Back Home, livre ebook

The sequel to Secondhand Summer continues Sam Barger's story with the homecoming of his older brother, now wounded from war, and the struggle for the two to understand and find each other again.

"Walker expertly explores how families live in the world at large, and how the ties that bind can be sorely tested by events far from home [. . .] Walker is one of those young adult novel authors writing for adults as well as kids. Intended or not, Back Home is a commentary on our times as well. It's a reminder that battle fatigue comes from more than just warfare. It comes from living in a society at odds with itself."
--Anchorage Daily News

"Back Home will appeal to young adult readers, those interested in an Alaskan setting, and fans of bildungsroman stories. Recommended."
--Historical Novel Society

"His big brother's return from Vietnam with wounds both physical and psychological shakes up a 16-year-old Alaskan's familiar world of girls, guns, and clueless grown-ups. . . occasionally powerful mix of family drama, late-'60s culture clashes, and wilderness adventure."
--Kirkus Reviews

It's 1968, and like any other junior in high school, Sam Barger's just trying to get by in classes and find a part-time job at the local pizza parlor, maybe chat up the pretty girl who also works there. But when his Marine Corps brother Joe comes back from the Vietnam War, life at home changes. By day Joe struggles with alcoholism and by night he battles night terrors. Sam just wants normalcy again but doesn’t know how to close the rift between the brothers, especially once he questions their country's involvement overseas.

Set in Southcentral Alaska in the 1960s, Back Home is a heartfelt story about the brothers and their struggles to come and understand each other. The book reveals the lasting effects of war on young people and draws parallels between a pivotal moment in history then to the contemporary wars and struggles today.

I kept remembering when Joe had come home from basic training, lean and tan in a green uniform that he wore like a store mannequin. Every button glimmered like gold, and his shoes reflected light like the fender of a new car. His hair was short the way Dad used to cut it when we were kids so that even the back of his head was tan, and his neck seemed as big as his head. When Joe had walked up the driveway from the taxicab he had moved like Dad, rolling from side to side as if he walked the deck of a ship. Marine basic training had changed a gawky boy into a he-man in five months.
I remembered Mom had rushed out to wrap herself around him, and I’d stood in the doorway feeling suddenly small and sloppy in my shaggy hair, jeans, and T-shirt. “My lord, you are the spittin’ image of your father, I swear,” she’d said when she got her breath and pushed Joe back to look at him.

“Aw, Ma.” He had been restless, his eyes looking past her. “Who’s this long-hair hanging around my doorway?” he’d asked, only half-friendly.

“Hey, Joe.” I’d pushed my hair back and over my ears. “How’s it going?” I was nearly as tall as him then, but Joe was broader and more muscular.

“Well, it was going pretty good until I saw my little brother turned into a hippie while I was gone.”

“It’s just hair.”

“Just hair? Just hair like a draft dodger or war protester. That’s how it looks to me.” He’d set his duffel on a kitchen chair and lit a cigarette.

“Now, boys. Don’t start off this way.” The two of us had backed away from each other with our chests out while Mom had pushed past us into the kitchen to turn the pork chops working in the cast iron skillet. It started hard that way and never got soft.