Thursday, February 26, 2015

They Fought Like Demons: Women Soldiers in the Civil War

They Fought Like Demons: Women Soldiers in the Civil War is a fascinating account of the women who cut their hair, pulled on pants, and marched off to fight in the Civil War. I had some vague notion that women had done this, but I had never given it much thought before reading I Shall Be Near You earlier this year. The protagonist of that book, Rosetta Wakefield, is partially based on a real woman, 21-year-old Sarah Rosetta Wakeman, who was remarkable not only for what she did, but the fact that so many of her letters home survived, providing a unique window into the life of women soldiers.

Using Wakeman's correspondence, as well as letters from other women soldiers and from male soldiers that mention women soldiers, as well as newspaper articles and contemporary accounts - including two published autobiographical texts (those of Sarah Emma Edmonds and Loreta Janeta Velazquez), De Anne Blanton and Lauren M. Cook create a well-rounded profile of the women who fought from their motivations (love, money, patriotism) to their experiences in the field (blood, death, burial duty, prison camp, and - for a lucky few - childbirth) to their lives after the war (generally hard work, a healthy dose of awe and respect from those around them, and the occasional fight with the government for a veteran's pension).

In many ways, They Fought Like Demons reminds me of Debs at War: it is broader than it is deep, delving into the stories of individuals, but carefully keeping the reader focused on the bigger picture. Yet, the women could not be more different. While the latter looks at the favored daughters of the English aristocracy, the former is a portrait of hardscrabble women unconcerned with society's judgment who plunge headlong not into the war effort, but into the war itself. 


Monday, February 23, 2015

Kalorama Shakedown

Robert Bruce Stewart's Kalorama Shakedown is a light and lively mystery starring, if you will, Harry Reese, an insurance investigator, and his slightly batty wife, Emmie. Reese is sent to Washington, DC, on business following a succession of highly suspicious insurance claims for stolen jewelry, all stolen in (too) similar circumstances.

The setting in December 1901, which gives Kalorama Shakedown slightly more color and character than similarly situated mysteries. (I couldn't help but wonder if Nancy Coco or Ann Charles might have gained just *that* much by giving their work a bit of historical flavor. Of course, I've admitted many times that I'm biased toward historical fiction.)

Overall, I enjoyed reading this. Plus, it was free on BookBub...for which you should sign up (also free) if you haven't already. Happy reading!

Friday, February 20, 2015

Island on Fire: The Extraordinary Story of a Forgotten Volcano That Changed the World

 Island on Fire: The Extraordinary Story of a Forgotten Volcano That Changed the World by Alexandra Witze and Jeff Kanipe is the story of Laki, the massive Icelandic volcano whose 1783 eruption plunged Europe - and possibly the wider world - into the dark (and subsequently the cold). In Iceland they died of the direct of effects of a poisoned environment; in western Europe of the prolonged effects of breathing in an unrelenting poisonous fog; further afield - as far as the Nile - of the effects of climate change wrought by this massive explosion.

Using the meticulous records of one Jón Steingrímsson, Witze and Kanipe reconstruct the terrifying days following the eruption of Laki. However, Island on Fire is more than the simple retelling of what happened to Iceland in 1783. It is a treatise on volcanology, from plate tectonics and magma build-up to detailed explanations on the scale and after-effects of eruptions from Mount Vesuvius (the one that buried Pompeii) and Krakatau (the Indonesian volcano whose eruption and final collapse could be heard as far as Singapore) to Mount Pelée (the Caribbean monster who erupted with devastating force in 1902) and Mount St. Helens. Even better, Witze and Kanipe bring the study of ice cores, atmospheric conditions, magma formation, lava flows, and killer gases emitted by underwater volcanoes to a level that laypeople can easily comprehend.

That said, I felt the title of this book didn't really do it justice. I read Island on Fire for two reasons. I'm getting ready to run a program in Iceland and I'm trying to read widely of the country before this happens. I came away with relatively little knowledge about Iceland, but a tremendous amount of knowledge about volcanoes in general. I would guess that roughly 50 percent of the book deals with Iceland directly, and perhaps 70-80 percent of that is about the Laki eruption. This isn't a complaint and shouldn't be an issue for most readers (ardent researchers of Laki aside), but it is something to note.

The bottom line: calling all science geeks, and those with a healthy appetite for science reading. On the other hand, if plate tectonics bores you, it would be best to find another book.

Tuesday, February 17, 2015

People of the Book

My dear friend Clio posted a review of People of the Book late last year and I was curious enough to add it to my reading list.

The Sarajevo Haggadah is one of the world's rarest books, a tiny volume noted for its beautiful illustrations of the Jewish Passover ritual. It is several centuries old and has somehow come to rest in Sarajevo where it has twice been saved from certain destruction, once during World War II and once during the Balkan Wars in the 1990s. So far, this is all true.

