Vertigo is the profoundly unsettling sensation that either you or your surroundings are spinning. It's also possible to suffer a kind of psychic vertigo, if your world changes too fast for comfort. Take, for instance, this year's Wall Street financial crisis, which left most Americans at least temporarily dazed. Author Philipp Blom makes a strong case that the period of 1900 to 1914 in Europe, just before World War I, was, as the title of his new book has it, "The Vertigo Years." From the perspective of the 1920s, when the memories of war, revolution and influenza epidemic were raw, it seemed in retrospect like a golden time, of ice cream socials and porch swings. But the reality could be far different. Something, after all, led to the war and revolutions.

Blom argues convincingly that the trends of modernism that played themselves out in the 20th century, and even into our own time, accelerated remarkably during those dizzying years. Among them: scientific and technological revolution, politicized racism and anti – Semitism, feminism, human rights abuses, globalized commerce, the mass media explosion, abstract art – and the reactions to every one of them, from peace campaigns and folkloric nostalgia to the cult of masculinity. That's a huge amount of territory to cover, so Blom takes it year by year, with each chapter highlighting a particular theme. The 1903 chapter, for example, focuses on pioneering scientists, such as Marie Curie and Albert Einstein, and the influence of their discoveries on philosophy and art. Curie won the Nobel Prize in physics in 1903. The 1911 chapter is about such culturally democratizing developments as the cinema, the comic strip, the Brownie camera and the gramophone. In that year, the 3,400 – seat Gaumont Palace movie theatre opened in Paris.

Blom is particularly good on the high level of anxiety, sexual and otherwise, that accompanied rapid change. It was the era of a disease known as "neurasthenia," which we would likely classify as extreme stress. From 1900 to 1910, the number of patients in German mental hospitals rose from about 116,000 to more than 220,000.

It's that kind of detail that stays with the reader. We learn, for example, that there was a craze for X – rays at the time. (See Thomas Mann's The Magic Mountain for a literary depiction.) And that the respect for uniforms was so strong in Germany that a petty crook masquerading as an army captain in 1906 was able to commandeer a platoon, use it to arrest a small – town mayor, and steal the town's cash register. These trends did vary from country to country. The women's suffrage movement, forexample, reached its height in England, but had much less traction on the Continent. In contrast, the English had little use for New Age – style bohemianism that was most notable in Germany and Austria – Hungary. It's impossible to read this book without being struck by parallels to our own society. We feel about the Internet the way our great – grandparents felt about the airplane – how amazing, and how frightening it all seems. Blom doesn't take us beyond 1914, but we know how the ideological movements of "The Vertigo Years" turned out in Germany and Russia. We can only hope for a better outcome.

Anne Bartlett is a journalist in Washington, D.C.

Mark Twain observed that "History doesn't repeat itself, but it does rhyme." Readers will certainly find much familiar in the history that Paul Strathern chronicles in Napoleon in Egypt. A great Western power, angered by the behavior of a Middle Eastern regime, sends an army to set things right and bring good government to the downtrodden masses. The resulting occupation is marred by atrocities and cultural misunderstanding, incites a rebellion and starts a larger war. The invaders are ultimately defeated by attrition and mismanagement.

But as a mirror of modern times, Napoleon Bonaparte's doomed 1798 venture into the Nile valley and the Levant is imperfect. Napoleon, as Strathern admirably proves, viewed Egypt as merely the first step on his journey to personal glory. He planned an overland invasion of south Asia and India, thereby repeating the accomplishment of his hero, Alexander the Great. The revolutionary government in France had no control over Napoleon during his three years in the Middle East – thanks largely to a British naval blockade – making him not just a military governor, but de facto Sultan of Egypt and ruler of all he surveyed. Napoleon tried to introduce reforms to the suspicious, xenophobic population. But even the presence of a contingent of French savants – intellectuals from all branches of science and the arts – seemed aimed more at burnishing Napoleon's ego than improving Egypt. That the savants made real contributions to science during the occupation is now a footnote in any field except Egyptology, which was founded during those difficult years.

