I breezed through this 700+ pages and completely forgot the central story (the Columbine massacre) until it was introduced - Mr. Lamb's story of Quirk was that engrossing. I enjoyed the insertion of Quirk's family history through century-old letters and the fictional publisher of his first (and only) novel was Simon & Schuster but Mr. Lamb's book was published by Harper Collins. ( )

Despite the criticisms I have of the book - and I am surprised to find myself at the end of it with so many, Lamb's style is so compelling to me, so rich and full and perfectly paced, that I stayed up well past my bedtime for four days because I couldn't put it down. To me, that's an incredible marker of talent - while half my brain was engaging in criticisms, the half that controlled my fingers kept turning the pages.

All of Lamb's work is excellent. His characters are human. As the reader, you often can know much more than they do - can see much more than they do, can watch them walk into some stupid call they've made and screw up and want to yell at them about it. The experience is really like being able to see through someone else's eyes - you can't change them, you can't make them learn more or know better, but you can experience everything with them as they learn, themselves. His subjects are often ordinary people to whom really difficult, and sometimes extraordinary things happen - he's like Donna Tartt meets Michael Chabon. If you like to read books that demonstrate internal struggles and growth, if you like to become deeply enmeshed in a character's "head" and if you like to read about people who themselves are fairly ordinary, with routine responses and feelings and failings - this book (and all of Lamb's work) should make you very happy.

That being said, there are parts of the book I was unhappy with. I didn't realize, before I started reading, that this story would be connected, slightly but consistently to I Know This Much Is True, Lamb's previous book about the Birdsey twins. I felt that Lamb got a little heavy with his reliance on the images and theory of twinning - which the previous book had grappled with beautifully, and I myself didn't feel that these themes added that much to the story. They felt too contrived to me, unnecessary and distracting. Additionally, the last 20% or so of the book contains a large quantity of recited historical narrative about an ancestor of the main character, presented in the form of a presented paper or doctoral thesis. I found this rough slogging - I don't care for historical listings of facts, much, myself - and the often-dry recitations there "so and so did this, which was unusual for people like so and so at this time. Then so and so did that." were a striking and unwelcome contrast to Lamb's usual style. It felt to me that he had given up on writing the story and wanted us to know this biography - but it wasn't clear to me why that was. I didn't care much about the character mentioned - we didn't know that much about who she was. And while it was an important plot point for the narrator to have that information, there were other ways to accomplish this. But I think this will really depend on what you want from a book - a previous commenter says exactly the opposite, preferring historical recitation to interiority and character development, that reviewer says s/he preferred the last pages to the rest.

Lamb does a workable job of weaving larger themes into the personal struggles of the narrator - he manages, with varying degrees of subtlety, to work in some meditations on the unforseeable effects of traumatic events, both large and small, on how little one person can know another, on feelings of helplessness to change much in the worlds in which we live. I find his characters not only compelling, but likeable. And Lamb's name on a cover will still be enough to convince me to buy whatever he comes out with next.

But if you're going to start somewhere, I'd read I Know This Much Is True first - and if you'd like to read about a Columbine type situation, I think that We Need to Talk About Kevin is a much more solid, even, and less-contrived feeling book. ( )

Reviewed by Mrs. Belcher (English Language Learners)
The narrator of the book is a male English teacher at Columbine High School who happens to be away at a funeral when the shootings take place. However, his wife is the school nurse at Columbine and is with a student in the library when the boys go on the killing spree during the lunch hour; she escapes by hiding in a cabinet. The book follows their lives as a couple after the tragedy. ( )

I liked the last quarter of the 700+ page book better than the first three quarters. It is evident that Wally Lamb struggled initially, which is unfortunate. I think the book could have been half of its length, and it could have been more powerful. I much preferred "Columbine" by Dave Cullen; sometimes non-fiction is better than fiction. ( )

Having read both of Wally Lamb’s previous novels, She’s Come Undone and I Know This Much is True, I knew what to expect when I began his latest, The Hour I First Believed. The latter two books even overlap ever-so-slightly, with a brief mention and a mutual character. Both feature a dense story, one that would delve into a previously-unknown-to-the-protagonist backstory at some point, a great deal of inner reflection, and after further crisis, a hopeful ending. And Lamb stayed true to form in that regard, though, if I must compare, with slightly less success.

The novel begins with a tragedy from real life, the Columbine shootings. Handled with great grace and insight, the pictures we all saw on television are brought to us once again, this time through the eyes of the fictional characters Lamb has interwoven with the real victims. Caelum Quirk and his wife survive the attacks – Caelum is across the country, visiting his dying aunt, and Maureen hides in a cupboard in the Columbine library, praying and terrified – but are scarred deeply by the experience. Their struggles, both as a couple and separate from each other, are unapologetic and human.

Caelum Quirk’s voice sounds a great deal like Dominick Birdsey’s, from I Know This Much is True; the two men also share the experience of being the one to deal with the fallout from a tragedy, rather than suffer it themselves. Collateral victims, Caelum and Dominick’s families both have secrets in their past, and in both cases, Lamb delves into that in the latter half of the book. With The Hour I First Believed, though, I felt it was done less successfully. Some of the letters from Caelum’s ancestors were hard to follow, and the intricacies of the family scandals were equally confusing. Although they eventually added to the story, and certainly to Caelum’s story, they somewhat abruptly interrupted the flow of the novel at times.

Ultimately, Lamb’s writing is as polished as ever, and this story, like the others, is one worth telling. I Know This Much is True is a story about redemption and forgiveness, and in many ways The Hour I First Believed is about the same, and about finding the faith to do so and move on. Deeply impactful and insightful, the book does falter in spots, but the overall value gained from the experience of reading it is worth getting through them. ( )