<B>The blues ain’t what they used to be</B> The old argument used to be over whether white folks could play the blues. In his new book, <B>Escaping the Delta: Robert Johnson and the Invention of the Blues</B>, musician/scholar Elijah Wald threatens to stir things up even more with a provocative question: were the great blues musicians really blues musicians after all? Of course the blues exists; it is, in fact, the foundation of modern popular music. Scores of exquisite recordings have been made within this style. These facts are self-evident and so, it would seem, is the recognition that performers as diverse as Ma Rainey, B.B. King, Big Bill Broonzy, Lightnin’ Hopkins and Howlin’ Wolf embody the blues with every note they sang or played.

Yet Wald argues that none of these was only a blues artist. Thanks to the tendency to romanticize those who played the blues, the established (i.e., white) media have obscured the truth that virtually all of these artists also played country, jazz, sentimental pop favorites and other styles they were more similar to today’s wedding bands than to their images as intuitive and unschooled primitives.

Wald makes a two-pronged case. First, he pores through interviews, African-American newspapers and other sources to create a complex image of blues professionals and their audiences: Muddy Waters’ enthusiasm for Gene Autry songs, the astonishing popularity of Lawrence Welk among black rural listeners, and blues guitar icon Lonnie Johnson’s insistence on performing "Tie a Yellow Ribbon" after being "rediscovered" by white folklorists in the ’60s, all suggest that, as Wald dryly observes, "The world is not a simple place." That point made, he applies his research to the case of Robert Johnson, specifically because the brilliant singer/guitarist’s murder at the age of 27 made him a prime target for myth making. Wald’s analysis of Johnson’s music distracts as much at it supports his thesis, but his description of the young man’s professionalism, upscale fashion sense and rapid grasp of studio technique makes it clear that earning a living was a more pressing concern for Johnson than living the life of a folk icon or, worse, a benign ethnic stereotype.

<I>Robert L. Doerschuk, former editor of</I> Musician <I>magazine, writes from Nashville.</I>

Although, as Peter Ackroyd writes, “without London there would have been no Shakespeare,” it was Stratford, where Shakespeare was born, “that remained the center of his being.” He continued to have close ties with Stratford through the years it was where his wife, children and parents lived, where he purchased property from time to time, and where he eventually retired and died. In the dazzling Shakespeare: The Biography, Ackroyd, whose previous subjects include Dickens, Blake, T.S. Eliot, Chaucer and Thomas More, seems to know everything worth knowing about his subject. Beyond that, he possesses a rare ability to convey in a very readable way what it was like to be Shakespeare and to make us feel we know in considerable detail what life in Elizabethan London was like. Moreover, he uses carefully reasoned analysis to help the reader through the thicket of the many theories abut his subject.

Shakespeare “grew up with a profound sense of ambiguity,” writes Ackroyd. “It is one of the informing principles of both his life and his art.” He says it is wrong to look for a personal motive behind Shakespeare’s work. “Nothing in his life and career gives any reason to suggest that he chose a theme or story with any specific intention other than to entertain. He had no message.'” Even Shakespeare’s poems should be regarded “as a performance. . . . All of them are informed by a shaping will, evincing an almost impersonal authority and command of the medium.” Shakespeare was a practical person and a shrewd businessman. Although familiar with the classics he read in school, he was not a scholar, but “learned as much as he needed to learn” for his own purposes. “He was a dramatist. He seems in fact to have distrusted philosophy, rational discourse and sententiousness in all its forms. Abstract language was his abhorrence.” He did not officially have opinions or religious beliefs. “He subdued his nature to whatever in the drama confronted him. He was, in that sense, above faith.” Ackroyd also explains the rise and the importance of the theater in Elizabethan London. At the time, “[a]s the Church became desacralized, so urban society became profoundly ritualistic and spectacular. This is of the utmost importance for any understanding of Shakespeare’s genius. He thrived in a city where dramatic spectacle became the primary means of understanding reality.” It was not a print culture. “The works of Shakespeare should not be taken out of their context,” Ackroyd warns, “since it is there they acquire their true meaning.” Ackroyd says it is also important to note also that most of Shakespeare’s plays were revised or rewritten. For a variety of reasons, including adding material to plays that would be performed at Court and changing cast members, “his plays were always in a provisional or fluid shape.” Those who would prefer a definitive text are likely to be disappointed because “we may fairly assume that each play was slightly different at every performance.” Ackroyd’s masterful biography of the bard is incredibly informative and a joy to read.

