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When a presidential campaign is over and the winning candidate is in the White House, he (and in the future, she) must face the difficult task of turning political rhetoric into concrete legislation or executive action. Presidents get accustomed to people agreeing with them, but it is imperative that the top elected official in the land has someone with the authority to challenge the president. He or she must be willing to “speak truth to power” when problems emerge and must be ready to accept the blame when things go wrong, but be certain that when things go well, the president is the one who receives credit.

For many years that person has been the White House chief of staff. With his carefully researched, bipartisan and eminently readable The Gatekeepers: How the White House Chiefs of Staff Define Every Presidency, Chris Whipple has written a must-read book for all who want a backstage view of the presidency, from the Richard Nixon years through Barack Obama’s two terms. Based on extensive, intimate interviews with all 17 living former chiefs of staff, former presidents Jimmy Carter and George H.W. Bush, and many others, this is a treasure trove of ­experiences. James Baker, chief of staff for Ronald Reagan, who later served as treasury secretary and secretary of state, says a strong argument can be made that the position is the “second-most-powerful job in government.” Forty years after he served as Gerald Ford’s chief of staff, Donald Rumsfeld said the position was “unquestionably the toughest job I ever had,” despite later serving as secretary of defense under two presidents.

Whipple is an acclaimed writer, documentary filmmaker and multiple Peabody and Emmy Award-winning producer at CBS’ “60 Minutes” and ABC’s “Primetime.” The remarkably candid interviews and reader-friendly narrative of this book make for very informative and entertaining reading.

This article was originally published in the April 2017 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

When a presidential campaign is over and the winning candidate is in the White House, he (and in the future, she) must face the difficult task of turning political rhetoric into concrete legislation or executive action. Presidents get accustomed to people agreeing with them, but it is imperative that the top elected official in the land has someone with the authority to challenge the president. He or she must be willing to “speak truth to power” when problems emerge and must be ready to accept the blame when things go wrong, but be certain that when things go well, the president is the one who receives credit.

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Tales of the Old West seem to improve with age, as award-winning historian Tom Clavin (The Heart of Everything That Is) demonstrates in his lively new book, Dodge City: Wyatt Earp, Bat Masterson, and the Wickedest Town in the American West. Revisiting the capital of the wild frontier, Clavin focuses on Dodge City’s heyday—the 1870s and 1880s—and brings into sharp focus stories that long ago acquired the sepia tone of antiquity. 

Established as a military settlement, Dodge City developed into a frisky cowtown with a bustling stockyard and railroad terminus. Set on the plains in southwestern Kansas, it was an inevitable stop for buffalo hunters, businessmen, miners, guns-for-hire, cowpokes and other folks traveling westward. Dodge City, Clavin says, “came to symbolize both the American West and a nation seeking to fulfill its manifest destiny.” 

Because it attracted gunslingers of every breed (Dirty Sock Jack, Cold Chuck Johnny and Dynamite Sam, to name a few), extra-vigilant lawmen were needed to keep the peace. Bat Masterson and Wyatt Earp were tailor-made for the task. 

Clavin’s storytelling skills shine as he chronicles the personal histories of the now-mythical pair, tracing the years of their reign in the West and providing an intriguing look at their comradeship. He delivers plenty of quick-draw drama—with appearances from Wild Bill Hickok, Jesse James and others—in detailed accounts of the shootouts and duels that were the order of the day. 

Clavin’s bold narrative of life in a nation still coming of age provides a shot of good old-fashioned escapism. Dodge City “was a reservoir of tall tales,” he says, “yet many of the facts are equally if not more fascinating.” This rip-roarin’ read proves he’s right.

This article was originally published in the March 2017 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

Tales of the Old West seem to improve with age, as award-winning historian Tom Clavin (The Heart of Everything That Is) demonstrates in his lively new book, Dodge City: Wyatt Earp, Bat Masterson, and the Wickedest Town in the American West. Revisiting the capital of the wild frontier, Clavin focuses on Dodge City’s heyday—the 1870s and 1880s—and brings into sharp focus stories that long ago acquired the sepia tone of antiquity. 

