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“To change how we talk is to change who we are,” notes Andrew Marantz toward the end of Antisocial, his breathtaking, page-turning foray into the clash between Silicon Valley entrepreneurs and online extremists. He continues, “More and more every day, how we talk is a function of how we talk on the internet.”

A staff writer for The New Yorker and contributor to “Radiolab” and “The New Yorker Radio Hour,” Marantz spent three years immersed in two different worlds. Rather like a war correspondent, he focused on both the new social media tycoons and a variety of online extremists.

And while the title might lead you to expect a dense, academic treatment, Marantz’s narrative is like going along for the ride in a foreign landscape, bouncing into the unknown on a bumpy road. The book begins, for instance, with a lively, rather humorous foray into the 2017 DeploraBall, a party in Washington, D.C., for, as one participant told Marantz, “all the big names from MAGA Twitter.”

Marantz has a keen eye for character, and Antisocial sometimes reads like a novel about people with oversize personalities. But his intentions are serious, and ultimately Antisocial is an insightful look at two powerful forces shaping American society. There are the social media entrepreneurs motivated by a vision of the internet bringing people closer together and toppling traditional media gatekeepers and outlets. And, often in direct opposition to that vision, there are extremists, conspiracy theorists, white supremacists and neo-Nazis.

Traveling with Marantz is indeed a dizzying and often disturbing ride. Depending on what readers know about social media, the characters Marantz encounters may or may not be familiar names. But some of the ideas and positions they espouse are increasingly impossible to ignore.

Whether you use social media or not, Antisocial is an important look at groups that are molding the nation. “We like to assume that the arc of history will bend inexorably toward justice,” Marantz notes in his prologue, “but this is wishful thinking.”

“To change how we talk is to change who we are,” notes Andrew Marantz toward the end of Antisocial, his breathtaking, page-turning foray into the clash between Silicon Valley entrepreneurs and online extremists. He continues, “More and more every day, how we talk is a…

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On the Fourth of July in the late 1820s, Frances Wright, a Scottish philanthropist, writer and social reformer, gave what was probably the first public address by a woman in the United States. In it, she warned her audience against a narrow patriotism that worshipped the founders instead of their principles. She encouraged listeners to focus instead on the Constitution’s amendment system, with its expectation of change as the public became more enlightened. Holly Jackson’s magnificent American Radicals tells the story of trailblazers like Wright who sparked a second American revolution in the 19th century and of their profound effect on the course of our history.

This sweeping and briskly told history introduces the many people who have challenged conventional approaches to race, gender, property, labor and religion, and the devastating attacks waged in response by defenders of the status quo. The major figures in public reform are certainly here, but Jackson intentionally focuses on obscure figures who played significant parts.

Among them was George Ripley, who left the Unitarian ministry and, with his wife, founded Brook Farm, a communitarian project whose residents shared domestic and agricultural work equally in an intellectual atmosphere. Nathaniel Hawthorne lived there, and many other visitors came to observe, such as Ralph Waldo Emerson and Margaret Fuller. The theories of Charles Fourier, a French philosopher who felt that “civilization” as it was being practiced was “monstrously defective” and needed major reform, inspired the project. Jackson believes “the impact of Fourier’s thought on American culture has been underestimated, probably because it is difficult to believe that thousands of Americans, including highly educated members of the elite, earnestly embraced these ideas. But they did.” 

This incisive and well-written overview of Americans who protested wrongs in their society deserves a wide readership. Many fine academic studies have covered the subjects here, but this account, written for a general audience, is authoritative and fast-paced and vividly portrays a crucial period.

On the Fourth of July in the late 1820s, Frances Wright, a Scottish philanthropist, writer and social reformer, gave what was probably the first public address by a woman in the United States. In it, she warned her audience against a narrow patriotism that worshipped…

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Early in his political ascent, Russian president Vladimir Putin floated the idea of giving his New Year’s Eve address live at midnight in each of Russia’s 11 time zones. Despite his obvious energy and the rapidity of air flight, the stunt never happened. But it did give authors Nina Khrushcheva and Jeffrey Tayler the idea for this book. Could they discover the “soul” of this massive nation by visiting cities in each zone, zigzagging leisurely from Kaliningrad on Russia’s western edge to the Kamchatka Peninsula in the Far East? Both writers bring a good deal of useful background to their journey. Khrushcheva is the great-granddaughter of former Soviet Premier Nikita Khrushchev. Tayler lives in Moscow, is married to a Russian and has written of his earlier travels across the country.

