It took only 18 minutes for the Cunard liner Lusitania to sink after the German submarine U-20 torpedoed it off the coast of Ireland on May 7, 1915. From this blink of history’s eye, Diana Preston has pieced together an adventure story as intriguing and convoluted as the most cunningly fashioned spy novel. She weaves her dramatic tale from a close reading of hundreds of eyewitness accounts, newspaper reports, court records and related sources.

To put the tragedy in context, Preston first sketches the evolution of the submarine as an instrument of war and notes the resistance it met initially from home military establishments. Nonetheless, when World War I started in 1914, Great Britain had a fleet of 75 subs in service, and Germany had 28. The latter country’s underwater boats, however, were superior and deemed essential to breaking the crippling blockade Britain had imposed. Into this deadly new twist of warfare sailed the luxury liner Lusitania a carrier of civilian passengers, according to England, but a vessel with military significance by German standards. Well before the Lusitania set out from New York on its final voyage, German submarines had been sinking supposedly civilian boats near England. So open were Germany’s intentions on this point that its embassy placed an advertisement in American newspapers warning passengers that they traveled on British ships at their own risk. Most Lusitania passengers, while aware of the warning, accepted the Cunard company’s argument that the ship was too fast and would be too well protected when it reached home waters to be in danger. From such well-known figures as socialite Alfred Vanderbilt to lowly members of the ship’s enormous crew, Preston fleshes out the characters of many of the liner’s passengers. The author also takes us up to the Lusitania’s bridge to become acquainted with the dour, old-school captain, William Turner, and down into the dark and stifling bowels of the U-20, where its relentless commander, Walther Schwieger, waits for his prey.

As vivid as Preston’s descriptions are elsewhere, they rise to the level of poetry when she describes the chaos and elegant acts of heroism that occur as the great ship goes down. The scenes in the water as friends are separated and mothers lose their babies are heartbreaking. Still, Preston is admirably even-handed, refusing to depict the Germans as villains and enabling us to see the reasonableness of their actions from their point of view. The sinking cost 1,198 lives, 128 of them American. While this slaughter provoked an outcry in America, which was still officially neutral, it did not immediately draw the country into war against Germany. That would not occur until nearly two years later. And many more sinkings lay ahead.

<B>Man or machine? It’s a mystery</B> You may have run across the topic of Tom Standage’s new book. The story of the chess-playing contraption called the Turk shows up in volumes on the history of computers, technology and, of course, chess. It’s one of those remarkable little moments in history that would make a wonderful movie. With <B>The Turk</B>, Standage gives us the first full-length treatment of this very peculiar story, a fascinating narrative characterized by rivalry, deception and adventurous travels. In 1769, Wolfgang von Kempelen, a Hungarian aristocrat, vowed to Austrian Empress Maria Theresa that he could invent a machine that would be powered by clockwork. Within months, he returned with a mechanical man called, because of his clothing and appearance, the Turk. It was a machine that could play chess. Or was it? At the time, rival inventors protested that Kempelen’s Turk was actually a hoax. They insisted that it was not a machine at all but a conjuring trick in which a small human hidden inside played chess games by operating the arms of the wooden figure. Standage explores all the historical personages involved in this curious saga and examines at length the rival theories about the Turk. Was the Turk a supremely good fraud or the world’s greatest automaton? He was created during a busy time in Europe, as the industrial revolution gained momentum and changed the very structure of society. Despite naysayers, the Turk’s career lasted 85 years, during which he crossed paths with a variety of notables, including Benjamin Franklin, Catherine the Great and Edgar Allan Poe.

Standage is a vivid and straightforward writer who demonstrates a casual mastery of his chosen topic. In his excellent previous book, <I>The Neptune File</I>, he recounted one of the great stories in astronomy the discovery of the planet Neptune. On a smaller scale, with his fascinating new book, he explores the implications of humanity’s changing relationship with technology in the early days of the industrial revolution. He tells the Turk’s compelling story as it occurred, without revealing the mystery of the machine until the book’s last chapters. <I>Michael Sims’ new book, </I> Adam’s Navel, <I>will be published by Viking next year.</I>