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Oh, the streets of Havana: the sound of live music heard through big open windows. Spanish spoken so fast, with so many dropped letters. The rotting grandeur. Irreverent jokes, nicknames, arguments. Constant talk, talk, talk—Spanish poet Federico García Lorca called the people of Havana the hablaneros, the talkers.

Havana is sui generis and addictive, and Mark Kurlansky really gets it, as much as any foreigner can. The prolific author has been visiting Cuba’s capital for more than 30 years as a journalist. Now, at a time when U.S.-Cuban relations appear to be in a thaw, he has captured its transcultural essence in Havana: A Subtropical Delirium.

As befits such a kaleidoscopic city, the book covers a little of everything: history, music, literature, food, interesting characters, personal reminiscences. One fun feature is a series of recipes of famous dishes (chicken with sour oranges) and drinks (use Havana Club light dry rum for your mojito).

Kurlansky emphasizes throughout that one strong element of Havana’s distinctive style is the African influence that began with the tragedy of slavery, which lasted until 1886. Havana’s rich and seminal music, dance and literature are an amalgam of Spanish and African traditions. And sadly, its recurrent violence and political instability are in part the legacy of slavery’s social distortions. 

Kurlansky is even-handed about the impact of the Castro government. Yes, he says, Cuba is a repressive police state, but Havana was a place of genuine experimentation in the early revolutionary years. Since the collapse of its Soviet support system, he writes, it has been reverting more to its norm.

Before 1960, that norm included omnipresent U.S. investors and tourists. Americans always adored Havana’s film-noir tone, which Kurlansky describes as “ornate but disheveled, somewhat like an unshaven man in a tattered tuxedo.” Will they return now? We’ll see. 

 

This article was originally published in the March 2017 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

Havana is sui generis and addictive, and Mark Kurlansky really gets it, as much as any foreigner can. The prolific author has been visiting Cuba’s capital for more than 30 years as a journalist. Now, at a time when U.S.-Cuban relations appear to be in a thaw, he has captured its transcultural essence in Havana: A Subtropical Delirium.

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Let author Douglas Preston give testimony to the old adage: Truth is stranger than fiction. As the co-author, with Lincoln Child, of a series of bestselling suspense novels, Preston has explored mysteries involving sorcery, witchcraft and ancient secrets. Now he chronicles his own true-life adventures in a nonfiction book, The Lost City of the Monkey God.

Preston’s quest is to find the ruins of an ancient city in the mountains of Honduras, known as the “White City” or the “Lost City of the Monkey God.” Others have embarked on similar expeditions only to fail, most notably an adventurer who returned in 1940 with spectacular artifacts, but committed suicide before revealing the location of his discovery.

This time, Preston and his team are armed with sophisticated equipment, borrowed from NASA, that allows them to peer beneath the jungle growth to map the contours below. From the air, they detect the outlines of a long-lost civilization. But space-age technology is of no aid once they land and face the perils of the rainforest, including poisonous snakes, vicious jaguars and vengeful drug dealers. Ironically, their greatest danger occurs on their return home, when they are beset with an incurable illness contracted from a parasite. Is this affliction of “white leprosy” a mere coincidence, or a curse?

The Lost City of the Monkey God is more than just an adventure story. It examines such modern  issues as the ethics of archeological expeditions, man’s destruction of the rainforest and the incessant creep of technology and its effects on indigenous peoples.

Readers will find themselves both shocked and captivated by this account of mysteries old and new.

 

This article was originally published in the January 2017 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

Let author Douglas Preston give testimony to the old adage: Truth is stranger than fiction. As the co--author, with Lincoln Child, of a series of bestselling suspense novels, Preston has explored mysteries involving sorcery, witchcraft and ancient secrets. Now he chronicles his own true-life adventures in a nonfiction book, The Lost City of the Monkey God.
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In 1815, those with political power in Europe—the aristocracy and the monarchy—felt that international cooperation was the way to restore political order and prevent a recurrence of social and political revolution. This was understandable following many years of war, even before the horrific spectacle of the French Revolution and the widespread destruction and death at the hands of Napoleon’s invading armies. There was some cooperation but what, for the most part, did happen gives the eminent British historian Richard J. Evans the title for his magnificent new book, The Pursuit of Power: Europe 1815-1914, the latest volume in the excellent Penguin History of Europe series.

