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Though I read a great deal of historical fiction, I gravitate toward certain topics, as you can see in the list below of the 75 historical novels I’ve, read, enjoyed, and reviewed over the past seven years. My favorite subjects are European history, including many historical spy novels; World War II; American history, especially political history; and Asian and African history.
You’ll also find that several authors show up multiple times: Geraldine Brooks, Thomas Fallon, Olen Steinhauer, Alan Furst, and Joseph Kanon—in the last three cases, because of especially insightful series they’ve written.
I’ve grouped the 75 novels below in the categories indicated above. Within each category, the books are listed in alphabetical order of the authors’ last names. (For a much longer list of historical novels categorized by country, click here.)
The human cost of World War II (Everyone Brave Is Forgiven, by Chris Cleave)
A deeply affecting novel of the Holocaust (The German Girl, by Armando Lucas Correa)
In an alternate history, the Nazis occupy England (SS-GB, by Len Deighton)
This novel richly deserves the Pulitzer Prize it won (All the Light We Cannot See, by Anthony Doerr)
An extraordinary World War II spy story grounded in historical fact (The Best of Our Spies, by Alex Gerlis)
A deeply affecting novel of the French Resistance (The Nightingale, by Kristin Hannah)
A brilliant novel explores life in Nazi Europe (The Glass Room, by Simon Mawer)
A well-written novel about British espionage in World War II (Tightrope, by Simon Mawer)
A brilliant novel of the Warsaw Ghetto (The Book of Aron, by Jim Shepherd)
Who wields the real power in Washington, DC? (Echo House, by Ward Just)
A terrific political history novel (Dewey Defeats Truman, by Thomas Mallon)
America’s third Red Scare (Fellow Travelers, by Thomas Mallon)
Ronald Reagan deconstructed in a new Thomas Mallon novel (Finale: A Novel of the Reagan Years, by Thomas Mallon)
Watergate through a novelist’s eyes (Watergate, by Thomas Mallon)
Was politics during the Great Depression really like this? (All the King’s Men, by Robert Penn Warren)
Isabel Allende’s triumphant new novel spans the Western Hemisphere (Maya’s Notebook, by Isabel Allende)
James Bond, lies within lies, and coming of age in the 1960s (True Believers, by Kurt Andersen)
Revisiting black humor (not Black humor) (Sneaky People, by Thomas Berger)
In Colonial America, the first Native American goes to Harvard (Caleb’s Crossing, by Geraldine Brooks)
The untold tale of the absent father in “Little Women” (March, by Geraldine Brooks)
Hired killers, the California Gold Rush, and lots of surprises (The Sisters Brothers, by Patrick DeWitt)
Unforgettable characters in 19th century San Francisco (Frog Music, by Emma Donoghue)
A hilarious tale of Colonial America by two history professors (Blindspot: A Novel, by Jane Kamensky and Jill Lepore)
Love, disease, and self-deception: the life of Typhoid Mary (Fever: A Novel of Typhoid Mary, by Mary Beth Keane)
Leon Trotsky, Diego Rivera, and the Red Scare (The Lacuna, by Barbara Kingsolver)
Suspenseful historical fiction that’s hard to put down (World Gone By, by Dennis Lehane)
A thoughtful, action-packed crime story (Live by Night – Coughlin #2, by Dennis Lehane)
American history, laughing all the way (The Good Lord Bird, by James McBride)
A clever detective novel set in Colonial America (The Constable’s Tale: A Novel of Colonial America, by Donald Smith)
She was the country’s first female deputy sheriff (Girl Waits With Gun, by Amy Stewart)
Sex, drugs, and revolution: Berkeley in the 70s (All Our Yesterdays, by Erik Tarloff)
Geraldine Brooks’ outstanding novel about England and the Plague (Year of Wonders, by Geraldine Brooks)
The strange story of the Sarajevo Hagadah (People of the Book, by Geraldine Brooks)
A gripping historical thriller (The Devils of Cardona, by Matthew Carr)
A suspenseful tale of Holocaust survivors in post-war London (The List, by Martin Fletcher)
Cicero, witness to history (Dictator – Ancient Rome Trilogy #3, by Robert Harris)
The Dreyfus Affair, reenacted in a suspenseful spy novel (An Officer and a Spy, by Robert Harris)
Ancient Rome, before the fall (Conspirata – Ancient Rome Trilogy #2, by Robert Harris)
The IRA, the KGB, MI5, and the Corsican mob all conflict (Touch the Devil – Liam Devlin #2, by Harry Patterson writing as Jack Higgins)
An engrossing novel about Irish terrorists’ real-life attempt to kill Margaret Thatcher (High Dive, by Jonathan Lee)
A searing inquiry into life during the Chechnyan War (A Constellation of Vital Phenomena, by Anthony Marra)
A beautifully written tale of love, courage, and faith (The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet by David Mitchell)
A fully satisfying murder mystery set in post-war Europe (The Bridge of Sighs (Ruthenia Quintet #1), by Olen Steinhauer)
An historical thriller set under Communism in Eastern Europe (The Confession – Ruthenia Quintet #2, by Olen Steinhauer)
Inside the mind’s eye of Eastern European Communism in the 1960s (36 Yalta Boulevard – Ruthenia Quintet #3, by Olen Steinhauer)
Love, betrayal, and terrorism behind the Iron Curtain (Liberation Movements – Ruthenia Quintet #4, by Olen Steinhauer)
A powerful tale of life in Eastern Europe during the fall of Communism (Victory Square – Ruthenia Quintet #5, by Olen Steinhauer)
Still a lively read among classic spy novels (A Coffin for Dimitrios, by Eric Ambler)
Niccolo Machiavelli, private eye (The Malice of Fortune, by Michael Ennis)
Alan Furst’s superb novel, “Spies of the Balkans” (Spies of the Balkans, by Alan Furst)
At the dawn of World War II, a Hollywood film star in an espionage novel (Mission to Paris, by Alan Furst)
Arms merchants and spies in a thriller set during the Spanish Civil War (Midnight in Europe, by Alan Furst)
Vive la Resistance! (A Hero of France, by Alan Furst)
One of the best espionage novels of recent years (Kingdom of Shadows, by Alan Furst)
A brilliant novel of the French Resistance (Red Gold, by Alan Furst)
Romance intrigue and betrayal in post-World War II Istanbul (Istanbul Passage, by Joseph Kanon)
A Nazi-hunter in post-war Venice in a suspenseful novel of intrigue (Alibi, by Joseph Kanon)
From Joseph Kanon, one of the best of today’s spy novels (Leaving Berlin, by Joseph Kanon)
An author of spy novels to rival John Le Carre (The Prodigal Spy, by Joseph Kanon)
German emigres in Hollywood in a captivating historical novel (Stardust, by Joseph Kanon)
A brilliant novel that spans a thousand years of Chinese history (The Incarnations, by Susan Barker)
A biblical story, brilliantly retold (The Secret Chord: A Novel, by Geraldine Brooks)
