Tag Archive for: nonfiction

Empire of the Summer Moon: Quanah Parker and the Rise and Fall of the Comanches, the Most Powerful Indian Tribe in American History by S.C. Gwynne

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One not-small benefit of working at a library trucks with it a problem, and it can be stated the same way for both: a sizable reading list. Zero sympathy is expected, of course. As the saying goes, that’s like complaining that your shoes made out of gold are a touch too tight. Nevertheless, the problem remains, especially since this space is most often used to review new books. So what is to be done? In this instance, you just go ahead and pick up a title published 15 years ago,Empire of the Summer Moon: Quanah Parker and the Rise and Fall of the Comanches, the Most Powerful Indian Tribe in American History by S.C. Gwynne (not to be confused with Killers of the Flower Moon by David Grann).

As with his latest book, His Majesty’s Airship, Gwynne excels in conveying both social and political history with a compelling narrative. It helps, of course, that he chooses historical periods abounding with intrigue. Here, we’re taken back to the nineteenth century in what is now Texas, New Mexico, Colorado, Kansas, and Oklahoma. It was ruled by the Comanches, and the land was known as the Comancheria.   Gwynne notes that given how rapidly the eastern agrarian tribes were subdued and relocated, the thought of Indian resistance west of the Mississippi River was not fully appreciated. The Plains Indians, also known as horse Indians, were war machines who—long before white settlers began moving en masse from the east—made war with each other. In addition to the Comanches, there were—to name a few—the Sioux, the Cheyenne, and the Apaches.

What made them so fearsome was something the Spanish inadvertently gave them: the horse. And it was an aggrieved band of people that migrated out of Wyoming who used horses most expertly, a group believed to have once been Shoshone. They would become the Comanches, and apparently they held grudges like no other. Anyone these nomads came across were subjected to absolute terror. Torture killings were common among other Plains Indians, but even the other tribes feared the Comanches.

Reading about such torture is difficult to process. We want to sort out the “why?” concerning this level of viciousness. Was the reputation the point, a cruelty that preceded them, thus clearing their path to more favorable hunting grounds? Even if that was a contributing reason, it was more than that. It’s almost as if Gwynne knows that the reader is jumping back a little, for he explains that fifth century Romans saw the Celts in much the same way. They couldn’t work out their world. The Comanches believed in many spirits. But, writes Gwynne, “there was no ultimate good and evil: just actions and consequences; injuries and damages due.” (Of course we know that whites often saw the Indians as nothing more than savages, which spurred their own orchestrated brutalities.)

As the Comanches bedeviled all comers (the Spanish and then the Mexicans), they faced their own growing peculiar problem: the Texan. Land grants are powerful enticements. And the Mexican government quite often offered them land on what would become Texas. Let these settlers deal with the Comanches, it was thought. Gwynne details a Comanche raid on an early Republic of Texas fort. It was more like a family compound than a fort, which was built too deep in Comanche territory, a reckless act to be sure. The Fort Parker massacre of 1836 was big news at the time, most notably because two children were taken. John Richard Parker would be released years later via negotiation. His sister, Cynthia Ann Parker, disappeared.

This hapless settler existence led to the formation of the Texas Rangers. Gwynne takes us through its early days, and it’s a wild ride. Basically, the Rangers were competent only when they had competent leadership, which was few and far between. One effective leader was John Coffee Hays. He understood that to fight the Comanches, you had to fight like them. He also knew they were predictable in battle to a fault. Add to that the fact that Hays was fearless and the end result was a turning of outcomes. Here’s Hays before a battle, sounding like someone out of an old western movie: “Yonder are the Indians, boys, and yonder are our horses. The Indians are pretty strong. But we can whip them. What do you say?” Well, the boys did follow him, and whip them they did. He understood surprise attacks and that on the plains there was “no expectation of honorable surrender.” The Comanches probably thought he was crazy going into a fight where he was on the wrong side of ten-to-one odds. We do know they had a name for him: Devil Jack.

In addition, Hays utilized the latest in firearm development to level the fight. Comanche warriors using bows and arrows on horseback was an overwhelming force. Hays quickly ordered the newly invented Walker Colt revolvers, which equalized a battle. Given the firearm’s effectives, it’s surprising that once Hays left for California, future iterations of the Rangers didn’t follow his lead. Even when Texas became part of the United States, the U.S. Army was slow in evolving away from the pomp of European battlefield plumage that in no way suited Indian warfare.

The Civil War meant the “Indian problem” would have to wait. The Comanches raids continued and the various tribes settled old scores with each other. It was a strange time where horse Indians raided Oklahoma reservations, where it was not unusual to see a reservation Indian owning a Black slave.