If Russia has a soul—an irreducible essence—it may well be its ambivalence about its place in the world, its simultaneous admiration and resentment of the more developed (and more decadent) West. It often mimics what it publicly deplores. In spite of Russia’s much-touted embrace of capitalism, vestiges of its communist past are everywhere. Virtually every town has a Lenin statue. A more sanitized version of Stalin also surfaces here and there. Russians, the authors contend, subscribe to the “great man” theory of history, believing that strong rulers, rather than changing circumstances, “determine the course of events.”

Throughout this chronicle, there are vivid descriptions of the climate, monuments and apparent public mood in each place the authors visit, along with interviews. Oddly, however, there is no discussion of the media—what the newspapers and magazines are saying (or not saying), what’s popular on television or how local and national news is conveyed and received. Despite Russia’s rough spots, the authors conclude, “People are, as a rule, living better than ever before, freer than ever before.”

Early in his political ascent, Russian president Vladimir Putin floated the idea of giving his New Year’s Eve address live at midnight in each of Russia’s 11 time zones. Despite his obvious energy and the rapidity of air flight, the stunt never happened. But it did give authors Nina Khrushcheva and Jeffrey Tayler the idea for this book. Could they discover the “soul” of this massive nation by visiting cities in each zone, zigzagging leisurely from Kaliningrad on Russia’s western edge to the Kamchatka Peninsula in the Far East?

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On Election Day in 2016, pundits were confident that Wisconsin would be a “blue wall” that would lead Hillary Clinton to victory. The next day, however, revealed a different story. Instead of showing Clinton the same support they had given Obama in the previous two presidential elections, Wisconsin went for Trump by 22,748 votes.

Political commentators were flummoxed. How could Wisconsin, historically the most progressive state in the Union, have turned overnight to the right? After all, Wisconsin had served as the legislative laboratory for the rest of the country, passing reform laws that later inspired the New Deal. Furthermore, Wisconsin’s unions could be reliably counted on to turn out the vote for Democrats. What had caused such a sudden shift?

According to journalist Dan Kaufman, the answer is that the shift did not occur overnight. A native Wisconsinite now based in New York, Kaufman argues that Wisconsin’s swing to Trump is the product of a decades-long effort by conservative think tanks, PACs and donors to dismantle Wisconsin’s progressive ethos and replace it with a right-to-work, anti-regulatory government. The result, according to Kaufman, is a gerrymandered state with weakened environmental laws, poor educational results and increased poverty.

Democrats do not get off lightly, either. Kaufman claims that the Democratic Party’s neglect of the industrial workers who made up the bulk of their union support had a significant impact on the outcome of the 2016 election. He also observes that job losses from NAFTA and the recession made union workers particularly susceptible to Governor Scott Walker’s divide-and-conquer tactics. Democrats, he argues, took Wisconsin for granted, and gave the unions little or no support in devastating political battles. Weakened, they had neither the ability nor the desire to turn out the vote for Clinton.

Kaufman weaves recent political events, Wisconsin history and the stories of real people caught in the political whirlpool—union leaders, Native Americans, grassroots organizers—into a meticulous and compelling exploration of a consequential political metamorphosis. It is essential reading to understand how we arrived where we are today.

On Election Day in 2016, pundits were confident that Wisconsin would be a “blue wall” that would lead Hillary Clinton to victory. The next day, however, revealed a different story. Instead of showing Clinton the same support they had given Obama in the previous two presidential elections, Wisconsin went for Trump by 22,748 votes.
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Dan Rather has enjoyed something of a renaissance recently, emerging as the leading force behind News and Guts, an online outlet that provides critiques of and insights into current happenings in Washington, D.C. It’s been gratifying to see this lion of the press corps get a second act, after a semi-scandal involving his reporting of unverified documents relating to President George W. Bush’s Air National Guard service hastened his exit from CBS News in 2007.