A brilliant Indian novel about the first Opium War (River of Smoke – Ibis Trilogy #2, by Amitav Ghosh)
An outstanding Indian novelist looks at the Opium War (Flood of Fire – Ibis Trilogy #3, by Amitav Ghosh)
Khaled Hosseini in Berkeley, in person and in print (And the Mountains Echoed, by Khaled Hosseini)
A haunting tale of love and loss spanning India and America (The Lowland, by Jhumpa Lahiri)
Sheer reading pleasure, with a dollop of magic, in a historical novel (The Oracle of Stamboul, by Michael David Lukas)
A superb novel digs for roots in Israel’s modern history (The Debba, by Avner Mandelman)
The human toll of social change (The Lives of Others, by Neel Mukherjee)
The Vietnam War through Vietnamese eyes (The Sympathizer, by Viet Thanh Nguyen)
Inside the fight for Israeli independence (City of Secrets, by Stewart O’Nan)
Love, loss, and war in post-independence Africa (Half of a Yellow Sun, by Chimanada Ngozi Adichie)
A brilliant novel of love, hope, and the Rwanda genocide (Running the Rift, by Naomi Benaron)
African Roots through African eyes (Homegoing, by Yaa Gyasi)
An historical novel set in East Africa early in the 20th Century (Assegai, by Wilbur Smith)
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One of the conspiracy theories popular on the Far Right is that Franklin D. Roosevelt engineered the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor to ensnare the US in World War II. Like so many Right-Wing fantasies, this story is nearly 180 degrees distant from the truth. (OK, many Left-Wing fantasies are, too.)
As James Bradley makes clear in The China Mirage: The Hidden History of American Disaster in Asia, FDR steadfastly resisted the aggressive, well-funded campaign of the China Lobby to force the U.S. government to embargo oil sales to Japan in the late 1930s. However, when the President was out of town for a week to meet with Winston Churchill early in 1941, future Secretary of State Dean Acheson and other powerful bureaucrats affiliated with the China Lobby contrived to put the embargo in place against Roosevelt’s express wishes. It was that action which triggered Japan’s decision to bomb Pearl Harbor and attack the Dutch West Indies (now Indonesia) to secure an alternative source of oil.
FDR and his Secretary of State, Cordell Hull, had insisted at every turn that cutting off oil to the Empire of Japan would force the Japanese military to strike out southward. Inevitably, they calculated, had they agreed to an embargo, the US would have been drawn into war in the Pacific at the same time as the country was gearing up to take on the fight against the Nazis in Europe. While they didn’t discount the possibility of war with Japan even without an oil embargo, their hope was that it could at least be postponed for long enough for the Allies to prevail in Europe.
These circumstances describe one of the principal conclusions that Bradley has taken from his study of US policy toward Asia in the twentieth century. The China Mirage argues that cultural and historical ignorance, political miscalculation, bitter bureaucratic infighting, and media manipulation led not just to US involvement in World War II but, by extension, in the wars in Korea and Vietnam as well. Bradley regards all three wars as having been unnecessary.
In 1882, the Chinese Exclusion Act became law. As a result, nearly all Americans — including the country’s most senior officeholders — shared profound ignorance of Chinese reality. Bradley traces the roots of this ignorance to two sources: the wishful thinking of the many US Protestant missionaries sent to China in the last half of the nineteenth century, and a lavish public relations campaign on behalf of the Chinese government in the 1930s. The government, nominally headed by the self-styled Generalissimo Chiang Kai-Shek, was in fact run by the wealthy and powerful Soong family, which headed a network of warlords and criminal gangs. Mayling Soong was Chiang’s wife; her older sister, Ailing, was the head of the family and directed affairs from behind the scenes. Ailing’s husband and brother held the two top positions in Chiang’s civilian government.
According to Harry Truman, later evidence showed that the Soong family had stolen $750 million of the $3.5 billion in American aid the Chinese government received to support its nonexistent war against Japan. Henry Luce apparently knew none of this; in fact, he knew practically nothing about conditions in China, other than what Chiang and his wife told him. Nonetheless, Luce used his powerful magazines, Time, Life, and Fortune, and his newsreel, The March of Time, to propagate the myth that Chiang was a democratic hero leading a heroic resistance against Japanese aggression. To spread the message further, and to lobby Congress and the White House, Luce and the Chiang-Soong syndicate created the China Lobby, which remained a dominant force in American foreign policy from the early 1930s to the 1960s.
Compounding the challenge for American policymakers were the preconceived notions that dominated the thinking of key actors in the drama. Luce was the son of a Protestant missionary in China and carried with him throughout his life the conviction that Christianity and American values would spread throughout the vast expanse of the Chinese heartland and turn the country into America’s best friend in the world. To bring this about, all the US needed to do was help Chiang Kai-Shek defeat the Japanese. Similarly, FDR drank in a similar fantasy about China on the knee of his beloved grandfather, Warren Delano, who had gained not just one but two immense fortunes smuggling opium into China. These delusional beliefs constituted what Bradley calls The China Mirage. Since Chiang and the Soong family represented the pro-American China of their dreams, they easily swallowed the Generalissimo’s claim that he was fighting the fast-spreading Japanese invasion. In reality, Chiang avoided every opportunity to confront the Japanese. He was hoarding his resources for what he hoped would be a decisive civil war with Mao Zedong and his Communist forces — after the Americans chased away the Japanese. That was China’s, or at least Chiang’s, “American Mirage.”
Another favorite topic on America’s Radical Right is the question posed by Senator Joseph McCarthy in 1949: “Who lost China?” McCarthy and his allies, notably including Richard Nixon and the luminaries of the China Lobby, such as Mayling Soong, Henry Luce, Henry L. Stimson, and Dean Acheson, argued that the US hadn’t tried hard enough to support Chiang Kai-Shek. In the course of pursuing this question, McCarthy, Nixon, and Luce singled out a small group of men known as the Old China Hands.
