Sunday, April 29, 2012

Flyboys

War is hell. These three words summarize Flyboys, James Bradley’s extraordinary book on the Pacific air war with Japan. In turns gruesome (I skipped entire pages more than once) and mesmerizing, this book is consistently a page turner. Bradley does an excellent job of setting the stage for Pearl Harbor and the United States’ subsequent war with Japan by providing a history of (largely antagonistic) relations between the two nations dating from their first “meeting” in 1853. In doing so, he tackles the issues of expansionism and racism head-on, providing a balanced perspective on the atrocities nations – including the U.S. – had long perpetuated on one another well before World War II. The history of the American experience in the Philippines is especially harrowing and one I’m quite certain I never learned in school. (In short, we “facilitated” the Spanish exist from the archipelago owing to their brutal treatment of the native population, then employed equally brutal methods against these same people, including an official policy to kill every man, woman, and child over the age of ten.)

Bradley uses this history to explain the particular animosity the Japanese felt towards America on the eve of World War II, while also providing a rather fascinating picture of the early air forces. Ultimately, this book is the story of eight American fly boys who were captured and killed by the Japanese after being shot down over Chichi Jima. (A ninth was rescued by a U.S. submarine – that pilot, famously, was George H.W. Bush, who is portrayed warmly in the book by Bradley.) The fate that befell these eight men was so startling that the post-war war crimes prosecutor opened the trial by warning that what befell these men was “so revolting to the human mind that man long ago decided it unnecessary to legislate directly against” such treatment (p. 317). It is shocking.

Yet, in many ways, it is less shocking than Japan’s treatment of its own soldiers (poor provisioning meant cannibalism became de rigeur during the war), and in many ways it is no more shocking that the acts committed by American soldiers against the Japanese (strafing the shipwrecked survivors of a torpedoed transport carrier, for example). Or the napalming of dozens of Japanese cities, leading to the deaths of hundreds of thousands, perhaps millions, of Japanese civilians. In the context of the widespread firebombing campaign that was designed to bring Japan to its knees, but which was still insufficient to convince the country to surrender, the atomic bomb seems the only possible way for the war to end. As Bradley notes, in a perverse way, the atomic bombed actually saved far more lives than it extinguished, a fact that many of the Japanese survivors whose testimony is a strength of the book, acknowledge. War is hell. I think I’m done with war books for awhile.

Saturday, April 21, 2012

1812: The War That Forged A Nation

Meticulously researched, 1812 is as much a primer on early American history as a text on the War of 1812. Walter Borneman covers a broad sweep of American history, from the Revolutionary War, where the older generals cut their teeth, to the Civil War where the younger men (or their sons and nephews) would make their own mark. In doing so Borneman's research passes through the Mexican War and the Indian Wars and, of course, focusing on the events of 1812-1814.

This book drove home for me how many years it has been since I have studied American history. (Did I once know that many of the early War of 1812 battles occurred in Canada? That the Americans burned York - now Toronto - in a fit of pique that provoked the British to turn Washington to ash? That "don't give up the ship" was first uttered by a mortally wounded captain in this war? I hope so, of course, but I can't say.) In fact, despite having visited such places as the Constitution in Boston, Mackinac Island, and even Andrew Jackson's plantation the Hermitage, to say nothing of living for two years in Baltimore, my recent knowledge of this war could only be reliably counted on to produce that it resulted in that most mangled of national anthems, The Star Spangled Banner. (On second thought, it may be because of and not in spite of my brief residency in Baltimore that I can reliably recall this last fact.)

Admittedly, the book occasionally became mired in the same details that are a strength. I found myself frequently flipping back a page or two in an attempt to fit a general and regiment together - or even to remember on what side a particular man fought. And his regiment, by the way: was is Kentucky or Tennessee? 44th or 78th? Fusilier or Highlander? You get the idea. The best written chapters to my mind are those that focus on the naval battles, particularly that of the Battle of Lake Erie. ("We have met the enemy and they are ours" can be credited to Oliver Hazard Perry in his victorious dispatch to future president William Henry Harrison following a decisive American victory in this battle.) I also thought the chapter on Andrew Jackson at New Orleans was a real page turner, but, yes, I am a total nerd.

Finally, I will add that I was amazed again by the number of key officers, politicians, and frankly heroes, who hadn't yet reached their 30th birthdays. It's well and fine to remember that in 1812, 30 was already middle-aged, but their heroics still left me feeling old and unaccomplished. Then again, we can't all found a nation.

