Yet just as the details become interesting, especially leading up to the infamous trip to Ford Theater, Donald loses us. He gets caught up attempting to disprove that Lincoln was interested in all things psychic and ghost-related, as is so often rumored. Donald could have a great closing, yet instead, he sounds like he's trying to refute an argument some critic made about his last Lincoln book.

The last 55 pages might as well be ignored. The letters seem to be an endless reconfiguration of the same few lines, with Honest Abe saying, "Mary, I miss you, how are you?" to Mary's, "I'm fine, the kids are great, send me money." However, the letters do reveal that Lincoln was more than the foreboding man in a top-hat who won the war, but a gawky, insecure guy who cared a whole lot about his family.

Lincoln trivia awaits, especially with Lincoln at Home serving especially as a perfect cure to a guilt-laden Harvard kid who crammed for the Civil War final, subsequently forgot everything, and feels guilty about it. Real historians have every right to be disappointed in the work's brevity, but it's a godsend for anyone who wants a short read and craves history that flows more like gossip. And regardless of past History B pain, the book is a short enough read to justify it as an investment in the impress-people-at-dinner store of knowledge.

LINCOLN AT HOME

by

David Herbert Donald