The Associated Press, which prides itself on speedy reporting, appalled the civilized world on September 29, 1999, when it broke a half-century-old story. The news report claimed that U.S. military forces massacred as many as 400 civilians in the early days of the Korean conflict. According to the report, the slaughter denied by the Army and hushed up for years occurred in July 1950 in the South Korean hamlet of No Gun Ri. The story earned the Pulitzer Prize for reporters Sang-Hun Choe, Charles Hanley and Martha Mendoza. In The Bridge at No Gun Ri, these wire-service staffers have added depth and breadth to their initial account. They tell how aging U.S. veterans and surviving Koreans have tried to cope with haunting memories and tragic losses. The result is an even-handed and engrossing account of the carnage and its consequences.

Why the massacre? U.S. troops feared enemy soldiers had donned peasant clothes and joined civilian refugees streaming southward toward American lines. Without a way to identify disguised infiltrators, the U.S. plan to eliminate them became simple: Kill everyone. When a large group of refugees paused to rest near a bridge, American planes strafed them, killing about 100. Hundreds of others, most of them children, women and old men, managed to take cover beneath the bridge. In the next three days, some 300 were shot to death. The American soldiers played with our lives like boys playing with flies, recalls a survivor.

The three writers, combing through thousands of documents and conducting hundreds of interviews, established a clear record of the atrocities. Their findings triggered a U.S. investigation leading to an expression of regret from former President Clinton.

The Korean survivors’ emotion-stirring tales show how innocent victims driven by the power of family love managed to persevere despite their irreparably damaged lives. When the book is closed, one question is likely to linger in the reader’s mind: Could I have kept on going as they did?

Ex-newsman Alan Prince served in the Army during the Korean War.

The United Nations was created from the strategic vision of Franklin Delano Roosevelt, who deemed it essential that the world have an effective international security organization. Even before the U.S. entered World War II, Roosevelt’s administration had begun planning for a postwar world. FDR died on April 12, 1945, just two weeks before the San Francisco conference on the U.N. was set to begin. New president Harry Truman was facing other major foreign policy questions, but his strong belief in the U.N. concept led him to proceed with the conference. The story of that crucial meeting, at which 46 nations gathered for two months to establish the organization, is told in Stephen Schlesinger’s compelling new book Act of Creation: The Founding of the United Nations.

At the heart of the narrative are two little-known but extraordinary men. One is Secretary of State Edward Stettinius, head of the U.S. delegation, who did an outstanding job of forging consensus. The other was Russian ŽmigrŽ Leo Pasvolsky, a State Department official who was most responsible for writing the U.N. charter. His analytical skills and willingness to work behind the scenes made him indispensable.

Of the many issues covered at the San Francisco conference, probably the most contentious was that regarding the veto power in the Security Council. The understanding agreed to at Yalta gave the five permanent Security Council members absolute veto over “substantive matters” vague wording that prompted smaller nations to question the scope of the veto, a crisis that threatened the success of the conference. Among the journalists covering the event was a 27-year-old former naval officer, John F. Kennedy. In summarizing the results of the meeting, he wrote that, overall, “What [the] Conference accomplished is that it made war more difficult.” For all its successes and failures, the U.N. has played an important role in world politics for over half a century. Schlesinger’s impressive account of its founding deserves a wide readership. Roger Bishop is a bookseller in Nashville.

In 1790, England had a new naval hero: a man who had saved the lives of more than a dozen sailors by navigating a 23-foot open boat over 4,000 miles a staggering feat of seamanship. William Bligh, late of the ship H.M.

S. Bounty, was the toast of the town. Captain Bligh? A hero? As everyone “knows” thanks to Nordhoff and Hall’s 1932 novel Mutiny on the Bounty and the various movies based on it, intrepid master’s mate Fletcher Christian launched a mutiny against the tyrannical Captain Bligh, whom he set adrift in a launch with a handful of loyalists. Christian then led his followers to an idyllic existence on a South Pacific island. But real life has an inconvenient way of diverging from legend. Readers will find the true story in Caroline Alexander’s The Bounty, a fascinating book based on court testimony, diaries and other primary sources that draws a picture very different from the popular version. Alexander, author of the equally excellent volume The Endurance, which told the story of Sir Ernest Shackleton’s Antarctic expedition, produces a vivid narrative with psychological depth and a keen understanding of historical context. Not that Alexander’s Bligh is a saint. He was a perfectionist with an ugly temper. But his record was far better than that of many contemporary naval officers, and he didn’t treat anyone unfairly by the standards of the time. As presented here, the mutiny wasn’t a rebellion against oppression, but a personal clash between two men under pressure who misunderstood each other’s motives. Ironically, even in Alexander’s deft hands, Christian emerges as somewhat of a mystery, in part because he died under odd circumstances not long after he brought his crew to Pitcairn Island. Anne Bartlett is a journalist who lives in South Florida.