Thursday, April 12, 2012

Bringing Up Bébé

At the risk of incurring the ire of friends who have children, and therefore might be more qualified to comment on a parenting book than I, I’ve decided to share my thoughts on Pamela Druckerman’s Bringing Up Bébé. Now the first thing to say about this book, that is the style and the writing – is that I really liked it. Not only is it written in the voice that I prefer and in which I often tend to write (sorry, but try as they might my dissertation committee could not beat the matter-of-fact, conversational quality out of my writing), but it actually made me laugh out loud more than once. This is rare, but then lately I seem to have read a lot about war, and a bit about mental illness, and often both at once. I suppose neither of those topics is particularly funny. So, this book gets points for making me laugh. It also earns high points for providing an excellent, inside look at life in France, from the schools to the hospitals to the bureaucracies. (It also loses points for this, as at various points I was tempted to ditch a life in America for one in Paris, until I remembered that France isn’t entirely the rose garden Druckerman portrays. Child care, healthcare, and college tuition may be heavily subsidized by the state, but the VAT is nearly 20% and most French people I know certainly have as many cost-/quality-of-life concerns as Americans.) I digress.  

As far as the comparisons between French parenting and American parenting, I quickly grew weary. So much of what the author identifies as 'French parenting' I would label as 'common sense.' For example, she bemoans the highly limited diets of American toddlers and children while delighting in the way French children eat a tremendous variety of foods. Now, this may not be a fair comparison for a number of reasons, not least because France is the land of brie and baguettes while America is home to Wonder Bread and Cheez Whiz. But, her case is not helped by showcasing an American toddler who refuses to eat anything except foil wrapped Santa Clauses; his parents buy out the stores at Christmas lest they run out and he go hungry after the holidays. They believe they are being good parents. I believe they should be investigated for child abuse. She attributes the wider palate of  French children to parents refusing to indulge in this behavior and requiring their children to sample all foods at least once and generally eat the same meals as the parents. Brilliant! Who ever would have thought? Other than my own parents, I suppose, and most every other family I knew growing up.

Likewise, we learn that all American children are unruly little wildebeests because their parents have yet to harness the power of the word ‘no.’ She even devotes several pages to how she had to learn to say this word with conviction so that her young son would listen and obey. It never occurred to me that parents would not use this word (and use it often). Clearly the wildebeests belong to the people who cannot say no. I mean, she tells horror story of restaurant meals with her own one-year-old, who cannot be made to sit at the table while the parents eat. Having recently enjoyed a long and lovely brunch with good friends and their adorably well-behaved, one-year-old daughter, I can definitely say that not all American toddlers behave this way.

Toward the end of the book she discusses the differences in baby-proofing philosophies: she wishes to replace the bathroom floors with something entirely rubber in order to reduce (eliminate?) the risk of a child slipping and falling. The French people who learn of this idea think it is madness. So do I. We simply used a bath mat and my mother would say, ‘be careful not to fall.’ I suppose if I had, I would have been more careful the next time.  I’d continue, but I’m sure you get the idea.  

Thursday, April 5, 2012

Coco Chanel: An Intimate Life

Coco Chanel, whose real name was Gabrielle, was one fascinating broad. Born to peasants, she would be orphaned by her mother's death and father's abandonment before she was 12, when she was sent to the Aubazine convent. Such beginnings contrast starkly with her later life when she would figure among the wealthiest, most influential women in France, if not beyond - and also bed half of Europe, at least the wealthy half (men and women alike). At various times her lovers included the Duke of Westminster (then himself the richest man in England), Stravinsky, Picasso, Dali, the Grand Duke Dmitri Pavlovich, and a high ranking German official during World War II - in addition to countless others whose names are far less known or impressive (Etienne Balsan? Arthur Capel? Antoinette d'Harcourt?). Also, she had a serious morphine habit. Most impressively is not simply the way Chanel revolutionized fashion, however, but that she continued working at it and being a force within the fashion world until she the day she died at the age of 87, some 60 years after she opened her first little shop.

So, yes, Chanel is fascinating. Coco Chanel: An Intimate Life, however, is a bit dry. In fact, as I read I couldn't help but feel that it could have been written as a dissertation, something to the effect of the "The Life and Times of Coco Chanel: One Woman's Impact on a Century." It's incredibly well researched and painstakingly thorough but, unlike some books which manage to be this without the reader constantly realizing it. In this book, the research can sometimes drag down each dense paragraph, threatening to crush them under its weight. I will say, though, that when it comes to descriptions of Europe - particularly life in France in the 19th century when peasants still spoke patois, or in either of the pre-/post- war periods - the research does pay dividends.

On a separate note, the author (Lisa Chaney), had what was for me the terribly annoying habit of referring to and describing various photos of Chanel or others, sometimes in great detail, which were then not included in any of the photo insert pages. I felt cheated! If the photographs couldn't be reproduced for the book, she should have said so in the text; if they could have been and she chose not to, then shame on her.

The final verdict: Coco Chanel was almost certainly one of the most remarkable figures of the 20th century. She gets 4 stars just for surviving and thriving, let alone being a quiet revolutionary in her own way. (Also, I couldn't help but think that she should have just married Etienne Balsan when he asked - twice - but that really is beside the point.) The book, however, gets 2 stars because at the end of the day the reader often has to work to keep Chanel in focus and not be overcome by the words on the page.