The Redemption: Epic Story of Trinity Continues... [NOOK Book]

Overview

Master storyteller Leon Uris, internationally acclaimedauthor of such bestsellers as Exodus, Topaz, QB VII,Trinity, the Haj and Mitla Pass,continues the epic story of the Irish struggle for freedom inRedemption. A dramatic saga set against the backdrop of growing unrest in Ireland and a world on the brink of the First World War,Redemption weaves together a cast of unforgettable characters that form the heart and soul of three extraordinary Irish families.hey love freedom more ...
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The Redemption: Epic Story of Trinity Continues...

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Overview

Master storyteller Leon Uris, internationally acclaimedauthor of such bestsellers as Exodus, Topaz, QB VII,Trinity, the Haj and Mitla Pass,continues the epic story of the Irish struggle for freedom inRedemption. A dramatic saga set against the backdrop of growing unrest in Ireland and a world on the brink of the First World War,Redemption weaves together a cast of unforgettable characters that form the heart and soul of three extraordinary Irish families.hey love freedom more than life,and they will fight to the death to win it.

From the magnificence of New Zealand's green mountains, to the bloody beaches and cliffs of Gallipoli, to the streets of Dublin and the shipyards of Belfast,Redemptionfollows three Irish Patriots on their odysseys of freedom and passion- in a monumental tale of the men and women who loved, fought, and died for the chance to be free.

Master storyteller Leon Uris contines the epic story of the Irish struggle for freedom in Redemption. A dramatic saga set against the backdrop of growing unrest in Ireland and a world on the brink of the first World War, this book weaves together a cast of unforgettable characters that form the heart and soul of three extraordianry Irish families. They love freedom more than life, and they will fight to the death to win it.

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Editorial Reviews

Ray Olson
After seven quiet years, Uris, one of the most reliably best-selling novelists of the past half-century, returns with more about the Larkins and Hubbles of his megahit, "Trinity" (1977). This time Uris gives us Liam Larkin immigrating in 1895 to New Zealand, rutting his way into a landed family, and thriving. Liam's elder son, Rory, grows up with the wish to emulate his uncle Conor, an Irish rebel of the first water, especially when that eminence goes down in a blaze of Fenian glory just as World War I erupts. At this point, the narrative backtracks and takes up Conor's full story, which eventually involves him romantically with the wife of the novel's leading Hubble. More characters are introduced, and more romance--of the hardy-har-har hard-ridin', -drinkin', and -brawlin' all-guy variety as well as the hard-breathin' man-woman type. In a major miscalculation, Uris periodically inserts snippets from the ostensible "Secret Files of Winston Churchill" that, while they add historical detail, sound like nothing the great statesman ever could have written. The story doesn't advance chronologically beyond the birth of the Irish Free State, and that event is entirely off the novel's stage. More than in his other historical romances, the accent here is upon the latter word in the term. Don't be surprised if a red-haired, green-eyed Fabio clone shows up on the dust jacket.
From Barnes & Noble
Set against the backdrop of unrest in Ireland, adventures in Egypt, & the disaster at Gallipoli, this story weaves together the familiar characters from Uris's acclaimed novel Trinity & a new cast entangled in the cause of Irish independence.
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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9780061763410
  • Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
  • Publication date: 3/17/2009
  • Sold by: HARPERCOLLINS
  • Format: eBook
  • Pages: 896
  • Sales rank: 73,653
  • File size: 2 MB

Meet the Author

Internationally acclaimed novelist Leon Uris ran away from home at age seventeen, a month after the attack on Pearl Harbor, to join the Marine Corps, and he served at Guadalcanal and Tarawa. His first novel, Battle Cry, was based on his own experiences in the Marines, which he revisited in his final novel, O'Hara's Choice. His other novels include the bestsellers Redemption, Trinity, Exodus, QB VII, and Topaz, among others. Leon Uris passed away in June 2003.

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Read an Excerpt

Chapter One 1895

If the earth were flat, New Zealand would have fallen off it a long time ago, it's that far from Ireland.

Can ever a man be more stricken and disoriented than a penniless immigrant, out of steerage, upon arrival in a land so far removed?

The canvas cots in the passenger hold of the tramp steamer Nova Scotia were stacked so tight a man could not roll over or even sleep on his side. Heat from the adjoining boiler room often drove him on deck in any weather to keep from fainting. After he forced down the slop fed him in a zoolike manner, he'd head for the railing, often as not.

