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America has such a long history of military readiness (some would say dominance) that it’s hard to conceive of a time when the country had no standing army at all and little public or political will to create one. That’s the period William Hogeland examines in this account of two crucial battles between American and American Indian forces, both of which took place in what is now the state of Ohio. The first was the 1791 massacre of American troops, commonly known as St. Clair’s Defeat, by a confederacy of American Indians; the second was the Battle of Fallen Timbers in 1794, during which a trained army under General “Mad” Anthony Wayne so soundly routed the Indians that it effectively opened up the Northwest Territory to untrammeled settlement.

Resistance to the idea of building a standing army under presidential control came from members of Congress who feared concentrating that much power at the top would sow the seeds of a new form of tyranny. Better, they argued, to divide that power among the individual state militias. Wayne’s victory essentially put an end to that argument.

The story bristles with larger-than-life characters, chief among them George Washington, not just as a general and politician but as a self-interested land speculator who needed his investments protected; the relentless American Indian military leaders Little Turtle and Blue Jacket; a scheming and power-hungry Alexander Hamilton; and Mad Anthony, who finally succeeded at war after having failed at virtually everything else.

Hogeland correctly points out that St. Clair’s Defeat had far more impact on America’s development—and three times more casualties—than Sitting Bull’s victory over General Custer at the Little Big Horn. History, it appears, belongs to the best publicist.

America has such a long history of military readiness (some would say dominance) that it’s hard to conceive of a time when the country had no standing army at all and little public or political will to create one. That’s the period William Hogeland examines in this account of two crucial battles between American and American Indian forces, both of which took place in what is now the state of Ohio.

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The “first mission to the moon”? Wasn't that Apollo 11? Not quite, as Jeffrey Kluger reminds us in Apollo 8: The Thrilling Story of the First Mission to the Moon. Seven months before Neil Armstrong's historic footsteps in July 1969, NASA astronauts Frank Borman, Jim Lovell and Bill Anders had actually flown to the moon, circled it 10 times and made it back to Earth, figuratively paving the way for Armstrong's crew.

Not only is Apollo 11 better known than Apollo 8, so is Apollo 13, the aborted mission Lovell flew on in 1970 that was the subject of a Best Picture-nominated movie. Kluger collaborated with Lovell on a bestselling book about that mission, Apollo 13 (originally published as Lost Moon), and here he sets out to tell the tale of a mission that is mostly remembered for a Christmas Eve broadcast in which the astronauts read from the biblical book of Genesis.

With the full cooperation of Lovell, Borman and Anders—particularly Borman, the mission commander—Kluger paints a detailed picture of a dangerous journey that included multiple maneuvers that had to go perfectly or the astronauts would crash on the moon or be literally lost in space. His access to NASA mission transcripts—the conversations inside the spacecraft and between the astronauts and controllers on the ground in Houston—proves particularly useful in bringing the reader inside the capsule. On the ground, Kluger expertly captures the intensity of the flight controllers and the anxiety of the astronauts' families watching from suburban Houston. For a book about science and exploration, there's plenty of emotion.

The “first mission to the moon”? Wasn't that Apollo 11? Not quite, as Jeffrey Kluger reminds us in Apollo 8: The Thrilling Story of the First Mission to the Moon. Seven months before Neil Armstrong's historic footsteps in July 1969, NASA astronauts Frank Borman, Jim Lovell and Bill Anders had actually flown to the moon, circled it 10 times and made it back to Earth, figuratively paving the way for Armstrong's crew.

Written with the taut pacing of a novel, Kate Moore’s The Radium Girls tells the horrifying true story of the young women who worked in radium dial factories in the 1920s and ’30s. Using radium dusted paint to create glow-in-the-dark numbers on watch faces, the “shining girls” became luminous themselves, their clothing and hair dusted with a deadly mist of the toxic poison. Discovered in 1898 by the Curies, radium was seen in the early decades of the 20th century as a wonderful discovery. Radium was used to treat cancerous tumors, and people ingested radium pills for good health.

Hundreds of young women in New Jersey and Illinois found employment as watch dial painters in factories where they used boar bristle brushes, licked to a fine point, to coat the tiny numbers with radium paint: “Lip … Dip … Paint,” in Kate Moore’s haunting refrain. Radium’s half-life of 1600 years and its ability to mimic calcium and target bones meant that it took several years before horrific ailments snuck up on the employees. Many young women lost teeth, parts of their jawbones and their lives before anyone began to connect their illnesses with their employment.

Moore’s extensive research into the individual life stories of these doomed women brings their struggle to achieve justice heartbreakingly to life. Despite clear evidence that radium was the cause of their deaths, the corporations buried evidence and refused to pay compensation to their grieving families. It took 15 years, and the dramatic bedside testimony of a dying woman, for the “Society of the Living Dead” to win their court case and institute federal regulations for the safe handling of radium. Their incredible story, beautifully told by Kate Moore, is sure to incite equal parts compassion and horror in the reader.