Roger Bishop is a Nashville bookseller and a frequent contributor to BookPage.

Queen Elizabeth I of England and Mary, Queen of Scots never met. Jane Dunn weaves her fascinating “dual biography” of the pair around this pivotal fact. Examining the connections of blood, position, gender and personality that drew these women towards each other, as well as the forces that drove them apart, Dunn explores how their life experiences and the prejudices of their age almost inexorably led two would-be “sisters” into enmity and Mary to a final, fatal end.

Both ruling queens in an age when only men were thought fit to rule, both claimants to a disputed throne, nearly polar opposites in upbringing and faith, the two women are presented here as flip sides of the same coin. The book contrasts their experiences as children and teens (one pampered and protected, the other rejected and accused of treason), and later as queens of sibling realms. The comparison is striking, and along the way the author dispels common misconceptions about the lives and natures of the two nearly mythic queens.

Events and personalities sweep Elizabeth and Mary along, almost despite themselves; alliances, marriage proposals (accepted or rejected), religious turmoil, murder, plots, love and lust all enter the mix. Through it all, Dunn consistently returns to the enduring question: what if they had met? Could the two queens have placed an anchor in the rush of history, altering their mutual fates? The anchor, of course, was never cast, and history swept on, carrying one queen to greatness and the other to tragic death. Howard Shirley is a writer in Nashville.

Although the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. has been the subject of several award-winning biographies, the religious journey of the great civil rights leader, who would have turned 75 on January 15, has remained largely unexplored. As Stewart Burns now demonstrates in To the Mountaintop: Martin Luther King Jr.’s Sacred Mission to Save America, King experienced profound spiritual growth during the dozen years he was at the forefront of the crusade for equal rights. Despite being an ordained minister, Burns writes, King maintained an intellectual relationship with God and never underwent a distinct moment of conversion until he, as a young pastor of 26, became active in the struggle against segregation in Montgomery, Alabama, in the mid-1950s. Thereafter, in the author’s words, King believed “he was called by God to lead his people to a second emancipation.” Yet, Burns argues, King was a reluctant messiah tormented by feelings of unworthiness and “monumental” guilt. The civil rights leader believed that he did not merit the extravagant praise heaped on him; other people, often unknown and unsung, were more deserving. In 1967 and 1968, the final years of his life, King grieved that as a recipient of the Nobel Peace Prize he had not spoken out earlier to condemn the war in Vietnam, which he labeled “an enemy of the poor.” Burns further speculates that the Baptist minister increasingly felt “searing guilt” brought on by widespread rumors of his alleged marital infidelity.

Burns, a former editor of the King papers, offers a vivid portrait of the modern civil rights movement. With the skill of a novelist, he conveys the drama of the Montgomery bus boycott, the bombings of black churches, the sit-ins at lunch counters and the marches for civil rights and voting rights legislation. Particularly insightful is his discussion of King’s uncertain relationship with John and Robert Kennedy, exemplified by the Kennedy family’s failure to invite King to the slain president’s funeral mass. Thoroughly researched and brilliantly argued, this volume is certain to become a standard source on the late civil rights leader and his time. Dr. Thomas Appleton is professor of history at Eastern Kentucky University.

Nominated for the National Book Award, this bio of the Bard was a surprise bestseller and a hit with critics. From the few facts indisputably known about Shakespeare, and from details picked out of the plays and sonnets, Harvard humanities professor Stephen Greenblatt constructs an insightful, highly readable narrative, bringing Elizabethan England its political conspiracies, religious conflicts and artistic developments to vivid life. Will in the World traces the course of Shakespeare’s career, examining his early years in Stratford-upon-Avon, his struggles as an aspiring author who lacked social advantages and financial resources, and his maturation as a playwright. Greenblatt’s account of this remarkable ascendancy is as entertaining as it is informative, and the Bard himself emerges as a sharply defined figure, one of the great geniuses of the age. Investigations into the life of Shakespeare’s father and how his presence might later have affected his son’s work are especially provocative. This smart, smoothly narrated volume also provides an accessible overview of the great writer’s plays. Greenblatt has succeeded in reinvigorating a much-researched topic, producing a delightful study of Shakespeare’s era and his art. A reading group guide is available online at www.wwnorton.com/rgguides.

Henry Adams, whose grandfather and great-grandfather were both U.S. presidents, is best remembered today for writing The Education of Henry Adams, a fascinating, unusual and very selective account of his life. Pulitzer Prize-winning historian Garry Wills believes, however, that Adams’ multi-volume History of the United States During the Administrations of Thomas Jefferson and History of the United States During the Administrations of James Madison, published between 1889 and 1891, “is the non-fiction prose masterpiece of the nineteenth century in America.” Adams devoted more years of his life to these volumes than to any other project.