People of the Book is Geraldine Brooks's imaginative recreation of the haggadah's history: how and by whom it was saved during World War II; how and under what circumstances it was created, changed hands and came to Sarajevo; how it would have been received when that city was still part of the vast, Hapsburg-ruled Austro-Hungarian empire. Brooks uses the known facts to support her stories: that the book was created Spain before the expulsion of the Jews in 1492 and that a Venice priest saved it from the flames of the Pope's Inquisition in 1609 before it finally turned up  in 1894 in Sarajevo. (Brooks helpfully explains her methods of building the story from these scant facts in a 2007 article from The New Yorker. Thanks, Clio, for originally pointing me to the link!)

While I was fascinated by this project, that is, the filling in of the historical blanks, I was less impressed with the final result. Too many characters in too little space for me to take even a surface-level interest in the fates of any of them. The main character is Hanna Heath an Australian rare books conservator whose discoveries - of a salt stain, a wine stain, an insect wing, and a white hair - lead to each historical interlude. Unfortunately, I found Hanna grating in the best of circumstances. My biggest gripe, as with Year of Wonders, is that the events at the end of the novel simply beggared belief. Even though I wasn't a huge fan of the stories Brooks had constructed, they were utterly believable, which is as much - or more - than could be asked of a project of this scope.

My sense is that readers who really like Geraldine Brooks would like this People of the Book. It's an interesting topic and Brooks comes to grips with her material very well.

Saturday, February 14, 2015

The Lost German Slave Girl: The Extraordinary True Story of Sally Miller and Her Fight for Freedom in Old New Orleans

The Müller family, including daughter Salomé, emigrated to the United States from Alsace in 1817, following years of war and famine in their native land. Like many immigrants, they endured a harrowing crossing that claimed the lives of the Müller mother and one son, only to arrive in America (along with many other family members, neighbors, and friends) too impoverished to pay their fare, thus indenturing themselves for a period of years upon arrival. And then they disappeared.

Twenty-five years after their arrival, Madame Carl recognizes a slave woman as the long-lost Salomé, thus setting in motion a case that gripped New Orleans, much of the South, and eventually even the North, for the next several years. With the support of the German community behind her, Salomé sues her master for freedom, seeking to prove that, as a white woman, she has been improperly enslaved from girlhood.

In telling Salomé's story, John Bailey also tells the story of New Orleans, with its rich French-Spanish-Creole-American history and customs, as well as the story of slavery in the U.S., particularly its evolution to an ever more tightly regulated endeavor in which slaves' rights were increasingly reduced, whatever the wishes of their masters. Ultimately, Salomé's case hinges on whether the court believes that she arrived in the U.S. as an impoverished but purely white immigrant, or whether she was born into slavery anywhere in the country.

This is a fascinating account, not only of the Müller trial, but of antebellum New Orleans. Bailey does a masterful job with these events, including providing his own beliefs as to a case that has been debated many, many times in the 150+ years since it was decided.

Wednesday, February 11, 2015

City of Scoundrels: The 12 Days of Disaster That Gave Birth to Modern Chicago

Gary Krist's City of Scoundrels is an in-depth look at Chicago's summer of 1919. In 12 short days, the city experienced the following: a flaming blimp crashing through one of the city's banks, killing a dozen passengers and bystanders; a violent race riot; a paralyzing transit strike; and the abduction and murder of a six-year-old girl. Just for good measure, the mayor of Chicago, "Big Bill" Thompson, and governor of Illinois, Frank Lowden, are practically sworn enemies. 

Using newspaper articles, personal diaries, court records, and any number of other original sources, Krist reconstructs Chicago as it was in 1919, bringing all of these events and personalities alive. The style of this book is highly reminiscent of Erik Larsen's wonderful Devil in the White City. And, in fact, City of Scoundrels in many way is a follow-up to White City, which was set in Chicago during the World's Fair one generation earlier (1893); it is from the World's Fair grounds that the doomed blimp, the Wingfoot, in fact departs on July 21 before crashing through the Illinois Trust & Savings Bank later that day.

As Krist writes in his author's note, more seemed to happen in Chicago in a week than happened in many cities in a year, and that was even before Al Capone - who was reported to keep a photograph of Big Bill in his office - left his mark on the Windy City. Overall, this is a wonderful, informative, and well-written glimpse into some of the formative events of one of America's great cities.

Sunday, February 8, 2015

The Autobiography of Miss Jane Pittman

Jane Pittman is 110 years old. Born a slave in Louisiana, she has experienced slavery, war, reconstruction, war, depression, war, and, finally, the burgeoning civil rights movement. The undercurrents of her experiences are, of course, deep poverty and deeper racism, often accompanied by violence.

