Dead Wake: The Last Crossing of the Lusitania

Erik Larson's has taken on killer hurricanes, a serial killer at the Chicago World's Fair, and the Nazis  It seems entirely appropriate that his latest book is on the sinking (by the Nazis's forebears, no less) of the Lusitania.

Larson undertakes his research and engages his readers with the same gusto I have come to expect. He provides a detailed accounting of all aspects of the Lusitania disaster, from the U-boat captain's logs to passenger letters and the accounts of those who witnessed the sinking from the Irish coast. He provides a historically accurate recreation, while infusing the story with his own commentary, for which his work is always the richer. The Luck family has booked passage on the doomed liner, for example, which causes Larson to add, "Why in the midst of great events there always seems to be a family so misnamed is one of the imponderables of history."

Larson deftly captures the smallest details - such as the preponderance of men and boys wearing pink while at sea - while simultaneously creating a portrait of the larger world: the unrelenting blood-letting of the Western Front, the unwavering neutrality of the United States, the espionage and counterespionage measures undertaken by all sides. He also does a great job of placing u-boats within their time: that is, as the bridge between the old days of naval warfare and as a prelude to both bigger naval battles and unconventional warfare.

The release of Dead Wake coincides with the 100th anniversary of the sinking of the Lusitania later this spring and Larson notes that some aspects of the ship's last voyage have been debated for the better part of a century. Whether Dead Wake will be the last word is for those more learned on the topic to say, but it is certainly a comprehensive and enlightening read for the casual reader.

Four stars.

Where the West Ends: Stories From the Middle East, the Black Sea, and the Caucasus

Where the West Ends is a travelogue of the world's most troubled corners. Iraq? Check. The former Yugoslavia? Check. Georgia? The Ukraine? Crimea? Check, check, check. The Sarajevo Haggadah even makes a cameo appearance. And, although it's hard to imagine why one might not only wish to visit such places with remarkable regularity but also, somewhat inexplicably, in a rental car, the result is a collection of insightful and wonderful travel writing. (The dispatches from the Middle East also confirm what I first truly understood after reading Hero, which is that the situation in that region is simply FUBAR, the R here being "repair.")

It's fair, I think, to question Michael J. Totten's sanity, or at a minimum whether he has some kind of unfulfilled death wish. One should not, however, question his grasp of world affairs. With remarkable prescience (Where the West Ends was published in 2012), Totten essentially predicts the rise of ISIS. Quoting a Kosovar - no stranger to internecine war - "[The Americans] cannot leave. Shias and Sunnis hate each other more than they hate Americans." Likewise, he reports that Russia has not - and likely will not ever - accept the fact of Ukrainian independence, particularly insofar as the Crimean is concerned.

Aside from the political context, Where the West End provides an eye-opening look at the day-to-day struggles of life in these troubled spots, particularly in the small towns and villages that dot the countrysides. Totten's recollection of driving through Ukraine is remarkable, as much for the condition of the road he describes as for the the fact that he does not know a letter of Cyrilic and is rather hopelessly lost as a result. More than once, his descriptions brought to mind those from The Orientalist - the backdrop of which is the Caucasus...circa 1920. (And the Azerbaijan-Georgia train - oh my! - it seems Paul Theroux rode the same one in the 1980s!)

Where the West Ends is not perfect. It is necessary to look past certain flaws: Totten's obsession with taking (and talking about) pictures, for example, often without ever actually seeing anything. I was very sad that he wanted to "see" Dubrovnik only because he "want[ed] some pictures." What?! In fact, it often feels like Totten is on the move for the purpose of collecting places as opposed to trying to understand any particular area.

As he says himself, right about the time he tells the story of bocking like a chicken in order to order food in a restaurant "you wouldn't be wrong to say that someone who travels as much as I do should have known better." He does at least recognize - as in, in the very next sentence - that he should have known better. As a person, Totten seems maddening. As a journalist, his skill at synthesizing the major events in some very troubled regions is outstanding.

I'm torn between wishing I had the chutzpah (and time!) to follow in his literal footsteps and between being very, very glad that I'm facing down the Azeri/Serb/Russian/Chechen/Turkish/Kurdish border guard from the far side of a book rather than the passenger side of a car.

