learn about the humilation of having frostbite while back at home. You are with the widows who trek in the paths of their husbands to glimpse the mountain graves of their loved ones.

While I can understand that some reviewers felt the selections dropped one into the middle of a big problem high on a mountain without the broader context of the expedition, I didn't feel this was a problem. I don't need the beginning, middle, and end to enjoy a brief tale. There are plenty of books that give all those details, yet few that are gripping to read from the first page to the last.

I'm unable to refrain from mentioning that I feel the concept of Jackson having a "learning disability" is poppycock. I recommend Robertson's biography of the general.

But there are some flaws, too. Most glaring and annoying is the lack of an index. Is there any Civil War student who does not rush to the index first to find references to his (or her) favorite general or battle? No such luck here; you'll have to read the entire book for those brief references to Howard, Hancock, McPherson, et al. Second, the articles lack two of the major selling points of military history magazines - color maps and illustrations. Now, I'm a big boy and I don't *need* pictures with my text, but often the art that accompanies an MHQ article is more powerful than the text. Third, there is a fault that lies with far too many Civil War pieces: biographies of important figures devolving into hagiographies. For too many Civil War biographers their subject can do, and did no, wrong. Crowley himself uses the word "hagiography" in one of his introductions. Whether it's Stonewall or Lee, or Admiral Porter or Sheridan, the lavish praise becomes tiring. And the final gripe to be made is toward Crowley's introductions, which borrow too liberally from the essays, adding nothing yet stealing the thunder of the contributors. (The same complaint can be made of Crowley's introductions to the What If? series.)

These are not much more than petty gripes, however. The Civil War remains a fascinating topic, and With My Face to the Enemy provides a wide range of essays covering many areas of the war. The collection deserves a spot on the bookshelf.

At 4, Eric was diagnosed with leukemia. His distraught parents and brother sought ways to make the treatments Eric underwent more palatable. One clever method they devised was to tell him that his medications were like "superheroes" that warded off the evil illness. Michael, to his credit continued treating Eric like a healthy sibling and the pair displayed refreshingly normal bouts of sibling rivalry.

I was not too fond of the author and I didn't like the way he would brush Michael off when Michael expressed resentment over the extra attention Eric was receiving. In one memorable scene, the author tells the resentful Michael to "shut up" and that he went outside to get away from the boy. Ouch! I also didn't like the way he criticized Michael for describing a nightmare he had had shortly after Eric's death in October, 1981. Nightmares were a normal response to the tragedy and trauma this child had undergone. A bright, imaginative child, it was only natural that this young boy's subconscious would conjure up frightful images after losing a brother.

The part that really soured me on the author was when he told a story with Eric as the hero and Michael as the villain. Although Michael outwardly took it in stride, one could not help but wonder what message such a story sent to Michael. I thought it was cruel to make him the villain in the story.

He enjoyed his "Any-M's," those miniature candy-coated chocolates which refuse to melt in your hands. He laughed with his brother and parents, often dressing up as a cowboy before galloping around the house, or giving mock-interviews to his dad's tape recorder. He smiled, when smiles were at a premium. Eric Pringle was a young boy battling leukemia, and spinal taps weren't as much fun as Star Wars figures--but he smiled anyway.

Terry Pringle's THIS IS THE CHILD is Eric's story, revealed through his father's emotional exploration of a tight Texas family. From a rattlesnake coiled in the dining room of a new house to countless I-Spy games during countless journeys to countless doctors in Houston, "E" takes it all in stride.

Here, as in subsequent novels THE PREACHER'S BOY and A FINE TIME TO LEAVE ME, Pringle is adept at depicting the minutiae of family life--the television shows (and everything else) that kids bicker over; the kids (and everything else) that adults bicker over. He i