When the hills behind Lyttelton came into view ninety-two days after departure from Derry, Liam Larkin dropped to his knees and thanked the first thirty or forty saints who came to mind.

He wobbled down the gangplank, one of God's forgotten miseries, where he presented himself, pale and trembling, to his sponsor, Squire Bert Hargrove. A lot of the lads landed skinny and shaken from the long voyage, but as Bert looked Liam over, he thought he'd bought himself a bad nag. At least Liam Larkin and Bert Hargrove shared enough of a basic language so they could understand one another . . . barely.

Certain he was in for three years of Caribbean-like slave labor, the anxiety ebbed from Liam into a state that resembled euphoria.

Liam shared a clean bunkhouse with a wooden floor and a heating stove with six other station hands. Three of them were paddies like himself, contracted for forty months' labor to pay off their passage. In actual fact, Liam was replacing one who was about to strike out on his own. So, by God, maybe it wasn't going to be totalslavery.

He knew he was going to be worked hard, but he had never known much more than hard work. Bert Hargrove was pleased. He'd bought himself a good horse.

Some of the changes dawned on Liam subtly while others crashed through. The vast and incredible difference was that this land was not fueled by anger . . . or fear . . . or hatred. Was this an actual place? he asked himself every night.

Take the scroggins. Indeed, the station house and the bunk house were fed from the very same kitchen and the food was served to the men by the three Hargrove daughters. And a man could eat all he could hold. Liam thought back. Maybe six times back in Ireland in his village of Ballyutogue he had left the table with his belly bulging. He ate here this way every single night. The cook knew fourteen ways to prepare mutton, which was a hell of a lot better than fourteen ways to cook potatoes. There were vegetables he had neither seen nor heard of.

Food was only one matter. In the beginning New Zealand reminded him of Ireland, it was that green and hilly, and likewise the weather was either dirty, going to be dirty, or had just been dirty.

The hills were grander than hills, they were wondrous white-haired old mountains. Where they sloped toward the sea, they plummeted as fjords so fearsome as to shock a man's breath away. Not only did this land run higher, it ran deeper with black earth.

New Zealanders were a stoic lot, not unlike the dour Ulstermen of County Donegal. Like the Ulstermen, loyalty here was to the Crown. Yet the tone of New Zealand patriotism was placid. Could it be such that he would never again have to hear the terrorizing rattle of the Lembeg drum and the hysterical rantings of the Orangemen and their preachers?

As with Ulster, New Zealand's union with Britain was the centerpiece of its existence. But how could two places, islands . . . green . . . with mountains and sea . . . be so different and share the same planet? There were no whipping posts here, no hanging tree, no agony of the oppressed, poor little sheep rustling, smuggling, and moonshining, and he never saw an eviction, not one, not once.

Even the native Maori had apparently been subdued rather easily and were left with their culture and their dignity. Or so it seemed.

Aye, New Zealand was Protestant country, but an absence of game and fishing wardens in the bountiful streams told the whole story.

Fortunately, there were enough families, runholders, and miners around of the True Faith to hold Mass twice a month in one of Methven's three public houses, otherwise padlocked on Sundays due to stringent "blue laws."

Their priest, Father Gionelli of Eye-tallion extract, wended his way up from Christchurch on the second and fourth Sundays of the month in a three-donkey train. His arrival seemed so Joseph-and-Mary-like.

Confessions were dispensed with first, but there wasn't too much to sin about in the mountain stations of the South Island, except for the drinking of the previous night, impure thoughts, and occasional fornication between man and sheep, a practice that never appealed to Liam.

With the Mass and sacraments finished, Father Gionelli read and wrote letters to and from home and transferred funds and consoled homesickness. His fractured English and their fractured English developed a melody all its own.

Liam Larkin was never truly homesick, only pained and angry over his dismissal from Ballyutogue and Ireland. He liked it here, to the utmost.

The pastures of New Zealand's South Island gave a wonderful soft feel under his Wellington boots--in comparison to the back-breaking rocks and fragile topsoil and constant torment of wind, laws, weather, and omnipresent loathing of the oppressors that afforded the Irish hill farmer his marginal existence and lifelong suffering.

Back in Ireland in Ballyutogue, high in the heather, Liam had dug alongside his daddy, Tomas Larkin, since he had been a chip of a lad, and when one carries seaweed up from the lough to make it into a crust of topsoil, he damned well better know what he is doing.

In the beginning Bert Hargrove thought Liam Larkin a dullard with a broad back. Given this kind of land in this kind of atmosphere, Liam Larkin, in his quiet manner, inched his way into acceptance as an extremely knowledgeable farmer and sheep man. His wise observations, keen suggestions for logical changes here and there, and the penchant for a long day's work caught the squire's eye.