It was also during this time when Cynthia Ann Parker was found. But far from having experienced decades of torment, she had become one of the wives to a Comanche chief. She was found in the aftermath of a battle between her Comanche band and the Texas Rangers, a fight that ended with her husband being killed. Captured with her infant daughter, but separated from her two sons, she could no longer speak English. Not that she would acknowledge her captures anyway. It wasn’t until she was asked if she was Cynthia Ann Parker, that she stood, patted her chest, and said, “Me Cincee Ann.” She and her daughter were not allowed to return to the tribe. Bereft over the loss of her husband and the separation from her sons, she tried to escape many times. In her early days of captivity, she was even tied up and made to sit in what amounted to a freak show, where passersby would gawk at the “white squaw.” She would never see her sons again.

With the conclusion of the Civil War, the same men who fought in it were now the ones holding political office. Having witnessed great carnage during the war, they had little patience with the remaining Plains Indians. Disease and white buffalo hunters had already dwindled their ranks. With succinctness, Gwynne says, “There was no such thing as a horse Indian without a buffalo herd. Such an Indian had no identity at all.”

In 1867, representatives from a U.S. peace commission, which included General William Tecumseh Sherman, and representatives from various tribes met in an area just south of Wichita, Kansas. This was it, and the Indians knew it. They would no longer be free Indians. What remained of Comancheria was no longer theirs. Sherman told them there was nothing they could do about it, saying, “You can no more stop this than you can stop the sun or the moon.”

Not all entered the reservation. Some bands still roamed free. But by 1874, the U.S. government would no longer tolerate Indians who raided and killed. The U.S. Army cornered these remaining Indians in the Texas panhandle. And with the assistance of .50 caliber rifles—also called “the big fifties”—the Texas-Indian Wars came to an end. One Comanche warrior who surrendered was Quanah Parker, one of Cynthia Ann Parker’s sons.

Quanah, once a warrior who gave white Americans no quarter (especially Texans), actually had been advocating peace within his band before surrender. Once on the reservation, he adapted fairly well, even becoming friends with the Army officer who commanded the effort to force the Comanches to surrender. This was the new reality, so he embraced it. Whereas most Comanches found the notion of private property alien, Quanah realized this was the new way. His letterhead identified him as a Comanche chief and he relished the attention he received. He met with Theodore Roosevelt and happily appeared before crowds in headdress and buckskins, often beginning his speeches with a “ladies and gentlemen” salutation.

Gwynne’s writing style possesses an energy that almost dares you to put the book down. And thankfully he doesn’t make sweeping normative judgments about what transpired. Quanah’s embracing his new reality is not presented as some sort of lodestar of achievement that other Indians were meant to follow. Gwynne notes that, unlike Geronimo, Quanah’s standing among his tribe remained throughout his life. Perhaps it’s because his existence was an unusual one from the start. When his father was killed and his mother taken, he was treated poorly within his Comanche band because he was half white. Not until he distinguished himself as a warrior did he re-elevate his status. The man who once killed many a Texan would go on to adopt two white boys, one he found working at a circus in San Antonio. He reconnected with his extended Parker relatives, and two of his daughters married white men. To Gwynne, Quanah’s optimism is impressive, especially since he once lived a life of freedom on the plains. There’s even some optimism on his gravestone:
Resting here until day breaks
And shadows fall
And darkness disappears
Is Quanah Parker, the last chief of the Comanches

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Review by Jason Sullivan

 

The Friday Afternoon Club: A Family Memoir by Griffin Dunne

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The celebrity memoir. The decision to read one is subject to a big-time conditional: the celebrity in question. Fairly obvious condition, I know. Until recently, I don’t believe I had read a single celebrity memoir, deeming them somewhat akin to “royal watching,” a waste of one’s fine time. This opinion, however, evidenced my own limited thinking, for I just devoured a celebrity memoir. And it turns out the big-time conditional was that it be written by a celebrity I had never heard of.

While I may not have heard of Griffin Dunne, I certainly knew of his aunt, the late author Joan Didion. She was the hook that led me to giving The Friday Afternoon Club: A Family Memoir a go. There she is on the cover, along with other recognizable faces: her husband, writer John Gregory Dunne, and his brother—and Griffin’s father—Dominick Dunne. The whole lot of them look sufficiently WASPy. The Dunnes, however, were Catholic. It didn’t matter that Dominick grew up across the street from the Hepburns (both Katherine and Dominick’s respective fathers were noted physicians) in a moneyed Connecticut neighborhood. The Protestant Hepburns didn’t speak to the Catholic Dunnes.

