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When I first read this, I would have given it five stars. It's another of Bryce Courtenay's carbon-copy exercises in sentimentality. This particular story traces the life of one family (he does enjoy the family dynasty trope, doesn't he?) through the eyes of, I think, Mitch. One family member ends up a boxer, one a successful fashion designer, one founds a business empire based on garbage-collection trucks. The only one who comes to relatively nothing is Mitch, who does nothing but fight valiantly during, I think, WWII. He rises modestly through the ranks, is psychologically scarred, falls in love with some girl, and possibly sings stirring songs in Vietnamese, though that might be a different Courtenay book.

It is implied that Mitch's life is at least as valid as that of the others, for he lived it with courage and integrity. Nothing wrong with that message, but I do wish he could express it in tones a little less maudlin and a little more original.