Written with the taut pacing of a novel, Kate Moore’s The Radium Girls tells the horrifying true story of the young women who worked in radium dial factories in the 1920s and ’30s. Using radium dusted paint to create glow-in-the-dark numbers on watch faces, the “shining girls” became luminous themselves, their clothing and hair dusted with a deadly mist of the toxic poison.
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According to the Osage American Indians, when May’s full moon shines and the Earth warms, taller plants overtake April’s tiny flowers, “stealing their light and water” until they die. This is bestselling author and journalist David Grann’s fitting metaphor for what befell the Osages in Oklahoma, beginning in May 1921. His thoroughly researched account, Killers of the Flower Moon, is a chilling tale of unfettered greed, cruel prejudice and corrupted justice.

When the U.S. government drove the Osages from their territory in Kansas to northeastern Oklahoma, no one knew about the rich oil deposits below the surface of their new land. Soon the oil would make the Osages incredibly rich—and their white neighbors incredibly jealous.

Since only a tribe-enrolled Osage could claim the profits from their allotted lands, a law was conveniently passed requiring that guardians be appointed to “manage” the Osages’ considerable wealth. The fraud and treachery that ensued, referred to as “Indian business” by anyone involved, deprived the Osage people of their money, property and even their lives. Families victimized by shootings, bombings and poisonings found no justice at the hands of corrupt lawmen, bankers and judges.

However, the travesties and tragedies unfolding in Oklahoma coincided with the rise of the ambitious J. Edgar Hoover and the new Federal Bureau of Investigation. It was the detective work of agent and former Texas Ranger Tom White that helped Hoover transform the formerly inept and ridiculed FBI into a powerful agency. The FBI was finally able to deliver a measure of justice to the Osages, albeit too late for many victims.

Grann’s tale could have ended there and served its purpose well, revealing this “Reign of Terror” that was, until now, largely forgotten by most. But he goes on to reveal the many unresolved murders that preceded 1921 and the ongoing disenfranchisement of present-day Osages, adding to the sheer power of truth in Killers of the Flower Moon.

 

Soon to be a film by Martin Scorsese, this brilliant narrative is a chilling tale of unfettered greed, cruel prejudice and corrupted justice.
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On the day of Joseph Petrosino’s funeral, the New York City mayor declared a public holiday. Everything shut down; a quarter-million people lined the streets to mourn his passing, as six black horses pulled his hearse in a procession from St. Patrick’s Cathedral to the cemetery.

Many readers are now asking themselves: Who on earth was Petrosino? Little remembered today, he was a hero more than 100 years ago—the first Italian police detective sergeant in the U.S. and the face of the national crusade against an extortion-and-kidnapping crime wave perpetrated mostly by Italian criminals against law-abiding fellow immigrants. Author Stephan Talty focuses on that crisis, at its height from 1903 to 1914, in his exciting narrative The Black Hand.

The Black Hand, a loosely affiliated collection of criminal gangs, terrorized Italian immigrants by extorting businesses, kidnapping children for ransom, blowing up buildings and killing the uncooperative. Most victims were too frightened to seek help, and the police and politicians were largely uninterested until the problem spread into nonimmigrant neighborhoods. But Petrosino, an incorruptible, opera-loving tough guy, fought back with his “Italian Squad” of cops, who developed modern investigative techniques.

During this era, Italian Americans had to overcome vile discrimination by native-born Americans. Talty’s writing is wonderfully evocative in capturing the complex immigrant experience of hope, fear, pride and bewilderment. He doesn’t stray into current events, but the parallels with contemporary political concerns are unmistakable. The first law allowing the deportation of immigrants who have criminal records in their home countries was passed in 1907, in direct response to the Black Hand. The organization was finally stamped out—but Petrosino lost his life in the struggle.

 

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

On the day of Joseph Petrosino’s funeral, the New York City mayor declared a public holiday. Everything shut down; a quarter-million people lined the streets to mourn his passing, as six black horses pulled his hearse in a procession from St. Patrick’s Cathedral to the cemetery.

BookPage Top Pick in Nonfiction, May 2017

In the early hours of April 9, 1940, King Haakon VII of Norway was awakened by an aide shouting, “Majesty, we are at war!” The frantic and desperate flight of the Norwegian king and his government into snow-clad mountains and eventually to London is just one of the spellbinding stories in Lynne Olson’s masterful account of England in World War II, Last Hope Island.

Olson, a former White House correspondent for the Baltimore Sun, has written three previous books about World War II, and she brings both a journalist’s eye and a novelist’s command of character and setting to this subject. Here, in addition to King Haakon, she brings to life the indomitable Queen Wilhelmina of the Netherlands, who kept her people’s spirits up through her energetic BBC broadcasts. Olson details the contributions of Polish pilots to the RAF and shows how courageous, ordinary Europeans participated in resistance efforts and in secret escape networks to guide downed pilots back to England. Olson does not shy away from a sharp critique of England’s SOE, the Special Operations Executive, a rival organization to MI6. Inept SOE officials failed to follow their own security protocols, even after radio operators tried desperately to communicate that their networks had been compromised. In a particular case in the Netherlands, this resulted in the tragic death of agents who were nabbed by the Germans immediately upon parachuting into a dark field.

