Roger Bishop

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Arthur Schlesinger Jr. carved out a unique role for himself in American life. The author of acclaimed works of award-winning American history and biography (including two Pulitzer Prizes and two National Book Awards), he also enthusiastically embraced the role of friend and confidant to significant movers and shakers on the national political stage. He was one of the founders of Americans for Democratic Action and a speechwriter and advisor to presidential candidate Adlai Stevenson, but he is probably best known for his role as a special assistant to President John F. Kennedy.

Schlesinger was also a prolific writer of letters—around 35,000—whose extraordinarily wide range of correspondents included fellow intellectuals, literary figures and many high government officials, such as his longtime friends Hubert Humphrey and Henry Kissinger. On the lighter side, he was glad to answer the questioner who wanted to know why he preferred bow ties and to oblige another who wanted him to draw a sketch of himself. His sons, Andrew and Stephen, have gone through this treasure trove to select the letters that best articulated his essential beliefs and captured the movement of his times. The result is the thoroughly engaging and enlightening The Letters of Arthur Schlesinger, Jr., most of which have never before been seen by the public.

It is fascinating to read of Schlesinger’s relationships and perceptions. In 1946, at a dinner at influential columnist Joseph Alsop’s home, he met John F. Kennedy, then a member of the House of Representatives. “Kennedy seemed sincere and not unintelligent, but kind of on the conservative side,” he reported to his parents. By 1955, when Kennedy was in the Senate, he and Schlesinger had become friends, and Kennedy asked the historian to read his rough manuscript for Profiles in Courage and be “ruthlessly frank in giving me your criticism, comments and suggestions”—which Schlesinger was.

Politicians occasionally asked for his advice, and he would help if he could. At the same time he would often presumptuously send them unsolicited suggestions, sometimes at great length. He was especially concerned, for example, with the way Kennedy and Stevenson dealt with the issue of civil rights, a subject he felt passionately about.

Schlesinger did not shy away from disagreement with his correspondents. He and close friend John Kenneth Galbraith parted ways on the presidential race in 1980. Galbraith supported President Carter, while Schlesinger, who was disappointed with Carter’s first-term performance, backed independent John Anderson. Schlesinger wrote to Galbraith: “I really don’t understand why you are so agitated about Reagan. . . . He served two terms as governor of California and, as far as I know, did nothing very much except to flow with the tide. He is an accommodator, not an ideologue.”

I enthusiastically recommend this window into the world of a prominent historian who was also, in more than one way, a man of letters.

Arthur Schlesinger Jr. carved out a unique role for himself in American life. The author of acclaimed works of award-winning American history and biography (including two Pulitzer Prizes and two National Book Awards), he also enthusiastically embraced the role of friend and confidant to significant…

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As December 1914 drew to a close in Europe, neither side in the war, which had begun in August, had managed a strategic breakthrough. Any early romantic ideals of war by soldiers and civilians had been replaced by terrible realities: death, destruction, suffering and hardship for thousands. In Catastrophe 1914: Europe Goes to War, a deeply researched and eminently readable overview of the breakdown of diplomacy and the first five months of conflict, military historian Max Hastings expertly explains the events of the war up to that point. Of the many theories of the origins of the war, he thinks the only untenable one is that it was the result of a series of accidents. “The leaders of all the great powers believed themselves to be acting rationally” and pursuing attainable objectives, he argues. He prefers the term “deniers” for those leaders rather than “sleepwalkers,” which indicates they were not conscious of their decisions.

Hastings details the evidence that shows that, although other nations were responsible in some ways, Germany bore principal blame for starting the war. The great question for him is: Who was making key decisions in Germany about going to war? Many in Europe assumed there would be a war, and it is a myth that many expected it to be a short one; in fact, soldiers everywhere anticipated a protracted conflict. Even though the horrors they experienced in those first few months diminished much of their early enthusiasm, nations which have paid the huge moral, political and financial price for entering a conflict are rarely interested in stopping as long as they think they have a good chance of winning.

“A dominant theme of the campaigns of 1914,” Hastings writes, “was the mismatch between the towering ambitions of Europe’s warlords, and the inadequate means with which they set about fulfilling them.” Among other concerns, there were chronic shortages of food, clothing and weapons. Thousands of draught and pack animals were used for every form of transport and were often victims of incompetent or brutal handling. Telephones, a major means of communication, were in short supply.

Commanders on both sides greatly underestimated their opponents. All of the armies involved had an exaggerated belief in human courage and the will to win, believing that those qualities could overcome the power of modern technology. On August 22, the French army lost 27,000 men, casualties on a scale never surpassed by the army of any other nation in a single day of the war. The best estimates are that France suffered well over a million casualties (killed, wounded, missing or captured) in the first five months of the war, including 329,000 dead. The Germans had 800,000 casualties during that same period.

