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I rarely say this, but you have to read this book. Symphony for the City of the Dead: Dmitri Shostakovich and the Siege of Leningrad by M.T. Anderson is the kind of history writing that teachers dream about it. It’s factually accurate, for westerners covers a little known period of history, is passionately written and filled with riveting prose. Simply put, this is the book you have to read if you want to understand modern Russia.

Have I persuaded you yet?

I was fairly surprised that Anderson would be the one to write a book like Symphony as it is straight-up history and built around an adult protagonist (composer Dmitri Shostakovich). Anderson is a great writer, but still, for all that he has written historical fiction in the past,  this title does not give him the room to manufacture drama. He had to follow the story exactly where it took him and let it tell itself as events occurred. As a Russian story set first in the time of the last tsar and then under Lenin and Stalin, there is a lot of politics and some of the pages are far less gripping than others. But Anderson is patient and smart and so exceedingly skilled that he makes the machinations of the Soviet state in the Russian breadbasket during the 1920s read as incredibly exciting.

I don’t know how he does it, I just know that he does and you have got to read this book.

Dmitri Shostakovich was one of Russia’s great twentieth century composers and his symphony for Leningrad, written when the city was under siege from Germany during WWII, had a powerful impact on the world. (The Siege of Leningrad lasted two and half years and was the longest siege in history.) But Anderson goes far beyond the story of Shostakovich and that particular symphony; he gives readers an indepth look at Russian history from the February and October revolutions of 1917, to the rise to power of Vladimir Lenin, the later rise to power of Josef Stalin and the devastation of the dreadful policies of the 1920s and ’30s which caused the deaths of millions of Russians, the destruction of the Russian economy and almost the end of the Russian military.

It’s everything you ever wanted – and needed – to know about modern Russian history through the lens of one amazing Russian man.

The text is peppered with photos and quotes from the diaries and letters of various Russian citizens, from activists to poets, writers and Shostakovich’s fellow composers and musicians. Everyone contributes something to telling this story and they give it the sort of gravitas and power that the subject demands. Readers will walk away from Symphony not only know vastly more about Russia, but more importantly, about the Russian people themselves.

M.T. Anderson has created a modern masterpiece with Symphony for the City of the Dead. It should be read by anyone over the age of 13 who has an interest in Russia, WWII or history in general. Adults will get as much from this book as teenagers and really everyone – everyone – should read it. This is a life changing book and I can not stress enough how really and truly good it is. Bravo, Mr. Anderson, Bravo!

Crossposted from Guys Lit Wire.

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From a recent article in Smithsonian Magazine on the rehabilitation of the Marquis de Sade and a visit with his modern descendant, Count Hugues de Sade:

The family’s embrace of their ancestor is such that Hugues named his eldest son, now 39, Donatien, a first in generations. “We’re proud of the marquis,” Hugues said. “And why not? Today, he is considered a great philosopher. His works are published by the most prestigious publishing house in France, Gallimard. There are conferences about him at the Sorbonne. He is the subject of university theses, and is studied by high-school students in the baccalauréat.”

As we spoke, Hugues pulled down from his bookshelf an array of distinctive heirlooms passed down from the attic trove—the marquis’ church prayer book, original plays (with notes in the margins), his annotated copy of Petrarch (the 14th-century Italian poet’s great love, Laura, may have been a member of the ancient Sade clan)—as well as an enormous rare volume of erotic Salvador Dali drawings inspired by Sade’s novels. As a parting gesture, he produced a bottle of Sade red wine named after one of the marquis’ most famous heroines, Justine, who suffers bloodcurdling abuse as she travels the world. Sade’s novel Justine: The Misfortunes of Virtue, goes far beyond Voltaire’s Candide in its desire to show humanity’s inherently evil nature.

“Some of his writing is too extreme even for me,” Hugues said. “It is work of total delusion.”

I will confess I am one of those people who did not realize that de Sade was a historical figure – he seemed like someone created in fiction to symbolize all the depravity in the world. I have never read any of his works but was really intrigued by the fact that they have been held in the so-called Hell section of the National Library in Paris.