The assassination of Abraham Lincoln on April 14, 1865 just days after the surrender of the Confederacy dramatically affected the course of post-war Reconstruction. Primarily, of course, it brought Vice President Andrew Johnson into power, a politician whose views and attitudes contrasted sharply with Lincoln’s. The government’s response to the assassination inevitably became caught up in the acrimonious controversy over the appropriate approach to Reconstruction. Colby College historian Elizabeth D. Leonard explores these subjects in detail, illuminating the key roles played by major figures in her new book Lincoln’s Avengers: Justice, Revenge, and Reunion after the Civil War. At the center of her narrative is the Kentuckian Joseph Holt, who, as Judge Advocate General, was in charge of the investigation into the assassination and the trial of the alleged conspirators that followed. A lifelong Democrat with a strong sense of duty and propriety, Holt had served as secretary of war in the James Buchanan administration. The author recounts Holt’s significant achievements but also shows how he committed “some terrible errors of judgment.” When he was sworn in, Andrew Johnson said his policy toward the South would be “in all its essentials . . . the same as that of the late president.” While we will never know what course Lincoln would have followed, Leonard points out that “even as the Bureau of Military Justice’s wheels of vengeance were turning against the men whom Holt, [Secretary of War Edwin] Stanton, and others believed to be the chief enemies of the nation, an only partly supportive Johnson was making his first moves toward enacting the swift, undemanding reconciliation with the South he had essentially decided to effect by executive means, with or without congressional approval.” The subsequent debate within the government over what form the South and the nation would take, and the question of freedmen’s rights, would be lengthy and fierce. Leonard’s account of this crucial period in American history is thoughtful, compelling and insightful. Roger Bishop is a bookseller in Nashville and a contributing editor to BookPage.

During the Cold War, generations grew up with the knowledge that one mistake by those in power could doom the entire planet. When the other side is prepared to destroy you utterly, you tend to view every conflict as life or death. The Olympics, for instance, were much more than athletic competitions during that era they were ideological battlegrounds. So it was somehow appropriate that in 1972, in the waning days of the superpower struggle, a chess competition between an American and a Russian focused the world’s attention on the chilly environs of Reykjavik, Iceland.

Bobby Fischer Goes To War by David Edmonds and John Eidinow (the authors of the surprise 2001 hit book, Wittgenstein’s Poker) is a detailed account of the most famous chess match in modern times, and a fascinating story it is. What should have been a straightforward us-against-them-morality tale was turned on its head by the personalities of the participants. The Soviet Grandmaster Boris Spassky was handsome, well spoken, gracious and self-effacing, while the American, Bobby Fischer, was a rude, greedy, tantrum-throwing bully. That Fischer was a genius at chess who was playing for “our” side was beside the point many Americans at the time were rooting against him.

Using various sources, including contemporary interviews with many participants, documents that became available after the fall of the Soviet Union and U.S. material obtained through the Freedom of Information Act, Edmonds and Eidinow explore the background of each man. Spassky, while a star at chess, was hardly a poster-boy for the Soviet system. Much to the consternation of his superiors, he often was more concerned with his game than his ideology, and he openly flaunted the rules most Soviet citizens lived by. Fischer was a rule-breaker as well; with his enormous talent, he demanded and got special treatment from tournament committees around the world, alienating almost everyone with whom he came into contact. While Spassky’s faux pas could be shrugged off due to his distracted nature, Fischer’s actions were more calculated, and as the authors show us, his irritating behavior reached unbelievable heights at the World Championships in Iceland.

Swirling around the two grandmasters’ gamesmanship were their respective governments. Henry Kissinger personally pleaded with Fischer to take the fight to the Soviets, while at the same time the American embassy was hoping the contest would end quickly, before Fischer damaged foreign relations irreparably. The Russian contingent in Iceland increased dramatically during the match, from psychiatrists surreptitiously analyzing Fischer to KGB agents examining Spassky’s food. In truth, they had good reason to worry about Spassky his health fluctuated during the tournament but they should have looked no further than Fischer’s antics to determine the cause of Spassky’s angst. Fischer objected to the auditorium, the lights, the cameras, the size of the audience, the amount of prize money, the noise level, the color of the chess board and on and on; the psychological stress on Spassky must have been tremendous. Considering his tactics, Fisher’s eventual victory was not surprising.

Fischer’s “take no prisoners” attitude the attitude we celebrate every day in American sports, from headfirst slides in baseball to strutting end-zone celebrations leaves a bitter taste in this particular contest. It’s hard to feel any joy at Fischer’s victory over Spassky, especially in light of Spassky’s gracious defeat and Fischer’s eventual emergence as a Nazi apologist.

Bobby Fischer Goes To War takes a compelling look inside the world of high-stakes chess and recalls the fears and suspicions that marked a dangerous era in world history. James Neal Webb plays chess though not very well in Nashville.

Publishers know that three subjects sell books: sex, the Civil War and the Nazis. American Scoundrel, Thomas Keneally’s fast-paced, smooth-as-silk biography of the colorful Civil War general Daniel E. Sickles, contains nothing on the Nazis, but has plenty of sex and lots on the Civil War to satisfy readers’ prurient and historical tastes.

Keneally, author of Schindler’s List and other novels, is a gifted writer who captures the mood and manner of an age in succinct verbal portraits. In Dan Sickles he uncovered a remarkable and colorful subject for a biography. Almost larger than life, Sickles was a Victorian American who seemed to be everywhere, know everyone and was always forgiven for his many transgressions.