Ernest J. Gaines has written this novel as though it were a transcription of Jane's tape-recorded reminisces. The language and tone are pitch-perfect; the voice is consistent and it's easy for the reader to imagine that they're simply listening to a supercentenarian recounting a lifetime of memories, sometimes with laughter in her voice and sometime with bitterness.

In addition to capturing his protagonist's voice so well, Gaines has also effectively written a history of the post-Civil War south, particularly as seen from the black perspective. Plantation life is well and truly alive in The Autobiography of Miss Jane Pittman, even if the masters are not so wealthy as their forebears and their workers are technically free. (And Gaines would know - the author's note at the end of the book states that he was born - in 1933 - on a Louisiana plantation where he and his family lived in the old slave quarters.)

This is a quick and spirited read, and one I would especially recommend for anyone interested in a different perspective on U.S. history.

Thursday, February 5, 2015

How the Scots Invented the Modern World: The True Story of How Western Europe's Poorest Nation Created Our World & Everything in It


Alexander Graham Bell: Scottish.
Adam Smith: Scottish.
Andrew Carnegie: Scottish.
Robert Burns: Scottish.
Sir Walter Scott: Scottish, obviously.

Also many of the U.S.'s founding fathers - from James Madison to Alexander Hamilton, Patrick Henry to Andrew Jackson were of Scottish descent. And so was Samuel Morse.

So the title of this book, How the Scots Invented the Modern World: The True Story of How Western Europe's Poorest Nation Created Our World & Everything in It, might be overreaching things, but perhaps just a bit.

The Scots, Arthur Herman informs the reader, were the first to develop a system of free and compulsory public education. The Scottish Enlightenment produced many of the finest thinkers in 18th century Europe: among them, economists, philosophers, architects, and doctors. And then, when the Scots left Scotland, they took with them ambition and drive and education and shaped the U.S. and Canada, New Zealand and Australia into their mold.

Herman's arguments are compelling. They are also, at times, a bit dry. Large chunks of How the Scots Invented the Modern World are lofty and, with all due respect, quite boring. The most interesting and most readable sections focus on individuals (such as Smith, Carnegie, Scott, and Bell) and historical events (such as the creation of the United Kingdom and the Highland Clearances) rather than, say,  the theological underpinnings of the Scottish Kirk. Unfortunately, there is much, much more of the latter than of anything else - and here I admit, I skimmed heavily, rather than reading closely. I was disappointed that the Highland Clearances were summarized in roughly two pages, a disservice to both the event and the reader, when ideas such as moral philosophy and politeness had received entire chapters.

Ultimately, I would say that if you're interested in any of the gentlemen whose names began this post, find a biography. If you're interested in the history of Scotland, I'm sure there are many. This is neither, and in that I was dismayed.

Monday, February 2, 2015

Madame Tussaud: A Novel of the French Revolution

I am of two minds about Madame Tussaud, Michelle Moran's recounting of the famous waxmaker in her pre-London fame days.

Marie Grosholtz (later Tussaud) is ambitious, Moran does not let us forget that. She has a great head for business, although more for the numbers than for giving the people what they want: the latter she must still learn at the knee of her mentor-uncle-father-protector, Philippe Curtius. Marie's skill with wax is unrivaled; not only does she create the displays to which rich and poor alike do flock, but on the eve of the French Revolution, she is invited to Versailles to become the tutor to Louis XVI's pious younger sister, the Princess Elisabeth. In the months and years that follow, Marie's world is torn apart by the revolution and ensuing Reign of Terror.

Based in historical fact and events, the first half is excellent. The book begins to unravel about two-thirds from the finish, though, as Moran compresses months and then years into a mere two or three pages, whereas the initial chapters might comprise a single day each. The story begins to suffer. Admittedly, I was also a bit put off by the character of Henri Charles. Not as Moran has created him - no he's very nice and sympathetic - but his mere presence. For while Grosholtz/Tussaud, Curtius, the royal family, and revolutionaries (chiefly Marat, Robespierre, and Desmoulins) were all real people, Henri Charles exists between the pages of Madame Tussaud alone. (A fact, a might add, the Moran should make clearer as she gives a post-revolution round-up of each of the figures who appeared in this book.)

I understand that much about Tussaud's life is suspect: a showwoman to her last, those who know best advise taking Tussaud's own memoirs with a grain of salt. Or two. Perhaps Moran felt the book needed a bit of romance, or perhaps she learned of some former flame, but in either case, I wish she had clarified this (as, for example, did Melanie Benjamin in advising readers of The Aviator's Wife just how much came from history and how much from her pen).

If you're dying to read a novel set during the French Revolution and you don't mind a co-mingling of real and imagined characters, Madame Tussaud is a rich and entertaining read. (And I still very much prefer it to Annette Vallon.)