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The Children of the Children

The novel begins in Prague in 1989, just as the communist world is unraveling. A boy without a country insists he is American, though he has never set foot on U.S. soil. From there, the story peels back through decades to reveal the world of the Fishermen, a cult that swept up young seekers during the Vietnam War era and carried their children across borders and generations. We meet Danny Calvert, later known as Jacob, and trace his fall into the group’s grip. Through family ties, betrayals, faith, and disillusionment, the novel lays bare the long shadow of belief systems built on control, secrecy, and survival. It is as much a story about America’s restless search for meaning as it is about the people trapped within one man’s vision.
Reading this book pulled me into an emotional whirlwind. The writing has a plainness that makes the events feel raw and real. The characters stumble into mistakes, get swept up in causes, and try desperately to make sense of their lives. At times, the prose feels almost documentary-like, which adds to the authenticity. But what struck me hardest were the emotional beats. The despair of losing friends, the pull of a community that feels like love until it is revealed as control. The book made me angry and sad, sometimes within the same page. I found myself wanting to shout at the characters to run, while also understanding why they stayed.
The ideas in the book stirred up a lot for me. It’s about more than just a cult. It’s about how easily people can be convinced to give up their freedom for belonging. It asks how much of ourselves we’re willing to sacrifice for an answer to our confusion. The story lingers on faith, not just religious faith but faith in movements, in leaders, in utopias. And it questions whether that hunger for truth and certainty is ever really satisfied. The way the children carry the weight of their parents’ choices made me think about inheritance, not of money or property, but of wounds and beliefs.
The Children of the Children is not for someone looking for light entertainment. It’s heavy, sometimes heartbreaking, and often unsettling. But it’s powerful. I’d recommend it to readers who are drawn to history, who want to understand the human cost of movements that promise salvation, and who aren’t afraid to sit with discomfort. If you want a story that makes you feel, reflect, and maybe even question your own certainties, you’ll enjoy reading this book.
Pages: 368 | ASIN: B0FSSVGMWV





