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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Political scholar Lea Ypi’s memoir is fresh, poignant and funny as she explores Albania’s journey from socialism to liberalism through a child’s eyes.
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When then-California Senator Kamala Harris accepted the Democratic Party’s nomination for vice president of the United States, she spoke of a long history of inspiring women, including the impoverished Mississippi sharecropper-turned-human rights activist Fannie Lou Hamer. “We’re not often taught their stories, but as Americans, we all stand on their shoulders,” Harris said. Historian Keisha N. Blain’s extensively researched chronicle Until I Am Free: Fannie Lou Hamer’s Enduring Message to America ensures that Hamer’s story—and her lessons for activists—will live on.

The granddaughter of enslaved people and the youngest of 20 children growing up on a plantation in the Jim Crow South, Hamer’s formal education ended in the sixth grade. Her parents needed her to pick cotton in order to put food on the table. In 1962, at age 44, Hamer attended a meeting organized by the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee and learned for the first time that she had a constitutional right to vote.

After attempting to exercise that right got her thrown off the plantation, Hamer began organizing voter education workshops and registration drives. Her family became targets of violence, her husband and daughter were arrested and jailed, and their home was invaded. Eventually her work with SNCC activists almost cost Hamer her life: Jailed after a voter workshop in Winona, Mississippi, she took a beating that left her with kidney damage and a blood clot in one eye.

Undeterred, Hamer went on to challenge the all-white Mississippi delegates at the 1964 Democratic Party Convention in Atlantic City, New Jersey, arguing that the delegation couldn’t represent the state when Black Democrats had been excluded from the selection process. President Lyndon Johnson held an impromptu press conference to prevent television coverage of her graphic testimony, in which she detailed her beating, but it aired anyway and sparked outrage. Eventually the credentials committee offered the Mississippi Freedom Democratic Party, which included white and Black people, two at-large seats with no voting power. Hamer’s response: “We didn’t come all this way for no two seats.” Four years later, she would become a member of Mississippi’s first integrated delegation.

With SNCC, Hamer helped organize the legendary Freedom Summer in 1964 and later launched the Freedom Farm Cooperative to tackle rural poverty. She fought for inclusion in the women’s movement, and until her death in 1977, she remained strident about the global need to liberate all marginalized groups seeking political and economic justice. As readers take in Hamer’s life story throughout this rallying cry of a book, they will find that her message still resounds today: “You are not free whether you are white or black, until I am free.”

Historian Keisha N. Blain’s extensively researched chronicle ensures that Fannie Lou Hamer’s story—and her lessons for activists—will live on.
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Few writers create narrative threads so closely following the process of memory as Roy Blount, Jr. All the more apt that his memoir, Be Sweet: A Conditional Love Story, manages to collect a swarming beehive of memories, incidents, stories, and mild exaggerations, bundle them together with a humorists’ half-knot of narrative, and make it read like a revelation. In his search to explain and remove the “family curse” as he calls it, Blount ventures forth into the realm of what it means to be both middle-aged and a humorist and whether there is a connection between the two at all. Dominating all is that litany those two little words from his mother repeated to Blount the child, “be sweet,” that seemed to have set him on this journey in the first place. Confiding without resorting to confession, the memoir’s first chapter sets the tone and tenor of what will be an irreverent, jumbled, nonlinear trek. It starts with pieces of Blount’s childhood in Georgia and ends with a resolution and at least a partial sense of closure with the most complex figure in his life the lonely, abused, orphan girl that was his mother. As stories spawn more stories, the reader comes to realize digression is Blount’s chosen path toward that closure he seeks.