This was a handful of Chinese-speaking experts deployed by the State Department in China during World War II who conveyed to Washington a very different story than that told by the Chiang-Soong government. To anyone with eyes open in the Chinese hinterland, where the Old China Hands were deployed, the truth was blatantly obvious. Chiang was not fighting the Japanese, he and his government were boundlessly corrupt, and Mao was attracting followers by the tens of millions among the peasantry because Chiang’s troops plundered their homes at every opportunity. Mao was growing stronger militarily with every passing month while Chiang’s soldiers were deserting in large numbers. But virtually no one in Washington, DC, wanted to hear such things — and the men who were reporting them were later singled out by McCarthy and the China Lobby as those responsible for “losing China.”
Sadly, one of the central themes in reports from the Old China Hands was Mao’s eagerness to collaborate with the US, not just to receive weapons but to obtain American capital to rebuild the shattered Chinese cities after the war. On numerous occasions throughout the 1940s, Mao pleaded with State Department and Pentagon officials in China to arrange a meeting for him with the White House. Naturally, any knee-jerk anti-Communist, even today, is likely to look at such statements as lies and manipulation. To those Americans with hours of direct, face-to-face experience with Mao himself, and months of experience living with his army, the requests seemed obviously heartfelt. Despite the misconception in Washington that Mao was a puppet of Stalin, the two men in fact despised each other. Mao was extremely eager to avoid dependence on the Soviet Union.
Grounding his argument in these facts, Bradley implies that the US might have spurned Chiang and the Soongs and allied itself instead with Mao. This, he seems to be suggesting, could have ended the war with Japan years sooner, avoided the worst of the Chinese civil war, and shifted the People’s Republic of China from its alliance with the Soviet Union and into the hands of the US. However, given the depth and persistence of anti-Communist hysteria in America that long predated the Second World War, all this seems highly improbable to me. I’m confident that both FDR and Harry Truman fully understood this. Supporting Mao would have been political anathema to the American public. Even had there been no China Lobby, I strongly suspect that Chinese history would have unfolded in much the same way as it did.
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Only American history majors are likely to be aware that America’s first Red Scare was sparked in 1886 by the Haymarket affair in Chicago — a demonstration by workers calling for an eight-hour day which led to widespread persecution of men, usually foreign-born, who were perceived as anarchists. Thirty-three years later a wave of anarchist bombings in the wake of World War I induced Attorney General A. Mitchell Palmer to recruit a 23-year-old named J. Edgar Hoover to locate and deport hundreds of anarchists, Communists, and other assorted leftists. Dial the clock forward nearly another thirty years to the anti-Communist frenzy following World War II that rose to a crescendo in the 1950s with the histrionic hearings presided over by Wisconsin Republican Senator Joseph McCarthy. Thomas Mallon’s novel, Fellow Travelers, skillfully recreates the mood prevailing in Washington, DC, during McCarthy’s witch-hunt, placing fictional characters in solidly researched historic circumstances.
To appreciate Mallon’s tour de force to the fullest, you might need to be in my age cohort (yes, north of 70). Reading Fellow Travelers was a lot like old home week for me: the book is filled with references to the federal officials, celebrities, and signature events of the 1950s. Since Thomas Mallon was born only in 1951 and would have been just nine years old when the decade ended, it’s safe to assume that he had to do a great deal of reading and research to recreate the flavor of those times.
It’s well known that McCarthy and his collaborators — as well as those who knuckled under to their strong-arm tactics — targeted not just Communists but anyone left of center, including outspoken liberals, progressive, and unaffiliated socialists. Anyone who resisted the Red Scare was placed in McCarthy’s cross-hairs and frequently lost their jobs as a result. Among them were not only officials in the State Department and the Army and Hollywood personalities, all of whom have received a great deal of attention, but also teachers and administrators on campuses throughout the country and employees in private companies as well. It’s less well known that gay men, too, were driven out of their jobs as “security risks,” presumably because they were vulnerable to blackmail. (Whether lesbians were also targeted is unclear in the context of this gay love story, and I have no personal knowledge to answer the question). The McCarthy years were one of the darkest periods in American history.
Fallon deftly weaves together two themes in Fellow Travelers: the rise and fall of Joseph McCarthy and the love between two men, one of them a senior government official. There’s irony — perhaps what might be called a double entendre — in the title as a result, as the two central characters were “fellow” travelers on the unconventional path they’d chosen.
Thomas Mallon is the author of seven nonfiction books and eight novels as well as numerous magazine articles, critical essays, and reviews. I’ve previously reviewed his two most recent novels, Watergate and Finale (about the final years of Ronald Reagan’s administration). Both were outstanding works of political fiction.
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A few weeks ago I read and reviewed Richard Rhodes’ Hell and Good Company: The Spanish Civil War and the World It Made, which was published last year. More recently, Adam Hochschild tackled the same material in a book published this year. It’s the book that Rhodes tried and failed to write. It’s called Spain in Our Hearts. I found it to be an outstanding and deeply moving tale of an event that has received far too little attention by historians. (Amazon lists just 334 history books involving the civil war as compared with 114,985 for World War II.)
To write this important new book, Hochschild pored through the letters, diaries, and newspaper dispatches written by Americans who served in the war. These men (and a few women) served as either soldiers in what came to be called the Abraham Lincoln Brigade, as doctors or nurses serving them and other soldiers of the embattled Republic, or as reporters who fed the American press with on-the-scene accounts of the fighting. Hochschild covers the war from its origins to its conclusion, reliving the signature battles of the war: Jarama, Ebro River, Guadalajara, Brunete, Teruel, and, of course, the notorious fire-bombing of Guernica and the epic siege of Madrid. At the time, all these names were widely recognizable to the newspaper-reading American public. As Hochschild reports, “While the fighting lasted, from mid-1936 to early 1939, the New York Times ran more than 1,000 front-page headlines about the war in Spain . . .” And that span of time encompassed fewer than 1,000 days.