The author’s broad canvas includes discussions of important subjects, such as the crucial role played by the Royal Navy in denying victory to Germany in 1914 by keeping Allied commerce going. He notes that Great Britain was the only major power to have a parliamentary debate on entry into the war, but the lawmakers were not invited to vote on the matter. There is a focus on the Serbian and Galician fronts, usually not well known by Western readers. Other subjects include civilian atrocities, war profiteering, class distinctions and harsh discipline in the military.

Hastings has been a foreign correspondent and a newspaper editor and is the author of several highly acclaimed works, including Inferno: The World at War, 1939-1945. He gives us a realistic and unsentimental view of war and its consequences not only for combatants, but also for the civilians who were caught up in circumstances that changed their lives forever. This excellent authoritative account is a major triumph.

As December 1914 drew to a close in Europe, neither side in the war, which had begun in August, had managed a strategic breakthrough. Any early romantic ideals of war by soldiers and civilians had been replaced by terrible realities: death, destruction, suffering and hardship…

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Oliver Wendell Holmes Jr. is known as the Great Dissenter because of his notable dissents as an associate justice of the Supreme Court, yet he did not generally like to dissent. He would sometimes return an opinion from another justice with a note saying that although he disagreed with his colleague on the issue he would not say so publicly. He did not want to be a source of friction and felt that a public dissent might confuse the public and reflect negatively on the credibility of the Court.

His reluctance to dissent makes what is often thought to be his most important dissent—perhaps even the most important minority opinion in American legal history—all the more remarkable. And that it should be about the First Amendment and free speech, a subject on which he had always previously sided with the conservative members of the Court, makes it even more unusual. In this case, Abrams v. United States, Holmes proposed an expansive interpretation of the First Amendment that would protect all but the most immediately dangerous speech. Thomas Healy describes how Holmes’ personal and intellectual transformation came about in his superb new book, The Great Dissent: How Oliver Wendell Holmes Changed His Mind—and Changed the History of Free Speech in America.

The prevailing legal understanding about free speech in the U.S. in the early 20th century was the so-called Blackstonian view, named for William Blackstone, the preeminent English jurist of the 18th century. In a nutshell, it said that individuals did not need government approval before they spoke, but once they did speak or write something they could be jailed or fined for even the most innocuous statements. Progressive thinkers and activists thought this was too restrictive: Why call it free speech if you could be subject to punishment for anything you said or wrote?

Healy does an excellent job in bringing Holmes, a complex and fascinating man, to life. He was an outstanding legal scholar, an eloquent writer, a Civil War veteran, and very well read; he had been a solidly conservative judge both in Massachusetts and on the Supreme Court, to which he was appointed in 1902. Surprisingly, he was open to the friendship of much younger men whom he respected, and he enjoyed discussing ideas with them, although he had little sympathy for the progressive causes and social reforms they supported. This group included Felix Frankfurter, Walter Lippmann and Holmes’ favorite, Harold Laski, who taught history at Harvard. Healy shows, in some detail, how these men, along with the help of Judge Learned Hand and Holmes’ Supreme Court colleague Louis Brandeis, among others, were able to change Holmes’ views. They engaged him in personal conversations and in letters. They recommended books and articles to him that slowly brought him to a more liberal view of free speech. Laski also introduced Holmes to Zechariah Chafee Jr., a Harvard law professor who had been critical of Holmes’ earlier free speech rulings and was instrumental in changing the justice’s mind.

Healy takes us through the 17 months of intellectual exploration and emotional growth, wartime hysteria and terrorist plots leading up to the famous dissent. He masterfully guides us through related cases that the Supreme Court decided during this period and explains why the 12 paragraphs of Holmes’ carefully reasoned and eloquently expressed dissent were and remain so important. A key point Holmes emphasized is that, since we can never be sure that we are right about everything, we should gather as much information as we can. To do that, he believed there must be, as he put it, “free trade in ideas.”

This is an important book, written for the general public, about how one Supreme Court justice reached a crucial decision that continues to influence cases dealing with free speech today. Healy is a law school professor who has also been a Supreme Court correspondent for the Baltimore Sun. He has written extensively about free speech, the Constitution and the federal courts. The Great Dissent succeeds as outstanding personal, intellectual and legal history.

Oliver Wendell Holmes Jr. is known as the Great Dissenter because of his notable dissents as an associate justice of the Supreme Court, yet he did not generally like to dissent. He would sometimes return an opinion from another justice with a note saying that…

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When John Quincy Adams died in 1848, much of the nation was in the midst of exuberance and exultation. For many people it was a time of great optimism, for reasons including the discovery of gold in California and the establishment of the new Free Soil political party. At the same time, there was also greed, violence and a refusal by many to consider a solution to the nation’s most controversial issue: slavery. In her masterful, sweeping synthesis of a transformative time, Ecstatic Nation: Confidence, Crisis, and Compromise, 1848-1877, Brenda Wineapple explores what followed Adams’ death in a wonderfully readable book that holds our interest on every page. It is a rare combination of cultural, political, intellectual and military history that brings this pivotal period to vivid life.