As interesting as the changing attitude about de Sade is, I find something like a forbidden library more appealing. I imagine in the very modern looking library it is more of a temperature controlled storeroom than the sort of cave it ought to be.

In The Allure of the Archives, historian Arlette Farge unexpectedly discovered de Sade in her usual haunt, the judicial records from the Archives of the Bastille. Apparently, after a slight altercation between two carriages, de Sade stepped out of his and stabbed one of the opposing horses (it lived). Farge writes:

In this situation the marquis acted in the way that made his reputation: gratuitous violence, a sword sunk into the belly of a defenseless horse. This insignificant account confirms so well what we have heard about the vile character of this man that I find myself almost doubting this surprising coincidence; the find is almost too perfect.

All of us engaged in research dream of an unexpected archive discovery although most will be about people and places far less dramatic as de Sade. I’m hoping to find something personal about someone who most of the world knows nothing about, although I hope to write something rather dramatic about him. I don’t plan to look in any “hell” sections for my long overlooked historical figure but I wouldn’t pass up the chance to stroll through one if I could.

Wouldn’t we all like to say we went to hell by visiting the local library? Talk about a middle school dream come true…..

[Post pic via reuters of Guatemala police archives.]

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Preparing the Ghost by Matthew Gavin Frank is without a doubt one of the more unusual books I have read in a long time. Described as "an essay concerning the giant squid and it's first photographer" it is, in my mind, first and foremost a writer's book. (Not that the natural history isn't fascinating.) It's about a writer (Frank) obsessed with a Victorian era naturalist and photographer (Harvey Moses) who was obsessed with the Giant Squid which he famously photographed in Newfoundland in 1874. There is also much here about humanity's obsession with the Giant Squid and the vast amount of mythology, literature and more that has developed around this still mysterious creature.

One of the most successful aspects of Preparing the Ghost is Frank's authorial voice--he is a key component to this surprisingly personal story and as much as it is about the life of a man in Newfoundland from more than a century ago, it is also, deeply, about Matthew Gavin Frank. On more than one occasion he veers into his own past trying to mine it perhaps for reasons why he has succumbed to this obsession. Standing in front of Moses's home, (privately owned) knocking on the door yet again and hoping for a glimpse of the bathroom where the squid was draped and photographed, Frank can't explain why he is very desperate to get inside. He keeps knocking, he keeps returning, he keeps hoping for a glimpse of where history was made and he knows enough to know that this stubborn persistence is part of the story he is telling and, written well, it is as compelling as every other aspect of the tale.

Preparing the Ghost reminded me a bit of Geoff Dyer's Out of Sheer Rage: Wrestling with D.H. Lawrence. Very famously, that book is about not writing a book about D.H. Lawrence and in some significant ways Preparing the Ghost is about not writing a book about the Giant Squid. Just as Dyer does write somewhat about Lawrence, so does Frank write about the squid. But there is also much more here about Newfoundland and houses and marriage and family and leaving home and traveling far and fishing and telling stories and lying while taking stories, (like confusion over who the fishermen were who caught the squid), and, of course, it is about how something like a squid could spawn stories that grew into myths and even now, has sparked a book about all of that.

I enjoyed the hell out of this book due in no small matter, I'm sure, to the fact that I've long been fascinated by the Giant Squid. I loved how Frank wrote around and about his subject and thoroughly enjoyed his appreciation of history. It's an odd little book in some respects--the narrative truly jumps all over the place--but Dyer's book is odd as well and what lifts both of these titles is the enormous curiosity and smarts of the authors. They are candid about their obsessions and frustrations and persevered to create something unique to literature. I learned a lot about the Giant Squid while reading Preparing the Ghost but even more so, I learned about writing. Highly recommended.

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From Ilene Cooper's interview with Booklist in March, here is a bit about her YA nonfiction title A Woman in the House (and the Senate):

By the 1970s though, when women were demanding their rights instead of asking for them, many congressmen were growing hostile. When Patricia Schroeder was appointed to the Armed Services Committee, the chair made her and an African American, Ron Dellums, share a chair because, he said, "women and blacks were worth only half a member."

(Dellums was the first African American member of the committee.)