At the end of the first season Liam was made assistant to the station foreman. Free at last from constraints, Liam blossomed, took on responsibility, organized and had no qualms in running a crew. Tilted shears invented by his brother Conor in the blacksmith forge speeded the wool cropping by ten percent.

Things never stand still, not even in paradise.

Bert Hargrove was the most successful Catholic runholder hereabouts and was blessed with two fine young sons. On the minus side of the ledger, he was burdened with three daughters. As the inheritors, the squire's sons would be adequate. Women, as they always do, presented the problems that caused him sleeplessness.

The Hargrove girls were a bovine lot, and endowed with the stout requirements for a future life as runholders' wives, they seemed to have excellent breeding possibilities. Bert's wife Edna made the mainstay of her life the future respectable and nearby placement of her daughters. She was bloody well determined that she would have a large family around her to comfort her during her declining years.

This was no simple matter. There were not enough eligible Catholic lads who fit into her scheme. By eligible, one would consider the inheritor of a station, an independent merchant of means, or perhaps a professional--a doctor or solicitor down in Christchurch. Beyond Christchurch was out of bounds.

The girls were off limits to the hands on the station. Edna Hargrove had the precision of a Prussian field marshal in her mind, knowing at every instant where each troop was. One pat on the rump and you were off the Hargrove Station, the debt for your passage auctioned to another runholder.

Redemption. Copyright © by Leon Uris. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold.
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First Chapter

Chapter One 1895

If the earth were flat, New Zealand would have fallen off it a long time ago, it's that far from Ireland.

Can ever a man be more stricken and disoriented than a penniless immigrant, out of steerage, upon arrival in a land so far removed?

The canvas cots in the passenger hold of the tramp steamer Nova Scotia were stacked so tight a man could not roll over or even sleep on his side. Heat from the adjoining boiler room often drove him on deck in any weather to keep from fainting. After he forced down the slop fed him in a zoolike manner, he'd head for the railing, often as not.

When the hills behind Lyttelton came into view ninety-two days after departure from Derry, Liam Larkin dropped to his knees and thanked the first thirty or forty saints who came to mind.

He wobbled down the gangplank, one of God's forgotten miseries, where he presented himself, pale and trembling, to his sponsor, Squire Bert Hargrove. A lot of the lads landed skinny and shaken from the long voyage, but as Bert looked Liam over, he thought he'd bought himself a bad nag. At least Liam Larkin and Bert Hargrove shared enough of a basic language so they could understand one another . . . barely.

Certain he was in for three years of Caribbean-like slave labor, the anxiety ebbed from Liam into a state that resembled euphoria.

Liam shared a clean bunkhouse with a wooden floor and a heating stove with six other station hands. Three of them were paddies like himself, contracted for forty months' labor to pay off their passage. In actual fact, Liam was replacing one who was about to strike out on his own. So, by God, maybe it wasn't going to be totalslavery.

He knew he was going to be worked hard, but he had never known much more than hard work. Bert Hargrove was pleased. He'd bought himself a good horse.

Some of the changes dawned on Liam subtly while others crashed through. The vast and incredible difference was that this land was not fueled by anger . . . or fear . . . or hatred. Was this an actual place? he asked himself every night.

Take the scroggins. Indeed, the station house and the bunk house were fed from the very same kitchen and the food was served to the men by the three Hargrove daughters. And a man could eat all he could hold. Liam thought back. Maybe six times back in Ireland in his village of Ballyutogue he had left the table with his belly bulging. He ate here this way every single night. The cook knew fourteen ways to prepare mutton, which was a hell of a lot better than fourteen ways to cook potatoes. There were vegetables he had neither seen nor heard of.

Food was only one matter. In the beginning New Zealand reminded him of Ireland, it was that green and hilly, and likewise the weather was either dirty, going to be dirty, or had just been dirty.

The hills were grander than hills, they were wondrous white-haired old mountains. Where they sloped toward the sea, they plummeted as fjords so fearsome as to shock a man's breath away. Not only did this land run higher, it ran deeper with black earth.

New Zealanders were a stoic lot, not unlike the dour Ulstermen of County Donegal. Like the Ulstermen, loyalty here was to the Crown. Yet the tone of New Zealand patriotism was placid. Could it be such that he would never again have to hear the terrorizing rattle of the Lembeg drum and the hysterical rantings of the Orangemen and their preachers?