Delegates to the Constitutional Convention, realizing that their entire project could rise or fall depending on how they handled the issue of slavery, had decided to leave the word “slave” out of their final document. Through the years other compromises were reached on slavery until the word “compromise” went from being regarded as an act of statesmanship to an epithet. The abolitionist Wendell Phillips noted, “The great poison of the age is race hatred,” which affected white attitudes not only toward black slaves but also toward Native Americans.

By the spring of 1866, in the wake of the Civil War, Elizabeth Cady Stanton declared the women’s rights movement was in “deep water.” Led by Frederick Douglass and Henry Ward Beecher, among others, the American Equal Rights Association was created to lobby the government for equal rights for all, female and male, black and white. But many abolitionists felt it was only the “Negro’s hour,” rather than, as Stanton said it should be, the “nation’s hour.”

Wineapple introduces us to familiar names such as Clara Barton and P.T. Barnum, as well as a wide array of lesser-known figures, such as Lydia Maria Child, a popular author of children’s literature who was also an abolitionist. Child is best known today for the Thanksgiving Day jingle “Over the river, and through the wood,” but her other works included an influential book advocating immediate emancipation of the slaves, a novel about interracial marriage and a compilation on the condition of women.

In Ecstatic Nation, Wineapple offers a beautifully written and skillfully woven narrative that anyone interested in American history should enjoy.

When John Quincy Adams died in 1848, much of the nation was in the midst of exuberance and exultation. For many people it was a time of great optimism, for reasons including the discovery of gold in California and the establishment of the new Free…

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When cultural landscape historian Mac Griswold first saw the boxwoods in 1984, they appeared to be 12 feet tall and 15 feet wide. She knew immediately that the slow-growing shrubs must be hundreds of years old. As she learned later, the house, built in the 1650s, and gardens beyond were known as Sylvester Manor, and had been there a long time: through 11 generations over three and a half centuries. Finding out as much as she could about the manor and the people who lived there became Griswold’s history project for many years. The research and excavation continues, but she shares her exciting and complex—and surprising—journey with us in her extraordinary book, The Manor: Three Centuries at a Slave Plantation on Long Island.

Long before large plantations were created in the American South, there were many plantations along the New England coast. They were provisioning plantations, part of what is called “the Atlantic system,” a constantly changing web of connections in trading and shipping that kept the system going. Sylvester Manor, on Shelter Island between the North and South Forks of Long Island, New York, is the earliest of these plantations to survive in essentially complete form. It was the first Northern provisioning plantation to be systematically excavated. As was the case with the better-known plantations in the South, these Northern plantations depended on the labor of African slaves. The workers also included Native Americans and indentured servants. Griswold speculates that this Northern slavery may be harder to grasp because the numbers of slaves were smaller and the labor arrangements and tasks more varied.

Landscape historian Griswold discovered a little-known story on a Long Island plantation.

Nathaniel and Grizzell Sylvester, the married couple who established the Manor, came from quite different backgrounds. Nathaniel was born in Amsterdam in 1620, where his father, who had immigrated from England, had become wealthy and developed connections that would help his sons establish themselves as significant players in shipping. Nathaniel’s roots in entrepreneurial Amsterdam and his time spent in Barbados—on a plantation owned by his brother, Constant, where he first dealt with the practice of slavery—shaped his approach to Sylvester Manor. Grizzell Brinley was born in England in 1636, where her father was an auditor in the court of Charles I. Changing political winds in England led Grizzell’s family to send her, in 1650, with her sister and brother-in-law to the New World: a quite different life than the one she had expected to live.

Several revelations stand out in Griswold’s research. In her first tour of the house she hears about a “slave staircase,” but the steps are blocked. This is the first indication to her that although they were often called “servants” in this period, in fact it was slaves who built the house. Later on, it became clear that the slaves did live in the same house as their owners, a policy that appears to have continued until at least the mid-18th century. Common housing also was the case, we now know, for the earliest planters of Virginia and Maryland.

Another revelation is that, contrary to what Griswold was originally told, the Sylvesters were not only slaveholders but also converts to the Society of Friends. Nathaniel had grown up as a religious nonconformist and would have been receptive to the Quakers’ radical message, in opposition to the more restrictive Puritans. Nathaniel’s unique and courageous contribution was to offer a lawful sanctuary to Quakers in a region where they were most severely prosecuted. Ship captains knew they could leave Quaker passengers on Shelter Island and they would be safe. Grizzell had been raised as an Anglican and, in her new circumstances, participated in studies of the Bible and theology. Although Quaker leader George Fox and others preached freedom for the slaves, the slaveholders among their ranks did not release their slaves for many years. Their wealth and status was too strongly dependent on this source of labor.

Griswold’s engaging book takes the reader with her on a voyage of discovery over years of meticulous research from many sources, including fascinating treasures found in a vault in the house. She presents her material in such a way that we feel we learn about the lives of the inhabitants of the house at the same time as the author.

The focus on this one plantation raises—and is able to answer—some questions about relationships between and among European colonists, African slaves, Native Americans and slaveholding Quakers. This fine book shines light on an important but little-known (at least to the general public) aspect of our history.