Ultimately, Napoleon's invasion brought him the glory he desired, but in an unintended way. The broader war it started allowed him to seize control of France and most of Europe. Strathern, a prize – winning novelist as well as a historian, has probed Napoleon's complex personality, both the megalomania for which he is vilified and the military prowess for which he is admired, and has in the process created a highly readable lesson in the rhymes of history.

Chris Scott writes from Nashville.

A really good volume of history provides the reader with a keen sense of perspective and a genuine appreciation for the past. This is exactly what David S. Reynolds does in Waking Giant: America in the Age of Jackson, which authoritatively describes the early to middle part of the American 19th century and makes clear how important this period was to the nation's growth in sociocultural, industrial and political terms. The first third of Reynolds' book is compellingly crafted, offering an incisive examination of the so-called Era of Good Feelings (early 1800s, post-Founding Fathers), leading into the administration of Andrew Jackson (1829 – 1837).

Reynolds delivers a fascinating profile of John Quincy Adams, Jackson's predecessor, who was a genius but didn't play politics very well. Other important statesmen of the time – Daniel Webster, Henry Clay and John C. Calhoun – get their due, but best of all are the author's insights into Old Hickory, exchanging the stereotyped perception of a rough – hewn rube for an admiring respect. Jackson, his obvious administrative blunders aside, was unafraid to wield power, showed what a president could do with a veto and oversaw the foundational development of a burgeoning empire. Jackson's reign had warts – including his ruthless pragmatism in relocating Native American populations – but his impact on infrastructure (never underestimate the importance of a paved road in a frontier land), westward migration, commerce, banking and the general assertion of the U.S. into the international sphere was huge.

Reynolds grapples with art, literature, religion, philosophy, even the theater of the day in subsequent chapters, which help to characterize the distinctively emerging individualist and outspoken American spirit. Reynolds pushes his narrative forward past the Jackson years in an effort to provide some continuity and context to key national trends and events. His coverage stops short of the Civil War, when the long-overdue and critical encounters with festering sectionalism and the slavery question are finally met head-on. The marvel here is how Reynolds tackles textbook material with a great deal of stylish and involving writing.

Martin Brady is a Nashville-based writer.

Though contemporary politicians on both sides of the aisle often either fondly praise or viciously attack the legacy of Franklin Delano Roosevelt's New Deal, there really aren't that many people around who either remember or understand the impact of such entities as the Works Progress Administration (WPA), nor the many things that were created under its umbrella. Author and biographer Susan Quinn's exhaustive new book Furious Improvisation: How the WPA and a Cast of Thousands Made High Art out of Desperate Times offers vital information about exactly what the WPA did, who it helped and why it was among FDR's most important creations. The book also spotlights a period in American history whose links to subsequent cultural and political developments is frequently underrated.

Quinn focuses on the Federal Theater Project, which began in 1935 and was among four endeavors labeled "Federal One" and designed to employ writers, visual artists, musicians and theater workers. Hallie Flanagan, director of a theater program at Vassar, was tapped by WPA head Harry Hopkins to launch the project in Iowa. Hopkins wanted to start it in the Midwest to allay fears about elitism, snobbery or bias on behalf of larger urban cities. Hopkins and Flanagan, who had graduated a year apart at Grinnell College, also picked a week when a national theater conference was happening in Iowa City to launch the project.

From this promising start, Quinn traces the Federal Theater Project's growth, willingness to combat racial and social taboos, and recruitment of gifted but controversial personalities. All these elements resulted in plenty of behind-the-scenes drama and intrigue. Whether presenting a voodoo version of "Macbeth" or employing the likes of Orson Welles, John Houseman and Sinclair Lewis, the Federal Theater Project delighted in surprising and shocking audiences, confronting conservative authorities, and smashing boundaries and barriers in terms of expectations.

Sadly, such welcome trends as presenting plays with integrated casts, encouraging submissions and participation from black and female actors and playwrights, exploring themes of poverty and injustice in the rural South, and presenting material featuring strong protest and social justice themes proved the very things that led to the program's destruction. Though nowhere as prominent during the '30s as they became in the '50s, the "Red Scare" and paranoia about Communists infiltrating the government were becoming more commonplace.