Cooper continues with this bit of her personal story about social security which BLEW ME AWAY:

The week before I graduated from high school, my mother died of a heart attack. The salary she earned as a saleswoman was intended to cover my college tuition--thankfully much less in those days. Still, after she died, it seemed college might not be in the cards for me.

Then my family learned that we were entitled to her Social Security benefits. A few years earlier, this would not have been the case. A husband's Social Security benefits went to his family; a wife's were simply put back into the general fund.

It took a dedicated congresswoman, Martha Griffiths of Michigan, to push for a bill that would reverse this injustice.

All rather startling, don't you think? You can see a short video of Congressman Dellums talking about sharing that seat by scrolling down on this Congressional history page.

[Post title taken from the response Cooper received when, as a teenager, she wrote to her Congressman asking about the Congressional page program.]

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The other night I watched the first season of The Bletchley Circle from PBS which I received on dvd last Christmas. Set in 1952, on one level it is a murder mystery where a group of four intrepid women set out to catch a serial killer of young women in London. But the bigger story is about the four main characters all of whom were code-breakers in Bletchley Park during WWII.

Required by the Official Secrets Act to never tell anyone what they really did during the war - even spouses - thousands of women all claimed to have performed "clerical duties" when really they were much much more. Now, married or working mundane jobs, they are quietly losing their minds. The chance to stop a killer brings these four old friends together again and their dormant code-breaking skills come to the forefront of their everyday lives causing unintended problems. They also have to deal with the police who don't think they know what they're talking about and the killer who is way smarter than they initially realize.

So what did I think? LOVED IT. Smart women, wicked cool largely unknown history, very evocative setting and a solidly suspenseful mystery. I can not recommend this wonderful miniseries enough and keep an eye out for Season 2 that will be broadcast in a couple of weeks.

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The National Postal Museum has a current exhibit on illustrated mail that includes several examples of Jack Fogarty's letters sent from 1944-45. Fogarty served with the Army's 98th Evacuation Hospital in the Pacific and became lifelong friends with a fellow soldier, James MacDonald, and his wife Mary who was home in Queens, NY. Fogarty sent letters to Mary with envelopes showing scenes of life at the camp. In Smithsonian Magazine, Fogarty describes the letters as "an expression of love for the MacDonalds." Jack Fogarty is now 92 and lives in New Jersey. Both the MacDonalds have passed away but their daughter donated 33 illustrated envelopes to the museum. Check them out if you get a chance; really wonderful stuff.

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I somehow missed that Bill Bryson had a new book on the horizon (due October). From the Booklist starred review:

Bryson's inimitable wit and exuberance are on full display in this wide-ranging look at the major events in an exciting summer in America. Bryson makes fascinating interconnections: a quirky Chicago judge and Prohibition defender leaves the bench to become baseball commissioner following the White Sox scandal, likely leaving Chicago open for gangster Al Capone; the thrill-hungry tabloids and a growing cult of celebrity watchers dog Lindbergh's every move and chronicle Ruth's every peccadillo. Among the other events in a frenzied summer: record flooding of the Mississippi River and the ominous beginnings of the Great Depression. Bryson offers delicious detail and breathtaking suspense about events whose outcomes are already known. A glorious look at one summer in America.

I'm not an automatic Bryson reader but I'm mightily intrigued by the notion of his writing directed toward a wide view/one summer sort of book. Plus, everything about 1927 history appeals to me: The lingering Black Sox scandal, Capone, Lindbergh, the Mississippi flood, etc. I predict this will be a huge book this holiday season and I am adding it to my wishlist right this very moment.

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The first time I heard of Herodotus was in the movie The English Patient. I loved - loved - how Almasy kept his personal journal by writing within his copy of The Histories. He layered his thoughts over those of Herodotus, putting in drawings, overfilling the pages. The Greek and the wars he wrote about were a part of the movie through Almasy's copy of the book and I was beyond curious about it back then and also couldn't figure out why I had never heard of him before then.

But then I remembered that the only world history class I had was in junior high - eight grade maybe? It was utterly and completely forgettable - I recall the teacher and that my friend Caryn was in the class with me. Other than that, it's a total loss.