For American readers inclined to begin their World War II reading after U.S. entry into the conflict, Last Hope Island opens a fascinating trove of stories, characters and facts. The final chapters deal with postwar Europe. In this way, Olson’s book, 10 years in the making, not only helps illuminate the past but also serves as an insightful backdrop for today’s discussion of the future of 21st-century European alliances.

 

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

In the early hours of April 9, 1940, King Haakon VII of Norway was awakened by an aide shouting, “Majesty, we are at war!” The frantic and desperate flight of the Norwegian king and his government into snow-clad mountains and eventually to London is just one of the spellbinding stories in Lynne Olson’s masterful account of England in World War II, Last Hope Island.

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While most readers familiar with Roman history have heard the name “Praetorian Guard,” many will readily admit that their knowledge of the elite squad charged with protecting Roman emperors is incomplete. In fact, the Praetorians have been the subject of numerous conflicting and uncertain historical accounts in need of clarification.

To that end, British historian Guy de la Bédoyère’s Praetorian chronicles the rise and fall of the Guard, which both protected and destroyed many emperors during its nearly 350-year history. De la Bédoyère illuminates this important facet of Roman history with precision, style and plenty of intrigue as regimes rise, prefects fall and emperors descend into madness.

At first glance, the book appears dense and intimidating—with its broad cast of characters and ample appendices—but de la Bédoyère’s account reads more like an epic military drama than a textbook. The author brings to life stories like the multiple assassination attempts carried out on the insane emperor Commodus by his Praetorian prefect. Knowing his days were numbered, like a long line of slaughtered prefects before him, Quintus Aemilius Laetus conspired with the emperor’s mistress to execute a failed poisoning attempt before simply having him strangled.

Demonstrating a misguided sense of self-confidence, the emperor Caligula openly invited a host of his prefects, including some of his Praetorians, to murder him if they wished. In a show of loyalty and deference to absolute authority, the prefects swore up and down that they would never harm Caligula—and later stabbed him to death as he listened to a song composed in his honor.

In the early fourth century, after backing the wrong side in a civil war (and seeing many of their number drown in the climactic Battle of the Milvian Bridge), the Guard was permanently dissolved by the emperor Constantine.

Praetorian includes a photo section depicting ruins, tombstones and artistic renderings of many figures from the book, adding an interesting visual component to the text.

De la Bédoyère, whose best known work in the U.S. is The Romans for Dummies, has crafted a well-researched but accessible narrative that will appeal to those fascinated with the military, all-around knowledge seekers and especially those with a passion for ancient history.

While most readers familiar with Roman history have heard the name “Praetorian Guard,” many will readily admit that their knowledge of the elite squad charged with protecting Roman emperors is incomplete. In fact, the Praetorians have been the subject of numerous conflicting and uncertain historical accounts…

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The Nez Perce War of 1877 was fought over a four-month period between the U.S. Army and various bands of Nez Perce Indians along a zigzagging, 1,200-mile course through Oregon, Idaho, Wyoming and into Montana almost to the Canadian border. Neither side wanted the war, but both were relentless in its prosecution and equally given to committing atrocities. Ironically, the conflict's leaders—General Oliver Otis Howard and Chief Joseph—would, in the years afterward, become close, if wary, acquaintances and crucial to the heightening of each other's national reputation.

Sharfstein, a professor of law and history at Vanderbilt, begins his panoramic narrative with Howard losing his right arm to Confederate gunfire in the early days of the Civil War. Still, Howard continued to lead his troops and achieve rank. After the war, he was appointed head of the Freedmen's Bureau and charged with integrating the newly freed slaves into full citizenship. In that capacity, he established the university that still bears his name. But the resistance of white Southerners and their political allies stifled his most ambitious aims and contributed to his growing tendency to rationalize his failures, both bureaucratically and on the battle field.

Chief Joseph, as Sharfstein explains, was less a war leader than a diplomat. Long before and after the 1877 war, he argued incessantly for his tribe to be allowed to occupy its Oregon homeland rather than be harried to a reservation. However, the waves of settlers seeking to open up the resource-rich Northwest simply washed over him. Sharfstein paints his pictures of this beautiful and terrifying region on a canvas that stretches from daunting inland mountains to bustling seacoast towns.

Deftly woven into the story are portraits of such fascinating figures as Charles Erskine Scott Wood, who served as Howard's aide and later became a political radical, and the fierce warrior Yellow Wolf, whose remembered accounts of battle provide Sharfstein with some of his most chilling descriptions.

The Nez Perce War of 1877 was fought over a four-month period between the U.S. Army and various bands of Nez Perce Indians along a zigzagging, 1,200-mile course through Oregon, Idaho, Wyoming and into Montana almost to the Canadian border. Neither side wanted the war, but both were relentless in its prosecution and equally given to committing atrocities.

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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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