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Christopher Columbus and Vasco da Gama had the same goal: a sea route to “the Indies.” Despite our October holiday, it’s abundantly clear who succeeded. The Portuguese da Gama decisively won the contest by rounding Africa’s Cape of Good Hope and finding his way to the wealthy spice port of Calicut in India in 1498. Columbus’ voyages had the greater long-term impact by opening the Americas to European colonization. But historian Nigel Cliff argues in his sweeping Holy War that da Gama’s deeds had a huge influence on the economic and cultural competition between East and West that continues today.

Da Gama’s sea journeys provide the framework for Cliff’s epic, but he is only a symbol of the larger Portuguese imperial effort in the 15th and 16th centuries. Portugal’s royal house had two interwoven objectives: the worldwide spread of Christianity and the acquisition of wealth. Spurred on by their mistaken belief in a nonexistent Eastern Christian king called “Prester John,” they set out to break the Muslim Arab monopoly on the spice trade from India to Europe. Da Gama was the perfect spearhead.

Da Gama’s encounters with Africa and India make a compelling adventure tale, told by Cliff with the right mix of sweep and detail. Cliff portrays da Gama as tough, smart, ruthless and consumed with the hatred of Islam typical of his Iberian crusader background. He was a far better leader than Columbus, and although he certainly made mistakes—for example, he was long under the strange misapprehension that the Hindus were Christians—he got results.

Christianity didn’t triumph throughout the globe, but Cliff argues that the maritime empire created by da Gama and his successors through bloodshed and guile did tip the economic balance of power from the Middle East to Europe. That empire was mismanaged and short-lived, but the Dutch and English followed where the Portuguese led. The consequences linger.

Christopher Columbus and Vasco da Gama had the same goal: a sea route to “the Indies.” Despite our October holiday, it’s abundantly clear who succeeded. The Portuguese da Gama decisively won the contest by rounding Africa’s Cape of Good Hope and finding his way to the wealthy spice port of Calicut in India in 1498. […]
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Emily Dickinson and Thomas Wentworth Higginson corresponded for almost 25 years, yet met in person only twice. Beginning with a letter from the reclusive poet in 1862 to a literary figure she knew only through his essays and social activism, and lasting till her death in 1886, it is arguably one of the most important relationships in American literary history. In that initial letter, which included four of her poems, Dickinson famously asked, "Are you too deeply occupied to say if my Verse is alive?" Their connection, as described by Brenda Wineapple in her luminous new book, White Heat: The Friendship of Emily Dickinson and Thomas Wentworth Higginson, was "based on an absence, geographic distance, and the written word." After their first meeting at her home, in 1870, Higginson wrote that Dickinson "drained my nerve power so much. Without touching her, she drew from me. I am glad not to live near her." But he recognized her unique talent and wished to help her if he could. Though he admitted after Dickinson’s death that he could not teach her anything, Wineapple shows how Higginson’s encouragement and support were meaningful for both of them.

Wineapple, the acclaimed biographer of Nathaniel Hawthorne, Gertrude and Leo Stein, and Janet Flanner, makes a very persuasive case that Higginson, whose place in the poet’s life and work has often been downplayed, did indeed perform a singularly significant role. In their letters, she writes, "they invented themselves and each other, performing for each other in the words that filled, maintained, and created the space between them." They shared a passion for the natural world and literature; Wineapple demonstrates how through the years Dickinson dipped into Higginson’s work and rewrote it for her own poetic purposes.

She trusted and liked him and, as far as is known, there was no one else except her sister-in-law to whom she gave more of her poems. Only a few of Dickinson’s poems were published during her lifetime. Higginson played a central role in the posthumous publication of her work, collaborating with Mabel Loomis Todd in selecting and editing the first two volumes of poems. He found a publisher and wrote an introduction for the first volume. Higginson has often been criticized for changing the poems – eliminating Dickinson’s dashes at certain points and substituting more "appropriate" words – but this charge is probably not fair. Mrs. Todd, who copied many of the poems, admitted that it was she who made most of the changes.

White Heat succeeds magnificently in shining a light into the work of two unlikely friends. Dickinson did not live as isolated a life as we might imagine, while Higginson was indeed a radical activist, a supporter of John Brown, a strong advocate for women’s rights, and the leader of the first federally authorized regiment of freed slaves during the Civil War. But his compassion and literary sensibility were also at the heart of what he was about.

This book is not, Wineapple writes, conventional literary criticism or biography. She lets Dickinson’s poetry speak largely for itself, as Higginson first read it. The result gives us a powerful insight into two extraordinary figures who were there, in a rather unusual way, for each other.

Roger Bishop is a retired Nashville bookseller and a regular contributor to BookPage.

This review refers to the hardcover edition.