Griffin’s mother, Ellen Griffin, was born to an even wealthier family, and Griffin’s retelling of her family history had me beguiled right from the jump. Griffin and his two siblings also grow up (surprise) quite privileged. There’s still plenty of loss and tragedy along the way, with Dunne writing an affecting account of what transpired. He’s a natural storyteller who does justice to his family, even as he lays it all out there. Still, I’m not ashamed to admit that what had me flying through the pages was the sheer volume of famous names that roll out in story after story.

Dominick grew up enthralled with movies. He also had a natural inclination to be a gadfly around famous people; so it’s not surprising he ended up in the entertainment industry. In New York City, Griffin’s first babysitter was Elizabeth Montgomery. Humphrey Bogart persuaded Dominick to relocate to Hollywood and stage-manage a show, ushering the Dunnes into the Beverly Hills set. Peter Lawford was a next door neighbor. When dining out, it was not unusual to see Jimmy Stewart at one table and Alfred Hitchcock at another.

It’s a reminder that Hollywood is, after all, a business. With Dominick working as a television and film producer, it meant his colleagues were some of the most famous names from the Hollywood of yesteryear. At one pool party, a young and overeager Griffin jumps into the deep end and promptly sinks to the bottom. A hand grabs him and places him at the pool’s edge. “A wee bit early for the deep end, sonny,” says Sean Connery, his rescuer.

But growing up around the entertainment industry also means you behold the reality behind the camera. When Griffin visits the Gilligan’s Island soundstage, he sees Bob Denver—Gilligan himself—fly into a rage over a “last-minute rewrite and upend a watercooler onto the floor.” And it also means that the famous will see you. In the case with the Dunnes, Dominick’s appetite to be around and impress celebrities was clearly too voracious. When entertaining guests, the Dunne children were often called upon to make an appearance before going to bed, the brothers bowing—replete with matching robes— and their sister curtsying. Years later, Dennis Hopper would tell Griffin that it was the saddest thing he ever saw.

Ellen and Dominick’s marriage ultimately failed. His excessive drinking was a contributor. And the fact that he was a closeted homosexual was certainly a factor. He may have been closeted in Hollywood but not to Ellen. As a child, Griffin was unaware of this dynamic within his parent’s marriage. But, looking back, he now understands why instead of receiving the German shepherd he asked for, his father gave him two poodles with pom-pom tails; one of which was named Wilde, after Oscar Wilde.

Griffin was sent to a few boarding schools. His father eventually blew up his career and left California. Griffin describes his brother, Alex, as extremely intelligent but whose only “ambition was to be cleansed of all ambition.” As a young adult, Alex is said to have had “a unique relationship with reality.” If Alex heard a particular song on the radio, he would become quite agitated that the artist hadn’t properly credited his contribution. He would write letters to the offending musician, detailing how he didn’t want royalties, just a simple “thank you.”

It was Dominique, their sister, who was the lodestar of the family. They all adored her. When Griffin and Dominique both began their acting careers, it was pretty much a given that she was the most talented of the two. And as their mother was losing her mobility from the effects of multiple sclerosis, it’s Dominique who did things like “steal” Robin Williams away from a party and have him perform some comedy for a bedridden Ellen.

In 1982, all the male Dunnes were living in New York City. Griffin pursued an acting/producing career as Dominick worked on a novel. Both were trying to keep Alex from sliding into madness. It was also the year they received word that Dominique had been placed on life support after having been strangled by an ex-boyfriend. They fly back to Los Angeles, and it’s beyond wrenching to read of this family reuniting only to take Dominique off life support. When it’s time to say goodbye to his daughter, a distraught Dominick whispers in her ear: “Give me your talent.”

The family attend the murder trial of Dominique’s attacker, and the whole thoroughfare is positively maddening to read about. But it did spur Dominick’s second career as a writer. His journal from the trial was published in Vanity Fair, where he would continue as a contributor.

Griffin seemingly had a good relationship with his aunt, Joan Didion. Dominique’s murder certainly put a strain on family relations, however. Didion’s literary reputation undoubtedly gave Griffin some reputational cachet in turn. As an example, when Griffin was a struggling actor, he took a bartending job at a private dinner party where he ended up being harassed by Tennessee Williams. When the hostess informed Williams that he was harassing Joan Didion’s nephew, a startled Williams immediately apologized. (Griffin writes that he didn’t really mind the harassment.)