These fears helped fuel a backlash that was most vividly expressed by Rep. Martin Dies Jr. (D-Texas). Like his legislator father, Dies was a virulent racist and xenophobe. He became chairman of the House Un-American Activities Committee in 1938, and was one of several Southern senators determined to halt such developments as anti-lynching bills and stop the rising number of immigrants coming to America. Dies made scuttling the Federal Theater Project part of a larger plan to destroy FDR's New Deal legacy. While that didn't work, he did succeed in ending the Federal Theater Project by the summer of 1939.

Still, as Quinn's volume colorfully documents, over its four-year tenure the Federal Theater Project tapped a nationwide creative energy and spirit that had previously been mostly dormant. The roots of everything from the civil rights and feminist movements to the artistic revolution of the '60s can be traced to this period, and Furious Improvisation relives these times with zest and reverence.

Ron Wynn writes for Nashville City Paper and other publications.

Very few people know the name Mary Surratt today, but in 1865, she was one of the most hated women in the United States—unless you were a staunch Confederate. Surratt ran the boarding house where the conspirators, including John Wilkes Booth and her own son, met to plan the assassination of President Abraham Lincoln.

In The Assassin's Accomplice, historian Kate Clifford Larson paints a vivid picture of Civil War Washington, D.C., and Maryland with its Confederate spies and sympathizers. Through an extensive search of records, court transcripts and memoirs, she also shows conclusively that Mary Surratt was indeed one of the conspirators, not simply the mother of one of them. Still, it is hard to read the accounts of the trial without having sympathy for Surratt. Had her son, John, returned to the States from a Confederate spying mission in Canada to testify on her behalf, it is likely she would have been found innocent or pardoned. Her lawyer disappeared following his opening remarks, leaving her in the hands of two much less experienced attorneys.

Then there were the newspapers. As Larson writes, "Vilified and caricatured in the mostly Northern newspapers that carried reports from the courtroom, Mary endured almost continual aspersions against her femininity, religion, age, physical appearance, and demeanor." Ironically, popular opinion moved in Surratt's favor after her execution and she became the poster child for the innocent Southern martyr at the hands of a "vengeful and vindictive Northern political machine." But for Larson, there is only one conclusion: Mary Surratt "decided to assist [Booth] in whatever way she could. In providing a warm home, private encouragement, and material support to Abraham Lincoln's murderer, she offered more than most of Booth's other supporters. For that, Mary Surratt lost her life and must forever be remembered as the assassin's accomplice."

One had to be an adult living through that time to fully appreciate the fear kindled throughout the world by what is now called "the Cuban missile crisis" – 13 agonizing days in October 1962 when it seemed certain that the U.S. and the Soviet Union would wage an apocalyptic war over nuclear missiles Russia had attempted to install in Cuba.

In the years since, the complexities of that confrontation have been reduced to a manageable American myth in which young but resolute President Kennedy faces down wily, impulsive Premier Khrushchev. Not so, says Washington Post reporter Michael Dobbs in One Minute to Midnight. In his accounting, both Kennedy and Khrushchev emerge as temperate and essentially moral leaders who succeeded in staving off warmongers within their own ranks, notably the pugnacious Gen. Curtis LeMay, who had distinguished himself in World War II by firebombing Tokyo, and Fidel Castro, who was still bristling with revolutionary fervor.

Dobbs draws on interviews with eyewitnesses, White House tape recordings, surveillance photos, contemporary news accounts and overlooked records to show the chaotic randomness of events and why so many things went wrong. American intelligence was greatly flawed, seriously underestimating the number of Russian troops and missiles in Cuba. Castro (not without reason) was certain the U.S. would invade the island at any moment. Had it done so, Dobbs reveals, Russian forces armed with tactical nuclear weapons were set to destroy the naval base at Guantanamo Bay.

Then there were the wild cards that could have tipped the uneasy standoff into full-fledged war. Among these were the U-2 spy plane the Russians shot down over Cuba. Most perilous of all were the primitive means of communication between the two governments that could never keep up with the rapid shifts in circumstances.

One Minute to Midnight is another persuasive argument that war is too important to be left in the hands of generals.

Edward Morris writes from Nashville.