Evans explores power in many manifestations, from that exercised by the state to the efforts of individuals and groups to improve their lot. During the century covered by this book, there were only a small number of wars in Europe, limited in impact and duration, but governments still sought imperial and diplomatic power and built up their armies, industrialists and bankers wanted economic power, and political parties and revolutionaries strove for political power. Nationalism became both a unifying force as well as a divisive force in numerous states.

Societies were able to increase their power over nature with advances in science, medicine and technology, and new sources of power emerged, from steam to electricity, and from the power loom to the internal combustion engine. Although Charles Darwin and the vast majority of scientists and scholars regarded their discoveries as being compatible with Christianity, their efforts opened the door for intellectual challenges by others to the power and influence of religion.

Part of the masterly narrative focuses on individual lives and shows that arguments and struggles about inequality were at the heart of 19th-century European politics. Millions of people, particularly women, peasants, farmers and Jews, were given greater equality of status. It should be emphasized, though, that equality and emancipation were only partial and conditional, often achieved at great personal cost. Women, for example, might participate in revolutionary uprisings and help build barricades, but men would not allow them to have a say in politics. In raising questions about the rights of men, however, by implication questions were raised about women’s rights as well, and some women used this opportunity to advocate for female emancipation.

The Revolutions of 1848, perhaps the most influential series of revolutionary actions of the age for those without power seeking it, came in the midst of a deep and widespread sense of economic malaise. Desperate, poverty stricken masses staged mass demonstrations that caused a great crisis of confidence in governments throughout Europe. Evans disagrees with those historians who have dismissed the 1848 Revolutions as timid affairs, citing the violence of the crowds, the lynching of hated officials and the storming of palaces and offices.

Throughout the book, there are brief sketches of important but not always well-known personalities who played important roles and information about origins of words coined in this period including “scientist” and “anti-Semitism.”

This outstanding and authoritative synthesis, weaving social, political, diplomatic, cultural, engineering, scientific and economic history, is eminently readable and so carefully crafted that I was always reluctant to put it down. It will help readers appreciate the period of Europe’s growing dominance in the world as seen from variety of perspectives and better understand some of the roots of World War I.

In 1815, those with political power in Europe—the aristocracy and the monarchy—felt that international cooperation was the way to restore political order and prevent a recurrence of social and political revolution.
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If its walls could talk, New York City's Bellevue would probably have more tales to tell than almost any other hospital. David Oshinsky treats readers to many in Bellevue: Three Centuries of Medicine and Mayhem at America's Most Storied Hospital, a sweeping, detailed history of this mighty institution, America's quintessential public hospital. And who better to tell its tales than Oshinsky, a history professor at New York University whose Polio: An American Story won the 2006 Pulitzer Prize?

The list of famous Bellevue patients goes on and on. Songwriter Stephen Foster died in poverty there in 1863. Francis Ford Coppola filmed scenes of The Godfather in its morgue. Norman Mailer was committed there after stabbing his wife during a drunken rage. Both Mark David Chapman and John Lennon were brought to Bellevue after the music icon's assassination.

Oshinsky charts Bellevue's beginnings as one of America's earliest hospitals (and possibly its first, depending on definitions), whose origins can be traced back to a small infirmary built in the 1660s when the Dutch ruled Manhattan Island. Another infirmary opened on the site in 1736, which grew and grew, ultimately becoming the state-of-the-art facility it is today, with its world-renowned emergency service and trauma center. The early chapters of Bellevue are a fascinating look at not only the hospital, but the history of early medicine, when yellow fever raged and doctors blamed not mosquitoes, but miasma―bad air from decaying matter trapped in overhead clouds.

In the early 1800s, the author writes, Bellevue "reassembled a poorhouse with a vaguely medical bent," because those with means were generally treated at home and few doctors earned medical degrees. Things certainly changed, as Bellevue Medical College opened its doors in April 1861, just a day before the Civil War began.