Excluding Alex, most of the people in this outstanding memoir are gone now, including Carrie Fisher. She and Griffin met as teenagers and became best friends. Fisher absolutely comes across as a blast to hang out with, just flat-out cool and witty. Once, she called Griffin to complain that the film she was shooting was going to be a disaster. “I’m acting with an eight-foot yeti and a four-foot Brit in a rolling trash can.” When Griffin says that he doesn’t understand the movie’s title, Carrie responds, “Two words: ‘Star’ and then ‘Wars.’ Put’em together and still doesn’t make any sense.”

Oh, and Frank Sinatra once paid a maître d’ fifty dollars to slap Dominick across the face.

This book has it all.

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Review by Jason Sullivan

The Situation Room: The Inside Story of Presidents in Crisis by George Stephanopoulos

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We arrive, fellow citizens, at the fleeting moments of a presidential campaign. Soon (hopefully) we’ll know whether it’s Kamala Harris or Donald Trump who will become the next commander in chief of the U.S. armed forces. Of all the enumerated powers under Article II of the U.S. Constitution, “commander in chief” is probably the weightiest. It’s definitely a 24/7 gig. To assist with decision-making, a vast array of national security information is available to each president. And most of it emanates from one centralized location: the White House’s Situation Room.

In The Situation Room: The Inside Story of Presidents in Crisis by George Stephanopoulos, we learn not only of the Situation Room’s inception (there is actually more than one room) but also of how its use is a commentary on a president’s management style. Stephanopoulos notes that the Situation Room (or Sit Room) has been called “the best filter in the world” and the “most important crisis management center in the entire world.” He does capital work introducing the apolitical Sit Room duty officers who staff and diligently serve each president, regardless of political party affiliation. But what makes this book really pop are the high-level interviews and stories from the archives. Even if you have a broad understanding of the events presented in this book, I posit you will still find many details in those events just flat-out wild and alarming.

The Bay of Pigs debacle was the impetus to create the Situation Room. President Kennedy wanted a centralized location in the West Wing that would hasten direct access to sensitive information. The actual physical space was utilitarian, having “all the charm of a cardboard box.” When Stephanopoulos arrived as a White House staffer in the Clinton administration, conditions apparently had not improved much. When he first saw the Sit Room, his first thought was “underwhelming.” It didn’t resemble the sleek movie depictions that go all the way back to the war room in Dr. Strangelove. (Stephanopoulos does take us through the more recent modernizations.)

President Johnson, bedeviled with the conflict in Vietnam, was a constant visitor to the Sit Room. Ever the micromanager, he would constantly call down to the duty officers. It was not uncommon for Johnson to ring the Sit Room in the middle of the night to inquire if there were any new developments coming out of Vietnam. He desperately wanted some piece of information that might take the U.S. out of what he privately remarked was a hopeless endeavor.

Full of self-pity and feeling persecuted from the Watergate scandal, President Nixon had all but retired to the White House residence where he would start drinking early in the day. As a result, Nixon was often too drunk to make immediate decisions. This created a power vacuum that Secretary of State Henry Kissinger was more than happy to fill. Famously known as a realpolitik operator, Kissinger was quick to argue the value of the world viewing the United States as a “trigger-happy” military power. Other national security staff often pushed back, arguing that such force was not always a net positive. And—half a world away—it turns out that Nixon’s counterpart, Soviet Premier Leonid Brezhnev, was also often too drunk to make decisions.

We read how President Carter used a psychic to try and locate the U.S. hostages being held in Iran. When Carter gives the order for a military rescue of the hostages (which failed miserably), Stephanopoulos is excellent in its retelling. The same is true when detailing President Obama’s order to send a Navy SEAL team into Pakistan for Osama bin Laden. Stephanopoulos places the reader right in the Sit Room, and it’s riveting.

In 1981, President Reagan was shot and rushed to a hospital. Thanks to National Security Advisor Richard Allen placing a tape recorder on the Sit Room conference table, we know how various aides and cabinet officials decided to handle the dilemma. And it’s rather shocking. During these tense moments, Vice President Bush was en route to Washington D.C. from Texas. There was a communication problem on his plane, rendering him unreachable. The transcript of the tape recording reads almost like a tragicomedy. Constitutionally, none of the men in that room were in control of the executive branch. But that didn’t stop Secretary of State Al Haig from going to the press and declaring, “As of now, I’m in control here.” Later, Allen would reply that it was an “imminently stupid” thing for Haig to say.

President George H.W. Bush appears both knowledgeable and unfailingly polite. He often invited Sit Room staff to watch movies in the White House’s theater room. A former Sit Room secretary recounts how on one Saturday morning she picked up the phone to hear President Bush actually asking for permission to enter the Sit Room. “This is the president. May I come in?”

