Genre Fiction
![Rachel Beanland - [object Object] author](https://res.cloudinary.com/readsomnia/image/upload/authors/a_B07Z6LL8PC.jpg)
The House Is on Fire
The author of Florence Adler Swims Forever returns with a masterful work of historical fiction about an incendiary tragedy that shocked a young nation and tore apart a community in a single night-told from the perspectives of four people whose actions during the inferno changed the course of history.
Richmond, Virginia 1811. It's the height of the winter social season, the General Assembly is in session, and many of Virginia's gentleman planters, along with their wives and children, have made the long and arduous journey to the capital in hopes of whiling away the darkest days of the year. At the city's only theater, the Charleston-based Placide & Green Company puts on two plays a night to meet the demand of a populace that's done looking for enlightenment at the front of a church.
On the night after Christmas, the theater is packed with more than six hundred holiday revelers. In the third-floor boxes, sits newly-widowed Sally Henry Campbell, who is glad for any opportunity to relive the happy times she shared with her husband. One floor away, in the colored gallery, Cecily Patterson doesn't give a whit about the play but is grateful for a four-hour reprieve from a life that has recently gone from bad to worse. Backstage, young stagehand Jack Gibson hopes that, if he can impress the theater's managers, he'll be offered a permanent job with the company. And on the other side of town, blacksmith Gilbert Hunt dreams of one day being able to bring his wife to the theater, but he'll have to buy her freedom first.
When the theater goes up in flames in the middle of the performance, Sally, Cecily, Jack, and Gilbert make a series of split-second decisions that will not only affect their own lives but those of countless others. And in the days following the fire, as news of the disaster spreads across the United States, the paths of these four people will become forever intertwined.
Based on the true story of Richmond's theater fire, The House Is on Fire offers proof that sometimes, in the midst of great tragedy, we are offered our most precious-and fleeting-chances at redemption.
Richmond, Virginia 1811. It's the height of the winter social season, the General Assembly is in session, and many of Virginia's gentleman planters, along with their wives and children, have made the long and arduous journey to the capital in hopes of whiling away the darkest days of the year. At the city's only theater, the Charleston-based Placide & Green Company puts on two plays a night to meet the demand of a populace that's done looking for enlightenment at the front of a church.
On the night after Christmas, the theater is packed with more than six hundred holiday revelers. In the third-floor boxes, sits newly-widowed Sally Henry Campbell, who is glad for any opportunity to relive the happy times she shared with her husband. One floor away, in the colored gallery, Cecily Patterson doesn't give a whit about the play but is grateful for a four-hour reprieve from a life that has recently gone from bad to worse. Backstage, young stagehand Jack Gibson hopes that, if he can impress the theater's managers, he'll be offered a permanent job with the company. And on the other side of town, blacksmith Gilbert Hunt dreams of one day being able to bring his wife to the theater, but he'll have to buy her freedom first.
When the theater goes up in flames in the middle of the performance, Sally, Cecily, Jack, and Gilbert make a series of split-second decisions that will not only affect their own lives but those of countless others. And in the days following the fire, as news of the disaster spreads across the United States, the paths of these four people will become forever intertwined.
Based on the true story of Richmond's theater fire, The House Is on Fire offers proof that sometimes, in the midst of great tragedy, we are offered our most precious-and fleeting-chances at redemption.
Editorial Reviews
"Beanland's gripping fictional account delves into this tragedy [the Richmond Theater Fire], examining the aftermath, the stories that were told and the blame that was unfairly laid on people without the means to defend themselves."--Washington Post
"Seamlessly interweaving historical facts and her own narrative, Beanland follows these four characters through the fire, the immediate, chaotic aftermath, and the subsequent investigation. Fully realized characters and gripping prose makes for an excellent, riveting novel that is highly recommended."-Booklist, starred review
"Powerful…. Beanland enlivens the smart and suspenseful narrative with fully developed protagonists that illuminate the community's response to mass catastrophe. Readers will relish this."-Publishers Weekly, starred review
"Propulsive…full of historical detail and full-blooded characters"-Shelf Awareness
"The world is about to be on fire with the publication of THE HOUSE IS ON FIRE. This is a propulsive, pulse-pounding read-one that grabbed hold of me and didn't let me go until the very last page. It is the kind of book you finish with a sigh, and hope against hope there is a sequel coming."-Kathleen Grissom, New York Times bestselling author of The Kitchen House and Glory Over Everything
"Beanland's research is meticulous, her characters are well drawn, and her writing is gorgeous. The House Is on Fire is a stunning achievement."-Jeannette Walls, New York Times bestselling author of The Glass Castle and the forthcoming Hang The Moon
"The House is on Fire captures the disastrous night hour by hour, reminiscent of watching a true crime drama on TV. Most importantly, Beanland's choice to explore the tragedy through four very differently privileged people allows the story to go beyond facts and into the moral fabric and social norms of the time. It is disturbing to be reminded of the vice grip of racism, class and sexism while a deadly fire rages on.... Fast-moving, character-driven and action-packed, The House is on Fi...