When cultural landscape historian Mac Griswold first saw the boxwoods in 1984, they appeared to be 12 feet tall and 15 feet wide. She knew immediately that the slow-growing shrubs must be hundreds of years old. As she learned later, the house, built in the…

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Decisions made by the Continental Congress in Philadelphia and the Continental Army in New England between May and October of 1776 were crucial to everything that happened later in the American Revolution. Members of those groups were committed to what each understood to be independence—or “the Cause,” as it was called—but there was wide disagreement on what independence actually meant. Though the actions of the Congress were strongly influenced by what the Army did, and vice versa, they were often not in sync. For example, George Washington understood that the troops he was leading were part of a unified American effort to leave the British Empire even before delegates meeting in Philadelphia had made an official statement to that effect.

As Joseph J. Ellis, a master historian of early American history, writes in his magnificent new book Revolutionary Summer, the political and military aspects of the Revolution are “two sides of a single story, which are incomprehensible unless told together.” Ellis tells that story with his characteristic clarity and insight, taking events we think we know about and making them fresh and compelling.

By viewing the complex mix of events from many angles, including the decade of decisions that led the colonies to break with Britain and British military strategy when the largest armada to ever cross the Atlantic Ocean reached New York, Ellis shows how close the American Revolution came to not happening. One key difference of perspective between the Congress and the Army was regarding the Army itself. Washington felt keenly that only a standing professional army could defeat the British, who had a huge advantage in numbers and experience; a militia alone would not be enough. Many delegates to the Congress hoped for a diplomatic solution, but, if it came to war, they wanted to win. Yet they opposed a “standing army” as a threat to republican principles. John Adams, as chair of the Board of War and Ordnance, was the vital link between the Congress and the Army, trying to keep both focused on the ultimate goal.

Of all the many important roles Adams played in public life, Ellis believes that this was his finest hour. But then, Adams did so much in the Congress. He was to claim in later years, for example, that it was his resolution of May 15, 1776, to replace colonial constitutions with new state constitutions that was the real declaration of independence. His resolution was distinctive in that it rejected British authority but also asserted the need to create state governments to replace discredited British rule. In addition, it was the first time an official document from the Congress implied that the king was an accomplice in the conflict. Jefferson’s declaration came six weeks later.

Ellis devotes much attention to the Army’s attempt to defend New York, where a large segment of the population remained loyal to the crown and did not wish to be defended. Yet there had been little discussion in the Congress about the wisdom of trying to defend the city. And it didn’t help that the Congress ordered Washington to release six of his regiments to support an ill-conceived plan to capture Quebec. The serious mistake Washington had made in trying to defend New York led to devastating losses and humiliating retreat. The valuable lesson, however, that Washington took from that experience—and it was contrary to all his instincts—was that his goal was not to win the war but instead not to lose it.

From the British side, if its military leaders in North America, Richard Howe and William Howe, had prosecuted the war more aggressively, the Continental Army would have been annihilated and the American Revolution would never have gone forward. Instead, they chose to defeat the enemy rather than completely crushing it, and the war continued. The Howe brothers aspired to be diplomats and hoped that they could negotiate a peaceful resolution to the conflict.

In Revolutionary Summer, Ellis, winner of both the Pulitzer Prize (for Founding Brothers) and the National Book Award (for American Sphinx), gives readers an engrossing narrative that skillfully conveys the improvisations of both the Congress and the Army as they sought to achieve independence. This extremely readable book is an authoritative and sophisticated gem that can be enjoyed whether one knows a little or a lot about the American Revolution.

Decisions made by the Continental Congress in Philadelphia and the Continental Army in New England between May and October of 1776 were crucial to everything that happened later in the American Revolution. Members of those groups were committed to what each understood to be independence—or…

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John Hay modestly insisted that the unique opportunities that came his way during an extraordinary life, and the accomplishments that resulted from them, were just the result of fortunate accidents. His public career began when he was in his 20s and became the assistant private secretary to Abraham Lincoln in the White House, where, living and working in close quarters, he grew close to the president. The first entry in Hay’s diary, which he kept through most of the war, was “The White House is turned into barracks,” when—with Confederate campfires visible across the Potomac—some of the first northern volunteers arrived to defend the capital and were temporarily housed in the East Room. As he observed the president struggling day after day with momentous problems, the young man came to consider Lincoln “the greatest man of his time.”

John Taliaferro gives us a fascinating portrait of the life of a greatly gifted figure in All the Great Prizes: The Life of John Hay, from Lincoln to Roosevelt. The title comes from Hay himself, who, as he neared death, wrote, “I cling instinctively to life and the things of life, as eagerly as if I had not had my chance at happiness and gained nearly all the great prizes.”

Hay was born in Indiana and grew up in Warsaw, Illinois, a small town on the Mississippi River, where his father was a physician. Educated at Brown University, where he excelled at rhetoric and wrote a lot of poetry, he returned to Illinois and accepted an offer to read the law at the firm in Springfield where his uncle was a partner. Their office just happened to adjoin Lincoln’s. When Lincoln became a presidential candidate, Hay became an unpaid aide, whose numerous skills during the campaign and immediately after the election made him indispensable to the president-elect.