He was also shrewd in dealing with military generals who often had their own agendas. This power play with military brass was something Secretary of State Madeleine Albright experienced in the Clinton administration. And the fact that she was the first woman to hold her position meant that it was decidedly a new experience for the generals as well.

Throughout the book, history is threaded together by those who served under multiple presidents. For instance, John Bolton assumed “high-level positions under presidents Reagan, Bush 41, Bush 43 and Trump.” Regarding Bush 43, Bolton notes that the president knew he had much to learn, so “he learned it.” Bolton doesn’t have the same take on President Trump: “He had no idea what the issues were. He never learned anything.” This observance is underscored by Trump asking if Puerto Rico—where the inhabitants are U.S. citizens—could be traded for Greenland.

Ultimately, this book is a homage to the resolute Sit Room duty officers. Career government employees are often much maligned. However, as Stephanopoulos describes, these are the people who stayed at their White House posts during the September 11, 2001 terrorist attacks. They ignored evacuation orders so that they could do their work. They are the ones who must decide when to move information up the chain of command, knowing that a misstep could cost lives. They also understand that for a democracy to endure there must be a continuity of government among presidents. They serve in the same spirit as President Kennedy’s call to service, a “commitment to others” that rises above one’s own self-interest.

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Review by Jason Sullivan

A Walk in the Park: The True Story of a Spectacular Misadventure in the Grand Canyon by Kevin Fedarko

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Have you ever thought about hopping into the Grand Canyon and hiking its entire length? Neither have I. Not only did Kevin Fedarko, author of A Walk in the Park: The True Story of a Spectacular Misadventure in the Grand Canyon, think about it, he actually did it. The subtitle of this compelling and thoughtful book very well could have been penned before the actual hike began. For how could an 800-mile trek by someone who is spectacularly unprepared be anything but a misadventure?

Fedarko made the excursion with photographer Pete McBride, his friend and sometimes nemesis (they bicker a lot). It’s not as though the duo were tenderfoots. Over the years, they have teamed up on numerous global adventures that became stories for publication. And prior to that, Fedarko spent many a summer within the canyon as a whitewater boatman for a Colorado River rafting company. Sounds impressive enough. However, he writes it as a marker of his inadequacies. The goal was to be a guide with a boat full of paying guests, not a boatman hauling supplies at the tail end of a rafting convoy. The fact that he was never good enough to be entrusted with piloting other humans down the river was “soul crushing.”

Over five million people a year visit the Grand Canyon. Most peer over the rim; some hike its trails or raft the Colorado. But there have been only a few dozen that we know of who have hiked its entirety. There’s no guidebook for this, of course. Such is the allure for dedicated thru-hikers who must rely on each other, from sharing route information to dropping in caches of supplies when a set of comrades are on the epic hike.

Obviously, this is not something novices just jump into. Enter Fedarko and McBride, two novices who do exactly that. They do have access to a small group of experts who will guide them. Again, they are not exactly just off-the-couch blokes. With this hike, however, they are not prepared. Not only is their gear all wrong, they are—most egregiously—commencing the hike with a “no problem” attitude.

Fedarko’s writing brings the wonders of the canyon to the reader. There are mile-deep walls where “nearly 40 percent of the planet’s chronology was etched directly into the stone.” It’s a place that has both tundra and desert conditions, where streams are almost sentient, retreating from the scorching sun and reemerging at night.

And, without a doubt, the canyon can be deadly. Aside from the dramatic cliffs that claim both casual tourists and experienced hikers alike, there’s the grinding heat. Ultimately, this is what ends Fedarko and McBride’s first attempt. Every day is a slog, notwithstanding the most breath-taking scenery imaginable. Fedarko’s feet are wrecked from all the sand that’s worked its way in. (He forgot to pack gaiters. McBride said it was for the best as he thinks wearing gaiters look goofy.) He quotes what another hiker said of such interminable days: “that hell might well consist of hiking like this for eternity.” McBride eventually experiences “water intoxication.” He’s drinking enough water, but he’s not taking in the requisite amount of electrolytes. His muscles seize and contort to the point where it looks as though there’s another living entity inside him trying to escape. It then becomes a race to escape the canyon before certain death.

Humiliated, they initially conclude that there’s no way they should try this again. But much to their surprise, another set of experienced hikers immediately reach out to educate (and scold) them. Fedarko and McBride had already learned the hard way that they just couldn’t mule their way through. They needed to (surprise) meticulously plan, become obsessive in weighing their gear so as to not schlep more than their daily exertion levels can manage.