Continued growth has meant constant challenges as well as triumphs: electric shock therapies beginning in the 1940s, with some patients as young as 4 years old; groundbreaking cardiopulmonary research; scores of AIDS patients treated at the epidemic's height; the unimaginable tragedy of Dr. Kathryn Hinnant in 1989, stabbed and killed by a homeless cocaine addict who had secretly been living in the hospital, posing as a doctor; the devastation from Hurricane Sandy, when staff valiantly evacuated patients from the hospital and used a bucket brigade to get fuel to back up generators; the successful treatment of a Doctors Without Borders patient suffering from Ebola in 2014.

As one Bellevue ER doctor so aptly observed, "This is war zone medicine. You'll never go anywhere in the world and see something we haven't seen here."

If its walls could talk, New York City's Bellevue would probably have more tales to tell than almost any other hospital. David Oshinsky treats readers to many in Bellevue: Three Centuries of Medicine and Mayhem at America's Most Storied Hospital, a sweeping, detailed history of this mighty institution, America's quintessential public hospital. And who better to tell its tales than Oshinsky, a history professor at New York University whose Polio: An American Story won the 2006 Pulitzer Prize?
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As Civil War battles go, the Battle of Hampton Roads isn’t among the most memorable. Gettysburg, Bull Run, Antietam and Fredericksburg usually take top billing. But author Richard Snow argues in Iron Dawn that Hampton Roads was among the most significant Civil War conflicts because it was the first sea battle between ironclad ships: the Merrimack and the Monitor. The battle lasted only three hours and ended in a draw. But because the two ironclads proved battleworthy, it signaled the dawn of the modern navy and the end to wooden shipbuilding. “Many naval battles . . . have bent the course of history in hours or even minutes,” Snow writes. “But none has fomented in a short day’s work a whole new kind of warfare, has in one noisy morning made an ancient tradition obsolete.”

By the time the two boats met on March 9, 1862, on Chesapeake Bay, Virginia, the Merrimack had already destroyed two wooden Union ships and had its sights set on a third. The Monitor arrived to hold the Merrimack in check. The two ironclads fired on each other for several hours, with little damage and few casualties, before they both retreated to safer waters.

The battle was evidence, Snow says, that many of the most important technologies of the Civil War came from the navy, not the army.

Iron Dawn is a worthy read not only for serious Civil War buffs, but also for those who appreciate how ingenuity forever changed the way the military does battle on the sea.

 

This article was originally published in the November 2016 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

As Civil War battles go, the Battle of Hampton Roads isn’t among the most memorable. Gettysburg, Bull Run, Antietam and Fredericksburg usually take top billing. But author Richard Snow argues in Iron Dawn that Hampton Roads was among the most significant Civil War conflicts because it was the first sea battle between ironclad ships: the Merrimack and the Monitor.
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Almost as good as an evening at the theater: Simon Morrison’s Bolshoi Confidential lifts the curtain on one of the world’s oldest and most prestigious ballet companies. In this glittering, accessible history, Morrison tracks the ascent of the Moscow-based Bolshoi Ballet over two-and-a-half centuries while delivering a fascinating look at the dance-crazed culture of Russia, where the stars of the stage have long enjoyed celebrity status.

The word bolshoi, in English, means big, and as readers will discover, it’s a fitting modifier for a troupe made famous by the powerhouse athleticism of its performance style and the outsized personalities of its primas. Today, the company employs approximately 250 dancers. With a staff of 3,000 and a budget of $120 million, it continues to live up to its name.

The book opens with a set piece that’s stranger than fiction: Morrison’s account of the 2013 acid attack, plotted by a discontented principal, that permanently damaged the eyesight of Sergei Filin, the company’s artistic director at the time. As Morrison goes on to demonstrate, such a scandal is not without precedent at the Bolshoi. It’s only the most recent in a series of over-the-top incidents connected with the company—a theatrical lashing-out that underscores the institution’s mystique.