Hochschild brings back to life both those whose names are instantly recognizable as well as many who have been long forgotten. Reporters and writers such as Herbert Matthews, Virginia Cowles, Ernest Hemingway, Martha Gellhorn, George Orwell, and Louis Fischer. Physicians, nurses, and ambulance drivers including Dr. Edward Barsky, Jim Neugass, Toby Jensky, Marion Merriman, and Ellen Blair. Combatants such as Bob Merriman, Alvah Bessie, Charles Orr, Milton Wolfe, and Pat Gurney. (A few of these people were British or Canadian, the rest American.) Every one of these individuals rises, vividly, from the pages of Spain in Our Hearts, touched by Hochschild’s remarkable talent to bring the past to life. This is popular history at its best.
Nearly all the Americans who took part in the Spanish Civil War sided with the Republic — not just the 2,500 volunteers who fought in the Abraham Lincoln Brigade. With only one prominent exception reported by Hochschild all the American and British reporters betrayed their sympathy to the cause through their articles, diaries, and books, sometimes disingenuously slanting their reporting to favor the Republic. (The exception was a New York Times reporter who followed the Nationalist side. He consistently whitewashed the atrocities of Franco’s forces and even made a propaganda broadcast for the insurgency. After the war he was hired as Spain’s American lobbyist.)
Americans were by no means alone in fighting for the Republic. Those 2,500 men constituted a small portion of the 35,000 to 40,000 “men from more than 50 countries [who] would fight in five International Brigades.” A great many of these volunteers — including three-quarters of the “Lincolns” — were Communists or what were familiarly known then as “fellow travelers.” For some, their experience in Spain was disillusioning, as they witnessed the imprisonment and execution of colleagues who strayed from the Stalinist party line. After all, the purges and the show trials were at their peak in the Soviet Union during the years of this war, claiming an estimated total of between 600,000 and 1.2 million casualties.
It may be difficult for Americans these days to understand the depth of isolationist feeling that gripped the United States before the Second World War. This sentiment continued a long history of attempts, usually successful, to keep the US out of what George Washington famously called “foreign entanglements.” When the country entered World War I at the behest of President Woodrow Wilson, that proved to be an aberration. Wilson’s failure to gain Congressional support for the League of Nations proves that point. It should be no surprise, then, that FDR and the right-wingers in his State Department refused to support the heroic resistance of the Spanish Republic to Francisco Franco’s Fascist insurgency. FDR was sympathetic to the cause but unable to take action, and he later regarded his failure to do so as a “grave mistake.”
Though the US, Great Britain, and France all withheld support for the Republic, three other leading powers of the day plunged into the conflict with enthusiasm: Nazi Germany, Fascist Italy, and the Soviet Union under Josef Stalin. Adolf Hitler and Benito Mussolini regarded the war in Spain as a dress rehearsal for the larger conflict to follow. Their lavish support for Generalissimo Franco in the form of airplanes, tanks, rifles, artillery, and some 100,000 soldiers and airmen was decisive (80,000 from Italy, 19,000 from Germany, in addition to 20,000 from Portugal).
Only the USSR faced off against the Nazis and Fascists, supplying weapons and ammunition, and its support was a mixed blessing: Stalin sold Spain ancient weapons at inflated prices. He also dispatched hard-line political commissars to weed out anyone who didn’t rigidly follow the Party line, and their ruthless behavior was surely a factor in the defeat of the Republic. Though what ifs in history are uncertain at best, it’s not unreasonable to speculate that the war might have gone differently had the Western powers responded in counterpoint to the Axis nations. From the perspective of history, the failure of the US government to permit arms sales to the Republic played a more significant role in the war by far than the participation of 2,500 volunteer soldiers and a handful of brilliant reporters.
Many of the horrors that became emblematic of World War II first saw the light of day in the Spanish Civil War. Nazi Germany and Fascist Italy used the conflict to test new weapons systems and battle tactics, such as dive-bombers, carpet-bombing, mass rape, and the wholesale slaughter of prisoners and civilians. For example, as Hochschild notes, “massacres happened everywhere, whether the advancing Nationalist forces met resistance or not. . . In the northern province of Navarre, one out of every ten Popular Front voters were summarily executed.” As one of Franco’s generals explained, “‘It is necessary to spread terror.'”
However, the forces of the Republic were hardly without blame. Hochschild explains: more than 49,000 civilians were killed in Republican territory during the war . . . [though a] far larger number of people were murdered in Nationalist-controlled Spain: some 150,000, with at least 20,000 more executions after the war.”
Hochschild notes, quizzically, that “the glamorous collection of foreign correspondents” reporting from Republican Spain entirely missed the debut of one of Hitler’s most fearsome weapons: the dive-bomber, which terrorized Republican troops and civilians alike. However, the greatest journalistic failure of the war was the lack of news on the home front about the American who may have played as large a role in helping Franco win the war as Adolf Hitler or Benito Mussolini. He was the Norwegian-born oilman, Torkild Rieber, who ran Texaco and supplied the Nationalists with the fuel that ran their trucks, tanks, and planes — and did so on credit and without charging for the cost of transporting the oil from Texas to Spain on the company’s ships. As Hochschild notes, “this lifeline from Texaco ensured that Franco could continue to wage war.” Following Torkild’s lead, other US oil companies began supplying the Nationalists. His behavior was blatantly illegal, but he escaped prosecution with little more than a modest fine for supplying credit to a nation at war.
Hochschild also dwells at length on another aspect of the war that has received far too little attention, not just at the time but in the decades after the fall of the Republic. Following a tradition nearly unique to Spain, the country’s powerful anarcho-syndicalists undertook a utopian experiment in the midst of the war — an experiment that brought them into violent conflict with the Communists who came to dominate the Republican government as the war progressed. Anarchists seized control of farms and factories and organized military units without distinctions of rank. “Although the Spanish Revolution took place amid one of the largest concentrations of foreign correspondents on earth, they virtually never wrote about it,” Hochschild writes. “The fact that a utopian social revolution might have been an impractical and romantic dream even in peacetime, and was surely an impossible one when fighting a terrible war, made it no less worth reporting.”
Adam Hochschild is the author of four outstanding books that have helped me understand today’s events in the light of history. I read both King Leopold’s Ghost: A Story of Greed, Terror and Heroism in Colonial Africa and Bury the Chains: Prophets and Rebels in the Fight to Free an Empire’s Slaves before I began posting reviews. Five years ago I read and reviewed his fascinating history of the resistance to World War I, To End All Wars: A Story of Loyalty and Rebellion, 1914–1918. Spain in Our Hearts is the most recent of his eight books. On Hochschild’s Wikipedia page, there’s a list of 15 literary awards he’s won for his work. All well deserved, I’m sure.
