Book Review: The Uncharted Flight of Olivia West

Synopsis:

1927 Olivia “Livy” West is a fearless young pilot with a love of adventure. She yearns to travel the skies, crossing oceans. When she learns of the Dole Air Race — a high-stakes contest to be the first pilot to complete the twenty-four-hundred-mile flight across the Pacific Ocean from the California coast to Hawai’i — she sets her sights on qualifying. It soon becomes clear that only men will make the cut. In a last-ditch effort to participate, Livy manages to be selected as a navigator for one of the pilots. She sets out on a harrowing journey that not all will survive.

1987 Wren Summers is down to her last dime when she learns she has inherited a remote piece of land on the Big Island with nothing on it but a dilapidated barn and an overgrown macadamia nut grove. She plans on selling it and living on the proceeds, but she is drawn in by the mysterious objects kept in the barn by her late great-uncle that provide clues to a tragic piece of aviation history that has become lost to time. Determined to find out what really happened all those years ago, Wren enlists the help of locals, including one resident of the nearby retirement home where she lands a part-time job, to uncover Olivia’s story piece by piece. What she discovers is more shocking, and personal, than she could ever have imagined.

The Uncharted Flight of Olivia West is Hawai’i native Sara Ackerman’s first foray into historical fiction beyond the World War II era. The extraordinary novel, inspired by and based upon actual events, tells the story of a female aviator who defied the odds to embark on an actual daring air race across the vast Pacific Ocean.

Review:

Sara Ackerman, a native Hawai’ian, is the author of five previous novels, all set in Hawai’i during the World War II era: Island of Sweet Pies and Soldiers, The Lieutenant’s Nurse, Red Sky Over Hawai’i, Radar Girls, and The Codebreaker’s Secret. She grew up on Oahu, but now resides on the Big Island, and holds the beautiful state responsible for her addiction to writing since the islands have such a rich history and so many untold stories waiting to be shared. She knows Hawai’i well and injects details that bring the setting to life and transport her readers there as they are reading.

Despite being born and raised in Hawai’i, Ackerman had never heard about the Dole Air Race until she was searching for inspiration for her next novel. She happened upon a book entitled The Saga of The Sandwich Islands in which the race was mentioned. Ackerman says she knew immediately that she wanted her story to be centered around the race. James Dole, the pineapple baron, sponsored the race to make the first crossing in a fixed-wing airplane from Oakland, California, to Oahu. It was 1927, shortly after Lindbergh’s famous flight across the Atlantic Ocean. Ackerman notes that the “real challenge” was traveling two thousand, four hundred miles in a “very rudimentary” craft to a “tiny speck in the ocean,” making it a “real feat of navigation.” Eight planes took off from the California coast but, unsurprisingly, not all of them landed safely in Hawai’i.

There was only one female participant in the race. Mildred Doran was a passenger in the Miss Doran, a plane named for her, even though “there were a lot of capable female pilots at that time. They just weren’t in the race.” In those days, female pilots were “not highly regarded.” Ackerman crafts strong fictional female characters, and places them into actual historical events. She recalls pondering “what it would have been like to be a female pilot in that race,” which is “how Olivia West was born.” Olivia represents “all the women who were pushing limits of their time but not celebrated or even recognized.”

The Uncharted Flight of Olivia West opens in San Diego in 1920, where sixteen-year-old Olivia West has spent months performing odd jobs at the Ryan Flying Company and School of Aviation, hoping for an opportunity to go up in a plane. But Mr. Ryan has been adamant. “A sixteen-year-old girl has no place in a cockpit.” Finally, one Sunday while her father is out fishing, the new pilot, Heath Hazeltine, finally agrees to take her up with him. It is a flight she will never forget on a day that she has no way of knowing will prove life-changing because Olivia finally gets her chance to pursue her dream. By 1927, she has logged four thousand seven hundred twenty-two hours in the air, and flying has become “her life.” Olivia’s first love, none other than Heath, is gone – he joined the Navy without even saying good-bye, breaking Olivia’s heart, and survived a failed attempt to fly to Honolulu. One day, Mr. Mahoney, the new owner of the airfield, relays news of the upcoming Race to Hawai’i to Olivia and the other pilots, but flatly refuses to sponsor her, despite her skills. Undeterred, Olivia determines to get to San Francisco and apply in person to serve as a navigator after her father spots an advertisement in the local newspaper. “I have to do this,” she tells her parents. In her response to the ad, she intentionally omits one salient detail, simply signing the telegram as “OM West.”