In Henry Adams and the Making of America, Wills pays tribute to Adams and his work, enlightening readers with abundant detail and quoting generously from the histories. The books were revolutionary in their time for their use of extensive archival research here and abroad, and for their portrayal of diplomatic, military, political and economic history in a worldwide context. Although written in a consistently insightful, lively and engaging style, these volumes have been overlooked or misinterpreted by some of our most distinguished historians. Contrary to previous interpretations, Wills demonstrates that Adams did not use the volumes to praise the Federalists or his prominent forebears, John Adams and John Quincy Adams. Henry Adams criticized all politicians, including those he especially admired, such as Jefferson and Albert Gallatin, when he thought they were wrong. With a remarkable cast of historical figures, including Touissant l’Ouverture and Tecumseh, Adams brilliantly brought the crucial early years of the country to life. With this latest book, Garry Wills now helps us rediscover a little-read American treasure. Roger Bishop is a Nashville bookseller and a frequent contributor to BookPage.

Fifty-two years after his death at the age of 29, Hank Williams remains the colossus of country music, as well as a pivotal figure in pop and rock ‘n’ roll. He was inducted into the Country Music Hall of Fame in 1961 and into the Rock ∧ Roll Hall of Fame in 1987. His recording and songwriting career flourished for a mere seven years from 1946 until 1953. Yet during that period he created such classics as "Cold Cold Heart," "Mansion on the Hill," "I Can’t Help It (If I’m Still in Love with You)," "I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry," "Your Cheatin’ Heart" and "I Saw the Light." (In contrast, Irving Berlin, the grand old man of 20th-century pop music and clearly Williams’ equal in America’s respect and affection, lived to be 100.) Born into poverty in southern Alabama, Hiram Williams was inspired to music by the area’s churches, the Grand Ole Opry radio show and, particularly, by a black singer and guitar player named Rufus "Tee-Tot" Payne, who taught him the rudiments of his trade.

Although he was headstrong, Williams’ life was shaped for both ill and good by three personalities as strong as his own: his domineering mother, Lillie; his fierce and ambitious first wife, Audrey; and his music publisher and lyrical collaborator, Fred Rose, the one man who knew what to do with all that raw talent. Never more than marginally healthy, Williams began drinking alcohol when he was still a kid, thereby establishing an addiction that would gnaw at his scrawny body and overactive mind until they both failed him one cold New Year’s night as he lay in the back of his chauffeured, powder-blue Cadillac convertible speeding along a narrow, winding road somewhere in West Virginia. He was mythic to the end.

Paul Hemphill, who established his country music credentials with The Nashville Sound (1970), offers little that is new about Williams, either in incident or character revelation, in Lovesick Blues: The Life of Hank Williams. But having grown up in Alabama at the time Williams was beginning to make a name for himself, Hemphill comes closer than most previous biographers to explaining the convoluted Southern culture that incubated Williams’ genius and provided him his most appreciative audiences. Winnowing through a wealth of biographical material, Hemphill provides eyewitness-like accounts of Williams’ daily struggles and triumphs, such as this note Rose sent in late 1947, reprimanding him for his profligate ways: "[My son] tells me you called this morning for more money, after me wiring you four hundred dollars just the day before yesterday. We have gone as far as we can go at this time and cannot send you any more. Hank, I have tried to be a friend of yours but you refuse to let me be one, and I feel that you are just using me for a good thing and this is where I quit." Fortunately for American music, Rose didn’t quit, and the wily, tormented young man lived to write and sing another day.

Formerly country music editor of Billboard magazine, Nashville-based Edward Morris is a reporter for CMT.com.

Audrey Hepburn never wrote her autobiography, despite pleas from friends and agents, fearing her life was too "plain" to make for good reading. But in Audrey Hepburn, An Elegant Spirit her son, Sean Hepburn Ferrer, makes clear that Hepburn’s larger-than-life life was begging to be recounted. Written in graceful, honest prose, Ferrer’s book traces Hepburn’s life starting with her childhood in war-torn Netherlands, then moving onto her career in show business, and later, her extensive work for UNICEF. Ferrer does not shy away from the personal, recalling private memories of late-night chats with his mother. "Whenever she had to go to a dinner or a cocktail party, she would always say, Oh, if only I could stay home and eat in the kitchen with you,’" he writes. He also writes candidly about her health problems, including multiple miscarriages and the cancer that ultimately killed her.

