The Icon and the Idealist is a compelling, warts-and-all dual biography of the warring leaders of the early 20th-century birth control movement: Margaret Sanger and Mary Ware Dennett.
The Icon and the Idealist is a compelling, warts-and-all dual biography of the warring leaders of the early 20th-century birth control movement: Margaret Sanger and Mary Ware Dennett.
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All statues are raised, but relatively few are razed; when they are, somebody is always upset. In recent years, statues have been vandalized, pulled down by crowds and plucked from public plinths and placed in secret warehouses in the dead of night—to both applause and outcry. Whenever a statue is removed, the same questions arise: Are we erasing history? Wasn’t he just a man of his time? Is this the beginning of a slippery slope?

In Fallen Idols: Twelve Statues That Made History, historian Alex von Tunzelmann addresses these questions by examining 12 different case histories of statues from around the world that fell (literally) out of favor. Tunzelmann makes the argument that statues are not history but rather representations of history. Josef Stalin’s statues were propaganda to justify his grip on the Soviet Union, for example, not depictions of historical fact. The statue of Robert E. Lee in New Orleans was erected as part of a deliberate campaign to rewrite the history of the Civil War by self-avowed white supremacists.

It’s clear from Fallen Idols that there are many reasons to tear down a statue. Removing Stalin’s statue in Budapest was the start of a revolution. Pulling down Saddam Hussein’s statue was a symbolic end to the Iraq War—a symbol that turned out to be disastrously wrong. Taking down a statue can also be an act of truth telling. Leopold II of Belgium was not a benevolent ruler of the Congo, for example, even though that’s how monuments depict him. Even during his lifetime, he was widely condemned for his bloodthirsty exploitation and colonization of the Congolese. In cases like these, Tunzelmann finds that, far from erasing history, the eradication of a statue can actually illuminate it.

In discussing these and other statues, Tunzelmann invites us to consider all public monuments. What are these statues commemorating? What are they hiding? Are there other, better ways to depict history in public spaces without resorting to images of great men (or women)? Fallen Idols is an illuminating guide to a much-needed discussion about history and how it is represented.

Historian Alex von Tunzelmann examines 12 different case histories of statues from around the world that fell (literally) out of favor.
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For almost three decades, Betty Friedan has been a prominent writer, feminist, and political activist. In her autobiography, Life So Far, Friedan reflects on being a change agent while negotiating her own personal disasters and triumphs. It changed my life! was the typical response to Friedan’s first book, The Feminine Mystique, published in 1963. Her exploration of women’s lives and thwarted dreams exposed the boredom and isolation of suburban housewives. She astonished contemporaries by portraying this as a social problem rather than neurosis. Friedan outlined the mystique that lured women into narrowly defined roles, and revealed how media, business, and government marketed this image. As The Feminine Mystique became a bestseller and made Friedan a feminist icon, it is fascinating to see how dramatically it changed her own life.

As a child Betty was already an outsider, too smart for a girl and too Jewish for pre-war Peoria. Her mother provided an early prototype of the mystique : An extremely bright woman, she devoted her energy to manipulating her husband and children. All this pain aroused an interest in social justice. At college, Betty found both intellectual interests and a community of smart, socially conscious women. She finally felt comfortable with herself. After college, she lived in New York City working as a journalist and social activist and married Carl Friedan. Once the babies arrived, the Friedans fell into traditional roles: Carl left the theater for advertising and Betty became a housewife. The marriage unraveled. Carl stayed away later and longer. Betty wrote magazine articles, which were often rejected as unrelated to women’s concerns of romance, beauty, and family. These rejected articles became the foundation for her book. As Betty became successful, her marriage became violent. Her account of championing women’s rights while hiding scars and bruises is the most poignant of her stories.

The feminist movement grew quickly; in 1966, Friedan founded the National Organization for Women (NOW). She relates how the movement later splintered into various interest groups. Friedan herself envisioned more for women in the traditional arenas, not a radical restructuring of society. She ended up too moderate for the movement she’d created.

Betty Friedan describes a life in the vortex during immense social change. Her account of what happened to feminism, delivered in her blunt style, is passionate and thought provoking. Her personal stories both sad and joyful will touch even those unmoved by her cause.

Mary Helen Clarke is a writer and editor in Nashville.

For almost three decades, Betty Friedan has been a prominent writer, feminist, and political activist. In her autobiography, Life So Far, Friedan reflects on being a change agent while negotiating her own personal disasters and triumphs. It changed my life! was the typical response to…

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When B.B. King died in May 2015, the world lost an artist whose distinctive style shaped several generations of musicians. King’s fluid guitar riffs and lead runs still define the blues for many fans. Eric Clapton called King “the most important artist the blues has ever produced,” but as journalist Daniel de Visé points out in his absorbing new biography, King of the Blues: The Rise and Reign of B.B. King, King’s journey to such acclaim was never easy. Even King himself might have deferred to other blues artists, such as Blind Lemon Jefferson, as more worthy of Clapton’s accolade.