In a second third-person narrative, Ackerman introduces readers to Wren. It is 1987 and Wren is a talented artist – she crafts light fixtures from wood and glass, but has not been able to earn a living by selling her creations, so she toils as a waitress. Eighty-four days ago, Wren discovered that her boyfriend, Joe, had been unfaithful. Wren had surrendered her power to and become dependent on Joe, but moved out of his upscale cottage and now she is facing eviction from her tiny studio because she has not been able to pay the rent. For wren, “being homeless, jobless and manless had never been part of the plan. But maybe that was part of the problem. There had been no real plan.” She receives a surprising call from an attorney with shocking news: she has inherited the estate of her great-aunt Portia Kahawai, a woman she only met a couple of times when she was a child. She was her father’s aunt, but her father has not been in her life for some time — he left when she was just four years old ad she hadn’t seen him since. And she knew little about her father’s family. “She wasn’t just an only child; she was an only child of an only parent who was also an only child.” Although Portia did not leave Wren any money, she bequeathed her a property on the Big Island, near Ha’wi’, across the channel from Maui, alon with a hand-written note explaining that the land has been passed to her because she is the last surviving woman in the family. “This is a special place and it’s been sitting idle too long. It is time to change that and make something of it.” Like Olivia so many years ago, Wren has no way of knowing that her life is about to be changed irrevocably and profoundly.

In alternating chapters, Ackerman details the two women’s adventures, decades apart. Olivia talks her way into the navigator role and preparations begin in earnest for the race. But challenges abound for all involved, not the least of which are the logistical considerations. Ackerman’s painstaking research into her subject matter is evident as she describes the various conundrums the explorers must overcome, prime among them the questions of how to carry enough fuel aboard the planes and how to refuel mid-flight. The role of the navigator is critical because if the pilot and navigator are unable to see Oahu and the runway there, the plane will run out of fuel and crash into the ocean or on a nearby island. (The route across the Pacific from California to Hawaii is the longest in the world offering no alternate place to land.) Some of the test flights do not go well and the weather fails to cooperate. Despite talk about postponing the race, Dole is determined to stick to the schedule, largely due to the massive amount of publicity it has generated and the funds that have already been expended. Olivia’s life is further complicated, and her resolve tested, when Heath shows up. He will be piloting one of the planes . . . and wants Olivia to give him a second chance. And the race becomes shrouded in mystery. Could someone be intent on sabotage? Ackerman’s scenes depicting the flight are expertly drafted — tense, suspenseful, and competely riveting — as the pilots and navigtors struggle to overcome numerous potentially deadly hurdles.

Wren travels to the Big Island and discovers that the property she inherited is not just in a remote location. It is uninhabitable. But she has nowhere else to live and no money to procure better accommodations. She sets about renovating the dilapidated old barn, relying on her ingenuity and resolve. The barn is littered with old artifacts, some of which are quite intriguing, especially an old car – likely a 1940 Ford – and an airplane! She enlists a local, Pono Willard, to help her restore both, hoping to sell them. But she becomes interested in the origin and history of her inheritance, and begins searching for answers about not just Portia’s life, but also the lives of her other ancestors. She takes a job as an aide at a local nursing home, unaware that one resident there is the key to all the answers she seeks. Ackerman aptly characterizes Wren’s story as a “coming of age” tale. As the story progresses, the likable and empathetic young woman learns to stand on her own, becomes strong and decisive, and by learning about her past is able to carve out a future for herself.

Ackerman deftly employs Wren’s storyline to explore the mysteries surrounding the race, aspects of which are based on real occurrences. She says she wrote the entire narrative setting forth Olivia’s story first. “The hardest part is to figure out where to weave” the two narratives together without revealing too much too soon, she relates. The two stories advance and integrate seamlessly as Ackerman whisks readers back to 1927 just after revealing a salient portion of the story through Wren’s explorations, providing background details and clues to how her captivating and fully developed characters’ lives have intersected. When all the pieces fall into place, with Ackerman revealing her characters’ fates, the result is emotionally satisfying if, in some aspects, bittersweet.