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Viet Thanh Nguyen’s remarkable debut novel, The Sympathizer, has won a slew of literary awards, including the 2016 Pulitzer Prize for Fiction. It was also a finalist for a number of other prestigious awards and has been named a Best Book of the Year on more than twenty lists, including those of the New York Times Book Review, Wall Street Journal, and Washington Post. If there is such a thing as a Great Vietnamese Novel, as there is supposedly a Great American Novel, this book would certainly be a candidate.
The Sympathizer opens in April 1975 as troops of the North Vietnamese army and the National Liberation Front (Viet Cong) are closing in on Saigon. The remnants of the American mission and many thousands of South Vietnamese officials and other collaborators are frantically fighting to claim the few remaining spaces on American airplanes available for the evacuation. In the midst of this chaos we meet the narrator, a captain in the South Vietnamese army. He introduces himself this way in the opening line of his account: “I am a spy, a sleeper, a spook, a man of two faces.” He is, in fact, the Sympathizer of the title — a secret agent of the NLF actually living in the home of the General who commands the South Vietnamese security police, the Special Branch. He is Eurasian, the son of a French priest and a poor Vietnamese woman, and regularly receives abuse as a result.
The novel, structured as a confession to an unnamed Commandant and the “faceless Commissar” above him, follows the narrator through the next several years as he flees Saigon with the General and takes up a double life in Southern California, reporting to his handler in Vietnam on the activities of the immigrant Vietnamese community and the General’s plans to resume the war from afar. We can only guess why he is writing a confession.
The narrator’s handler is his boyhood friend, Man, who is a senior Communist cadre. At the age of fourteen, he, Man, and a third boy, Bon, swore a blood oath to be loyal friends forever. Now, more than a decade later, the three men represent radically different responses to the American invasion, as Bon has been a loyal South Vietnamese soldier — and a participant in the CIA’s notorious Phoenix Program.
“We were not a people who charged into war at the beck and call of bugle or trumpet,” the narrator writes. “No, we fought to the tunes of love songs, for we were the Italians of Asia.” He also writes, “Even if they found themselves in Heaven, our countrymen would find occasion to remark that it was not as warm as Hell.” And this: “We were too poor for air-conditioning, but heat stroke was simply another way of expressing religious fortitude.” With trenchant observations and humor such as this, Nguyen delves deeply into the Vietnamese psyche as he spins out his account of the war with merciless detail.
One of the defining events of the narrator’s story is the work he does as a consultant on a Hollywood film reminiscent of Apocalypse Now. The references are unmistakable, and Nguyen makes the association clear in his acknowledgments, where he cites numerous sources about Francis Ford Coppola and his signature film. Nguyen clearly is not a big fan. He writes, alluding to the production, “this was the first war where the losers would write history instead of the victors, courtesy of the most efficient propaganda machine ever created (with all due respect to Joseph Goebbels and the Nazis, who never achieved global domination).”
Nguyen makes clear in the closing pages of his novel, he’s no fan of the victorious Vietnamese government, either. Nor does the author, or at least his alter ego, the narrator, admire the United States, as we may already have deduced: “nothing was more American than wielding a gun and committing oneself to die for freedom and independence, unless it was wielding that gun to take away someone else’s freedom and independence.”
Clearly, despite all the awards, this is not a book that will find favor among the commentators on Fox News.
Viet Thanh Nguyen was four years old in 1975, when the novel opens. He is an Associate Professor of English, American Studies, and Ethnicity at the University of Southern California and the author of two nonfiction books as well as a number of short stories. The Sympathizer is his first novel.
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Call it selective memory: we tend to forget that the survival of our democratic system was by no means assured on March 4, 1933, when Franklin Delano Roosevelt was sworn in as president. With the country paralyzed by twenty-five percent unemployment, shuttered factories, insolvent banks, and rapidly falling prices for farm commodities and consumer goods alike, both Communism on the Left and fascism on the Right were rapidly gaining adherents. It was far from clear that a catastrophic clash of the extremes could be prevented. Contemporary events in Europe suggested that even the best-educated and most sophisticated societies could all too easily turn dangerously radical: barely more than a month earlier, Hitler had been named Chancellor of Germany. In The Money Makers, historian Eric Rauchway reviews the economic policies that FDR deployed to rescue the nation from a similar fate, steering the country on a moderate course through the years of the Depression and the world war that followed.
Today, it’s widely accepted among everybody except those on the extreme Right that Roosevelt succeeded in “saving capitalism.” Most historians give the credit to New Deal policies such as the Works Progress Administration, Social Security, and the Agricultural Adjustment Act — more generally, what economists call fiscal policy, which entails spending government funds to achieve social ends. Indeed, Roosevelt did use deficit spending through these and many other programs, and huge numbers of Americans gained desperately needed jobs or income subsidies. However, it’s recognized now (as Roosevelt himself did at the time) that the funds devoted to these programs were far from enough to turn the economy around. Rauchway asserts that it was not fiscal policy but monetary policy that played the larger role.
At the outset of the famous first “100 days” of the New Deal, Roosevelt took two bold steps: declaring a bank holiday to put a lid on bank failures — and taking the United States off the gold standard. Rauchway makes a strong case that the latter was the decisive action, not just because it stemmed deflation, allowing prices to rise for the benefit of business and consumers alike, but also because it allowed the United States to exert leadership in restoring world trade.
The only major weakness in Rauchway’s argument is that he gives equal credit for this policy shift to John Maynard Keynes; other economists, perhaps influenced by Keynes but important in their own right, helped persuade Roosevelt to take the dollar off the gold standard. In any case, Roosevelt didn’t need much, if any, persuading, as Rauchway makes clear.
Keynes’ direct role in steering American economic policy didn’t become critical until midway through World War II, when he faced off with New Deal economist Harry Dexter White as head of Britain’s economic negotiating team. The two men were central, even decisive, in shaping the agreement that emerged from the Bretton Woods Conference, which gave birth to the International Monetary Fund and the World Bank. Though these two new institutions may not have been immediately significant to the extent that Rauchway contends — other historians indicate that their true importance didn’t emerge until years later — there is little doubt that the IMF and the World Bank played large roles in extending the prosperity that came on the heels of World War II.
Taking Keynes’ later role into account, which helped pave the way for these developments, it might be appropriate to include him in the book’s subtitle along with FDR. However, it could be argued that two other men — Henry Morgenthau, Jr., and Harry Dexter White — also merit inclusion. Rauchway’s account assigns that prominence to them, the subtitle notwithstanding. The resulting run-on sentence might have been more than a little awkward, though.