Now, Rather delivers What Unites Us, in which he reflects upon what it means to be a patriotic American. Written with collaborator Elliot Kirschner, the book is a deeply felt reminder of what is the best of America.

“Our Constitution, our rule of law, our traditions, our work ethic, our empathy, our pragmatism, and our basic decency,” he writes. “As I have seen over the years, when we cultivate these instincts, we soar. When we sow seeds of division, hatred, and small-mindedness, we falter.”

Given the Twitter wars, the tragedy in Charlottesville and the general vitriol currently ruling our national conversation, What Unites Us is at times almost unbearably poignant. Yet Rather’s words provide a sort of salve—and clear thinking about how to recover from these ugly times. He reflects on the role of the press, the need for sound science in making policy and public education as a pillar of patriotism. Deeply grounded in his upbringing in segregated Houston, Rather reminds us how far we have come as a nation.

Although this is a set of essays, not a memoir, Rather adds another dimension to the book by sharing remembrances from his remarkable life. This is a man who has so often been in the front row of history. He recalls drinking cola with civil rights activist Medgar Evers as they talked about voter repression in the 1960s South and rushing to the studio the morning of September 11, 2001.

What Unites Us is a passionate treatise on preserving the best of America and letting go of that which makes us weaker.

Dan Rather reflects upon what it means to be a patriotic American in What Unites Us. Written with collaborator Elliot Kirschner, the book is a deeply felt reminder of what is the best of America.

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When a presidential campaign is over and the winning candidate is in the White House, he (and in the future, she) must face the difficult task of turning political rhetoric into concrete legislation or executive action. Presidents get accustomed to people agreeing with them, but it is imperative that the top elected official in the land has someone with the authority to challenge the president. He or she must be willing to “speak truth to power” when problems emerge and must be ready to accept the blame when things go wrong, but be certain that when things go well, the president is the one who receives credit.

For many years that person has been the White House chief of staff. With his carefully researched, bipartisan and eminently readable The Gatekeepers: How the White House Chiefs of Staff Define Every Presidency, Chris Whipple has written a must-read book for all who want a backstage view of the presidency, from the Richard Nixon years through Barack Obama’s two terms. Based on extensive, intimate interviews with all 17 living former chiefs of staff, former presidents Jimmy Carter and George H.W. Bush, and many others, this is a treasure trove of ­experiences. James Baker, chief of staff for Ronald Reagan, who later served as treasury secretary and secretary of state, says a strong argument can be made that the position is the “second-most-powerful job in government.” Forty years after he served as Gerald Ford’s chief of staff, Donald Rumsfeld said the position was “unquestionably the toughest job I ever had,” despite later serving as secretary of defense under two presidents.

Whipple is an acclaimed writer, documentary filmmaker and multiple Peabody and Emmy Award-winning producer at CBS’ “60 Minutes” and ABC’s “Primetime.” The remarkably candid interviews and reader-friendly narrative of this book make for very informative and entertaining reading.

This article was originally published in the April 2017 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

When a presidential campaign is over and the winning candidate is in the White House, he (and in the future, she) must face the difficult task of turning political rhetoric into concrete legislation or executive action. Presidents get accustomed to people agreeing with them, but it is imperative that the top elected official in the land has someone with the authority to challenge the president. He or she must be willing to “speak truth to power” when problems emerge and must be ready to accept the blame when things go wrong, but be certain that when things go well, the president is the one who receives credit.

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In a recent Salon interview, Georgetown University professor and political analyst Michael Eric Dyson asked, “[H]ow do you carry out a criticism of those with whom you disagree without losing your humanity or questioning theirs in the process?” He answers his own question in The Black Presidency: Barack Obama and the Politics of Race in America. Driven by the hopes Obama raised with his historical rise to power, Dyson delivers a provocative scrutiny of a presidency as complex as the ongoing issues of race, and he does so with grace and wary empathy.

Some of Obama’s fellow African Americans, like civil rights leader Jesse Jackson and academic-activist Cornel West, can be brutally critical, while others, like Al Sharpton and Andrew Young, have been candid but kinder. Nationwide, blacks who voted in record numbers to help elect Obama have mostly given him a pass, according to Dyson, hesitant to speak too harshly because he is one of their own.