Emily Dickinson and Thomas Wentworth Higginson corresponded for almost 25 years, yet met in person only twice. Beginning with a letter from the reclusive poet in 1862 to a literary figure she knew only through his essays and social activism, and lasting till her death in 1886, it is arguably one of the most important […]
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Some passions die hard. If you’re old enough to recognize the names Le Duc Tho, Salvador Allende and Anatoly Dobrynin without resorting to Wikipedia, you already know what you think of Henry Kissinger. But younger people have no such preconceptions—and the passage of 35 years is probably long enough to open even most older minds about the man who dominated U.S. diplomacy in the early 1970s.

Alistair Horne, a veteran historian whose more recent works have focused on France, believes we’re now at a point when Kissinger’s record can be seen more objectively. Horne has known Kissinger since 1980, and the former secretary of state approached him in 2004 to write his official life. Horne counter-offered: thus, Kissinger: 1973, The Crucial Year.

Like other “years” that have recently attracted writers (1848 springs to mind), 1973 was indeed a doozy. Detente with the Soviet Union and China was in full swing. The U.S. and North Vietnam agreed to a treaty that ended direct American involvement in the Vietnam War, leading to a Nobel Peace Prize for Kissinger and Le Duc Tho. Chilean President Allende was overthrown in a military coup. The Yom Kippur War and subsequent oil embargo began a new era in the Arab-Israeli conflict. Overshadowing everything at home was the Watergate crisis, which both empowered and stymied Kissinger. He was promoted from national security advisor to secretary of state at a time when Nixon, a foreign policy strategic master prone to jealousy of his underling, was in political and personal collapse.

As Horne makes clear, Kissinger was a product of the Cold War generation, and he saw literally every issue through the prism of relations with the Soviets. He failed again and again to heed warnings that Egypt was about to attack Israel, and he initially underestimated President Anwar Sadat’s abilities. But he quickly seized the opportunity to push the Soviets out of the Middle East and make the U.S. the key mediator in the conflict, with mixed consequences that persist today.

Vietnam emerges as Kissinger’s worst failure, though only in part through his own actions. Horne argues that Watergate’s most serious foreign policy impact was to limit the U.S. ability to respond to flagrant North Vietnamese treaty violations, as a Congress hostile to Nixon refused military funding.

If a book on foreign affairs can have lighter moments, they come in Horne’s description of Kissinger’s calamitous “Year of Europe” initiative, which ran aground on British pique, French obstructionism and German Ostpolitik. More seriously, the latest evidence described by Horne suggests that the decision by Kissinger and his top colleagues to respond to what they saw as a Soviet provocation in the Middle East with a DEFCON 3 alert of the U.S. military was an overreaction—the most dangerous point in the Cold War since the Cuban Missile Crisis.

Although Horne is an authorized biographer with full access to Kissinger and his voluminous archives, he is not a hagiographer. He scrupulously goes through the arguments of Kissinger’s critics on the left and the right, and examines the evidence, including newly available Soviet records. He comes to a generally favorable conclusion, but provides readers with enough facts and fair analysis to make up their own minds.

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

Some passions die hard. If you’re old enough to recognize the names Le Duc Tho, Salvador Allende and Anatoly Dobrynin without resorting to Wikipedia, you already know what you think of Henry Kissinger. But younger people have no such preconceptions—and the passage of 35 years is probably long enough to open even most older minds […]
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Published on the 400th anniversary of Shakespeare’s sonnets, So Long As Men Can Breathe is Christopher Heylin’s riveting account of the tangled publication history of one of our literature’s most famous, and infamously mysterious, volumes. Heylin begins by defining “booklegs,” essentially bootlegs, arguing that the Sonnets are in fact the most well known “booklegs” of all. He then makes an extended comparison between Shakespeare and Dylan.

Why all the Bob Dylan references? It’s difficult to think of a musician as “bootlegged” as Dylan, for whom Heylin has served as biographer (Behind the Shades) and discographer (Revolution in the Air). Indeed, a Renaissance man in his own right, Heylin applies his encyclopedic mental database of the ways and means of bootlegging with a scholarly but entirely unstuffy zeal, revealing in the bargain commonsensical answers to the questions the sonnets have provoked for centuries: Who was Thomas Thorpe? “Mr. W. H.?” The “Onlie Begetter?” The “Fair Youth” and the “Dark Lady”? What hand did Shakespeare actually play in his sonnets’ arrangement and publication?

In Renaissance showbiz, as in today’s music business, most monies accrued to the publishers, not the artists themselves. Shakespeare, an astute businessman, owned part of the Globe Theatre and its productions, and as a result, by 1609, when the Sonnets appeared, he was the most successful playwright in London. While he couldn’t prevent pirated editions of his work—the “bad quartos,” for example—evidence points to Shakespeare’s enabling such piracy in the case of the Sonnets, a crux that Bardists have long sought to solve with interpretations of their notoriously baffling preface. (Heylin believes it was written by Thorpe, a man whose ambitions, if not talents, rivaled Shakespeare’s.)