From the earliest days of American history, the conflict between debtors and creditors has dominated our economic life. In the modern world, creditors, for the most part, have been bondholders; despite the media focus on the stock market, the bond market is nearly twice as large. Bonds are predominantly held by rich people and banks. Debtors are all the rest of us. Though we don’t directly pay the interest that accrues to bondholders, our taxes and the prices we pay for goods and services do make them possible.
Naturally, bondholders would like very much to receive their interest payment in dollars that are worth more than when they bought the bonds. That happens under deflation, which lowers prices and thus increases the value of the dollar because it buys more. Bondholders grow richer; consumers grow poorer in a vicious cycle, losing their jobs because businesses fold since they can no longer make a profit with prices so much lower. As prices fall further, people have even less money to spend because more businesses have folded. And so forth.
When FDR took office, deflation was rampant and threatened to spiral out of control. In Europe, where that had taken place, deflation played a major role in enabling the rise of Nazism and fascism. There, and increasingly in the United States, movements on the political extremes quickly grew as the pain of deflation increased. Despite the obvious threat that this instability implied, Wall Street bankers and the Republican Party cried out nearly in unison that the country should be put back on the gold standard lest runaway inflation take hold. (The most extreme of them have never ceased making the same demand.)
Like John Maynard Keynes but only a handful of other economists at the time, Roosevelt understood that the gold standard was the key to sustaining deflation. Since every dollar had to be backed by gold, the amount of money in circulation was limited because gold was so scarce and the government’s hoard of the yellow metal was no longer increasing. (That had taken place during the major gold discoveries of the nineteenth century; in the twentieth, only European payments for World War I debts brought gold to the United States, but those payments had long since halted as the Depression got underway.) It was abundantly clear that only if enough money circulated through the economy could prosperity be restored. To increase the money supply and defeat deflation, FDR would have to take the dollar off the gold standard. It was that action which enabled the Roosevelt Administration to engage in the limited deficit spending that the political environment allowed. Even more important, delinking the dollar from gold permitted prices to rise domestically — and world trade to increase as Roosevelt and Keynes maneuvered major European countries into parallel policies.
Eric Rauchway teaches history at the University of California, Davis. He specializes in the Progressive Era and the New Deal. An earlier book, published in 2008, The Great Depression and the New Deal, covered some of the same territory. Rauchway holds a Ph.D. from Stanford. The Money Makers is his fifth book.
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Most observers of the emergence of what has come to be called “conservatism” in America locate its roots in the 1950s, 60s, and 70s. They point to the works of Friedrich Hayek, Milton Friedman, and Ayn Rand; the political campaigns of Barry Goldwater, George Wallace, Richard Nixon, and Ronald Reagan; the pro-business decisions of the United States Supreme Court; and, perhaps more than any other factor, the decades-long efforts of extremely wealthy Americans to build a network of right-wing think tanks and other organizations to move public opinion to the right. Now, in Right Out of California: The 1930s and the Big Business Roots of Modern Conservatism, historian Kathryn Olmsted argues that the origins of the movement lie instead in the blood-stained labor conflicts in California’s Central Valley and Imperial Valley in the years before World War II.
Franklin Roosevelt’s New Deal is widely thought to have healed the most gaping wounds of the Great Depression and brought long-awaited justice to millions of Americans. There is, of course, a great deal of truth to this. Social Security, the minimum wage, the Tennessee Valley Authority, and a plethora of alphabet agencies such as the WPA, the CCC, and others undoubtedly made life far more livable for millions of seniors, out-of-work men and women, and industrial workers. What is less well known today is that Roosevelt was only able to push his legislation through Congress with the support of racist and right-wing Southern Democrats, who prevented him from including agricultural workers in any of his signature programs. The large majorities of farm workers, both in the South and in California, who were African American or Mexican gained virtually nothing from the New Deal.
When their wages were slashed by the owners of the factory farms who even then dominated California agriculture, consigning millions of agricultural workers to starvation, labor conflict broke out in the fields. Motivated by the mistaken belief that New Deal legislation covered them, and encouraged by labor organizers who arrived on the scene to support them, California farm workers soon found themselves in often pitched battles with local law enforcement and the vigilantes egged on by the owners.
Olmsted argues that the packers’ and growers’ increasingly sophisticated efforts to organize themselves led not only to bloody conflicts but formed the backbone of the virulent opposition to FDR and the New Deal. She traces the emergence of right-wing organizations funded by California agribusiness to the selection and support of Richard Nixon as their champion and thence in a virtually straight line to the presidential campaigns of Goldwater, Reagan, and Nixon himself.
During the years of the Great Depression, before Stalin’s crimes were widely known outside the Soviet Union and several years before his pact with Nazi Germany, thousands of intelligent and well-meaning young people in the United States flocked to the Communist Party. With the impatience of youth, many saw Roosevelt’s New Deal as half-hearted reform in the interest of saving capitalism (which wasn’t far from the truth). Some of the brightest young Communists rushed to the labor movement as a focus of organizing the “working class.” Often, established trade unions declined to move into industries where violence might break out. The Party then organized its own radical unions.
Sometimes alone, and sometimes in competition with existing unions, Communist organizers took on the toughest assignments — and it was in the agricultural fields of California that the conflict became most violent. Communists were often in the forefront of the clash with agribusiness. Unfortunately, their presence gave the packers and growers the pretext to raise the specter of a Soviet takeover in resisting the workers and afforded them the opportunity to speak out against FDR’s reforms because the Administration was “riddled with Reds.”
Olmsted argues that the resulting anti-Communist organizing that spread to the cities and engulfed the state’s Republican Party later formed the foundation for what we know of today as “conservatism.” This is an interesting line of argument, and up to a point it’s difficult to refute: without question, the same forces that built the state’s Republican Party around Richard Nixon in the late 1940s and 50s had been active in the actions of the 1930s. Where the argument grows thin is in later years. As President, Nixon proved unreliable at best on domestic issues as he sought a place in history through his opening to China. Younger people, coming of age with the Goldwater, Wallace, and Reagan campaigns, became dominant in the Republican Party. Their links to the pitched battles of the 1930s were indirect, at best. Surely, the establishment of think tanks such as the Heritage Foundation and other right-wing institutions founded in the 1960s and 70s played a far larger role in the development of what passes for conservatism today than the efforts of former president Herbert Hoover and the Hoover Institution at Stanford that Olmsted mentions so prominently.