Properly humbled, they return to the canyon with this new group of experts. The duo persevere, even tackling some segments of the canyon by themselves. At times it’s hard not to be envious of their experiences: dropping into cavernous slot canyons that very few people (if any) have explored; walking by the numerous artifacts and pictographs from prehistoric peoples; stargazing into a night sky that’s without a trace of light pollution and experiencing what astronomers call “celestial vaulting.” But then there are the recounted days where you think, “Nah, I’m good.” There are many weeks where the only water sources are various muddy potholes, some with such small apertures that the water must be extracted with a syringe. Then there are the snow-covered catwalks where one wrong step will send you to your death. And if you’re in the wrong place when a flash flood appears, forget it, you’re dead.

On the final leg of the hike, their guide made sure to take them through “Helicopter Alley.” At the western end of the canyon, helicopters ferry tourists up to the rim where they disembark for a few minutes (take a few selfies); and then they clamber aboard again, roaring back down the canyon. It’s nonstop and maddeningly loud. This, their guide tells them, is why he and the others agreed to lead these two on a thru-hike. A story about the canyon’s splendors must also include the commercial threats that undermine the canyon’s grandeur.

Towards the end of hike, McBride confesses to Fedarko that he believes he’s wasted his time snapping pictures along the way; for they can’t capture what’s probably the most powerful feature of the canyon: the quiet. I understand the sentiment. What makes the Southwest so enthralling is not just the landscape that changes hues throughout the day, but also the quiet that seems to emanate from it. It’s transcendent.

Fedarko grew up in the industrial regions of Pennsylvania, where chemical emissions poisoned both workers and residents. When he was a boy, his father gave him a copy of Colin Fletcher’s account of thru-hiking the Grand Canyon. So the Grand Canyon was—and is—the other much needed counterweight to having our way with the land. It’s both a message and a gift to future generations: There are some wild places that should remain just as they are because what they offer is already more than enough. While very few will ever undertake such a trek as Fedarko made, they should at least have the opportunity to do so and experience the same quiet and wonder.

At hike’s end, Fedarko renters the park’s trails, where people are simply walking and smiling, completely oblivious to what he has accomplished. It’s a simple yet powerful pleasure. They, too, are enjoying a walk in the park.

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Reviewed by Jason Sullivan

Age of Revolutions: Progress and Backlash from 1600 to the Present by Fareed Zakaria

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If you’re still on the prowl for this summer’s beach read, Fareed Zakaria has your back with his latest book, Age of Revolutions: Progress and Backlash from 1600 to the Present. It’s a book for those with, shall we say, divergent beach-reading preferences. Using his Harvard-trained political scientist background along with his current role as a CNN political commentator, Zakaria expertly combines both breadth and accessibility to lay out how studying five centuries of revolutions can add context to our current challenges.

This was an ambitious project, to be sure. Zakaria’s targeted audience here is wide, including both the Foreign Affairs reader and the more casual news consumer. To start, Zakaria contends that liberal democratic capitalism has been a basic good. We’re looking at classical liberalism, where democracies are not about outcomes, but norms: rule of law, individual and economic freedom, checked power. The revolutions he explores fall under a fairly traditional social science definition. They are revolutions that embodied profound structural changes: social, political, and economic. Zakaria excludes the American Revolution as it was more or less a civil war among Englishmen. After American independence, life in the former colonies looked pretty much as it had before. The Founders certainly did much to further Enlightenment thinking regarding liberalism, nevertheless, as evidenced in the Federalist Papers.

Zakaria credits the Dutch with the building of liberalism’s foundation. They rejected absolute monarchy and promoted free trade. Separating themselves from the Hapsburg Empire, a national identity was established. To themselves, they were the Dutch, distinct and unique. In 1688, the Glorious Revolution—in which a Dutchman and his wife, William and Mary, were invited to assume the English throne—solidified Parliament as the ruling power of England. In other words, a social contract was made. According to Zakaria, “the moment Dutch commercialism was wedded to English power can be seen as the moment the medieval world came to a close.”

Any discussion of revolutions must include the quintessence of failed revolutions: the French Revolution. Given the calcified state of French society in 1789, Zakaria notes that there was an early liberal movement during the nascent stages of the revolution. But when the Reign of Terror commenced, the French republic became, in reality, a dictatorship. The illiberal movements that followed were so seismic, their effects are still with us. Are you a liberal or are you a conservative? Are you a friend of the republic or are you an enemy?

This is why Zakaria’s book title is the plural of revolution. A revolution begets a counter-revolution. The French Revolution undoubtedly rattled Europe, especially within the German states. There was “a ferocious backlash to the cold rationalism of the Enlightenment, and its monstrous child, the revolution.” So, the Right turned to a new movement: Romanticism. Modernity had so shaken the elites, there was a pining for some bygone yesteryear.