So, for my birthday last year one of the books I asked for was Travels With Herodotus by Ryszard Kapuscinski and I just finished it last week. Not only do I have a firm grip on who Herodotus was now, but this was also the first Kapuscinski book I've read and I enjoyed it thoroughly. The whole notion of being the only foreign correspondent for your newspaper - pretty much the only one from your county - blows me away. In every way that matters, Kapuscinski was just like Herodotus, going out to the edges of the map, finding a world that he barely knew existed. (His chapters on Africa, where the maps are barely drawn especially illustrates this point.)

What really impressed me though was the relationship Kapuscinski formed with The Histories. Every place he visits sparks a literary memory and he views the people and places through the history shared in the book. When he writes about his work, he writes about Herodotus and this is how I ended up, at least a little bit, learning the history I was never taught.

Now, if I can get brave enough, I should tackle The Histories itself.

[Post pic is from The English Patient - Almasy's journal/The Histories.]

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Just finished THEY CALLED THEMSELVES THE KKK by Susan Campbell Bartoletti and it's really well written. What impressed me is that while the subject is well known, she manages to approach it from a different perspective (introducing the six men who initially formed the KKK - none of whom was Nathan Bedford Forrest) and also providing a ton of first person resources from victims, including letters, diaries, trial records, etc. Just one of the people I wish I knew more about was Jim Williams, a former slave and Union soldier who refused to surrender his rifle and was actively patrolling the roads around his town with other neighbors to protect themselves against the KKK because local authorities refused to. (And were actual members of the KKK themselves.) For trying to keep his family and friends safe, he was lynched in March 1871 in Yorkville, SC.

Something very interesting that Bartoletti learned while researching the book:

...I thought about that plaque and the countless memorials to Confederate war heroes such as Nathan Bedford Forrest that I had seen on this trip and other trips to the South, and I thought about the question that had launched this book during another trip several years earlier: What about the thousands of victims of Klan violence? Where are their memorials?

It was that question that had prompted me to call the Southern Poverty Law Center in Montgomery, Alabama, an organization internationally known for its tolerance education programs, its legal victories against white supremacists, and its tracking of hate groups.

I asked if anyone at the center could tell me if any plaques, markers, or statues commemorate the lives of the victims of Klan violence during the Reconstruction years.

I was told there are none.

And if that doesn't infuriate you, I don't know what will. Jim Williams deserves a memorial - he deserves a damn chapter in every American history book and so do a lot of other men and women whose only crime was trying to live the way the Constitution promised them.

Just an added note - although published for teens this one would easily appeal to adult readers as well - it doesn't talk down to its audience.

[Post title is the subtitle to the book.] [Did I forget to mention this book was provided by the publisher? If so - yes, it was.] [Longer review to follow in my October column because if you want a really scary book, then this is the one to read.]

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I just finished SPIES OF MISSISSIPPI by Rick Bowers and was most intrigued by the story of Clyde Kennard, a man I had never heard of. Kennard, a Korean War vet and Bronze Star winner, applied to Mississippi Southern in 1956. No African Americans attended college there but he had come home from Chicago (where he was going to college pursuing a political science degree) after his father died and his mother was in danger of losing their chicken farm. He wanted to continue his college education and Mississippi Southern was the closest school. His application was denied more than once and he was ultimately framed for possession and transport of liquor. His college dreams completely ended when a teenager arrested for stealing five bags of chicken feed confessed under pressure that Kennard had put him up to it. The teenager was given a suspended sentence and Kennard was sent to the Parchman prison farm (max security) for seven years of hard labor. As the NAACP worked to free him he became dreadfully ill in prison and was diagnosed with cancer. The governor turned down requests to free him until nearly the end, letting Kennard out only long enough to enjoy a few months with his family until he died.

I've never even seen a footnote about Clyde Kennard in a textbook.

With a story like this one - plus James Meredith and Medgar Evers and freedom riders and James Chaney, Michael Schwerner and Andrew Goodman's infamous murders, you would think that SPIES, about the taxpaper funded efforts to subvert the Civil Rights Movement in Mississippi, would make for gripping reading. The fact that not only was state government actively involved in spying on its own people to fight federal law, but that it used taxpayer funds and that blacks and whites were involved in the effort, hardly seems believable. And yet for all this amazing information about payoffs and private investigators and even hand drawn maps showing where the dead are buried - SPIES OF MISSISSIPPI is a rather dull book.