Kathy Olmsted heads the department of history at the University of California, Davis, where she has taught since 1993. A specialist in the study of anti-Communism, she has written four books. Right Out of California is the most recent.
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In a new biography of Karl Marx, the historian Jonathan Sperber set out to explain his subject in the context of nineteenth-century circumstances and attitudes. “Marx was not our contemporary,” he writes, “[but] more a figure of the past than a prophet of the present.” He concludes that the way we view the man today is substantially different from the way he was viewed by his contemporaries — or the way he viewed himself. However, to my mind, he’s only partially successful.
In one important way, Sperber makes his case with a detailed recitation of Marx’s decades-long career as a journalist and activist. The book is at its strongest in describing the evolution of his thinking from the 1830s, when he was a student of philosophy and enamored of the work of Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel. In the 1840s and 50s, as Marx became progressively more engaged in writing (and arguing) about politics, he grew hostile toward Hegel and his followers, often engaging in acrimonious public debates about the philosopher’s work. During that period, his politics bore no resemblance to the beliefs he professed even a few years later. As Sperber notes about a polemic Marx penned in 1843, “The man who would write the Communist Manifesto just five years later was advocating the use of the army to suppress a communist workers’ uprising!”
Marx “had much more success in founding a radical political newspaper than in organizing the working class.” He appears to have come closest to becoming actively engaged in political action during the Continent-wide wave of revolutions in 1848, but even then his involvement was limited to intellectual fisticuffs. Later, as his fame grew through the 1860s, Marx became even more insulated from political action. Instead, he grew preoccupied with sectarian debates among the many small and ineffectual Communist organizations that sprang into being in mid-century and devoted most of their energy to quarreling among themselves. Marx wrote hundreds of thousands, perhaps millions of words about revolution. The most common thread among all these writings was that he was wrong about nearly every prediction he ever made. For decades on end, he continued to predict that the revolution that would overthrow capitalism was just around the corner.
Self-described Communists in the twentieth century idolized Marx as the patron saint of their movement. However, Marx himself would not have recognized what has passed as Communism since the Russian Revolution of 1917. Latter-day Communists have built much of their ideology around imperialism, following Vladimir Lenin’s reformulation of the gospel according to Marx. By contrast, Marx did not view capitalism and imperialism as integrally linked. In fact, he often wrote favorably about the British Raj, implying that the British had helped drag millions of Indians out of a more primitive state by introducing them to civilization. In other ways as well, the tortured historical analysis Marx laid out in his many books and thousands of essays and articles bore little resemblance to the simplistic logic of twentieth-century Communism. Marx would have been scandalized by Lenin, Stalin, and Mao. He was not a Marxist.
One of the recurring themes in Sperber’s biography is that Marx was not a self-hating Jew even though he wrote disturbingly anti-Semitic statements on many occasions. The “‘Israelite faith is repulsive to me,'” he wrote in 1843. Later, he “explicitly endorsed the view of Judaism as an ethically inferior religion.” On other occasions, he described other Jews individually using pejorative, anti-Semitic terms.
Sperber attempts to make his case by asserting that in the mid-nineteenth century, Jews were not viewed through the lens of biology as a “race.” That only came later with the emergence of Social Darwinism. Instead, Jews were defined by religion and culture; since Marx was neither a practicing Jew (his father had converted to Protestantism, and Marx himself married a Protestant woman) nor did he identify with Jewish culture, he was free to engage in talking and writing about Jews in a highly disparaging manner. The argument falls flat. For many centuries, Jews had been persecuted throughout Europe, not because of their religion or cultural practices but simply because they had descended from Jewish ancestors. To understand this fact, all you need do is look to the persecution of conversos (Jews converted to Catholicism) by the Inquisition.
In Sperber’s telling, Marx was a loving husband and a doting father and grandfather. Nonetheless, he routinely took steps in his life as a journalist that guaranteed he and his family a life of poverty. Until the 1870s, when Friedrich Engels finally inherited a fortune and was able to support the Marx family in a semblance of comfort, Marx, his wife, and the three of his many children who survived into adulthood lived hand-to-mouth, forever begging, borrowing, and dodging creditors. And Marx fathered an illegitimate son on the family’s long-time, live-in maid.
In his personal relationships outside his family, Marx was no more considerate. He was combative and often nasty and vindictive. Much of his writing consisted of lengthy diatribes attacking his personal enemies — who were often former friends with whom he had parted company on one or another minor point of ideology. Typically, the reason he had grown so hostile to them was that they continued to advocate beliefs he had once held himself. In one of the many unfinished manuscripts Marx wrote, he devoted “about 65 percent of the 517 pages . . . to a distinctly minor figure who died soon afterward in obscurity.” Sperber adds, “internecine conflict became an obsession for Marx and Engels.” Marx even quarreled, sometimes to the point at which they cut off relations, with Engels, who was the closest he ever had to a brother. In fairness, Engels was widely viewed as an even nastier fellow whose “tactless remarks and excessive behavior had alienated fellow leftists.” Even so, Karl Marx was not a guy you’d likely want to become your best friend.
For links to my reviews of other excellent biographies, go to 34 great biographies I’ve reviewed.
Jonathan Sperber is a history professor at the University of Missouri. He teaches modern European history. Karl Marx is his eighth book.
@@@@@ (5 out of 5)
Practically everything you know about North Korea is wrong. That, at least, is the inescapable conclusion to take from reading Daniel Tudor and James Pearson’s new book, North Korea Confidential.
I exaggerate, of course. North Korea is, without question, one of the poorest countries in the world. It’s ruled by a brutal dictatorship that operates a system of political prisons that would do Josef Stalin proud. It’s a nuclear power and given to saber-rattling. And one family, the Kims, is the country’s ruling dynasty, now in its third generation.
Though all that, and more, is, indeed, true, Tudor and Pearson draw on extensive research to demonstrate that the impression we Westerners get from the news media is still highly misleading. The North Korean people are not slogan-chanting automatons enslaved to adulation for Kim Jong Un (their “Dear Leader,” or “Great Leader,” or whatever else he might be calling himself). Kim Jong Un is not a lunatic; his father or grandfather weren’t, either. Nor is he the sole, undisputed leader of the nation; “he has inherited a system [created by his father] in which one rather shadowy organization may possess more power than he does.” North Korea is not a Communist country, nor has it been for nearly two decades. And there is virtually NO chance that the country will collapse, the victim of its own considerable internal contradictions.