The Industrial Revolution is covered along with the 19th century U.S. industrialization boom, what Zakaria calls America’s real revolution. He points out that the British government leveled the same accusations against Americans as today’s American government levels against the Chinese. Ostensibly, such practices as product dumping and intellectual property theft are not new. Nonetheless, massive change spurred massive disruption. The reaction in Europe came in the form of socialism; in the U.S., it was populism.

In the 20th century, liberalism’s greatest threat was communism. Zakaria details how the Washington Consensus encouraged developing countries to privatize and embrace the market economy via free trade. It was seen by President Reagan and Prime Minister Thatcher as a win-win: good for defeating the Soviets and good for the respective nation. Neoliberalism was so prevalent that when the Tories finally lost in the 1990s, Labour’s new leader, Tony Blair, embraced this globalist view. In fact, when Thatcher was asked to name her greatest achievement, she said, “Tony Blair.” The message was clear. Labour espousing Tory economic practices meant that, to her, the matter had been settled.

After the Soviet Union fell, political scientist Francis Fukuyama famously wrote that the event marked “the end of history.” To Fukuyama, political evolution had reached its highest state. Liberal democracy had, in essence, won. But history wasn’t quite finished, for a democratic backsliding—a move to autocracy—commenced in some countries. This shouldn’t be a surprise, says Zakaria. Market reforms may open a nation, but the foundation of a democratic system takes time to develop. Napoleon may have dismissed England as a “nation of shopkeepers.” But those shopkeepers point to a dynamic nation of staked interests. In other words, there’s a vigorous Parliament precisely because it took centuries to mature.

As the second half of Zakaria’s book moves us to the present, we see continued constructive and disruptive changes by way of modernity. He goes through the numbers, and they are striking. China and India essentially “come online.” Just think of the sheer volume of people now participating in this global economy. Additionally, technological changes continue to disrupt just as much as they contribute. Nothing new here. The printing press played a part in a century of European religious wars. In so many ways, life is now easier and safer. But it’s also more isolating. As a rather benign but consequential example, Amazon.com has replaced your local bookshop.

The “red state vs. blue state” debate is now part of the zeitgeist. But urban vs. rural seems more to the point. We have, more or less, self-sorted ourselves. This is further exacerbated when one siloes news sources. If you so choose, you don’t have to worry about working through any complex national or global issue. You can find plenty of outlets telling you that the answers are simple, and that others are to blame for the problems, always. These are business models disguised as news organizations.

Abroad, the European Union has been an economic success, yet many Europeans feel alienated from its largesse, says Zakaria. Farther east, revanchist Russia is in the throes of its own curious grappling with identity. To add further complexity, we (in the West) tend to think of Enlightenment precepts as universal. But many countries tend to view them as a “legacy of Western dominance.”

Zakaria seems to take a rather sanguine view of our global economic interdependence. He wants the reader to consider the rather long relative peace that’s been in place among the great powers. But, he of course understands the challenges. He quotes Kierkegaard: “Anxiety is the dizziness of freedom.” The book’s epigraph includes a famous Marx and Engels passage from The Communist Manifesto: “All that is solid melts into air, all that is holy is profaned…”

Anxiety and constant change are certainly a part of our modern political economy. In response, there are individuals who claim to be the vanguard of a movement to cure the ills that they have diagnosed, asserting that they are the only ones who can offer stability. Tribalism is often signaled over reality. Historically, followers of such individuals are willing to tolerate (or even advocate) realpolitik actions, thus eschewing institutions and democratic norms. In other words, such actions are illiberal. What happens when illiberal means are used in an attempt to restore some atavistic sense of national strength? Can liberal democracy survive when rules, procedures, and compromise are tossed aside? Perhaps we will see.

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Reviewed by Jason Sullivan

His Majesty’s Airship: The Life and Tragic Death of the World’s Largest Flying Machine by S.C. Gwynne

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Word association with “airship” probably yields responses ranging from “Goodyear Blimp” to “Hindenburg.” Perhaps there’s also a vague sense that airships had their greatest run in popularity during the early 20th century, transatlantic crossings and all. In His Majesty’s Airship: The Life and Tragic Death of the World’s Largest Flying Machine, S.C. Gwynne unfurls this period with a white-knuckled briskness. Entertaining as it is edifying, it recounts many moments that left me in near disbelief.

An early chapter entitled “Brief History of a Bad Idea” pretty much sums up airships in the main. First, they were filled with an explosive gas: hydrogen. Helium was a known alternative, but its extraction was in the nascent stages. Case in point, in 1905 the “world’s supply of helium…remained on a shelf at the University of Kansas in three small flasks.” Second, airships were notoriously difficult to fly. Wind speeds, along with constant gas expansions and contractions, required constant ballast and lift adjustments.