Empire of Mud: The Secret History of Washington, DC

Empire of Mud: where J.D. Dickey puts paid to the idea that Washington might ever be "fixed."

But I'm getting ahead of myself. The trouble started when Congress furloughed the soldiers of the Pennsylvania Line who then mutinied and marched on Philadelphia, where the powers-that-be responded poorly (raise your hand if anything in this sentence surprised). Most alarming to Alexander Hamilton, these handful of militiamen made the state seem stronger than the country, a situation the Federalist could not abide. Hamilton masterfully manipulated events such that by the time the Constitution was adopted in 1787, Congress planned a federal district, separate and apart from any state.

And then the real fun began because while Philadelphia circa 1787 was a real city, the lands set aside for the federal district were farmlands and swampy, muddy bogs. Corn grew in the middle of Pennsylvania Avenue. No one would pay to pave (or even grade) the streets. Entire sections of the city were swamped at high tide. A few years ago, I read Dominion of Memories: Jefferson, Madison, and the Decline of Virginia, which basically consists of source after source bemoaning the state of state, and especially the roads. Washington City, which together with Georgetown and Alexandria (now Virginia) formed the federal district, was clearly made of the same muck.

Naturally, the arrival of politicians only worsened the situation. Because the infrastructure was so lacking, they clung together, with the city's boarding houses becoming the domain of various factions. All Ohio congressman might live in one house, while next door lodged only republicans from New York. Clannishness and partisanship is not new. In the dearly days of the district, they were particularly inclined to fight over slavery, literally brawling - repeatedly - on the floor of the House and Senate. The Civil War ended the physical altercations, but not the segregation and black codes that made life so difficult for so many.

Empire of Mud is the history of Washington you never knew, from the physical creation of the city to an accounting of the various types of brothels that operated in its boundaries, Dickey's history is far from the marble and monuments that spring to mind when thinking of the city today. This is the dark side of Washington, and it is a history buff's history, finely detailed and nuanced, asking questions as well as answering them. Beginning with, what if the Pennsylvania Line hadn't mutinied?

Cheaper by the Dozen

Frank and Lillian Gilbreth were efficiency experts. Frank basically invented the field of motion study, looking to save a minute here and a second there at every opportunity. He tried shaving once with two razors, but the time he saved shaving he then spent - and then some! - tending to the cuts he inflicted upon himself. It was much to his chagrin, then, that in their quest to have "an even dozen," none of the children were multiples.

Frank Bunker Gilbreth, Jr. and Ernestine Gilbreth Carey have created a charming portrait of growing up in the midst of this large and eccentric family. Because of their parents' fame and wealth, life in the Gilbreth household was vastly different from life in most of America in the early part of the twentieth century. The family resides in an imposing home, maintains a summer home on Nantucket Island, and travels between the two in "Foolish Carriage," a temperamental 1914 Pierce Arrow that was, naturally, the most luxurious car money could buy.

Like Over the Top, Cheaper by the Dozen clearly illuminates life in another era. And what a life. Admittedly, the Gilbreths are so far ahead of their time, what with weekly trips to the movies and their propensity to go for long drives in Foolish Carriage, that I often felt like that era was three or four decades later than it actually was!

The adventures had by the Gilbreths, beyond outings in their automobile, were manifold, and mostly instigated by father Frank, "a born limilight-hogger," as he was described in a 2003 Washington Post review. (Notably, the Post reviewed Cheaper by the Dozen as part of an occasional series in which their book critics review "notable or neglected" books from the past. But I digress.) From teaching his clan to touch type, to learning to sail, to lessons on Morse Code conducted by painting dots and dashes on the walls of the summer home, Frank's energy and enthusiasm is the impetus behind the Gilbreths' memorable antics.

Yet it is clear from the opening pages that it is mother Lillian who truly rules the roost. Born to an exceptionally wealthy Bay Area family, Lillian did what few women in the 1890s managed: she graduated from college. In fact, at the time of her marriage, one of the newspapers reported that "Although a graduate of the University of California, the bride is nonetheless an extremely attractive young woman." Indeed. With her calm demeanor and distaste for all things "Eskimo" (i.e., off-color, even slightly), she infuses the book - and obviously her family - with warmth and love.