The Bolshoi’s “past is one of remarkable achievements interrupted, and even fueled by, periodic bouts of madness,” Morrison writes. He traces the troupe’s roots back to 1776 and the early pantomimes mounted by its first director, a shyster magician from England named Michael Maddox (whose dubious background makes for a fascinating side story). The company’s home theater was established near the Kremlin.

In the early 1800s, the Bolshoi came under the auspices of the Moscow Imperial Theaters, and guided by influential ballet master Charles Didelot, its members received rigorous training that included correction via baton. (“Bruises and loving pats on the head were the measure of a dancer’s promise,” notes Morrison.) The company matured into a performing entity that staged great 19th- and 20th-century ballets. Morrison shares the stories behind seminal productions of classics like Don Quixote and Swan Lake, and many major choreographers and composers have cameos, including Petipa, Gorsky, Tchaikovsky, and Prokofiev.

The company’s history, Morrison says, “travels hand in hand with the history of the nation.” In 1853, a fire led to a lavish refurbishing of the Bolshoi theater. Decades later, the Bolsheviks, disapproving of its Imperial-era opulence, wanted to demolish it. They defaced it instead. In 1922, Communist leaders gathered there to vote on the formation of the Soviet Union. Stalin sometimes addressed the party from the Bolshoi stage, and at one point, the theater was used as a makeshift polling station.

With the Communist Party came a renaming of the institution—it was known as the State Academic Bolshoi Theater—and the days of socialist realist ballets, when subject matter for stage performances was state sanctioned, and dance became a vehicle for propaganda. Ballets about collective farming and hydroelectricity were the norm. Bulldozers were employed as stage props. Yes, the ballets were as awful as they sound. Morrison classifies them as “ideological dreck.”

Chronicling the company’s comeback from this clumsy pas de deux between government and art, post-Soviet Union, Morrison paints a portrait of an indomitable institution, one with a gift for metamorphosis. In 2011, invitations to a gala event celebrating a $680 million redo of the theater were reportedly available on the Internet at a price of 2 million rubles—yet another grand gesture connected to a company that could only exist in Russia, where, as Morrison puts it, “politics can be theater and theater, politics.” 

A performing arts historian, journalist and author, Morrison draws upon archival material to tell a story that’s at once sweeping and deeply detailed. Bunheads will appreciate the anecdotes of passionate performers whose behavior could take dramaturgical turns (the impetuous Matilda Kshesinskaya, mistress of Tsar Nicholas II, once sent live chickens onto the stage during the performance of a rival dancer) and the insightful critique of the career of Maya Plisetskaya, the ballerina who best embodies the Bolshoi and a flamboyant mega-star who performed until the age of 70.

Longtime balletomanes and initiates to the art form will both enjoy Morrison’s masterful account of an epic company. It’s a welcome addition to the literature of ballet, and a poised performance from start to finish.

Almost as good as an evening at the theater: Simon Morrison’s Bolshoi Confidential lifts the curtain on one of the world’s oldest and most prestigious ballet companies. In this glittering, accessible history, Morrison tracks the ascent of the Moscow-based Bolshoi Ballet over two-and-a-half centuries while delivering a fascinating look at the dance-crazed culture of Russia, where the stars of the stage have long enjoyed celebrity status.

In June 1941, there was no hint that a well-born, unfocused young Englishman named David Sterling would become the leader of one of the most daring units of World War II. Nicknamed “the Giant Sloth” by friends, Sterling had spent most of his posting in Cairo gambling or frequenting nightclubs. His commando military career almost ended before it had begun when he injured his spine in a parachute training run, becoming temporarily paralyzed.

But as Ben Macintyre (author of the 2014 bestseller A Spy Among Friends) reveals in his thrilling account of the SAS exploits in the desert and later in Nazi-occupied Europe, it was that accident that inspired Sterling to propose an innovative combat model that endures today in special forces units such as the Navy SEALs.

“Do you want to do something special?” Sterling would ask recruits. And the mission was indeed unique. The SAS, or Special Air Service, was originally designed to drop small groups of elite, exceptionally well-trained soldiers deep into enemy territory to inflict the maximum amount of damage on airfields and other targets. While the initial concept focused on parachute jumps, an early disastrous failure led Sterling and co-founder John “Jock” Steele Lewes to turn to jeeps for their attacks against Rommel’s desert forces. Hiding by day and attacking by night, the SAS “rogue heroes” soon became a striking force that won the admiration and respect of Winston Churchill himself.