In fact, Ferrer seemingly shares everything, from Hepburn’s favorite recipe spaghetti al pomodoro to dozens of lovely photos from every phase of her life. The pictures of her visits to refugees in Somalia are powerful, and the shots of her from various movie sets wearing her famous Givenchy clothes are gorgeous.

For all that Ferrer shares, this private glimpse never feels exploitative. His book will appeal to anyone who wants to read an account of a simultaneously modest private life and a huge role on the world stage.

All Amy Scribner wants from Santa is less traffic on the Washington, D.C., Beltway.

While not intended as a sequel to his National Book Award-winning volume Slaves in the Family, Edward Ball’s latest work, The Sweet Hell Inside, takes a look at many of the same themes: race, class, prejudice and sex. Beginning with the razor-sharp memories of 84-year-old Edwina Harleston Whitlock, Ball sets out to uncover the legacy of the Harlestons, an African-American clan whose blood ties he shares. Whitlock, a nonwhite descendant of the Balls, provided the author with documents that convinced him they were cousins as a result of the interracial coupling so common during the slavery and Reconstruction eras. The book opens with a detailed look at William Harleston, the owner of a plantation near Charleston, South Carolina, that housed about 60 slaves, including Kate Wilson, who became the mother of his children. The pair maintained a forbidden sexual relationship for 35 years, causing Harleston to be shunned by friends and family alike.

From William and Kate, a prestigious bloodline began, one that would produce a family of African Americans unwilling to submit to the rigid demands of Jim Crow and segregation laws. The Harlestons endured their share of accomplishments as well as tragedies, but many members of the clan went on to succeed in business, civic affairs and the arts. Ball tells each of their triumphant stories with an exquisite sense of detail and insight.

Of the many tales told here, none are as fascinating as those of Harleston descendants Ella and Teddy. Ella, ravished by a prominent minister, later teamed with him to mold a small army of homeless black children into first-rate entertainers who took Broadway and Europe by storm. Her brother Teddy struggled to become an artist in Harlem, where he found himself surrounded by the high energy of the black creative world. Eventually, his efforts paid off, and he landed lucrative commissions, including a prize catch a request to paint noted industrialist Pierre DuPont.

These are just two of the many narratives Ball recounts with care and style in a wonderfully crafted volume that offers an in-depth look at black culture and history. In many respects, The Sweet Hell Inside is an even better book than Ball’s first, and that is quite a feat in itself.

Former U.S. Commission on Civil Rights chair and author Mary Frances Berry’s new book My Face Is Black Is True: Callie House and the Struggle for Ex-Slave Reparations provides vital information on an overlooked name in American history, Nashville’s Callie House. A former slave turned crusading advocate, House’s pioneering work on behalf of African Americans was not only met with hostility by the government, but also ridiculed by some key figures in the black community.

Berry’s volume traces the establishment and evolution of House’s Ex-Slave Mutual Relief, Bounty and Pension Association, a pioneering organization created to deliver fiscal justice to former slaves. House based her efforts on the pensions given Union soldiers, arguing that former slaves deserved a similar reward from a nation that had supposedly fought to end their bondage. This movement inspired thousands of impoverished blacks, while simultaneously alarming many Southern legislatures and white politicians.

But Berry’s book also details vigorous opposition to House’s actions from such influential African-American figures as Congressmen John Mercer Langston, Thomas E. Miller and H.P. Cheatham. They used their legislative forums against House’s campaign, with Langston unsuccessfully trying instead to marshal support for bills expanding educational opportunities and voting rights. Still, House’s determination, along with her effectiveness as a fundraiser, temporarily made the Ex-Slave Mutual Relief, Bounty and Pension Association a success. Her bid for slave pensions was eventually defeated, largely due to governmental pressure and interference. These actions included a dubious accusation of mail fraud under the 1873 Comstock law and finally a conviction, despite specious and inconclusive evidence, from an all-white male jury in 1917. Ironically, House was imprisoned in the same place as another maverick woman crusader, anti-war activist Emma Goldman. Upon her release, House returned to South Nashville, where she witnessed the city’s emerging black business boom during the ’20s. House died in 1928, but her efforts helped lay the groundwork for the African-American cultural, economic and political activism that flowered in the decades that followed. Berry’s important work should bring new attention to the contributions of Callie House.

Ron Wynn writes for the Nashville City Paper and several other publications.