Drawing on extensive interviews with almost every surviving member of King’s inner circle, including family, friends and band members, de Visé chronicles King’s life from his birth into a sharecropper family in Mississippi, to his parents’ split, to his early years being raised by his grandmother. King loved gospel music and sang in the choir at Elkhorn Baptist Church, but as much as he liked the Soul Stirrers and other gospel groups, he noticed they didn’t have a guitar, the instrument he most wanted to learn. One of his ministers taught King three chords on the guitar, and when he turned 16, King bought the fire-red Stella that would kick off his journey to becoming a master of the instrument. Recalling his exquisite joy at having a guitar in his hands, King said, “Never have been so excited. Couldn’t keep my hands off her. If I was feeling lonely, I’d pick up the guitar . . . happy, horny, mad, or sad, the guitar was right there, a righteous pacifier and comforting companion.”

Soon enough, King left Mississippi for Memphis and became an international star. As de Visé points out, though, King always looked over his shoulder at the poverty and scenes of racial injustice out of which he had grown, incorporating those deep feelings of loss into his music so that his listeners could feel his sorrow as he bent the blues through his guitar strings. King of the Blues is the first full and authoritative biography of King, and it accomplishes what all good music books should: It drives readers to revisit King’s music and savor it again.

King of the Blues is the first authoritative biography of B.B. King, and as all good music books should, it will drive readers to revisit King’s iconic music.
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Massachusetts Lieutenant Governor Thomas Hutchinson’s house in Boston was destroyed by a mob. Benjamin Franklin’s son William was imprisoned for political reasons and wasn’t allowed to visit his dying wife. Grace Growden Galloway, a prominent Philadelphian, was forcibly evicted from her home when it was confiscated because of her husband’s beliefs.

Who were the miscreants who beleaguered these upstanding citizens? In all three cases, they were supporters of American independence from Britain—the very people we now think of as Patriots. The American Revolution wasn’t just a conflict between colonists and redcoats, as it turns out. It was an unforgiving brawl between neighbors.

H.W. Brands illuminates the intensely personal nature of early Americans’ ideas about independence.

In Our First Civil War, prolific historian and Pulitzer Prize finalist H.W. Brands zeroes in on that neglected aspect of the Revolution in a narrative told mostly through the writings of those who lived through it. He ranges from the very famous, such as George Washington and Benjamin Franklin, to the less familiar, such as two enslaved Black men who fought on different sides of the war and a Mohawk chief who chose the alliance least damaging to his tribe.

Much of the book is devoted to the evolution of Washington and Franklin from staunch Britons to unlikely leaders in the movement for independence. But Franklin’s sad family history is equally intriguing: He helped his son William achieve prominence as a colonial governor, then bitterly broke with him over their political differences. The two never reconciled.

Galloway’s experience is another of Brand’s poignant tales. After her Loyalist husband deserted her and fled to Britain, the Patriots seized her substantial property, and she was left in poverty. Her view of independence was not a positive one. But Brands also shows that the British were their own worst enemies, treating sincere compromise efforts with arrogant contempt, then ignoring informed advice from Loyalists over the war’s conduct.

Like all civil wars, it was a bloody mess. Some Americans achieved better lives, but others were utterly devastated. Brands shows how fraught and complicated it was for the generation that lived through it, a perspective well worth considering amid our current divisions.

The American Revolution wasn’t just a conflict between colonists and redcoats. It was an unforgiving brawl between neighbors.
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The scariest word in the English language excluding IRS has to be cancer. And what if you heard doctors say cancer to you, not once, but three different times regarding three different illnesses? Hamilton Jordan, former campaign manager and chief of staff for President Jimmy Carter, was diagnosed on three different occasions with non-Hodgkins lymphoma, melanoma, and prostate cancer. He had been given a 25 percent chance of survival, but claims that by taking control of his own treatment, he raised his projected odds to more than 50 percent. That was almost 15 years ago. How people react emotionally, intellectually, and physically to the simple words

The scariest word in the English language excluding IRS has to be cancer. And what if you heard doctors say cancer to you, not once, but three different times regarding three different illnesses? Hamilton Jordan, former campaign manager and chief of staff for President Jimmy…

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Dwight David Eisenhower is a biographer’s dream and nightmare. Few men in history have had so much of their lives as part of the public record; from the time he first accepted his appointment at West Point until his final moments at Walter Reed Hospital in Washington, D.C., his every move was noted.

But who was Dwight David Eisenhower? As a child of the ’60s, I knew him only as a bald-headed former president, and later on, as a World War II general in a high school history text. If you’re not a student of history, you probably don’t know much more than that.

Yet, as Perret shows us, Eisenhower’s was a life well led; more than almost anyone else of his generation, Ike realized his fullest potential from humble beginnings, and he took himself far beyond his own personal limitations. He was a leader of great armies, but not a tactical genius himself. He was a genius at logistics and at motivating people to do the things they did best. The juggling act that he performed during WWII between the egos of Patton, Montgomery, and Bradley is astonishing.

With its wealth of detail, Eisenhower almost inevitably invites conflicts of interpretation. For example, Ike’s father was a dark, obsessive man whose behavior obviously affected his son. Perret tells us over and over of Eisenhower’s emotional distance from those that loved him, but he never directly makes the connection between this and how the father treated the son.

Dwight David Eisenhower is a biographer's dream and nightmare. Few men in history have had so much of their lives as part of the public record; from the time he first accepted his appointment at West Point until his final moments at Walter Reed Hospital…

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