Overall, Cheaper by the Dozen was delightful. It makes an especially good beach (or airplane, as the case may be) read. I found myself quickly immersed in the Gilbreths' lives, and the pages just flew by.

*Footnote: I could not understand why Gilbreth #2, Mary, was not mentioned in the book beyond the fact of her birth. It turns out she died at age 5, in 1912, of diphtheria. And so, in fact, there were never actually a dozen Gilbreth children together.

The Last Original Wife

Leslie Carter is the last "original" wife among her husband's group of friends. On vacation in Edinburgh, she falls down a manhole, is knocked unconscious and breaks her arm. Her husband - walking a few paces ahead with friends - doesn't notice until he's back at the hotel. When she wakes up from surgery, it's to the face of an almost-stranger (one of the new wives), and not her husband. Returning home to Atlanta, she realizes how unhappy she is and begins to contemplate what a different life might look like.

The best thing that can be said for Dorothea Benton Frank's The Last Original Wife is that it's pure mind mush: an easy afternoon read that requires virtually no concentration. Which is good, because once you start to think about it, it makes no sense.

First, the whole, "Boo hoo, I'm the last original wife." Now, from the inside of the book flap, "Leslie Anne Greene Carter is the Last Original Wife among her husband Wesley's wildly successful Atlanta social set. His cronies have all traded in the mothers of their children that they promised to love and cherish - 'til death did them part - for tanned and toned Barbie brides." Issue number one: the "wildly successful social set" consists of only two other men. Not exactly a robust social scene - or even sample size. Secondly, "til death did them part." Well, in one case, it did. So there is one - read that ONE - friend who "traded in" the mother of his children.

Secondly, early in the book Leslie is 58. This is stated quite clearly within the opening chapters. At the end of the book, Leslie celebrates her 60th birthday. And yet, over and over and over again, the reader is told that Leslie regrets getting pregnant in her last semester of college, not earning a degree, being such a young mother, blah, blah, blah. So is she 52 going on 53 or is she 58 going on 60? And how did Frank's editor not catch this/insist that it be corrected?

Also, Leslie describes Wesley (seriously??) as the consummate bully, but while he might be a bit of a boor (or bore), he never really comes across as a bully. I had a hard time feeling too sorry for her.

Finally, I actually find the plot to be very, very similar to that of Dora in Mary Alice Monroe's The Summer Wind. Like, weirdly similar. And I preferred Monroe's.

That is all.

Over the Top

Arthur Guy Empey was an American who traveled to England and enlisted with the British armed services well before the United States joined World War I in 1917. Over the Top is Empey's memoir of his time "somewhere in France," but written as it was in 1917, it is also a manual of sorts for prospective U.S. soldiers and their families.

I discovered that this book existed in reading The Last of the Doughboys earlier this year. Richard Rubin excerpted from it liberally and I wanted to read it in full. Thanks to the Internet Archives, I was able to do so, and on my Nook, and entirely for free.

In a conversational and self-deprecating style, Empey tells the reader all that he experienced. (They style, I should add is highly reminiscent of Edmund Love, for whom I've previously stated by admiration. I have no doubt this is one of the reasons I liked this book so much. But I digress.)

Empey captures the language and atmosphere in the trenches beautifully, and he recalls his exploits with a heavy dose of humor, noting for example, that upon uncovering a decomposing corpse, one of the men fainted. I was that one, Empey writes in the next sentence. The humor carries into the last section of the book, "Tommies Dictionary of the Trenches." For example, Supper: Tommy's fourth meal, generally eaten just before "lights out." It is composed of the remains of the day's rations. There are a lot of Tommies who never eat supper. There is a a reason.

I think part of what I appreciated so much about Over the Top is that it is written in the midst of World War I. Empey hasn't had time to reflect, either on the causes of the war, or on the ways it will change him. It is written in the moment, when all Tommy wants to do is survive - and maybe have a little fun along the way.

Five stars.