I could hardly believe it.

It is clear the author was mandated to stay within a certain page count because he zips from one person to another in only a few pages, barely giving readers a chance to get to know about someone before dragging the narrative forward to someone else. Evers warrants only a few pages which is stunning enough but when you consider that Kennard merits an entire book alone you have to wonder who else should be in here but was left out. There's just too much information and not enough page count - at some point the author & publisher should have realized that something had to give.

My other main complaint is the lack of photographs. For a National Geographic title this was really unexpected. There is a four page center insert of photos and then an appendix with several documents reproduced and that's it. I don't understand this at all. SPIES deserves the full on NG treatment - it should be oversized (at the very least comparable to CLAUDETTE COLVIN or ALMOST ASTRONAUTS squared design) and there should be a ton of photos and illustrations. This is recent history - there is no problem getting excellent photos from the period and there should be a lot more ephemera. I felt slighted by the design here and I feel it slights the subject matter as well. That is a big disappointment.

Longtime readers will know that I judge history books on a hard scale - especially those on the Holocaust and Civil Rights Movement. If you can't teach me something new (or shine new light on a familiar subject) then I'm unimpressed. SPIES OF MISSISSIPPI hits it out of the ballpark on that score - I've never read a detailed account on the Mississippi State Sovereignty Commission and thus in many ways I am the best possible reader for this book. But even though it is

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I am working on a review of Martin Sandler's Secret Subway about plans and early construction of an 1860s subway system in NYC and while very cool on its own, it has gotten me thinking about underground cities in general and Julia Solis' New York Underground:The Anatomy of a City in particular.

Secret Subway is mostly about Alfred Ely Beach, one of those utterly brilliant and talented people who come up with amazing ideas that get thwarted by power-mad politicians (hello Boss Tweed) and others who are more interested in themselves then the greater good. (More about him here.) Beach's subway idea focused on pneumatics. His two block subway still exists, far beneath the streets (there are pictures in the book of the tunnels and waiting area unearthed in 1912) and he proved that his plan was conceivable - but like a lot of others who are overwhelmed by money and power (hello Nicola Tesla) his dream did not come to pass. The history is stirring enough - and certainly fodder for folks curious about inventors, engineering, New York and MYSTERIOUS UNDERGROUND CITIES!!! - but what intrigued me was that it is still down there, which of course made me think of everything else that is still down there and that led me back to Julia Solis.

Here's a bit about Solis from the publisher of her book of short stories, Scrub Station: Julia Solis conducts archaeological parlor games and investigates ruined urban spaces. As the proprietor of the website darkpassage.com it has been her pleasure to document deteriorating bathrooms, morgues and scrub stations in a variety of abandoned mental hospitals.

Solis is a photographer and New York Underground is full of awesome shots of the areas under Grand Central, the Old Croton Aqueduct and the old gang tunnels below Chinatown. She also has one of those job descriptions that I adore - basically she investigates "ruined urban spaces". There is so much romantic and dark and disturbing and appealing about that image, I can barely stand it. Things fall apart everyday and we barely notice. Solis notices, and she photographs and she writes and she remembers. The historian within me does back flips of joy over this very notion.

Here's a bit more from The Society of Creative Preservation which she founded:

Our aim is to instigate unique perceptions of New York's history by constructing narratives around the city's forgotten relics. Ars Subterranea encourages its audiences to interact with the city's neglected and ruinous locations by recreating obscure but fascinating aspects of its urban development. Our projects include art installations, history-based scavenger hunts, unusual preservation campaigns, and much more.

The tag line for the group is "We like to play inside ruins".

While I was reading Secret Subway I kept thinking of how many teens would read this book and be inspired and wonder about trying to find places like Beach's subway and I was so happy to know that at the very least they could go exploring on the internet. I can see this book being an opening to the kind of adventures Solis embraces (and yes - I know that trespassing is wrong and all that so don't trespass, yadda yadda, yadda). Mostly though I'm just happy to see Alfred Beach celebrated again and I'm very happy to know people like Julia Solis are out there looking, and not forgetting who we were and what we accomplished (or tried to) in the past.