Once again, Ackerman has penned a cohesive, compelling story featuring strong female characters who exhibit bravery, tenacity, and resilience. Olivia is a woman ahead of her time, insistent upon pursuing her love of flying and refusing to be limited or constrained by her gender. Despite her petite stature, she is powerful and stands strong, refusing to be denied opportunities that are routinely provided to men, demonstrating her prowess, and commanding respect. As Wren’s story opens, she is lost and floundering, and is acutely aware that she has arrived at a crossroads. She is also clever and recognizes that her inheritance constitutes a once-in-a-lifetime chance, even though she becomes discouraged and, at times, contemplates giving up. Ackerman surrounds the two characters with a fascinating and eclectic cast of supporting players, each of whom lends context and color to, and advances the story.

The Uncharted Flight of Olivia West is another mesmerizing and cleverly imagined work of historical fiction and a fitting homage to the brave aviators who risked everything to make transoceanic flight a reality.

Excerpt from The Uncharted Flight of Olivia West

Olivia
San Diego, 1920

Livy had been coming to the airfield for months now but still had yet to go up in an airplane. On weekends, when Pa was out fishing, she would offer to wash the planes or do whatever odd jobs she could for a penny, while watching planes go up. Always hoping to get a ride, but so far out of luck. Though not for a lack of trying. She had been pestering Mr. Ryan for months now. “Paying customers only,” was his standard response. “Or students.” But so far, all students were men. A sixteen-year-old girl had no business in a cockpit.

Ryan Flying Company and School of Aviation was on the edge of the Dutch Flats alongside the San Diego Bay and the Marine Corps Recruit Depot, a long Spanish-style building with a tall bell tower in the middle. Palm trees neatly lined up in front like green soldiers at attention. When the tide pulled out, you could smell salty brine and decaying sea life. The hangar was modern and clean, but it was plopped on a brown expanse of hard-packed mud that kicked up dust when dry. Of late, the place had become a magnet for all things aviation.
Mr. Ryan had begun letting other people park their planes here free of charge, and customers flocked for the sightseeing tours.

On a warm Sunday in March, after surviving a long sermon at church with her mother, Livy beelined it to the airfield. A new pilot had been hired for the tours and she was hoping he might be a softy, and maybe, just maybe, she could persuade him to take her up. Such a gloomy and gusty day, with dark clouds threatening rain, meant less people taking a tour. It also happened that Mr. Ryan was in Los Angeles for the week, and what he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him.

Livy was hunched over, wiping down the wheels of Mr. Hall’s biplane, when she heard the incoming engine. She stood up to watch the wobbly machine approach. A storm was brewing to the south, you could taste it in the air, and that always made the pilots nervous. She watched the plane make a precarious drop before leveling off, and then come in for a hard landing. As soon as he came to a stop, the new pilot hopped out of the plane, waiting for his customer and holding a hand out when she finally disembarked. A red-haired woman in heels, face white as chalk.

Livy walked over, wiping her hands on her overalls. “How was it up there today?”

The woman staggered past Livy without even a glance. “Never again.”

The pilot trailed behind his passenger and shrugged. “What can I say? Usually, they’re begging for more.”

Once the woman left, zooming off in a shiny Model T, Livy moseyed over to the hangar and stood in the doorway. The pilot was at the counter drinking a Coke and studying a clipboard. With his goggles pulled up on his head, his thick blond hair stood out in all directions, as though he’d stuck his hand in an electric socket.

Livy cleared her throat.

He looked up. “Can I help you?” he asked.
“I’m Olivia West. I work here.”

More like volunteer and hope that people would pay her, but she could dream.

“Oh, right. Mr. Ryan said you might be here. I’m Heath Hazeltine, new pilot.” He was staring oddly at her, and for a second she wondered if she might have grease on her face, like she often did while working here, but then he said with a shake of his head, “I was expecting something different.”

“I come in on the weekends, wipe down planes and other odd jobs,” she said, for some reason feeling like she had to explain, then added, “I’m learning to fly.”

That was a stretch, too, but she did always listen to the pilots talk, watch how they got the propellers spinning and closely observe the takeoffs and landings. She knew which part of the runway was more rutted with potholes, and which angle was best for approach.

He cocked his head slightly. “That so?”

“It is.”

One side of his mouth turned up, just a hint. “I didn’t know women could fly airplanes, let alone teenage girls.”

Livy felt her whole face go red. “I’ll be seventeen in four months. And I’ll bet I know more about airplanes and weather than you do, especially down here in San Diego.”

All she really knew about him was that he’d come from Los Angeles and had flown in Hollywood some, doing stunts. No one had mentioned anything about him being so young. She had been picturing some old guy with a sun-beaten face and graying hair.