A commentary on the memories that make up memoirs, Be Sweet is not content only to revisit these collected stories of a family’s past: Blount intends for the reader to participate in the very process itself. Partly, this is what it means to be a humorist in this ironic, disaffected age. But most of all, Blount see this as the most direct way to convey the honesty of an author dredging the past for answers. And the amount of material, sheer hilarious material, brought to the surface is amazing. A lengthy, near scholarly chapter, “Junior,” ruminates on the accomplishments and failings of numerous famous juniors and how they must “resist the temptation to become second bananas.” Then it evolves into a touching examination of the relationship between Blount and his namesake father. Similarly, another section begins with Blount detailing the requisite self-loathing required of any humorist worth his salt and ends with a look at the difficult childhood burden his mother had to bear and how Blount credits such a past for his sense of humor. Moving from the more universal of his experiences to the intimate, revealing moments, Blount’s knack for finding the perfect ironic voice never falters.

A resolute and unflinching name-dropper, Blount recounts one ridiculous anecdote after another in this journey that touches on the movie stars, famous athletes, and well-known politicians he has hobnobbed with. At times, the story may brilliantly fit the narrative; other times, it begins to feel like you are sitting at the foot of a master storyteller, just hanging on for gems, not sure what is coming next.

You cannot help but feel it is intentional. Does the humorist drive the “message” of the book or is it the “message” driving and intensifying the humor? Either way, you read on, and it works. Being sweet, as we learn, may demand too much for the average person. Being funny is a walk in the park for Roy Blount, Jr.

Reviewed by Todd Keith.

Few writers create narrative threads so closely following the process of memory as Roy Blount, Jr. All the more apt that his memoir, Be Sweet: A Conditional Love Story, manages to collect a swarming beehive of memories, incidents, stories, and mild exaggerations, bundle them together…

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In Victory 1918, Alan Palmer, the noted historian and author of definitive biographies of Bismarck and the Habsburgs, looks beyond individual battles and campaigns and offers a new and broader view of the First World War. Palmer does not dwell on either the strategies that led to the stalemate on the Western Front or the details surrounding Russia’s withdrawal; nor does he reiterate the facts surrounding America’s entry into the War. Rather, he creates a mosaic that reflects the intersection of personal agendas. France’s Clemenceau and Britain’s Lloyd George emerge as pragmatic leaders determined to preserve and widen their nations’ post-war sphere of influence. Each entrusted conduct of war on the Western Front to his country’s most senior and respected military figures. Palmer notes that only the Americans entered the war without colonial ambitions and that European commander General Pershing spent much of his time insuring that his troops did not become additional cannon fodder for the Allies. Lloyd George, Clemenceau, and Hindenburg each found aggressive military leaders who shared their visions. For Clemenceau that general was Franchet d’Esperey and for Lloyd George, generals Allenby and Milne. The Kaiser turned to General Erich von Falkenhayn. Although these generals first saw combat in Europe, they were ultimately entrusted with preserving his country’s interests along its farther reaches. Their war was fought in Egypt and distant places once called the Levant, Mesopotamia, and Salonika. While many of these campaigns have been the subject of books, studies, and even movies, Palmer brings them together as elements of a coherent Allied strategy.

Victory 1918 recounts a war that resulted from misunderstandings and that was needlessly prolonged by the Allies’ misreading of Austria’s appeal for peace. It was also the war that reversed the tide of colonialism and sparked the rise of self-determination as the ultimate expression of nationalism. Alan Palmer offers a thought-provoking analysis of a defining event of the century just past.

John Messer once served at the Pentagon.

In Victory 1918, Alan Palmer, the noted historian and author of definitive biographies of Bismarck and the Habsburgs, looks beyond individual battles and campaigns and offers a new and broader view of the First World War. Palmer does not dwell on either the strategies that…

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Unwrapping the past Certainly not everything in the world is getting better and better, but illustrated books may well be. Color reproduction gets ever more precise and lush, and no book demonstrates this better than what is hands-down the most beautiful book on King Tut ever published Tutankhamun, with text by T.G.H. James and photographs by A. De Luca. James was for a long time Keeper of Egyptian Antiquities at the British Museum, and De Luca is considered one of the foremost photographers of jewelry and statuary in the world. The text is vivid and comprehensive, and explains many aspects of the story of the boy king, but the words are attendant upon the text in this volume. Primarily they serve as detailed captions for De Luca’s breathtaking photographs. The pictures capture the sheen of gold and lapis, the details of texture and inlay, as never before. From the quartz-eyed, ivory-toothed hippo beside the king’s bed to a gold-beaded bracelet with an amethyst scarab, the range of shameless opulence is amazing. Every time you turn the page you find another close-up view of a work of art demonstrating staggering workmanship. No fan of ancient Egypt, and certainly no Tutophile, will be able to resist this book.