Cities fascinate me.

[Post pics from Julia Solis and of Alfred Ely Beach.]

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One of the most surprising books I read for college was The Firecracker Boys by Dan O'Neill. It details Project Chariot, the 1958 plan initiated by Edward Teller to detonate multiple nuclear bombs on Alaska's North Slope. The plan was to create a year-round open harbor to be used by tankers for extracting oil (it is always about oil, isn't it?). The plan was hailed by the state of Alaska which saw enormous earning potential from the oil and the University of AK which received $100,000 for research assisting Chariot. The federal government was also, obviously, onboard with the plan. The reason it did not happen, and what O'Neill details so impressively, is because of the combined efforts of a group of Alaska Natives in the villages nearest the proposed detonation sites, a small environmental group who was concerned about the impact of radiation in lichen across the slope which would then be eaten by caribou and move up the food chain from there, and two UAF scientists who put their careers on the line - and lost their university jobs - to tell the true risks of Chariot.

Right now you need to pause and wrap your head around this. The US government was going to purposely detonate six nuclear bombs on US soil solely to make transportation of oil easier. Teller swore that he could contain the bomb blasts to the smallest footprint imaginable and further, the Atomic Energy Commission and others claimed that radioactive contamination of the region would be minimal. Documents reveal that they lied about all of this, and they thought because the only ones to be affected were Alaskan Natives, their lies would not matter.

The people of of the small Inupiat village of Point Hope fought back. They organized and wrote letters and when the Alaska Conservation Society (all of 200 members) joined in, they reached out to environmentalists across the country who began to take notice. (You can read much more about everyone's efforts between 1958 and 1962 here.) When the UAF scientists asked the ACS to help put together a 30 page document refuting Chariot's claims, everyone pitched in and through its publication the country began to realize the dangers that nuclear detonation presented to Alaska. Chariot was stopped. (It should be noted however that the project has never been formally canceled.)

The grassroots efforts from fighting Project Chariot had multiple long term impacts. Primarily it is considered the first major act of the environmentalist movement. It brought together groups who spent the decades since coordinating multiple actions against private and public interests across the US and around the world who endangered the environment. For Alaskan history, the larger impact was the formation of the Native Rights Movement. It was in the battle against Chariot that Alaska Natives realized they could have a voice in decisions affecting their land and way of life. The culmination of this movement's work was the early 1970s Alaska Native Claims Settlement Act in which aboriginal land claims in AK were settled and the way was cleared for development of North Slope oil fields.

The Firecracker Boys has stayed with me for more than a decade partly because I have never talked to anyone, other than Alaskans, who had any idea that the US government had ever even considered such a wild idea. It is not a part of history up there that has gone away - a few years ago when William Wood, the president of UAF during Chariot, died and the state wanted to rename the Fairbanks airport in his honor, there was a huge surge of protest, primarily because he had fired and subsequently sought to destroy the careers of the two scientists who publicized Chariot's risks and the bad science that was being used to support it. (One of those scientists actually moved to Canada to find work where he had a distinguished career.) The renaming plan was scrapped in the face of Wood's very dirty laundry.

As to why I'm thinking so much about the book today, well, one thing that has really bothered me recently is Governor Sarah Palin's stump speeches (and her convention speech) and the disparaging way she mentions community organizers. This is a dig at Sen. Obama who worked as an organizer for three years when he first graduated from college (and before he went to Harvard Law School). Palin's repeated comment:

"I guess a small-town mayor is sort of like a ‘community organizer,’ except that you have actual responsibilities."

The irony that someone from Alaska would say this is beyond my comprehension. In just this one instance, it was community organizing that prevented the detonation of six nuclear bombs in AK, started the environmental movement and initiated the organization of the Alaska Natives. Segregation was common in AK prior to this period - from stores with "No Natives Allowed" signs to the famous instance at the Nome movie house where Natives had to sit on one side and non Natives would sit on the other. (This was broken during WWII when a Native teen and her military boyfriend refused to be split up.) During Project Chariot, community organizers brought together a wide coalition of religious leaders, Native leaders, environmentalists and academics and together they fought the federal government and prevented an environmental catastrophe and long term human tragedy.