After his work with Lincoln, Hay accepted several diplomatic appointments and then became a very highly regarded and well-paid editorial writer in New York City—a career Taliaferro surmises he probably would have continued had he not married Clara Louise Stone of Cleveland, Ohio, and became part of her wealthy family. He continued to write for publication and was co-author of the highly acclaimed 10-volume Abraham Lincoln: A History. Late in his life he was among the first seven members inducted into the new American Academy of Arts and Letters, a group that included Mark Twain and William Dean Howells. (Henry James and Henry Adams were not so honored until the following year.)

As a diplomat, he was assistant secretary for Rutherford B. Hayes, after which came the government roles for which he became best known: secretary of state for both William McKinley and Theodore Roosevelt. Taliaferro details the often difficult negotiations that led to such policies as the “Open Door” toward China and the events that led up to the building of the Panama Canal. We also learn how Hay worked with the contrasting leadership styles of McKinley and Roosevelt. McKinley was kind and considerate, T.R. bombastic and ready to charge ahead, while the more moderate Hay counseled caution. Although T.R. praised Hay profusely for many attributes, he also downplayed his role in important decisions.

Hay also occupies a prominent place in The Education of Henry Adams, the unconventional autobiography (if it can be categorized as such) written by Hay’s best friend. Next to Lincoln, no one, not even his wife, played as important a role in Hay’s life as Henry Adams. They eventually had houses built next to each other in Washington and took afternoon walks together. Both were very independent and their views often differed, but they had great respect for each other, Hay as a participant in government, Adams as a spectator. They also shared an interest in Elizabeth Cameron, an impressive woman much younger than they were. Although apparently happily married to Clara, Hay remained in love with “Lizzie” until he died. Despite his sometimes romantic letters to her, it is obvious that she was never as dedicated to him as he was to her.

Taliaferro draws on many sources for his engaging biography, including his subject’s own words. Although known for his gentlemanly approach to others as well as his wit and charm, Hay was plainly aware of his place in history. He kept thousands of pages of his own writing—diaries, letters, speeches, poetry and scrapbooks of newspaper clippings about his role in the events of his time.

This balanced, insightful biography is a delight to read.

John Hay modestly insisted that the unique opportunities that came his way during an extraordinary life, and the accomplishments that resulted from them, were just the result of fortunate accidents. His public career began when he was in his 20s and became the assistant private…

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Abraham Lincoln regarded the Emancipation Proclamation as “the central act of my administration and the great event of the nineteenth century” because it “knocked the bottom out of slavery.” He announced the Proclamation in September of 1862 and signed it into law in January of 1863. Like most decisions Lincoln made during his presidency, it was controversial both to those in sympathy with the Proclamation, because it was too narrow (for example, it did not address slavery in loyal areas), and to those opposed, who felt it went too far. But the decree led to constitutional amendments that outlawed slavery completely and recognized men and women who had been freed as equal citizens. Many other of Lincoln’s decisions in that tumultuous year of 1862 had both long-term and short-range consequences for the future of the nation.

In Rise to Greatness, David Von Drehle guides us through the year chronologically and makes a strong case for his view that it was “the most eventful year in American history and perhaps the most misunderstood.” Among other things, it was the year the Civil War became a cataclysm and the Confederacy came as close to winning the war as it ever would. The country was transformed by advances in ways of communication, transportation, education and industrial growth. Most importantly, the author says, it was the year “Abraham Lincoln rose to greatness.”

Von Drehle’s compelling narrative details the tightrope that Lincoln walked. It is important to remember that Lincoln’s generation of political leaders had grown up in a country where the possibility of disunion was always present but each time a compromise had always averted war. Many felt that the way to hold the country together was to avoid the issue of slavery as much as possible. But that was not to be this time. Lincoln dealt with political and military realities each day. For the latter responsibilities, he taught himself enough to become a competent, but by no means flawless, strategist. Von Drehle devotes much space to the crucial conflict between Lincoln and General George McClellan, who consistently found reasons, or excuses, to keep his troops out of action when potential Union victories would help win the war and raise morale. McClellan, who aspired to the presidency himself (and was the nominee of the Democrats in 1864), attributed any setbacks he suffered to insufficient support from the Lincoln administration.

Politically, Lincoln used every bit of his judgment, cunning and pragmatism to hold the Union together. One of the most effective strategies was his use of patronage to give all of the factions in the country a stake in the success of the Union forces. Some political leaders did have military experience, others did not, but if Lincoln felt it would be helpful to the cause he did not hesitate to name generals regardless of experience.

Von Drehle demonstrates the pressure on Lincoln that came from every direction. In addition to pressure from political foes and friends in the U.S., the president was attentive to British and French reactions and the possibility of their intervention on the side of the Confederacy, not least because of the economic suffering the war caused across the Atlantic. Only late in the year did this concern diminish.