The stalwarts of the SAS were complex, driven men, who risked, and often lost, their lives under brutal and dangerous conditions. Macintyre, who had unprecedented access to SAS archives, is a compelling storyteller who honors their legacy in this thrilling, well-researched narrative.

n June 1941, there was no hint that a well-born, unfocused young Englishman named David Sterling would become the leader of one of the most daring units of World War II.
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Even given the many racially tainted chapters in U.S. history, the story of Georgia’s Forsyth County still shocks. Patrick Phillips grew up “living inside the bubble of Georgia’s notorious ‘white county’ ” where there were few blacks—and, once, there had been none. Something happened in 1912, and after that, Forsyth County was all-white and proud of it. Its citizens would go to horrific lengths for another 75 years to keep it that way. Phillips, grown and living far away, found himself “ashamed to recall how I defended my silence.” Blood at the Root is the result, an account as riveting in its historical detail as it is troubling in its foreshadowing of racial tensions today.

In 1912, after the rape and murder of young, white Mae Crow and the so-called confession by black teenager Ernest Knox, white “night riders” took matters into their own hands. After one of the three suspects was beaten, lynched and shot by a vengeful mob, blacks fled as their homes and families became targets for shooters and arsonists. Their property, crops and livestock soon fell into eager white hands. In the days and years that followed, long after the teenagers had been convicted and hanged, any black person entering the county was promptly terrorized into leaving.

Attempts at racial cleansing began long before the Jim Crow era, from the federal Indian Removal Act of 1830 through the systemic failures of Reconstruction. In Forsyth County, barring blacks altogether was the answer to any “race troubles.” This injustice would persist well beyond the reach of civil rights for decades, an ugly history kept silent—until now.

 

This article was originally published in the October 2016 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

Even given the many racially tainted chapters in U.S. history, the story of Georgia’s Forsyth County still shocks. Patrick Phillips grew up “living inside the bubble of Georgia’s notorious ‘white county’ ” where there were few blacks—and, once, there had been none. Something happened in 1912, and after that, Forsyth County was all-white and proud of it. Its citizens would go to horrific lengths for another 75 years to keep it that way. Phillips, grown and living far away, found himself “ashamed to recall how I defended my silence.” Blood at the Root is the result, an account as riveting in its historical detail as it is troubling in its foreshadowing of racial tensions today.

For dedicated World War II readers comes an absorbing history of an unusual rescue mission in the closing days of the war in Europe. Elizabeth Letts, author of The Eighty-Dollar Champion, is an accomplished equestrian herself, and her love of horses shines through this complex story.

The author introduces readers not only to the key human players, such as Austrian Olympian Alois Podhajsky, director of the Spanish Riding School of Vienna, and Hank Reed, a career officer who saw the last days of the U.S. cavalry, but also to a few of the horses caught up in the war: Witez, “the Polish Prince,” and Podhajsky’s faithful stallion, Africa.

While the daring, unexpected mission in which Col. Reed and his men (with the blessing and permission of his fellow polo player General George Patton) rescued more than 300 horses from a stud farm in Czechoslovakia in April 1945 forms the centerpiece of this history, Letts has a more ambitious goal in mind. Her narrative encompasses the role that thoroughbred horses played in Poland and Austria, shows how horse breeding was viewed by Gustav Rau, a German horse expert in the Third Reich and reveals the heartbreaking costs of conflict on individuals. 

Letts does an excellent job of bringing the various players to life, and The Perfect Horse includes a helpful list of characters, as well as an epilogue detailing what happened to some of the men and horses in the postwar years, including a touching interaction in 1950 between Podhajsky (who performed for Gen. Patton before his death), and Mrs. Patton.

Although not all the rescued horses ended up in their original homes, it was especially heartening to learn that Witez, the magnificent colt who was almost lost several times during the war, celebrated his 27th birthday in California in 1965 with a carrot cake. The Perfect Horse would be a perfect gift for horse lovers fascinated by history.