As an Alaskan, Governor Palin should know better; such snark really has no place in our state's history.

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For all you celebrating the arrival of Spring, we here in the Pacific Northwest feel compelled to respond that some of us are still in rain and wind and cold. Winter continues to squat above us and while we were delighted to see it in mid-October with all its falling leaves and briskness and pumpkin fields these days it has overstayed its welcome - as it does every damn year.

It would be nice for the sun to pay a visit.

I am in the midst of a round table discussion of Nicholson Baker's new book Human Smoke and I'm struggling mightily because I was very disappointed by this one. The idea of it was appealing and the interesting format - written entirely from various newspaper, book or diary quotes from many different people or about many different people - provides a fascinating broad overview of the pre-WWII period. But the execution didn't work for me and I'm also adrift in the group because my ideas about the events leading up to WWII do not mesh with most of the others. I feel oddly - so unbelievably oddly - like a bit of a warmonger.

I can't begin to tell you how much I disagree with the choices our current president has made concerning Iraq and Afghanistan (starting with the fact that he made them with far too little understanding of those countries' complicated histories) but it's so easy for us to judge him. Hell it's easy for us to judge Clinton, McCain, Obama - it's easy for us to judge everyone.

We weren't there; we will never be there. We just don't know. So there's a point where I have to take a step back and say that pouring over selective excerpts of someone's letters or diaries is just not going to ever give you the whole picture. Because the critical piece of that picture - what goes on in someone's head - is forever unknown.

It's like trying to understand an airplane crash in a way. We analyzed every accident that happened when we were in Alaska (actually my husband and I still do this - out of habit more than anything else). But at the end of the day what went through the guy's head before he hit the ground is his alone. We have four different scenarios for what caused one of our friends to crash and die in the Yukon River in June 1999. But critical pieces of the plane were never recovered and his last words are rushed and incomplete - they were about what he was trying to do and not what brought him to that moment. We just don't know what happened, not completely, and we never will.

Reading and discussing Baker's book has made me realize all over again how much we Monday morning quarterbacks can never fully understand a war especially one with so many disparate elements. Even the people in it can only see their own place in the war - their own view point. What do Americans know about what the Japanese were thinking or the Chinese or the Italians or French or Norwegians or ........? Even the Germans, who have been analyzed to death do not have a single unified answer for their thoughts on the war (which makes sense) so how can we understand them completely?

I found myself slipping into history teacher mode again over the last few days and I know now that wasn't the most effective thing to do. What I wrote was correct but no one wanted to hear it, not really. Everyone has their own ideas about peace and war and what should have been done a long time ago by people long dead, even me. Nicholson Baker clearly has his ideas and he has framed a book that fits them. The fact that he accomplishes this with the words of others makes it no less his agenda though and that's what really frustrated me the most when I read it. He selectively chose these people's words and then he carefully uses them to say what he wants his readers to hear. And it's incomplete but so many people will not see that. That's the thing about history; it's huge and long and sometimes pretty darn boring so most people never stay with it from beginning to end. (Don't even get me started on how dull I find the Pilgrims.) But cutting it into bite-sized pieces isn't the right thing to do either. It's just the historic package you want to present and not the whole truth, not by a long shot.

Mission Accomplished, anyone?

It seems the only time we truly are able to understand history is when the agendas are gone. Maybe that's why it is only the wars of hundreds of years ago that we can really understand; the rest are just too close and we are still too personally attached. (And yes, I'll include myself in that as well.)

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Sheesh. I spy on a SCBWI discussion list one day and think I get a scoop. A new cool children's editorial blog? I'm in! Then the next thing you know everyone and their brother already knows about it. *sigh*

Why promote Editorial Anonymous? Because whoever this person is (I will find you!) they update regularly. Really regularly. I'm a sucker for a good regular writer too. The posts are top notch and in one of them the editor laments the same old, same old. Trends that we've seen over and over in fantasy kidlit. Silly me, I was unaware that sinister YA fairies were a trend. Though now that I think about it . . .

Coincidentally enough, there was a Guardian article (found via Bookninja) that laments the same thing (sans fairies). Two great tastes, and so on, and such.

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