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.

Since elementary school, we’ve been told that the American Revolution was the work of such luminaries as George Washington, Benjamin Franklin and Thomas Jefferson. But there were a number of other patriots who’ve long been neglected by the history books, and it is time to give them their due. This is the premise of Nathaniel Philbrick’s Bunker Hill, a marvelous book that recaps the highlights of the birth of our nation, while adding new insights into our history.

We know from our history lessons that on June 17, 1775, a group of inexperienced colonists repelled two assaults by highly trained British forces on Bunker Hill and adjoining Breed’s Hill. The colonists were scattered on the third assault, but the British suffered heavy casualties, and Bunker Hill became a symbol of the grit and determination of the colonists and their struggle for independence.

As in his previous books, including the bestsellers Mayflower and In the Heart of the Sea, Philbrick immerses himself in his subject; like a detective, he doesn’t quit until every stone is turned. He writes of the Battle of Bunker Hill in rich detail and gives credit to such heroes as Colonel William Prescott, Colonel John Stark and General Israel Putnam. But Bunker Hill isn’t a book about one battle. It also covers other important aspects of the American Revolution, such as the Boston Tea Party and Paul Revere’s Ride. And in telling these tales, Philbrick places the spotlight on heroes who rarely get proper credit.

Consider Dr. Joseph Warren, who was the field commander at Bunker Hill and who lost his life in the third assault by the British. Warren was a key figure in Boston, and the one who gave Revere his orders on April 18, 1775, to mount his horse and warn the colonists of the arrival of the British. Another strong figure was Mercy Scollay, Warren’s fiancée, who cared for his four orphaned children after his death.

Bunker Hill helps humanize history, bringing to life characters that we’ve heretofore only known as two-dimensional figures, if at all. It will appeal equally to both serious history buffs and casual readers looking for something lively and enlightening.

Few experiences are as exhilarating as watching a bully being brought to his knees. And if his former victims have had a hand in his collapse, it’s all the more delicious. That, in essence, is the scene Bruce Levine presents in The Fall of the House of Dixie as he traces the smug rise and ignominious fall of the Confederacy in America’s Civil War. Levine offers a fresh perspective on this oft-told story by relying heavily on personal letters, journals and diaries to reveal just how vile, self-serving and, ultimately, delusional the slaveholders were.

Brushing aside the notion that slavery was merely one of many issues over which the war was fought, Levine, a professor of history at the University of Illinois, shows that it was at the center of everything—the economy, culture, social relationships and worldview. While it was true that most Southerners didn’t own slaves, those most active in the push for secession did—and they were the ones who stood to gain the most if the war went their way. After describing the brutal conditions under which slaves lived, Levine then quotes a series of masters on how happy and contented their slaves are with their lot. “A fascinating quality of the human mind is its ability to hold firmly and simultaneously two contradictory ideas,” he observes wryly.

The dynamics of the war, even when the South seemed to be winning, made slavery increasingly untenable. Both sides needed their labor for military purposes, which gave blacks a certain leverage. With the men of the plantations away, it was more difficult to keep the slaves subdued and productive at home—and impossible to keep them from hearing the siren call of liberation, especially as Northern armies took control of the Mississippi and the vital port of New Orleans, and as General Sherman’s forces did their scorched-earth march from Atlanta to Savannah. Yet many slaveholders, instead of becoming gallantly self-sacrificing when the South needed them most, clung to their sense of entitlement, refusing to contribute war materials, pay higher taxes or allow their slaves to be used for the common good. Nobody was going to tell them what to do.

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.