On top of everything else, Lincoln and his wife, Mary Todd, remained grief-stricken over the death of their son Willie on February 12, his father’s 53rd birthday. Another son, Tad, was also seriously ill but recovered. Lincoln also had to deal with his wife’s excessive spending and her attempts to cover it up.

Von Drehle, the author of the acclaimed and award-winning Triangle, has written a well-researched and thoroughly engaging exploration of how Lincoln met the overwhelming challenges of a crucial year in the nation’s history.

Abraham Lincoln regarded the Emancipation Proclamation as “the central act of my administration and the great event of the nineteenth century” because it “knocked the bottom out of slavery.” He announced the Proclamation in September of 1862 and signed it into law in January of…

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When Archduke Franz Ferdinand, the heir apparent to the Austro-Hungarian throne, and his wife, Sophie, were assassinated on June 28, 1914, in Sarajevo, there was no outpouring of collective grief. The archduke was not charismatic, had few friends and was selected as heir only because the emperor’s son had committed suicide. How could his death have led to a war into which the major world powers—Germany, Russia, France, Austria-Hungary, Britain, Italy, plus the Ottoman Empire and the states of the Balkan peninsula—were soon drawn? How did a conflict that was first known as the Third Balkan War mutate into what we now call World War I, a war in which more than 15 million people were killed and empires were destroyed? Noted historian Christopher Clark is keenly aware of the difficulties in finding answers to these questions. As he writes in his painstakingly researched, masterfully written and wonderfully readable new book, The Sleepwalkers: How Europe Went to War in 1914, “There is virtually no viewpoint on its origins that cannot be supported from a selection of the available sources.”

In this ambitious and richly textured overview, Clark is more concerned with how the war came about than why. Rather than focus on large concepts, such as nationalism, imperialism or an arms race, he deals with how the key decision-makers arrived at the choices they made when faced with the 37-day July Crisis that led to war. Clark goes back to the years before the war, in some cases many years before, to understand the alliances or treaties that bound certain states together. As he explains, “Alliances, like constitutions, are at best only an approximate guide to political realities.”

Readers are introduced to a large and diverse cast of decision-makers, many of whom had known each other for years. Because of these long-term relationships, Clark writes, “Beneath the surface of many of the key transactions lurked personal antipathies and long-remembered injuries.” The best known of these were the three imperial cousins: Tsar Nicholas II of Russia, Kaiser Wilhelm of Germany and King George V of England. As we see, though, the early 20th-century monarchs only had a relatively modest impact on actual policy decisions. Often it was ambassadors or military commanders who either developed policies or took policy-driving initiatives.

Article 231 of the Versailles Peace Treaty stated that Germany and her allies were morally responsible for the outbreak of the war. But Clark argues that “the Germans were not the only imperialists and not the only ones to subscribe to paranoia. The crisis that brought war in 1914 was the fruit of a shared political culture.” He brings that culture vividly to life for readers. The Sleepwalkers is certainly one of the best books on World War I to be published in recent times.

When Archduke Franz Ferdinand, the heir apparent to the Austro-Hungarian throne, and his wife, Sophie, were assassinated on June 28, 1914, in Sarajevo, there was no outpouring of collective grief. The archduke was not charismatic, had few friends and was selected as heir only because…

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When Warren G. Harding died in office in 1923, in the midst of scandalous behavior by some members of his administration, his relatively little-known vice president, Calvin Coolidge, assumed the presidency. With a strong commitment to service and the dignity of the office and a core belief that less government was better, he restored trust and confidence. Coolidge went on to win a landslide victory in the 1924 presidential race. Many of his fellow Republicans wanted him to run again in 1928 and thought he could have won easily.

As president, he focused intensely on control of the federal budget, and his notable achievements included lowering the federal debt significantly and leaving budget surpluses while at the same time reducing the top income tax rate by half, and bringing unemployment down to three percent. He vetoed most spending bills, including those that would have benefited such groups as World War I veterans and farmers. Amity Shlaes is right on target when, in her enlightening biography Coolidge, she calls him “our great refrainer.” At the same time, the country’s economy grew strongly, and when Coolidge left office the federal government was smaller than it had been when he became president in 1923.

Despite these accomplishments, Coolidge is usually not ranked among our best presidents. One of the primary reasons is that shortly after he left office, the stock market crashed in October 1929, and the country began to descend into the Great Depression. Indeed, some readers may be surprised to learn that, as one of his closest aides recalled, Coolidge had seen economic disaster ahead but believed it was wrong to do anything about it.

Shlaes, author of the bestsellers The Forgotten Man and The Greedy Hand, guides us through Coolidge’s life, from his childhood in Vermont through a political career that lasted most of his adult life, beginning in 1898, when he was elected as a local councilman, until he left the White House in 1929. Along the way he served as a mayor, Massachusetts state senator and governor, where his leadership in dealing with the Boston police strike of 1919 brought him national attention. Shlaes’ detailed description of that event shows how Coolidge, in defense of the law, broke the strike and restored public order. Although the striking policemen did lose their jobs, Coolidge tried to find other positions for them—but not as policemen, and not in Boston.