For dedicated World War II readers comes an absorbing history of an unusual rescue mission in the closing days of the war in Europe. Elizabeth Letts, author of The Eighty-Dollar Champion, is an accomplished equestrian herself, and her love of horses shines through this complex story.

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Our understanding of history does not always match the documented evidence. The American Revolution was not as orderly and restrained as we sometimes think. American colonists who remained loyal to the king and those wanting to break away often treated one another inhumanely. A plundered farm, the target of small raiding parties, was more common than a battle charge. After the war, 60,000 Loyalists became refugees. 

In his excellent American Revolutions: A Continental History, 1750-1804, two-time Pulitzer Prize-winning historian Alan Taylor gives us a wide-ranging view that draws attention to the multiple empires clashing for land and power. The result, based on the latest scholarship, is a fresh and authoritative interpretation of the complex series of events that led up to the war and the many problems the new nation faced in the years immediately following.

Taylor emphasizes the crucial role played by the western expansion of settlers despite British efforts to restrict them. This expansion is essential to understanding both the causes of the revolution and the republic’s growth after the war. Between 1754 and 1763, the British and their colonists claimed the West as far as the Mississippi River. The colonists already here expected to share the fruits of victory. When that did not happen—instead, the British tried to protect Indian lands from settler expansion, made unexpected concessions to Francophone and Catholic subjects in Canada, and then imposed new taxes on the colonists—dissatisfaction began to stir.

Taylor’s focus on a larger area of North America gives us a more realistic understanding of the struggle. He shows “that relations with the native peoples were pivotal in shaping every colonial region and in framing the competition of rival empires. Enslaved Africans now appear as central, rather than peripheral, to building the colonies that overtly celebrated liberty.” 

Near the war’s end, black soldiers were one-tenth of the Continental Army. Women were also crucial to the Patriot war effort, running the farms and shops, keeping families together. Nevertheless, Patriots defended freedom for white men while continuing their dominance over Indians and enslaved blacks.

Taylor’s masterful account is consistently compelling whatever the focus—on diplomacy, religion, warfare, culture or slavery. Everyone interested in early American history should read this book.

 

This article was originally published in the September 2016 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

Our understanding of history does not always match the documented evidence. The American Revolution was not as orderly and restrained as we sometimes think. American colonists who remained loyal to the king and those wanting to break away often treated one another inhumanely. A plundered farm, the target of small raiding parties, was more common than a battle charge. After the war, 60,000 Loyalists became refugees.
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The “hidden figures” in the title of Margot Lee Shetterly’s new book will not be hidden much longer. This story of African-American female mathematicians who made a significant impact on the Space Race has already been optioned for a film due out in January. It’s a surprising story, even more so for how long it took to be told.

Shetterly profiles several of the women who, upon realizing that their math skills qualified them for a better living than they could make doing virtually anything else, pulled up stakes and decamped for Hampton, Virginia, in some cases leaving husbands and children behind. Once there, they attempted to make their way into the middle class even as they chafed at the restrictions placed on them by segregation. One of the “Colored Computers,” as they were called, drew the line at a cafeteria sign designating one table as theirs. Sick of the reminder, she pulled down the sign and shoved it in her purse. 

Working for the NACA, as it was then known, to design the bombers flown during World War II led to employment with NASA as the Cold War generated frantic U.S. efforts to surpass Russia. If Shetterly’s prose is sometimes dry, the material it covers is fascinating and loaded with victories large and small for these highly skilled and tenacious workers. 

Shetterly writes about Katherine Johnson, one of the “computers” described in near-mythic terms by a growing fan club, as representative of the America we aspire to be. Her description could apply to any of the women profiled in Hidden Figures: “She has been standing in the future for years, waiting for the rest of us to catch up.”

 

This article was originally published in the September 2016 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

The “hidden figures” in the title of Margot Lee Shetterly’s new book will not be hidden much longer. This story of African-American female mathematicians who made a significant impact on the Space Race has already been optioned for a film due out in January. It’s a surprising story, even more so for how long it took to be told.

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