A New York City lawyer, Sickles rose quickly in Democratic political circles, serving in Congress from 1857 to 1861. He had many influential friends in high places, including President James Buchanan. Sickles’ connections came in handy when, in February 1859, he murdered his close friend, Philip Barton Key (son of Francis Scott Key), the lover of Sickles’ wife, Teresa. Sickles, whom Keneally describes as “sexually precocious” and an obsessive womanizer, surrendered to authorities. While he was acquitted for defending his family’s honor, Key’s murder hung like a cloud over Sickles for the remainder of his long life.

When in 1861 the Confederates fired on Fort Sumter, Sickles rushed to defend the nation’s honor, leading a brigade of New York volunteers and serving as a brigadier general. One of President Abraham Lincoln’s few competent generals early in the war, he was promoted to major general and assumed division command. At Gettysburg, Sickles sustained a severe wound in his right leg, which led to its amputation. For decades afterwards he engaged in an acrimonious public debate with General George G. Meade, whom he blamed for his own recklessness at Gettysburg and for his loss of command. Despite his war wound and wounded pride, Sickles remained in the U.S. Army until 1869. In the postwar years he served as military governor of South Carolina, U.S. minister to Spain (where he became the lover of Queen Isabella II and one of the ladies of her court, whom he married) and U.S. congressman.

Keneally describes Sickles as “a man who could convey an intense feeling of tribalism, of inclusion, of the rightness of the factional argument.” Throughout his interesting and provocative life, Sickles consistently flouted conventional notions of ethics and morality. And he got away with it. John David Smith is professor of history at North Carolina State University. His most recent book is When Did Southern Segregation Begin?

Tom Holland’s academic credentials are flawless: he’s a graduate of both Oxford and Cambridge as well as an acclaimed radio personality and author. In his fourth book, Rubicon: The Last Years of the Roman Republic, Holland charts the decline of the Roman Republic, anticipating the age of emperors ushered in when Julius Caesar, then governor of Gaul, commanded his loyal legions to march on Rome. The resounding legacy of his symbolic crossing of the Rubicon river into Italy persists today as the code word for any irreversible step in history. Holland traces the rise of the world’s greatest empire from its inception through bloody civil war to a Golden Age under Augustus, and provides sensitive insight into the sociological and ideological workings of the early republic in all its contradictory complexity. This was an empire whose very foundation myth was based on the fratricidal killing of Remus by Romulus; whose political system thrived on competition and cutthroat ambition; and whose sons laboured under the threat of civil war. Rome, the mighty city that would hold most of the civilized world beneath its sway, was doomed to tear herself apart from within.

History lends its own cast of epic characters: heroes, murderers, kings and queens condemned to grovel before the might of Rome. A pantheon of illustrious figures Cicero, Augustus, Cleopatra are brought to life by a narrative that is lucid, stylish and witty, and interesting in its analysis. Rubicon surveys an age of military expansion that saw the decline of some of history’s most powerful empires, underpinned by persistent internal power struggles that drenched the streets of Rome with the blood and horror of civil war, wars immortalized by the greatest generation of Roman poets.

Informative, balanced and accessible, Holland’s compelling brand of narrative history is a praiseworthy rendition of one of the most complex periods in history. Perhaps not academically groundbreaking, but a timely look at a civilization whose similarities to modern-day America are becoming increasingly relevant. Justin Watts earned a degree in classics from Oxford University.

Amplifying a little-known slice of Southern history, journalist Alan Huffman has reconstructed the riveting true story of freed slaves who fled Mississippi to establish a new home in Africa in the 1840s. Mississippi in Africa: The Saga of the Slaves of Prospect Hill Plantation and Their Legacy in Liberia Today tells this stranger-than-fiction story in compelling style, capturing the hope, conflict and tragedy of the endeavor.

Isaac Ross was a Revolutionary War veteran who had established a sprawling, 5,000-acre cotton plantation in Jefferson County, Mississippi. When he died in 1836, Ross’ will stipulated that all the slaves of the Prospect Hill plantation be freed upon his daughter’s death. The plantation would be sold to finance a journey for any freed slaves who wanted to emigrate to Liberia, a province in Africa where a colony of freed slaves had already been established.

Legal battles by some of Ross’ heirs delayed execution of the will for more than a decade, but by 1849 about 200 of the Prospect Hill slaves had been freed and had settled in Liberia. (Slaves who chose to stay behind were sold at auction, but the will specified that family units could not be separated.) Some who moved to Liberia emulated what they had seen back in Mississippi, building Greek Revival-style mansions in their new African homeland.

As it turned out, the freed slaves were not welcomed with open arms by the residents of the colony and a violent, bloody and bitter battle ensued between the tribes and the colonists. As part of his research, Huffman went to Liberia in search of the group’s descendants. There he discovered that conflicts between natives and freed slaves have echoed throughout the country’s history, even up to today’s civil war.

Events move swiftly in this complex and turbulent tale, but with the skill of a Southern storyteller, Ross weaves the threads together in a clear and readable narrative. Piecing together a story he first heard about during his own Mississippi childhood, he has produced a well researched account that illuminates a distant event and its lasting legacy.