Coolidge’s response to the greatest national emergency of his presidency perhaps demonstrates most dramatically his beliefs about the national government’s limited role in such a situation. During the disastrous Mississippi River flood of 1927, Coolidge did not think it was appropriate for a U.S. president to go into governors’ territory. He established and tested a policy position for the federal government: rescue operations, yes; reconstruction, no. He believed the latter should be the responsibility of the states. Coolidge did have his commerce secretary, Herbert Hoover, who had extensive experience with relief work, head an effort to help, but Coolidge himself did not visit the afflicted areas, and when his own New England suffered the same kind of natural disaster later, he also refused to go.

Readers will appreciate a glimpse into Coolidge’s personal life as well. Shlaes tells us about the importance of Coolidge’s wife, Grace, in his work and his political career. It was an attraction of opposites: He was a man of few words, while she was outgoing, but both had wide-ranging interests and shared a belief in the importance of family. They were devastated when one of their two sons, Calvin Jr., died during their time in the White House.

Toward the end of his life, Coolidge spoke about the “importance of the obvious.” For him, that included his core beliefs: the importance of perseverance, property rights, contracts, civility to one’s opponents, silence, smaller government, trust, certainty, respect for faith, federalism and thrift. Probably his best-known public statement was, “The chief business of America is business.” But, Shlaes points out, there was a counterweight to business, as he articulated later in the same speech: “The chief ideal of America is idealism.”

In this detailed and illuminating biography, Shlaes helps us to better understand Calvin Coolidge and his era, and makes a strong case that he deserves to be more highly regarded by historians.

When Warren G. Harding died in office in 1923, in the midst of scandalous behavior by some members of his administration, his relatively little-known vice president, Calvin Coolidge, assumed the presidency. With a strong commitment to service and the dignity of the office and a…

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Throughout U.S. history, presidents and vice presidents usually have not been close to each other. One has all the power of his office; the other does not. That invariably leads to many opportunities for misunderstandings, slights and mistrust. The mix is especially difficult if the president is an elder statesman and the symbol of victory in World War II, known to the public as being “above politics,” and the vice president is an ambitious young politician with a reputation as a ruthless campaigner.

Such is the situation Jeffrey Frank explores in Ike and Dick: Portrait of a Strange Political Marriage. “There was never a real breach, there was, rather, a fluctuating level of discomfort,” he writes. Dwight Eisenhower’s attitude toward Richard Nixon ranged from “mild disdain to hesitant respect.” Yet their relationship continued—especially through the marriage of Nixon’s daughter, Julie, and Eisenhower’s grandson, David—until Ike’s death in 1969, shortly after Nixon was elected president.

Exactly how their coupling as a political team began is something of a mystery. No one present in the Chicago hotel room where Nixon was chosen by Republican Party leaders seems to have a clear memory of what happened. Eisenhower seems to have taken a back seat in the selection process. Until his own nomination, Eisenhower did not realize that he would need to name a vice-presidential candidate. Three years later, when he was asked about his role in the VP choice, he replied that he wrote down the names of five or six younger men he admired, including Nixon, and said to Republican Party leaders that any of them would be acceptable to him.

The two men barely knew each other, but Nixon understood that any hard partisan campaigning would be up to him while Ike remained, as much as possible, above the fray. This was to remain the pattern throughout their two terms in office, and it affected how the public regarded them. In addition, Ike used Nixon for such unpleasant tasks as firing his chief of staff, Sherman Adams, who had become the focus of a scandal.

Nixon pointed out much later that Ike was “a far more complex and devious man than most people realized.” This first became apparent to Nixon during the initial campaign when reports of a “Secret Nixon Fund,” supported by millionaires, came to light, and Eisenhower did not rush to the defense of his running mate. It was not until the generally positive reaction to Nixon’s nationally televised “Checkers” speech to explain himself that Ike expressed his support.

Frank devotes a revelatory chapter to the circumstances surrounding the speech. Shortly before he went on the air, Nixon was told that “all of Eisenhower’s top advisers” wanted him to end his remarks by submitting his resignation to Ike. Nixon came to understand that this “suggestion” was what Ike also wanted. Nixon refused, and after that neither man felt he could completely trust the other.

Nixon craved Ike’s approval, though, and the maneuvering between the two men to achieve their individual objectives runs throughout the book. Once in office, Ike made lists of other men who would make good vice presidents, and raised questions—both publicly and privately—about Nixon’s suitability for the presidency. In 1955, even before Eisenhower had decided to run for re-election, he proposed that Nixon accept a cabinet position in a new administration. And in 1956, he did nothing to stop the effort to replace Nixon on the Republican ticket.