“Feisty. I like it,” he said.

She stood on her tippy toes and straightened up, all five feet three inches. Though her thick curls tucked under the hat added some extra height. “Take me up, and I’ll teach you a thing or two.”

He laughed. “What can you teach me?”

When he smiled, his whole face changed, making him seem even younger and a little less arrogant—and painfully handsome. Livy felt a swoosh in her stomach and her cheeks tingled. He couldn’t have been much older than twenty, and yet there was a certain worldliness about him. She found herself wanting to impress him.

“Like I said, I know everything there is to know about this area. What have you got to lose?” she said.

He looked at his watch. “My new job, for one. And I have another tour in twenty minutes, so even if I wanted to, I couldn’t. Want to help me patch that big pothole in the runway?”

None of the other pilots ever offered to fill the potholes, they always figured someone else would do it. The mud stuck to everything and gave off a rank odor, and a lot of them saw it as beneath them.

“How about I go fill those holes for you, and you take me up after your tour,” she said.

She thought he was going to refuse her, like Mr. Ryan always did, but instead he nodded and said, “You’re on.”

Disbelief flooded through her. “Really?”

“Really. Now get out there before my next customer arrives.”

But the passengers never showed up, most likely on account of the weather, and the books were empty after that. Heath helped Livy up onto the wing with a big, rough hand and a rock-solid arm. He moved like a man who was extremely comfortable in his own skin, as though the world rotated on his time. Livy decided that he was the perfect man for the job. You wanted your first time up to be memorable, but also to be survivable. Confidence was an asset.

“Sure you want to do this? Those clouds look formidable,” he said.

Livy had noticed the band of charcoal clouds at sea, heralding the foul weather moving up from Mexico. A sudden chill came over her, and she tried to blot out the memory that always accompanied storms blowing in. The dark thing that would always be with her, always haunt the recesses of her mind. Blinding salt spray, cold waves smashing over the bow and washing everything from the deck, the sound of her name being stolen by the whipping wind. Olivia! The last moments of his chafed hand holding on to hers. Her heart began to squeeze in on itself, but she willed the thoughts away.

This storm was likely to be a bad one, but hell if she was going to blow her only chance to fly. Timed right, they’d be able to outrun it.

“Positive. From the looks of it, we have about thirty-seven minutes before that front hits here. Just head north along the coast and we should be back in time.”

She climbed into her seat, and he leaned in and tightened the belt on her waist. “Thirty-seven, huh? Not thirty-six?” he said, close enough that she caught a whiff of mint and salt water.

When he pulled away, their eyes met. Chocolate brown with flecks of fire. Her first instinct was to look away, but instead, she held his gaze.

“Nope, thirty-seven. Let’s go, we’re wasting time,” she said. “Oh, and you’ll probably want to come in from the east on your approach. The wind will swing around coming in off the ocean when it moves in.”

When he stepped back, he almost fell off the wing, catching himself on the wire. They both laughed, breaking whatever strange thing it was that had just passed between them. Without another word, he hopped in and started up the engine. After a few sputters, it chugged to life. Livy slid her goggles on, and made sure her cap was strapped tight. The whole plane buzzed, sending vibrations from the tips of her toes to the crown of her head. As they bounced down the runway, gathering speed, she could hardly believe her luck.

One, two, three. Liftoff.

The shift from clunky and earthbound to weightlessness was unmistakable. Everything went light and buoyant and yet Livy was pinned to her seat as the plane went up. It was a steep climb and all she could see was sky in front of her. She let her head fall back and closed her eyes, imagining herself as an albatross soaring. The hum from the wires that held the wings together grew louder the faster they went. Heath let out a holler and Livy found herself half laughing, half crying. It was even more wonderful than she’d imagined.

When they banked to the right and leveled out some, she saw that she had a bird’s eye view of San Diego Bay, Coronado Island and the city itself—white buildings, red roofs and palm trees. The wind from earlier had died down, leaving an eerie stillness in its wake. They flew toward the cliffs of Point Loma and beyond that, the blue Pacific. There were none of the usual bumps and drops that everyone talked about. It was smooth sailing and she was in awe.

About six minutes out, the nose of the plane suddenly pointed skyward and they began climbing sharply. Pretty soon, they were nearly vertical. Livy knew all her specs of the Curtiss JN 4 “Jenny” — top speed was about eighty miles an hour, she dove well, but when climbing fast, she had a tendency to stall. So, what the heck was Heath doing?