Dyson, though also black, is none of these. His review of Obama’s presidency is as unsparing as a parent practicing tough love. The love is there, but it grows tired. Why, he asks, does Obama so often point out the failings of his fellow African Americans while minimizing the context of racial inequality in America? Why can’t the president be as forthcoming as his wife Michelle in acknowledging the trials of being the first black family to occupy the White House? Why does he speak out about racial injustices less forcefully than his former attorney general, Eric Holder? Dyson carries his lengthy list of disappointments and complaints into the Oval Office and a revealing interview with the president himself.

Then come Trayvon Martin, Michael Brown, Freddy Gray and Charleston. The black president who had seemed so reluctant to address his own blackness is finally moved to speak from his spirit, in a eulogy that seems to deliver, Dyson says, on “the promise of his black presidency” at last. Time will tell whether Obama can include racial progress in his legacy. Dyson is cautiously holding onto that hope.

 

Priscilla Kipp is a writer in Townsend, Massachusetts.

In a recent Salon interview, Georgetown University professor and political analyst Michael Eric Dyson asked, “[H]ow do you carry out a criticism of those with whom you disagree without losing your humanity or questioning theirs in the process?” He answers his own question in The Black Presidency: Barack Obama and the Politics of Race in America. Driven by the hopes Obama raised with his historical rise to power, Dyson delivers a provocative scrutiny of a presidency as complex as the ongoing issues of race, and he does so with grace and wary empathy.
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Here we are, well into the campaign for the 2016 presidential primaries, complete with televised debates, Twitter feuds and weekly sendups on “Saturday Night Live.” And who knew we had Theodore Roosevelt to thank for all this?

Such education comes courtesy of Geoffrey Cowan in Let the People Rule, an entertaining account of how Roosevelt and his minions created and benefited from 13 primaries in the run-up to the 1912 presidential election—an election in which Woodrow Wilson ultimately prevailed over incumbent William Howard Taft and a back-from-retirement Roosevelt.

Roosevelt battled Taft’s entrenched forces for the Republican nomination, championing “the right of the people to rule.” His success in the primaries made life difficult for Taft right up to the party’s convention in Chicago, but Taft’s network was too much to overcome. That’s when Roosevelt’s supporters famously walked out and had a convention of their own.

Roosevelt admirers looking for a love letter to their hero had best look elsewhere, though. As Cowan makes clear, Roosevelt’s No. 1 objective was returning to the presidency, and he was willing to do anything to achieve that goal, such as repeatedly denying the rights of African Americans from the Deep South.

Roosevelt’s charismatic personality notwithstanding, the real stars of Let the People Rule are the political operators—like the reporter who doubled as a campaign strategist or the clandestine organizer of a “draft Roosevelt” campaign that even Roosevelt’s daughter called “somewhat cooked.”

It wasn’t pretty, but that’s politics—then and now.

 

This article was originally published in the January 2016 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

Here we are, well into the campaign for the 2016 presidential primaries, complete with televised debates, Twitter feuds and weekly sendups on “Saturday Night Live.” And who knew we had Theodore Roosevelt to thank for all this?
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The latest book in Bill O’Reilly’s Killing series will shed light on the assassination attempt that altered the course of Ronald Reagan’s presidency and of American history.

Bill O’Reilly, anchor of the Fox News #1 rated program “The O’Reilly Factor,” and writing partner Martin Dugard continue their best-selling series with Killing Reagan: The Violent Assault That Changed a Presidency. The series focuses on the deaths of major historical figures, and Reagan is the third president to be featured, after Kennedy and Lincoln. Of course, Reagan was not killed, but O’Reilly argues that Reagan’s encounter with a gunman bent on assassination profoundly affected his eight years in office. In Killing Reagan, O’Reilly explores the assassination attempt, as well as the 40th president’s early life as a Hollywood actor, his time as governor of California, his journey to the White House and his struggle with Alzheimer’s. 

On March 30, 1981, just two months into his presidency, Reagan came dangerously close to becoming the fifth president to be assassinated. As he left a speaking engagement at a Washington, D.C., hotel, John Hinckley Jr. approached and shot the president and three others. Reagan was shot in the arm and chest—a mere inch from his heart—resulting in a punctured lung and heavy internal bleeding. Quick action and the president’s otherwise good health saved his life.