This lively narrative touches on various personalities whose relationships with Nixon were particularly important. He became close to John Foster Dulles, the secretary of state, who tried to give Nixon a larger role in the administration. Nixon was the one major official at the time who made a special effort to meet regularly with black leaders. He had been on friendly terms with Martin Luther King Jr. for several years when, in 1960, during the run-up to the presidential election, King was arrested after a civil rights demonstration and sentenced to prison in Georgia. Yet when Coretta Scott King contacted both presidential campaigns for help, it was John F. Kennedy who returned her call and helped to obtain her husband’s release. Nixon said he had “frequently counseled with Dr. King and [had] a great respect for him,” but he did not want to make what he called “a grandstand play.”

Anyone interested in U.S. politics will enjoy Jeffrey Frank’s absorbing tale of two very different men and their turbulent relationship.

Throughout U.S. history, presidents and vice presidents usually have not been close to each other. One has all the power of his office; the other does not. That invariably leads to many opportunities for misunderstandings, slights and mistrust. The mix is especially difficult if the…

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Many have proclaimed Winston Churchill the greatest statesman of the 20th century. His determination and inspiring speeches played a key role in saving Britain and even Western civilization in the darkest hours of WWII. He was a complex man: demanding, insensitive, ruthless, yet at times generous and apologetic, with a natural affinity for children and animals. He was interested in science and technology but in many ways remained an upper-class Englishman of the late 19th century. He is, in short, a biographer’s dream.

The first two volumes of William Manchester’s biography of Churchill were widely acclaimed. Manchester died in 2004, but not before tapping award-winning journalist Paul Reid to finish the third volume in the trilogy. The Last Lion: Winston Spencer Churchill, Defender of the Realm, 1940-1965 covers Churchill’s first days as Britain’s prime minister (and his return to the office in 1950), the Second World War, the beginnings of the Cold War, the writing of his memoirs and his death.

When Churchill became prime minister in 1940, he had prepared for the moment in many ways for six decades. Yet it is important to remember that his selection was not a popular choice. He was aware of his reputation for changing sides on issues and his history of questionable strategic judgments, so he moved quickly toward reconciliation as he made his choices of War Cabinet officers. In the early days of the war, he reached out many times for help from the United States and received nothing but a sympathetic ear. Even after the U.S. entered the war, it was Churchill who made special efforts to keep the “Big Three” working, more or less, together.

Churchill had no fondness for war. He hated the carnage and regarded the glorification of war as a fraud. But, the authors write, “War’s utility was altogether another matter.” Churchill once told his private secretary, John Colville, that those who say that wars settle nothing were talking nonsense because “nothing in history was ever settled except by war.”

As the authors put it, “Churchill did not simply observe the historical continuum; he made himself part of it. . . . He did not live in the past; the past lived on in him.” This third volume of Manchester’s trilogy took almost 20 years to write, but the narrative never falters. It is a triumph and definitely worth the wait.

Many have proclaimed Winston Churchill the greatest statesman of the 20th century. His determination and inspiring speeches played a key role in saving Britain and even Western civilization in the darkest hours of WWII. He was a complex man: demanding, insensitive, ruthless, yet at times…

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Thomas Jefferson’s eloquent writings have made him revered as the nation’s premier spokesman for democracy. A man of the Enlightenment, he pursued an extraordinary range of interests and served in the nation’s highest offices; a man of contradictions, he cultivated the image of a philosopher who was above the political fray. And yet, as Pulitzer Prize-winning biographer Jon Meacham demonstrates in Thomas Jefferson: The Art of Power, our third president was as much a man of action as he was of ideas.

Meacham’s Jefferson, at his core, was a politician who eagerly sought office where he could work toward the future he envisioned for his country. In his meticulously researched and very readable book, Meacham writes, “The closest thing to a constant in his life was his need for power and control. He tended to mask these drives so effectively . . . the most astute observers of his life and work had trouble detecting them.”

Once in office he emphasized one overarching political concern: the survival and success of popular government. More than George Washington or John Adams, he believed in the possibilities of human beings governing themselves. Like all effective politicians, he articulated the ideal but acted pragmatically, as in the case of the Louisiana Purchase. The philosophical Jefferson thought there first should be a constitutional amendment authorizing the president to purchase new territory. But when it seemed Napoleon might change his mind, the realist Jefferson immediately went ahead with the deal without an amendment. His personal political style was smooth, although he relied on his allies to be more confrontational. Indeed, Meacham believes Jefferson led so quietly that popular history tends to downplay his presidential achievements.

The book also examines Jefferson’s hypocrisy on slavery. He knew slavery was morally wrong but he could not bring himself to sacrifice his own way of life on an issue whose time, as he saw it, had not yet come. After attempts early in his career to limit slavery, he gave up trying, concluding that to pursue it would end whatever future he might have in public life.

Jefferson comes alive in this discerning and elegant biography, surely one of the best single volumes about him written in our time.

Thomas Jefferson’s eloquent writings have made him revered as the nation’s premier spokesman for democracy. A man of the Enlightenment, he pursued an extraordinary range of interests and served in the nation’s highest offices; a man of contradictions, he cultivated the image of a philosopher…

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