While you’re in an Egyptian mood, you should turn to another beautiful new book, Valley of the Golden Mummies, by Zahi Hawass (Abrams, $49.50, ISBN ). Hawass is Egypt’s undersecretary of state for the Giza Monuments. He has made many discoveries of his own, including the tombs of the workers who built the pyramids, the tombs of some of Khufu’s officials and evidence about how the pyramids were built. He also directed the conservation of the Great Sphinx at Giza. Many artifacts appear in this book’s impressive illustrations, but there is also much more to round out the story. Handsome color photographs document excavations, restorations, tomb sites and many other fascinating archaeological tidbits that place the artifacts in context and help explain their role in the ancient world. The book is a pleasure to look at and a delight to read, and helps bring alive an era that has captured the imagination of the modern world.

Unwrapping the past Certainly not everything in the world is getting better and better, but illustrated books may well be. Color reproduction gets ever more precise and lush, and no book demonstrates this better than what is hands-down the most beautiful book on King Tut…

Bernardine Evaristo’s debut memoir is a thoughtful, vivid, often funny work by an author who refuses to play it safe.
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James Alan McPherson, an African-American Pulitzer Prize-winning author and a professor at the Iowa Writers Workshop, has come a long way from his early life as a poor boy in racially segregated Savannah, Georgia. Yet, as his title indicates, he is troubled by questions of identity and belonging. The barriers that still exist in America between races, classes, and ethnic groups make him uneasy, cautious, and fearful for the fate of the country.

Longing for genuine community across his diverse and still-divided native land, McPherson is a spiritual heir of the novelist Ralph Ellison. In "Gravitas," an essay that is the finest piece of writing in this collection of reflections, McPherson pays tribute to Ellison, the renowned author of Invisible Man and Juneteenth, for his affirmation of his identity as a black man and for his recognition of the humanity of all men and women. Although Ellison regarded himself as a product of the complex history of blacks in this country, he also saw himself as an American and as a sibling of all people. The hurts of racism never made him back off from that image of himself. Still struggling, McPherson hopes he will be able to match his mentor’s equanimity.

Throughout his career, McPherson has drawn hostility from African-American intellectuals for putting American solidarity above black solidarity. "Junior and John Doe" will make him a target again. In this essay, McPherson is contemptuous of the black middle class and its success. He has no respect for this burgeoning success because, as he sees it, successful blacks have simply adopted the corrupt values of the white middle class, so devoted to the pursuit of wealth and possessions, so morally obtuse.

McPherson is convinced that the black middle class has lost the moral certainty that earlier generations of blacks in this country had, an ethical imperative that had been passed along as a kind of a legacy. Included in that legacy was the notion that any dehumanization of another human being was wrong. In pursuit of creature comforts, blacks have learned to lie and manipulate with the worst of whites.

The dozen pieces in this book have an autobiographical thread that allows us to see an American writer raising himself from humble beginnings to intellectual force, a writer who measures his own success by what he has contributed towards the building of an all-inclusive human community.

Paul Marx is a freelance writer in New Haven, Connecticut.

James Alan McPherson, an African-American Pulitzer Prize-winning author and a professor at the Iowa Writers Workshop, has come a long way from his early life as a poor boy in racially segregated Savannah, Georgia. Yet, as his title indicates, he is troubled by questions of…

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Lincoln’s legacy lives on Abraham Lincoln was born in February of 1809, in humble surroundings. When he was assassinated 56 years later, he was one of the most famous human beings on earth. Even Uncle Sam himself had gradually evolved into a Lincolnesque figure. To this day Lincoln is the supreme deity in American mythology, and his profile on the penny is the most frequently reproduced portrait in the world. In an author’s note at the front of Lincoln: A Foreigner’s Quest, Jan Morris offers respectful and apologetic gratitude to the living and dead scholars upon whose work she built her own. Perhaps they should thank her instead. Many historians have written about Lincoln, but few have brought the man and his times alive so vividly as Morris does in this 200-page book. She waves her imagination across the dry old facts and they stand up and dance.