"Seamlessly interweaving historical facts and her own narrative, Beanland follows these four characters through the fire, the immediate, chaotic aftermath, and the subsequent investigation. Fully realized characters and gripping prose makes for an excellent, riveting novel that is highly recommended."-Booklist, starred review
"Powerful…. Beanland enlivens the smart and suspenseful narrative with fully developed protagonists that illuminate the community's response to mass catastrophe. Readers will relish this."-Publishers Weekly, starred review
"Propulsive…full of historical detail and full-blooded characters"-Shelf Awareness
"The world is about to be on fire with the publication of THE HOUSE IS ON FIRE. This is a propulsive, pulse-pounding read-one that grabbed hold of me and didn't let me go until the very last page. It is the kind of book you finish with a sigh, and hope against hope there is a sequel coming."-Kathleen Grissom, New York Times bestselling author of The Kitchen House and Glory Over Everything
"Beanland's research is meticulous, her characters are well drawn, and her writing is gorgeous. The House Is on Fire is a stunning achievement."-Jeannette Walls, New York Times bestselling author of The Glass Castle and the forthcoming Hang The Moon
"The House is on Fire captures the disastrous night hour by hour, reminiscent of watching a true crime drama on TV. Most importantly, Beanland's choice to explore the tragedy through four very differently privileged people allows the story to go beyond facts and into the moral fabric and social norms of the time. It is disturbing to be reminded of the vice grip of racism, class and sexism while a deadly fire rages on.... Fast-moving, character-driven and action-packed, The House is on Fi...
Short Excerpt Teaser
1. Sally SALLY
Sally Campbell's shoes are fashionable but extremely flimsy. She ordered them from Curtis Fairchild's specifically for Richmond's winter season, but now she feels like a fool for thinking she could get away with wearing them on the half-mile walk from her brother-in-law's house to the theater.
The shoes, which are made of silk and lined with linen, are as pretty as they come, but they are no match for the terrain. It's been so cold that the earth is frozen solid, which means that every bulge and divot beneath Sally's feet feels like a knife blade through the shoes' thin leather soles. "It's possible I would have been no worse off barefoot," she says to her sister-in-law Margaret when they reach the corner of H and Seventh Streets.
A fierce wind whips at the women's faces, and they lean into each other, drawing the collars of their coats tight around their necks while they wait for Archie to catch up. "We need you, dear," Margaret calls to her husband as he lumbers toward them.
Archie, amiable as ever, seems pleased to be needed.
"Be a gentleman and walk in front of us," says Margaret. Then she winks at Sally and says in a voice loud enough for Archie to hear, "We'll let him block the wind."
Archie gives them an exaggerated bow and touches the brim of his hat, but when he rounds the corner, he has to hold on to it with both hands. The wind comes from the east and spills down Richmond's main thoroughfare, taking the last of the leaves on the trees with it. Margaret and Sally fall into formation behind Archie, tucking their chins to their chests.
As they pass the capitol, Sally can hear the church bells from a few blocks away chime seven o'clock. The capitol is an imposing Palladian structure, and its plaster of Paris facade shines under a canopy of stars. In the pastures that surround the building, Sally tries to make out the shapes of grazing cows. She can hear their irate grunts, carried in the wind, and knows that, in weather such as this, they are huddled close together, too.
"Just another block or two," says Margaret, who married into the Campbell family just a few years after Sally did and has, over the past half dozen or so years, become not just a sister to Sally but a dear friend.
Margaret is such a dear friend, that she has not uttered a single complaint about venturing out in this weather. Sally knows she'd have preferred to remain at home, in front of a warm fire, but since Sally gave her hosts the tickets to tonight's performance as a gift, Margaret is doing an admirable job pretending there is nowhere else she'd rather be.
The truth, of course, is that the tickets were as much a gift to Sally as anyone else. She loves the theater-the extravagant props, the audacious costumes, the monologues that move her to tears. Back when Robert used to bring her to Richmond, they'd gone to the theater every chance they got, but in the three years since his death, she's had little reason to come to the capital at all, much less to see a play.
The theater sits at the intersection of H and Fourteenth Streets, catty-corner to the capitol and on the crest of Shockoe Hill. It is an impressive building, with a commanding view of the wharf. Beyond the wharf is the James River, which curls around Church Hill, winding its way past Rockett's Landing and all the way to Jamestown.
