What is it with the wildly rich and successful? What's this so-called drive of theirs? Why can't they do like the rest of us when we cash in on our own meager business doings and order in an overpriced pizza with carmelized something or other, splurge $6.95 to watch the wonderful Michael Cera do something wonderful on pay-per-view, and recline in the comfort of knowing we won't be working on the betterment of anything until the checking account dips dangerously close to the red? Oprah, she builds poorly run schools for "less fortunate" boys and girls in far-off countries. Jim Carrey, he jeopardizes his whole career to tackle "serious roles" in a dramatic movies. And author Dennis Lehane, he has to go and expand our "literary horizons" with a beastly 700 page historical novel, The Given Day. People, please. We don't need so many favors! We're getting a complex.

Having had his way with the crime novel, Lehane has taken up the substantial challenge of force-feeeding a few late teenage years in 20th century Boston to those of us accustomed to his previous, movie-inducing story lines (Mystic River and Gone Baby Gone, in particular). Luckily for Lehane (and for us), there's no shortage of material—between 1917 and 1920, Boston weathered a devastating (and grody! Blech!) flu pandemic, a police strike that resulted in city-wide riots, a bomb and beard-laden Bolshevik revolution, and, most painful of all, widespread sobriety after the government banned alcohol consumption in 1919.

Struggling to survive against these odds are Luther Laurence, a young black man, and Danny Coughlin, a strapping Irish policeman who is, almost magically, always at the center of the action (taking our cues from Forrest Gump, are we, Lehane?). In fact, Danny is so brave, so handsome, and so centrally located, that when it comes to the riots, the strikes, and the flu outbreak, it is nearly impossible to relate to him as a real character—even when (or possibly due to) visualizing him as Sean Penn, Kevin Bacon, or any of the assorted Afflecks. (A casting that is surely only a contract and quiche lunch or two away.)

Sure, the words historical and epic have been known to cause narcolepsy when placed consecutively, but when you do wake, you'll find that The Given Day's century-old subject matter is still relevant enough to hold your attention: Humankind-threatening virus? Check. Freedom-threatening terrorists? Oh yes. Omni-threatening government? You betcha.

The Given Day manages to be simultaneously a modern Les Miserables-meets-Norma Rae and a slightly outdated here-meets-now, with the unfailingly cool Lehane saving potentially corny scenes (tortured confessions of doomed love, revolutionaries giving orchestra-swelling speeches, cheesy cop lingo) from being too Spielberg-ian. And while a few more sex scenes might have made the 700 pages go down easier, Lehane appears to have succeeded in his self-tested expansion of our literary horizons. Thanks, man. But can we agree that this will be the last time?