Coming of Age in the Midst of Civil War - an Editorial Review of "This Leavened Land"

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Editorial Review:

Thomas Mauser’s "This Leavened Land" is a richly observed and morally resonant novel that captures a young man's struggle to grow up amid the bitter divisions of the American Civil War. It has been written in the voice of an elderly narrator looking back on his formative years in rural East Tennessee, and smoothly blends memoir-like intimacy with profound historical detail which readers will find unique. Mauser's story is at once regional and universal, offering a quiet, reflective portrait of conscience, love, and loyalty in a land where decency is under siege.

The narrator, James Meecham, is seventeen when the novel begins. Born with a shortened left leg, he walks with a limp and often feels out of step—socially, physically, and emotionally. His family is plainspoken, hardworking, and principled- his father is stern although with a steady sense of fairness, while his mother is deeply devout. These early scenes of farm life are rendered with poetic clarity, and Mauser’s descriptive talents shine in evoking the land and time:

“Hickory woodsmoke rose from the chimneys of scattered farmhouses as we drove past them. Farm fields hedged by worm fences lay ready for spring plowing and planting. We came to the near side of Hunleyville where a one-room schoolhouse and a square-shaped religious meetinghouse stood. Wooden clapboard establishments stood along both sides of the rough country road that ran through the village—a cooperage, a clothing store, a general store, a gunsmith’s shop, a doctor’s office, a post office, and a boardinghouse.”

This rustic setting serves as a backdrop to the moral dilemmas that unfold. One of the novel’s strongest themes is the response to slavery and racial injustice which is showcased through James, who though raised in a society steeped in prejudice, instinctively rejects cruelty and bigotry. In an early scene, he witnesses a racist outburst directed at Absalom Johnson, a free Black man who owns the town’s livery stable and what follows is a quiet but powerful exchange:

“‘He oughtn’t to have called you that, Mister Johnson,’ I said.

‘I pays ’im no mind, James,’ Absalom said. ‘Most folks’ve been callin’ me that since I was a boy. They reckon it’s so I’ll always knows my place, but I’ve gotten myself to payin’ no mind every time somebody calls me a n——r.’

The word ‘n——r’ was (and still is) a vile word. I have chosen not to write it out in these recollections of mine because it is a vile word. It was said plenty of times back in those days (and still is today) because most white people looked down on colored people. I never heard my father and mother say that word, and if my brothers or I ever chanced to say it, our father and his hickory switch chastised us right quick.”

Mauser’s language is restrained but direct and he does not sensationalize but rather instead lets character and voice carry moral weight. As war approaches, the town of Hunleyville grows increasingly hostile to Union supporters like the Meechams. We see James’s older brothers join the Union army, and former friends like Hiram Boldt become Confederate militants as these tensions erupt in acts of violence, betrayal, and fear.

The most ethically charged moment in the novel comes when James is hired out to work on a neighbor’s farm, where he befriends Lucas, an enslaved man. Lucas confides his plan to kill their cruel master, Roundtree, and demands James’s help. This moment crystallizes the novel’s central question: what does it mean to do the right thing in a world gone wrong? James refuses to participate in violence, not out of cowardice, but because his moral compass—shaped by observation, not ideology—won’t allow it. Lucas sees this refusal as betrayal, which only deepens the tragedy.

The narrative builds to a devastating climax when James’s cousin David is arrested for sabotage. Alongside two others, he is tried in a sham court run by the town’s Confederate elite and sentenced to death. Mauser renders the courtroom scene with spare, brutal clarity:

“Judge Endicott, still wearing a goatee and well-dressed, walked into the courtroom, sat down behind the second wooden desk, and struck his gavel...

‘All such as can be identified as having been engaged in bridge burning are to be tried summarily... and if found guilty, executed on the spot by hanging.’

‘Hurrah! We’s goin’ to have some hangings today!’ somebody hollered.

The guards brought in David, handcuffed and shackled. He shook like a leaf, and there were bruises on his face...

‘That boy ain’t nuthin’ but a dirty coward!’ somebody cried out.

We shouted our support for David, but our voices were quickly drowned out by jeers from everybody else.”

This public spectacle of vengeance is not just the end of David’s arc, but the end of innocence for James. The justice system, the community, even former friends are complicit in cruelty. There is no escape but only survival, memory, and the hope that telling the story will mean something.

"This Leavened Land" is not a sweeping epic but rather a quiet and personal read that mature readers will appreciate. It chooses depth over drama, letting a single boy’s experience stand in for thousands who grew up during America’s most divisive moment. Mauser’s characters are empathetic, his prose simple yet emotionally rich, and his themes hauntingly relevant. This is a novel that invites reflection—not just on history, but on how we treat others today.

5 stars from The Historical Fiction Company and the “Highly Recommended” award of excellence

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