The old theater, which was barely more than an oversized barn, burned to the ground the year before Robert and Sally were married, and for several years the Charleston-based Placide & Green and other touring acting troupes had to perform in the old market building, local taverns, or not at all. Sally and Robert saw André at The Swan and The Taming of the Shrew at City Tavern, and while it was nearly impossible to hear the actors' lines over the din of the crowd, Sally thought the taverns-turned-theaters weren't all bad. She liked the buzzy feeling she got when she drank down a pint of cider too fast and began reciting Shakespeare in Robert's ear; on the nights she took his earlobe between her teeth and he called her his wee drunkard in his thick Scottish accent, they rarely made it through three acts.
The new theater has some nice upgrades: a real stage-with wings large enough to store even the most extravagant props and set pieces, an oversized pit, and a proper ticket booth. There is a separate gallery for slaves and free Blacks and plenty of box seats on the second and third floors for those who can afford them. The building is sided with brick, but it's clear the theater's managers cut corners on the finish...
Sally Campbell's shoes are fashionable but extremely flimsy. She ordered them from Curtis Fairchild's specifically for Richmond's winter season, but now she feels like a fool for thinking she could get away with wearing them on the half-mile walk from her brother-in-law's house to the theater.
The shoes, which are made of silk and lined with linen, are as pretty as they come, but they are no match for the terrain. It's been so cold that the earth is frozen solid, which means that every bulge and divot beneath Sally's feet feels like a knife blade through the shoes' thin leather soles. "It's possible I would have been no worse off barefoot," she says to her sister-in-law Margaret when they reach the corner of H and Seventh Streets.
A fierce wind whips at the women's faces, and they lean into each other, drawing the collars of their coats tight around their necks while they wait for Archie to catch up. "We need you, dear," Margaret calls to her husband as he lumbers toward them.
Archie, amiable as ever, seems pleased to be needed.
"Be a gentleman and walk in front of us," says Margaret. Then she winks at Sally and says in a voice loud enough for Archie to hear, "We'll let him block the wind."
Archie gives them an exaggerated bow and touches the brim of his hat, but when he rounds the corner, he has to hold on to it with both hands. The wind comes from the east and spills down Richmond's main thoroughfare, taking the last of the leaves on the trees with it. Margaret and Sally fall into formation behind Archie, tucking their chins to their chests.
As they pass the capitol, Sally can hear the church bells from a few blocks away chime seven o'clock. The capitol is an imposing Palladian structure, and its plaster of Paris facade shines under a canopy of stars. In the pastures that surround the building, Sally tries to make out the shapes of grazing cows. She can hear their irate grunts, carried in the wind, and knows that, in weather such as this, they are huddled close together, too.
"Just another block or two," says Margaret, who married into the Campbell family just a few years after Sally did and has, over the past half dozen or so years, become not just a sister to Sally but a dear friend.
Margaret is such a dear friend, that she has not uttered a single complaint about venturing out in this weather. Sally knows she'd have preferred to remain at home, in front of a warm fire, but since Sally gave her hosts the tickets to tonight's performance as a gift, Margaret is doing an admirable job pretending there is nowhere else she'd rather be.
The truth, of course, is that the tickets were as much a gift to Sally as anyone else. She loves the theater-the extravagant props, the audacious costumes, the monologues that move her to tears. Back when Robert used to bring her to Richmond, they'd gone to the theater every chance they got, but in the three years since his death, she's had little reason to come to the capital at all, much less to see a play.
The theater sits at the intersection of H and Fourteenth Streets, catty-corner to the capitol and on the crest of Shockoe Hill. It is an impressive building, with a commanding view of the wharf. Beyond the wharf is the James River, which curls around Church Hill, winding its way past Rockett's Landing and all the way to Jamestown.
The old theater, which was barely more than an oversized barn, burned to the ground the year before Robert and Sally were married, and for several years the Charleston-based Placide & Green and other touring acting troupes had to perform in the old market building, local taverns, or not at all. Sally and Robert saw André at The Swan and The Taming of the Shrew at City Tavern, and while it was nearly impossible to hear the actors' lines over the din of the crowd, Sally thought the taverns-turned-theaters weren't all bad. She liked the buzzy feeling she got when she drank down a pint of cider too fast and began reciting Shakespeare in Robert's ear; on the nights she took his earlobe between her teeth and he called her his wee drunkard in his thick Scottish accent, they rarely made it through three acts.
The new theater has some nice upgrades: a real stage-with wings large enough to store even the most extravagant props and set pieces, an oversized pit, and a proper ticket booth. There is a separate gallery for slaves and free Blacks and plenty of box seats on the second and third floors for those who can afford them. The building is sided with brick, but it's clear the theater's managers cut corners on the finish...