Every imaginable (for me) question raised by every subsequent edition of the Sonnets is taken on by Heylin, and answered with passion and substance. What finer anniversary present could their author have asked, except, of course, the fulfillment of his wish that they be read—even misread—“so long as men can breathe?” Heylin makes a successful case that Shakespeare knew what the world’s reply would be even as he dipped his quill.

Diann Blakely has been short-listed for the Georgia Author of the Year Award for her most recent collection of poems, Cities of Flesh and the Dead (Elixir Press).

Published on the 400th anniversary of Shakespeare’s sonnets, So Long As Men Can Breathe is Christopher Heylin’s riveting account of the tangled publication history of one of our literature’s most famous, and infamously mysterious, volumes. Heylin begins by defining “booklegs,” essentially bootlegs, arguing that the Sonnets are in fact the most well known “booklegs” of […]
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Already dreading having to send a check to Uncle Sam? BookPage has the perfect book to inspire you to get started on those tax returns. Explore the weird world of the IRS in Richard Yancey’s Confessions of a Tax Collector: One Man’s Tour of Duty Inside the IRS and we promise you’ll never miss a tax deadline again.

Yancey, an English major who took seven years to graduate from college, tells the bizarre story of how he went from actor wannabe to Revenue Officer (don’t call them tax collectors) after answering a newspaper ad on a whim. A sarcastic, tell-it-like-it-is kind of guy, Yancey fit right in with his first boss (a suspected Wiccan priestess) and training officer (a certifiable body building fanatic).

Not surprisingly, the IRS has a rule for everything, but the most important are these: #1 document everything and #2 shred everything. What is surprising is how workers get sucked into the system, learning to speak the IRS language of acronyms and numbers while losing the ability to think independently. As Yancey writes, the “system was designed in such a way as to completely remove our judgment from the process.” Instead, Revenue Officers follow the four protocols: “Find where they are. Track what they do. Learn what they have. Execute what they fear.” The book is funny in a “thank God that’s not me!” way, while at the same time being down right frightening. In the first case Yancey handled, he was faced with seizing the home of a down-on-her-luck daycare owner, and the cases only get more bizarre and pitiful as he uncovers child abuse and the mob. These guys are bullies, and you’ll want to avoid a run-in with any of the slightly deranged, power-tripping tax hounds profiled here.

Already dreading having to send a check to Uncle Sam? BookPage has the perfect book to inspire you to get started on those tax returns. Explore the weird world of the IRS in Richard Yancey’s Confessions of a Tax Collector: One Man’s Tour of Duty Inside the IRS and we promise you’ll never miss a […]
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Harry Truman liked to drive and once said, “I like roads. I like to move.” So it seemed natural that in the summer of 1953, after serving almost eight years as president (he had been vice president for only 82 days when FDR died), private citizen Truman would drive himself and his wife Bess from their Independence, Missouri, home to New York City and back. Public radio reporter Matthew Algeo retraces their route in Harry Truman’s Excellent Adventure: The True Story of a Great American Road Trip.

During their nearly 2,500-mile roundtrip, the Trumans stayed almost exclusively in family-owned motels or with friends, ate in local restaurants and tried to travel incognito. Such a trip would be impossible today; at the time, former presidents did not have Secret Service protection. Though their itinerary was not made public and the president’s popularity was at an all-time low when he left office, well-wishers and reporters often appeared when the couple stopped, asking for photos or autographs.

Algeo interviewed people who met the Trumans and researched accounts of their travels in local newspapers and other sources. At times, he tells of his own experiences retracing their trip, noting, for example, that only one of the mom-and-pop businesses the Trumans are known to have patronized is still in business and owned by the same family. But Harry Truman’s Excellent Adventure is more than a travelogue. Algeo adroitly gives us relevant background about Truman’s personal and public life, especially his presidency, and explains the trip within the context of the 1950s—roads were often in poor condition; cars did not have seat belts, air conditioning or air bags—and American history generally. Among many examples of the latter is the story of the Pennsylvania Turnpike.

This very readable book takes us back to a country quite different in many ways from today. Readers will almost feel like they’re sitting in the back seat of that 1953 Chrysler, enjoying the trip.

Roger Bishop recently road tripped to New Mexico to visit his grandson.

Harry Truman liked to drive and once said, “I like roads. I like to move.” So it seemed natural that in the summer of 1953, after serving almost eight years as president (he had been vice president for only 82 days when FDR died), private citizen Truman would drive himself and his wife Bess from […]

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