Following the assassination attempt, Reagan made a seemingly swift recovery and was released from the hospital on April 11. He appeared in good health and returned within a month to the White House, where business quickly returned to normal. However, O’Reilly posits, Reagan was privately struggling to cope with the pain and trauma of the attempt on his life, which colored the remaining years of his presidency. 

Killing Reagan promises to reveal new details, and O’Reilly has said of his latest release, “Like all the others, this book will be somewhat controversial because we have uncovered brand new stuff, some of it surprising.”

During a radio interview, O’Reilly explained, “I always felt that history is fascinating, but the books are boring, and if you can write exciting books you would sell a lot of copies and have movies made of them.” With approximately 14 million copies in print across all formats, all of the books in O’Reilly’s Killing series have become bestsellers, and the National Geographic Channel has adapted three of his previous Killing books for film. It appears that O’Reilly has found a killer formula for success. 

The latest book in Bill O’Reilly’s Killing series will shed light on the assassination attempt that altered the course of Ronald Reagan’s presidency and of American history.

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When 43-year-old John F. Kennedy assumed the U.S. presidency in January 1961, he appeared to have little in common with 66-year-old British Prime Minister Harold Macmillan. The latter, son of an American mother and a British father, was a publisher, conservative politician and statesman and a wounded hero of World War I. Despite many personal differences, the two leaders shared a love of books and reading. In 1915, when he was seriously wounded on the Western front, Macmillan was found on the battlefield reading Prometheus in Greek. In later life, in moments of crisis he could be found sitting quietly and reading from Jane Austen. But during the 33 months that the two leaders, both pragmatists, worked together they came to deeply appreciate each other. Macmillan initiated their relationship with a “Dear Friend” letter, using the same appellation he had used with President Eisenhower, whom he had known for many years and worked with during World War II. As JFK pointed out in an interview: “I feel at home with him because I can share my loneliness with him. The others are all foreigners to me.” Christopher Sandford writes engagingly of their close relationship during some of the most important years of the Cold War in Harold and Jack: The Remarkable Friendship of Prime Minister Macmillan and President Kennedy, a fascinating glimpse into the role of personal relationships in diplomacy.

In 1962, Kennedy estimated that 80 percent of his first year in office had been spent dealing with foreign policy. During their overlapping years in high office, he and Macmillan shared involvement in crises that included the building of the Berlin Wall by the Soviet Union, the Cuban missile crisis and numerous regional clashes. Above all was the issue of nuclear arms control. Macmillan believed that his supreme challenge in life was to avert a nuclear holocaust.

When he was 18, Kennedy studied for a year at the London School of Economics, and several years later was with his parents in the House of Commons when Neville Chamberlain explained his country’s decision to declare war on Nazi Germany. The future president’s book on Chamberlain’s appeasement policy, Why England Slept, published in 1940, was a bestseller. During his time in England, Kennedy began a lifelong fascination with that country’s social and cultural elite.

Sandford covers a lot of ground in Harold and Jack, in particular the two most significant shared achievements of the two men. First, Macmillan was instrumental in keeping the NATO and Commonwealth leaders supportive of Kennedy’s decisions during the Cuban missile crisis. Robert Kennedy wrote that without Macmillan’s support, “our position would have been seriously undermined.” JFK himself told the British ambassador that “with the exception of Bobby, the Prime Minister was (the) one I felt the most connection to” during that fateful week of October 22, 1961. Secondly, in July 1963, three-way negotiations with the U.S.S.R. resulted in the limited nuclear test-ban agreement. The treaty barred tests underwater, in the atmosphere, and in space and allowed up to seven annual on-site inspections by each side and was acclaimed around the world. It was, in a sense, the beginning of the end of the Cold War. JFK wrote to Macmillan: “No one can doubt the importance in all this of your own persistent pursuit of a solution. . . . [M]ore than once your initiative is what got things started again.” Kennedy aide and historian Arthur Schlesinger said the treaty “would not have come about with the intense personal commitment of Kennedy and Macmillan.”