In chapters devoted to the market economy; leisure time; the power struggle at the top; crime and punishment; clothes, fashion, and trends; communications, and the country’s social class structure, Tudor and Pearson paint a picture of a complex society struggling with the conflicts of the mid-twentieth century while the outside world labors to drag it into the twenty-first.
Here’s the gist of the message in North Korea Confidential: ever since the tragic famine that overtook North Korea in the mid-1990s, the desperate urge for survival has led people at all levels of society to build a rudimentary market system that has become the foundation of the country’s economy. The famine was so severe and far-reaching — costing at least hundreds of thousands if not millions of lives –in a country whose population now stands at just twenty-four million — that the government was unable to continue distributing food, as it had ever since Kim Il Sung industrialized the country in the years following the Korean War. Once the distribution of free food was disrupted, the North Korean people found ways to grow their own food, or forage for it, and to sell or exchange food for other necessities in homegrown markets that sprang up in defiance of the Party and the government. And those markets have grown in importance to the point where the gray economy may overshadow the official one.
Equally important, the famine undermined respect for the Kim dynasty’s government. Though vocal criticism of their leadership is still rare (and viciously punished), people demonstrate their independence in a variety of ways: they seek out DVDs and thumb drives containing South Korean and Chinese music, films, and TV shows (and even an occasional American movie); they listen to South Korean, Chinese, and US-sponsored radio for news of the outside world; they dress in ways that defy the Party’s severe guidelines; they travel without permits from town to town and sometimes across the Chinese border; and, increasingly, they are gaining access to the Internet despite the government’s efforts to make that impossible. (More than ten percent of the population now own cell phones.) Whenever they’re caught flouting the rules in these or many other ways, they are almost always able to bribe their way out of the draconian punishment the law dictates.
In truth, there are hints of much of this in the news about North Korea. Yet I’d never before read of the multimillionaires among the Pyongyang elite, or of the estimated $20 billion fortune accumulated by the Kim family. I knew that the country maintains one of the world’s largest armies, but I was unaware that soldiers are more often put to work as free labor on construction and other projects rather than trained for combat. I had surmised that, as in any country, connections to people in power would provide a layer of protection from victimization by the police, but I learned that cash — outright, blatant bribery — is a daily fact of life. I knew that historically “even family members would sometimes inform on each other, either out of fear or the belief that it was the ‘right’ thing to do,” but not that “[t]his is certainly no longer the case.” The regime may still have the power to maintain its hold on the country, but — after the famine — ordinary citizens no longer are inclined to show their respect to authority, even to the Kim family.
All in all, North Korea Confidential provides a useful counterbalance to the one-dimensional pictures we tend to hear from most defectors and occasional dissidents and from the news and analysis that looks at the country from the top down rather than the bottom up.
Daniel Tudor and James Pearson are both British journalists. Tudor formerly worked in Seoul, Korea, as the local correspondent for The Economist. Pearson, also an old Korea hand, currently writes a blog for Thomson Reuters.
@@@@@ (5 out of 5)
Joe Kennedy was a piece of work.
The men in public life he admired the most were Neville Chamberlain, Herbert Hoover, and J. Edgar Hoover. He deeply distrusted FDR, Winston Churchill, George Marshall, and Harry Truman. He campaigned strenuously against military action to resist Hitler and, later, Stalin and his successors. “He was perfectly consistent,” writes David Nasaw in his compelling biography. “He saw communism in the forties as he had seen Nazism in the thirties — as a detestable system but not as a mortal threat to American security.”
Though widely condemned as a bootlegger, Kennedy never had any connection with illegal sales of alcohol, though he later became the nation’s largest salesman of legal Scotch whiskey. Nor did he have the “Mob ties” that he was so frequently accused of having. He was a notorious short-seller on Wall Street who amassed a fortune betting against the American economy as it spiraled into Depression, yet he became the first chairman of the Securities and Exchange Commission and was universally praised for getting the SEC into operation in record time and satisfying both the New Dealers and the bankers. Still serving as FDR’s Ambassador to the UK though awaiting replacement at home, he campaigned coast to coast for accommodation to Hitler, predicting certain defeat for the British — after they had already won the Battle of Britain and prevented the launch of a planned Nazi invasion. Prone to anti-Semitic remarks from time to time, and paranoid about Jewish influence in the media and politics, he was nonetheless a pugnacious and persistent advocate for resettling Jewish refugees from Nazi Germany — first, in Palestine, and later in the US, Great Britain, and elsewhere in the British Empire. And, yes, some of his best friends were Jews. Despite FDR’s intense distrust of the man, he kept Kennedy as US Ambassador in London for years because he feared the man would oppose his seeking a third term in 1940. He was a proud family man, idolized by his wife and nine children despite extended absences during which he carried out long-lasting affairs with married women, including movie star Gloria Swanson and Congresswoman and later Ambassador Clare Booth Luce.
This was the man who fathered John Fitzgerald Kennedy, the 35th president of the United States, as well as two other leading candidates for the office. His life was the stuff of classical tragedy, not Shakespearean but Greek in its primal ferocity. He lost his oldest daughter to a botched lobotomy in 1941, his oldest son to a suicide mission in World War II, another daughter to a plane crash shortly afterwards, and two sons to assassination in the 1960s. Though he never held public office higher than that of SEC Chairman and Ambassador to England, he was one of the most influential people of his time, alternately revered and reviled. As much as any single person, Joe Kennedy shaped the studio system that dominated Hollywood for decades. In 1957, The New York Times named him as one of the fifteen richest men in the country, with a fortune then estimated by Forbes that was the equivalent of billions of dollars today.
The Patriarch is a very big book, crammed with rich details that emerged from the author’s painstaking research. For any student of twentieth century American history, this outstanding biography illuminates the eight-decade span of our country’s emergence from scrappy industrial powerhouse to superpower, encompassing the Progressive era, two world wars, the Great Depression, and the tensest years of Cold War. Inevitably, Nasaw covers a lot of familiar territory, but in his comprehensive treatment of the life of this one truly extraordinary man, he paints a vivid picture of the United States in the twentieth century.
For links to my reviews of other excellent biographies, go to 34 great biographies I’ve reviewed.