Our Man in Charleson: Britain's Secret Agent in the Civil War South

 In 1853, Robert Bunch was posted to Charleston to serve as British consul, clean up the mess left by his predecessor, and lobby for British interests. As the US careened toward Civil War, and talk of secession superseded all else in South Carolina, Bunch increasingly found himself thrust in the middle of events, and increasingly as a double agent - chumming it up with the best people, while working furiously behind the scenes to deny the new Confederacy the recognition and legitimacy in Europe it so longed for - and needed.

Christopher Dickey's writing and research are on-the-mark, his portrayal of Bunch flattering without being fawning, and the history engaging. That said, much like Savage Continent, I found I just cannot concentrate on other people's apocalypses at the moment. A country on the brink, neighbor-against-neighbor, is just too reminiscent of the current times. I think I'll turn away from my usual history reading for a bit. :)

Savage Continent: Europe in the Aftermath of World War II

I think in part motivated by my aborted attempt at American Ulysses last month, I have been determined to work my way through Keith Lowe's Savage Continent. Similar to American Ulysses, the topic is interesting, and unlike my chief complete with the former, that White simply included far too many details for the average reader to wade through, Lowe's writing is on point. 

A few years ago, in fact, looking back, I see it was even this same time of year, I began a review as follows: "I blame Shogun. Luncheon of the Boating Party isn't bad, it just pales in comparison to Shogun, which leaves Susan Vreeland's work seeming a bit washed out." Today's context is completely different, but all I can say is: I blame covid. And Trump. Try as I might, I'm simply not in the mood to read about the ravages and savages that followed on the heels of World War II. 

From the opening sentences, Lowe is clear about what the reader will encounter: "Imagine a world without institutions. It is a world where borders between countries seem to have dissolved, leaving a single, endless landscape over which people travel in search of communities that no longer exist. ... There are no banks...Nothing is made here. ... There is no food. Law and order are virtually non-existent, because there is no police force and no judiciary. ... There is no morality. There is only survival." (p. xiii) 

I should have stopped then, right? I mean, it sounds like Lowe is writing to prepare me for the coming electoral apocalypse, rather than merely recounting the experience of a bombed out continent after a half-decade of war. I soldiered on though, no pun intended, through the typhus in the DP camps, through the bones poking through the rubble, through the carnage of 12 chapters. And then I decided enough. It's not that the story shouldn't be told. God knows, we need every reminder we can conjure as to how such periods have ended before. But for me, personally, Savage Continent does not serve the purpose of thou-shalt-not. It merely brought me a lower. 

Perhaps in a few years, I'll revisit this book. It is, as I said, well-written, and despite myself, I am interested in the topic. Just not this year.

The Ghost Army of World War II

The Ghost Army of World War II sheds light on one of the lesser known divisions - and episodes - of World War II. The 23rd Headquarters Special Troops, or "Ghost Army" used every form of deception against the German army as Patton and company fought their way from the hedgerows of Normandy and on across the Rhine. The Ghost Army - at 1,100 strong - was often charged with convincing the enemy that anywhere north of 30,000 men were amassing to launch one or another audacious attacks. They did this through the use of multimedia deceptions, using visual, sonic, and radio illusions, the most amusing of which I found to be the inflatable tanks. 

Their work was so secret that other American troops were not privy to it - as evidenced by the quote from one private: "All of a sudden I see four guys, one on each end of a General Sherman tank, picking the thing up. And I practically collapsed, because I thought, 'Gee, I could never pick up a tank.' "  (A couple of unsuspecting Frenchmen were equally perplexed. A farmer had to be restrained from sharing what he witnessed when looking to round up his herd and instead saw his cows pushing an American tank around. Another time, a breach of the security perimeter led to two cyclists being told "The Americans are very strong.")

Generally, The Ghost Army of World War II is a snappy little book, the writing light, the anecdotes frequent, the humor outweighing the grimness of war. The story about measuring signs was my favorite; I'll not spoil it other than to say: the more things change, the more they stay the same. Authors Rick Beyer and Elizabeth Sayles also do a remarkable job of incorporating art and photography into the story they tell. This emphasis is fitting, as many of the men in the 23rd were artists - their numbers included the likes of Bill Blass, Arthur Singer, Art Kane, and Jack Masey - and by incorporating their photographs and their artwork, works made during the war itself....well, a picture is worth a thousand words.

While plenty has been written about espionage in war, from Operation Columba to Operation Mincemeat, The Irregulars to Liar, Temptress, Soldier, Spy, this is the first work I've encountered devoted entirely to the art of wartime deception. (Perhaps that's not surprising: you can spend a day at the International Spy Museum, and while the museum may boast the occasional exhibit that falls under deception, it's all much more James Bond than David Copperfield.) More disappointing, the National World War II museum lacks a permanent exhibit on the Ghost Army; when I checked their website to see how I had possibly missed it, I was instead met with an announcement that, in fact, there's a special, temporary exhibit on the Ghost Army from March 2020 to January 2021. Thanks to covid, I'll have to give it a pass.

 

The Ghost Army isn't a must read in any traditional sense. It's not the story of major battles, overall strategy, soaring rhetoric, or historical antecedents. That is, it's easily overlooked for those who are interested in the war in the broadest sense. Like Last Stand of the Tin Can Sailors, though, it's one of those books focusing on a smaller episode that collectively lends richness to the our understanding of World War II. That it does so with humor, rather than a body count, is the cherry on top.

After the War is Over

Jennifer Robson's After the War is Over is escapism fiction as its best. It is sappy and predictable, but I can't think when I've had more fun watching the story unfold as I predicted (hoped!) it would.

Following the end of the Great War, Charlotte Brown has left her job as a nurse in a neurasthenia hospital and returned to work as an assistant in the constituency office of Miss Rathbone, where she is able to work on behalf of the poorest and most vulnerable citizens, for whom she has a particular soft spot. She has also maintained her friendship with her dear friend and former charge Lilly, youngest daughter of Lord and Lady Cumberland, for whom Charlotte was governess.

When Lord Cumberland dies suddenly and Lilly's brother Edward must assume his father's position while grappling with physical and psychological reminders of the war, Charlotte is thrust squarely into their affairs - after all, she has extensive experience with neurasthenia. More difficult than managing Edward's medical needs is coming to terms with their complicated and unresolved history.

As I said, this book is both formulaic and fun. It's the sequel to Somewhere in France, although one needn't have read Somewhere in France to enjoy After the War is Over. I read the former almost five years ago, and recall little from it. Robson does a nice job of filling in the reader on the salient points in the latter book so that it's able to stand on its own.

Five stars.