On January 31, 1964, Jacqueline Kennedy sent Macmillan a deeply personal, eight-page letter concerning her husband’s life and legacy. She referred to her husband and Macmillan as the “two greatest men of our time.” It was the beginning of a long correspondence, affectionate and sometimes touchingly intimate, that ended only with Macmillan’s death in 1986.

Sandford’s book is a fascinating look at the mix of the personal and the public in high stakes foreign affairs.

When 43-year-old John F. Kennedy assumed the U.S. presidency in January 1961, he appeared to have little in common with 66-year-old British Prime Minister Harold Macmillan. The latter, son of an American mother and a British father, was a publisher, conservative politician and statesman and a wounded hero of World War I. Despite many personal differences, the two leaders shared a love of books and reading. Christopher Sandford writes engagingly of their close relationship during some of the most important years of the Cold War in Harold and Jack: The Remarkable Friendship of Prime Minister Macmillan and President Kennedy, a fascinating glimpse into the role of personal relationships in diplomacy.
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There is a near irresistible urge to believe what we want to believe, even in the face of conflicting evidence. Seldom has that regrettable impulse been demonstrated more starkly than in 2006 when three members of the Duke University lacrosse team were charged with raping a woman they had hired to perform at a party as an “exotic dancer.” The accused were white men from well-to-do Northern families and the accuser a poor local black woman with two young children to support. With its overtones of racism, regionalism, gender advantage and class privilege, the situation couldn’t have been more dramatic—or potentially explosive.

Those who followed the case over the year it made national headlines will recall that the case against the three men was so flimsy it never came to trial. There was never any physical evidence that a rape occurred; the accused had airtight alibis for the period during which the rape supposedly took place; and the accuser changed her story substantially every time she retold it. The district attorney who doggedly pressed the case—acting solely on the woman’s accusation while disregarding all the indications she was lying—was disbarred.

William D. Cohan’s The Price of Silence: The Duke Lacrosse Scandal, the Power of the Elite, and the Corruption of Our Great Universities is an engrossing piece of reporting—the 600-plus pages read like a short story. Cohan uses the Duke incident not only to shine a light on the dangers of acting on preconceptions but also to examine the fabric of the modern university as it tries to strike a balance between serious academics and big-time athletics.

The book also has much to say about the hazards inherent in striving to achieve a racially and economically diverse student body. Cohan’s detailed account of the vibrations set off by the district attorney’s very public pursuit is a vigorous antidote to the here-today-gone-tomorrow school of journalism. (It may seem a small thing, but Cohan does the reader a great service here by listing and identifying the principal players at the beginning of the book. Other authors should take note.)

No one emerges unsullied here. Off the field, the lacrosse players routinely acted boorishly and entitled. The supposed victim had a history of dissembling and behaving erratically. Liberal members of the Duke faculty were just as quick to portray the team members as villains as the more conservative voices in the community were to blame the woman for inviting her own misfortune. Duke officials are shown to have been self-serving and vacillating, willing to throw the accused students to the wolves while piously declaring that the law should be allowed to take its course.

A Duke graduate and a contributing editor of Vanity Fair, Cohan has gleaned the larger lessons from this messy affair by demonstrating how a rush to judgment can damage or destroy countless lives. It’s a useful template for anyone who’s more concerned with achieving justice than reinforcing stereotypes.

There is a near irresistible urge to believe what we want to believe, even in the face of conflicting evidence. Seldom has that regrettable impulse been demonstrated more starkly than in 2006 when three members of the Duke University lacrosse team were charged with raping a woman they had hired to perform at a party as an “exotic dancer.” The accused were white men from well-to-do Northern families and the accuser a poor local black woman with two young children to support. With its overtones of racism, regionalism, gender advantage and class privilege, the situation couldn’t have been more dramatic—or potentially explosive.
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One of the unlikeliest marriages in American history—between a staunch conservative and a diehard liberal—is still going strong after 20 years.

In their sparkling and revealing memoir Love & War, Mary Matalin and James Carville recount the ups and downs of their very public life together: the 2000 presidential recount, Sept. 11, Hurricane Katrina (Carville is a Louisiana native). Throughout it all, the pair has stayed together while remaining on the opposite ends of the political spectrum.