As with Ulster, New Zealand's union with Britain was the centerpiece of its existence. But how could two places, islands . . . green . . . with mountains and sea . . . be so different and share the same planet? There were no whipping posts here, no hanging tree, no agony of the oppressed, poor little sheep rustling, smuggling, and moonshining, and he never saw an eviction, not one, not once.

Even the native Maori had apparently been subdued rather easily and were left with their culture and their dignity. Or so it seemed.

Aye, New Zealand was Protestant country, but an absence of game and fishing wardens in the bountiful streams told the whole story.

Fortunately, there were enough families, runholders, and miners around of the True Faith to hold Mass twice a month in one of Methven's three public houses, otherwise padlocked on Sundays due to stringent "blue laws."

Their priest, Father Gionelli of Eye-tallion extract, wended his way up from Christchurch on the second and fourth Sundays of the month in a three-donkey train. His arrival seemed so Joseph-and-Mary-like.

Confessions were dispensed with first, but there wasn't too much to sin about in the mountain stations of the South Island, except for the drinking of the previous night, impure thoughts, and occasional fornication between man and sheep, a practice that never appealed to Liam.

With the Mass and sacraments finished, Father Gionelli read and wrote letters to and from home and transferred funds and consoled homesickness. His fractured English and their fractured English developed a melody all its own.

Liam Larkin was never truly homesick, only pained and angry over his dismissal from Ballyutogue and Ireland. He liked it here, to the utmost.

The pastures of New Zealand's South Island gave a wonderful soft feel under his Wellington boots--in comparison to the back-breaking rocks and fragile topsoil and constant torment of wind, laws, weather, and omnipresent loathing of the oppressors that afforded the Irish hill farmer his marginal existence and lifelong suffering.

Back in Ireland in Ballyutogue, high in the heather, Liam had dug alongside his daddy, Tomas Larkin, since he had been a chip of a lad, and when one carries seaweed up from the lough to make it into a crust of topsoil, he damned well better know what he is doing.

In the beginning Bert Hargrove thought Liam Larkin a dullard with a broad back. Given this kind of land in this kind of atmosphere, Liam Larkin, in his quiet manner, inched his way into acceptance as an extremely knowledgeable farmer and sheep man. His wise observations, keen suggestions for logical changes here and there, and the penchant for a long day's work caught the squire's eye.

At the end of the first season Liam was made assistant to the station foreman. Free at last from constraints, Liam blossomed, took on responsibility, organized and had no qualms in running a crew. Tilted shears invented by his brother Conor in the blacksmith forge speeded the wool cropping by ten percent.

Things never stand still, not even in paradise.

Bert Hargrove was the most successful Catholic runholder hereabouts and was blessed with two fine young sons. On the minus side of the ledger, he was burdened with three daughters. As the inheritors, the squire's sons would be adequate. Women, as they always do, presented the problems that caused him sleeplessness.

The Hargrove girls were a bovine lot, and endowed with the stout requirements for a future life as runholders' wives, they seemed to have excellent breeding possibilities. Bert's wife Edna made the mainstay of her life the future respectable and nearby placement of her daughters. She was bloody well determined that she would have a large family around her to comfort her during her declining years.

This was no simple matter. There were not enough eligible Catholic lads who fit into her scheme. By eligible, one would consider the inheritor of a station, an independent merchant of means, or perhaps a professional--a doctor or solicitor down in Christchurch. Beyond Christchurch was out of bounds.

The girls were off limits to the hands on the station. Edna Hargrove had the precision of a Prussian field marshal in her mind, knowing at every instant where each troop was. One pat on the rump and you were off the Hargrove Station, the debt for your passage auctioned to another runholder.

Redemption. Copyright © by Leon Uris. Reprinted by pepermission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold.
Read More Show Less

Customer Reviews

Average Rating 3.5
( 15 )
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Sort by: Showing 1 – 16 of 15 Customer Reviews
  • Anonymous

    Posted May 24, 2012

    Well will Trinity be available for the Nook?

    Well will Trinity be available for the Nook?