Jan Morris first visited the United States during the 1950s, when Lincoln idolatry was at its peak. Over the years Morris remained skeptical but intrigued. Finally, in the late 1990s, she visited contemporary Springfield, researched the city as it was in Lincoln’s time, and wrote about both experiences. She did the same with Gettysburg and Washington and the prairie countryside. The result is this splendid book.

Lincoln rose above his humble origins by becoming a lawyer and a legislator. According to Morris, Lincoln, like many ambitious politicians, made shady deals, rewarded patronage, and made empty promises. Only later, as president, when he had nowhere else to climb and his perpetual melancholy and Shakespearean outlook grew into a sense of destiny, did he rise to the occasion and become an Emersonian great man. Morris’s account of this personal growth is riveting. Although Lincoln never lost his taste for cheap jokes, gradually he replaced the stilted rhetoric of his early years with sinewy prose of almost Elizabethan grandeur.

Morris’s description of slavery also helps bring to life the era and its issues, from the horrors of punishment to the appeal of the genteel slave-based culture of the South. Although in time he opposed slavery, Lincoln considered blacks decidedly inferior and dreamed of their repatriation to their native lands or segregation in a separate colony. Skeptical at first, always objective, Morris nonetheless grew to like her subject. Ultimately she decides that the contradictory aspects of Lincoln’s personality may be resolved by accepting that he was by nature as much an artist as anything else. The moods, the contradictions, the evasiveness, the questioning of accepted truths, the playacting, the sexual complexity, the sad resolution, and the power to move the spirit, all made a poet of this consummate politician. Two other new books address Abraham Lincoln in ways dramatically different ways from Morris’s approach. Historian and novelist Richard Slotkin has written a novel about Lincoln’s upbringing and early years, titled simply Abe (Henry Holt, $27.50, 0805041230). It is an adventurous, violent, and yet thoughtful melodrama based in historical research but not strangled by it.

Usually Slotkin has a light touch that brings the man alive without dressing him up as the myth. This skill shows especially in such scenes as the teenage Abe working on his reading skills, even when he pores over a book that contains the Declaration of Independence. After all, reading really was Lincoln’s salvation, and his first inklings of the power of language and the language of power came from the already sacred American gospels. Slotkin nicely renders the requisite Huck Finn scenes, such as Abe’s momentous journey down the Mississippi. However, there are moments when the author’s admiration for his hero gets out of hand. At one point Slotkin’s teenage Abe is mistaken for a high yaller octoroon and actually quotes Shylock’s Hath not a Jew eyes? speech with references to slaves replacing those to Jews. Jan Morris is skeptical about the mythological Abraham Lincoln, and Richard Slotkin’s narrative urge is inspired by both the myths and the facts. Another new book examines the ways in which Lincoln’s powerful figure captured the imagination of Hollywood and other purveyors of popular culture. Abraham Lincoln: Twentieth-Century Popular Portrayals, by Frank Thompson (Taylor, $26.95, 0878332413), is a curious labor of love. Thompson has thoughtfully examined every movie about Lincoln, including silents, and also the many portrayals on television. After all, the cinematic Lincoln ranges the spectrum from Henry Fonda’s Young Mr. Lincoln to comic appearances in Police Squad and Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure. Through this surprisingly entertaining tour, Thompson evaluates the popular status of Abraham Lincoln. Apparently the myth is alive and well.

Michael Sims is the author of Darwin’s Orchestra (Henry Holt).

Lincoln's legacy lives on Abraham Lincoln was born in February of 1809, in humble surroundings. When he was assassinated 56 years later, he was one of the most famous human beings on earth. Even Uncle Sam himself had gradually evolved into a Lincolnesque figure. To…

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