Having just finished another Ann Rinaldi novel, My Vicksburg, I find myself reflecting on some disturbing patterns that mark her work. Rinaldi’s books are nothing if not uneven. At their best, they provide interesting, historically rich narratives with strong female protagonists; at their worst, they lean into a troubling subversiveness that seems to delight in portraying rebellion marked by deception and manipulation as a moral good.

In My Vicksburg, Rinaldi focuses on a little-known but true fact: during the Union siege of Vicksburg, residents of the town moved into caves to live away from the mortar blasts. The story revolves around Claire Louise, a teenage girl living in one such cave with her mother, younger brother, and one of the family’s slaves. Claire Louise’s father is a Confederate doctor, her 26-year-old brother, Landon, is a Union doctor. The family’s other slaves remain at the family home, guarding it from looters, despite the danger of cannon blasts.

Compared to other Rinaldi works I’ve read, the “scandal” in this book is significantly toned down. Claire Louise’s acts of rebellion are relatively restrained, yet they still hinge on dishonesty and betrayal to move the plot forward. For instance, when Landon reunites with his family, he brings along a Confederate soldier and patient named Robert, who has become his friend. Landon is principled and deeply conflicted because Robert is responsible for Robert E. Lee’s “lost order,” which contributed to the South’s loss at the Battle of Antietam. Landon knows he must report Robert despite their bond, a decision he struggles to make.

Claire Louise (13), however, becomes infatuated with Robert (26) and goes to great lengths—including lying, sneaking around, stealing, and betraying her brother—to help him escape. Her justification is that she’s sparing her brother the anguish of making a choice he couldn’t live with. Yet, her actions raise significant moral questions. The plot subtly frames her deceit and betrayal as self-sacrificial, even noble, glossing over the unsettling implications of a romance between a teenage girl and a dishonorable adult soldier.

This reflects a larger trend in Rinaldi’s writing: her female characters consistently find themselves in opposition to male authority figures—often middle-aged men—and are forced to resort to morally dubious methods to assert their agency. This pattern is no coincidence. In the author’s note, Rinaldi reveals a fraught and emotionally distant relationship with her father, suggesting this dynamic influenced her storytelling. While this personal context is compelling and provides a lens through which to view her work, it also highlights a troubling aspect of her narratives. Rinaldi doesn’t merely present flawed characters; she elevates their deceit and rebellion as necessary—sometimes even noble—means of empowerment.

What’s most unsettling is how often her characters’ defiance is entwined with manipulation, often portrayed as the only viable path to power for women. This betrayal of her professed feminism feels particularly glaring; instead of showing her heroines as capable of achieving power through strength, intellect, or collaboration, she repeatedly depicts them resorting to unscrupulous tactics.

While My Vicksburg avoids the sexual undertones present in some of her other works, the troubling moral message remains. I don’t object to flawed characters or morally complex narratives. But I do object to an author who seems intent on teaching young readers—particularly girls—that the only way to challenge oppression or assert themselves is through deception and betrayal. It’s a reductive and disheartening message, especially given the richness of the historical settings and the potential for more nuanced portrayals of female empowerment.

While My Vicksburg offers intriguing historical insights, such as the cave dwellings of Vicksburg’s residents, its moral undertones leave much to be desired. Claire Louise’s rebellious actions and her unsettling relationship with Robert subtly reinforce the idea that good ends justify immoral means. Readers should approach this book with caution, particularly when recommending it to young audiences.