    1 out of 3 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted February 11, 2012

    Nook version filled with errors

    I actually own the hardcover version of this book but beacuse of its size (827 pages)I decided to purchase the Nook version as I much prefer reading on my Nook! The Nook version is filled with errors - mostly puctuation and some unusual words. I compared it to the hard cover version and was relieved to see that the mistakes were not there. My guess is that the book was scanned in and the OCR did not pick up all the punctuation and changed some words to the closest word it could come up with. As for the book itself, I read Trinity over 15 years ago so I did not mind the review of the book. I can definitely understand why people who just finished Trinity and then read Redemption would be annoyed. But if you haven't read Trinity in a while, it was a nice refresher. A great portion of the book is spent on Gallipoli. I had never heard of this before and am not a fan of war books but I found this section to be very enlightning and fascinting as how poorly the New Zealanders and Australians were treated and the total screw up of the officers involved. However, I thought the book was going to be about Ireland and was surprised how much of the book was consumed with Gallipoli. It is definitely my least favorite Uris book. It doesn't measure up to his other books at all but I am still glad that I read it.

    1 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted July 22, 2013

    I would think the first and more well- known book, Trinity, woul

    I would think the first and more well- known book, Trinity, would be available for the nook before its sequel. I hope its available soon as I bought a nook so I wouldn't have to lug around big books like Trinity.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Posted May 12, 2011

    Redemprtion

    I fully enjoyed this book. I found the story to be very interesting. The characters were engaging, and I learned some Irish, New Zealand and WWI history. I didn't want this book to end.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted April 30, 2001

    Powerful Highlights Scattered on a Global Tapestry

    Whenever I think of a Leon Uris novel, I think of big themes, large-scale action, a global perspective, and Tolstoy-like interweavings of characters. Redemption has them all. Those who believe in the redeeming qualities of love and seeking forgiveness will be delighted with this book. It explores those themes in a grand fashion. Most of those who read the book will agree that the descriptions of the now little-remembered Gallipoli campaign by the British against the Turks and Germans in World War I will be permanently etched in their memories as great war (and anti war) writing. Those who would like to know more about the development of freedom in Ireland will probably be a bit disappointed. The plot heavily veers away from that subject (although it is always present as a backdrop) for much of the book. The characters are not always as appealing as are required for a great novel. You will simply want to shake them and tell them to do what is right in many cases. I have never read a book that contains so many people who are stubborn about making their lives and those around them miserable. The book would have been improved by either a somewhat simpler plot or more editing to shorten its length. After you have finished reading the book, I suggest that you think about whether there is someone you love who you have not yet told. In this month of Valentine's Day, it would be a good time to overcome that reticence . . . that was so harmful to the characters in Redemption. Live with love in your heart! Donald Mitchell, co-author of The Irresistible Growth Enterprise and The 2,000 Percent Solution

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted June 15, 2000

    Uris Has Lost His Touch

    I have been a big fan of Uris ever since I picked up Exodus which was probably about 5 years ago. Since then I went through QBVII, Armageddon, Trinity, The Haj and Mitla Pass. Trinity was a wonderful book, vintage Uris, which was way up there with his earlier novels. Redemption on the other hand is a book that just shouldn't have been written. I think the most shocking thing to me about Redemption was that Uris committed the cardinal sin of rewriting his own history from Trinity. At the end of Trinity, both Jeremy and Christopher Hubble were supposed to have died at the hands of the protagonist in what was a moving, tragic and highly ironic ending, worthy of a master storyteller and apt for a story about Ireland. This alone spoilt the novel for me - I kept checking my copy of Trinity to be sure that I read it right. The book is just wholly unsatisfying. All Uris did for about one third of the book was summarize Trinity, an exercise any average sixth grader would be quite capable of. It has a totally blaise and inappropriate ending and a plot without any main point to it. What could Rory do for Ireland? Kill the brigader and everything will magically become better? Tell me another one. Uris adds needless sexual overtones to his book throughout, I won't go into the details. Others have complained about his historical inaccuracy, and since my historical knowledge of Ireland is virtually zip, I won't go there. Redemption is not without its redeeming (if you pardon the pun) graces. Uris' portrayal of the battle at Gallipoli is vivid and very moving. The relationship between Rory and Liam is also well-written. If only he wouldn't go out of his way to put words in the mouth of his characters to support his primary thesis.... it becomes ridiculous after a while. My conclusion is this: go read Uris' older novels: all the ones I mentioned earlier (except mitla pass which was so-so) as well as Mila 18 and Topaz, which are on my must read list. My advice is to stop at Trinity and not to spoil the plot for yourself by reading Redemption. But if you really must read Redemption after reading Trinity, start with low expectations, that's all. Someone should really stop Uris from embarrassing his older works by writing some more, he seems to be pass his prime. If only he would prove me wrong...

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    Posted September 2, 2011

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    Posted January 2, 2010

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    Posted January 18, 2012

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