Matalin comes across as a sharply funny and deeply intelligent woman, a fiercely loyal friend and a wonderfully supportive mom. But she also, improbably, manages to make even the famously over-the-top Carville sound measured:

“James led the charge for the wayward, I-never-inhaled, Southern-fried-but-elite-educated, liberal-in-centrist’s-sheepskin candidate, Bill Clinton,” Matalin writes about their time on the 1992 presidential campaign trail. “I was the one who stood by the ultimate statesman, an honest man and lifelong public servant, George H.W. Bush—aka ‘Poppy’ to me—the fantastic, accomplished incumbent who deserved victory but had it snatched away by a perfect storm generated by a next-gen Southern stud and an old-gen crackpot, Ross Perot.” 

Carville still works in a few zingers of his own: “Conservatives—and I know this because I live with one—literally view it as a kind of a weakness to talk to people other than themselves,” he writes. “The conservative media landscape is the biggest echo chamber going. They love to reinforce their beliefs, day after day.”

Despite their big lives at the center of American politics, Love & War is at its heart a lovely he-said, she-said exchange on the ordinary struggles of marriage in the modern age: Negotiating on which features they wanted in a home in New Orleans, where they moved in 2007. Carville’s hurt feelings when his middle-school daughters suddenly found him embarrassing. The pain of losing parents and friends (granted, in this case, the friend was Tim Russert).

Their genuine affection and respect comes through even when they’re skewering each others’ political beliefs. And Carville sums up neatly their secret to success: “I’d rather stay happily married than pick a fight with my wife over politics.” 

 

One of the unlikeliest marriages in American history—between a staunch conservative and a diehard liberal—is still going strong after 20 years.

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In the beginning, it was a mutually beneficial relationship. As a Beltway outsider, George W. Bush needed the advice of a seasoned Washington politician. Dick Cheney was eager to exert his influence on public policy without the glare of the spotlight. So Bush asked Cheney to be his running mate. The rest, as they say, is history: 9/11, the invasions of Afghanistan and Iraq, Hurricane Katrina, the Great Recession. The simplistic story was that Cheney, as vice president, ran the country behind the scenes, directing the moves of an untested president. The reality, according to journalist Peter Baker, was that the relationship between Bush and Cheney was much more complex. His new book, Days of Fire: Bush and Cheney in the White House, describes a relationship that evolved from Cheney being a trusted adviser to one where Bush became increasingly wary of his vice president’s counsel.

Baker witnessed the evolution firsthand, covering Bush as a reporter for the Washington Post. He now covers the Obama administration for the New York Times. Baker brings his newspaperman’s style of writing to Days of Fire; the book is steeped in facts, and the writing is clear and crisp.

You will also be impressed by Baker’s research and reporting. He interviewed more than 200 people, including White House insiders, politicians, relatives and friends to find some incredible anecdotes and to describe the shifting relationship between Bush and Cheney. In summary, when Bush chose Cheney as his running mate, he was looking for a mentor. But it was clear from the beginning that Bush was in charge, and he ultimately relied on his gut when making decisions, Baker writes. Things started to deteriorate after 9/11, as Cheney was a strong advocate of the invasion of Iraq under the assumption that it had weapons of mass destruction. In the aftermath, Bush started to rely more on his instincts, based in part on his growing self-confidence, and the realization that his vice president was a staunch, stubborn conservative.

Among the more fascinating examples of the changing Bush-Cheney relationship in Days of Fire is an account of how Cheney pushed hard to get a presidential pardon for his aide, Lewis “Scooter” Libby, after he was convicted of leaking the identity of CIA agent Valerie Plame. Bush, having already commuted Libby’s 30-month prison sentence, ultimately refused to pardon the conviction, a decision that infuriated Cheney and further soured their relationship.

All told, Days of Fire delves deeply into the Bush-Cheney partnership and offers breathtaking insights into power, passion and politics at the highest levels of our government.

In the beginning, it was a mutually beneficial relationship. As a Beltway outsider, George W. Bush needed the advice of a seasoned Washington politician. Dick Cheney was eager to exert his influence on public policy without the glare of the spotlight. So Bush asked Cheney…

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