Every Man Will Do His Duty: An Anthology of Firsthand Accounts from the Age of Nelson 1793-1815

Every Man Will Do His Duty showed up in my daily BookBub as I was finishing The Last Stand of the Tin Can Soldiers, in which author James D. Hornfischer does a wonderful job of describing both navy battles and life on battleships. I was curious to read a similar account of another age. The book's description is of "Twenty-two enthralling stories of the Royal Navy, bringing to vivid life the greatest battles and daily struggles of seafaring in the Napoleonic era." Unfortunately, this anthology did not captivate me in the same way as Tin Can Soldiers - or at all.

Many of the anecdotes are presented in their original form; the men who wrote them were sailors, not writers. And in any age when every man was free to render his words with whatever spelling he liked, no less. It was enough to drive this modern reader to distraction. Even those which were clearly written lacked the pizzazz and passion of Hornfisher's stories (a high bar, I know), and it often felt like, "and then this happened and then this happened and then that happened." Ultimately, I gave up about half-way through.

The Ascent of Money

Niall Ferguson's The Ascent of Money has been on my reading list since it was part of a globalEDGE blog series two years ago. Ferguson traces the origins of money and the financial system itself carefully tracing how we reached a time and place where money is almost entirely electronic. Along the way, he explores everything from insurance to hedge funds, the bond market and the IMF. He offers a discussion of the Dutch West India Company - arguably the world's first global trading company - and his exposition on the Scottish Widows insurance company should make Arthur Herman proud. There's even a bit on the crisis state of Detroit. In sum, Ferguson's work is a nice, comprehensive read for those seeking to understand the evolution of the world's financial systems, crises, and interconnectedness.

The Book Thief

The grim reaper himself narrates The Book Thief, which is probably appropriate for any book set in World War II Germany. As he himself notes, there was no shortage of work for him in that time and in that place.

It is with a sense of foreboding, then, that the reader dives into the story of Liesel Meminger, a 10-year-old foster girl who is haunted by her brother's death and mother's absence. Taken in by Rosa and Hans Hubermann, Liesel becomes especially close to her accordion-playing foster father who teaches her to read and, in so doing, gives her an abiding love for books so strong that she will stop at nothing to obtain them.

This is Liesel's story, but the backdrop, of course is World War II. Some of the Hubermann's neighbors are Nazis, some are undecided, and some are decidedly not. Each must navigate the war carefully; each must eventually face the music of the falling bombs.

The Book Thief is a rare book, with a unique - and searing - perspective. Markus Zusak's greatest accomplishment in writing it is undoubtedly the way in which he humanizes the German people, telling their story from the perspective of those too young to fully grasp what is happening but caught just the same, as the grim reaper reminds us early and often, in the mounds of rubble.

Although classified as a Young Adult (YA) book, I can easily recommend The Book Thief to young and old alike. This is a remarkable novel, one that will undoubtedly figure on my "best of" list at the end of the year.

The Adventure of English: The Biography of a Language

Melvyn Bragg sets out to trace the origins, history, and evolution of the English language in The Adventure of English: The Biography of a Language. He achieves his aims admirably, beginning with the invasion of the British isles by the tribes of Anglos and Saxons whose Germanic-rooted dialect has evolved into the English we know today.

Bragg examines both the linguistic influences - from Old Norse to French, Latin, Greek, Italian, Spanish, Yiddish, and Yoruba - as well as the influences of individuals such as Chaucer, Shakespeare, Jonathan Swift, and Mark Twain. From chapter-to-chapter the evolution of English unfurls and pushes west around the world, to North America and the West Indies and to India, Australia, and Singapore.

The Adventure of English is a study in an etymologist's dream as Bragg covers words from earnest (Victorian slang for gay, which gives a whole new meaning to Oscar Wilde's Importance of Being Earnest) to boogie-woogie (southern black slang for syphilis long before it was a style of dance, which likewise lends a new meaning to the boogie woogie blues).

If you've ever wondered about the origin of words and how and why accents exist, Bragg is your man. He held my attention from the opening chapter to the closing pages. It's possible one needs to be a card-carrying member of Club Nerd to make this claim, but those who can will not be disappointed.