Even with these substantial detriments, Gwynne notes that lighter-than-air travel was still seen as a viable consideration, especially since heavier-than-air travel (the airplane) was literally just getting off the ground. In the early 1900s, Count Ferdinand von Zeppelin ushered in the era of rigid airships (dirigibles, or “big rigids”), eventually captivating the German public. His Zeppelins must have been a grand sight, all eyes on the cigar-shaped airships floating overhead, each over 400 hundred feet in length.

Gwynne says that Count Zeppelin’s worldview was “more feudal kingdom than Europe of La Belle Époque.” This is telling in that World War I looms, with Germany growing increasingly militaristic. These new airships were seen less as travel vessels and more as a means to drop munitions in times of war. In fact, German schoolchildren were taught a song that included the verse “Fly, Zeppelin! Fly to England! England shall be destroyed by fire!”

Still, Zeppelin’s company wanted to showcase its airships’ travel capabilities. In 1910, a handful of passengers embarked on what was supposed to be a three-hour luxury flight. What the flight actually did was underscore the unavoidable problem with airships: navigating through storms is harrowing, if not impossible. A storm tripled the flight’s duration, often sending it flying backward, with the crew finally admitting to passengers that they had no idea what to do.

German airships decidedly did not destroy England by fire during World War I. Quite the opposite. They were easily shot down. Given this, it’s somewhat puzzling that Great Britain would vigorously pursue its own airship program. Yet it didn’t take long before its own airship program would astound, for in 1919 a British airship crossed the Atlantic Ocean (twice). To add perspective, Lindbergh made his famous solo flight in 1927.

Gwynne provides many tales of derring-do associated with these airship flights, all with the backdrop that a mere spark from static electricity could send the ship ablaze. The flights included wild altitude spikes that left most crew members scrambling for footing, let alone controlling the ship. Given the vast catalog of mechanical errors, it’s amazing that the ocean’s vastness was traversed at all. Regardless, to many a Brit, the successful to and fro flights were evidence of English pluck and resourcefulness.

Ten years later, Lord Christopher Thomson, holding the fantastic title of Secretary of State for Air, sought to navigate Britain’s immense imperial skies via airship. In Cardington, England, he spearheaded the building of the R101. At 777 feet it was the world’s longest airship to date. Millions of cubic feet of hydrogen were held within gasbags made of cattle intestines. Riggers working within the cavernous hangar would either sing or hum as a safety precaution. If workers on the ground noticed that the riggers above were carrying on with high-pitched voices, they knew to alert them that they were slowly being asphyxiated by an odorless gas leak.

The whole enterprise was a boozy affair. Workers of all stripes consumed vast amounts of spirits throughout the building process. When R101 was brought out for test flights, it was docked atop a mooring mast, over one hundred feet high. One night, selected guests were invited aboard for drinks and a tour of the ship. As the drinks flowed, winds tussled the moored ship. At the end of the night, some of the more intoxicated guests believed that they had actually flown.

Thomson, a Savile Row-clad chap, pushed R101’s designers and builders to be ready for a 1930 flight to India. As the date neared, both engineers and crew alike knew the ship was not ready. It was too heavy to sustain lift for such a long flight. There were precious few mooring masts between England and India, so it had to stay aloft. Thomson pushed ahead anyway. He had a schedule to keep. A state dinner in India was timed in conjunction with his landing in India, plus one in London upon his return.

It’s unclear why he forged ahead in the face of these concerns. Thomson had spent so much of his career striving. Would a successful flight lead to his becoming viceroy of India? He had also spent so much of his adult life trying to impress a Romanian princess: Marthe Bebesco. Would a post in India bring them closer? Even Thomson’s best friend, Prime Minister Ramsey MacDonald, was confused as to why the flight went forth.

In 1930, Thomson and 47 others perished aboard R101 en route to India. They didn’t even make it to Paris. The growing popularity of radio made the fiery crash a world-wide mass media event. Gwynne provides a thorough investigation of the R101 crash, piecing together what little is known and making a convincing case as to why it crashed then and there. What was known at the time of the crash: no amount of future swashbuckling was in store for the British airship program.

Upon seeing R101 just outside its hangar, Gwynne notes that one British observer stated that it looked like an “ambitious toy.” I thought something similar years ago when I saw the Goodyear Blimp, remarking that it looked like an overgrown party favor. But it’s also a reminder that history is full of ambition and folly. Thomson’s predecessor remarked that Thomson possessed the “sin of impatience.” Hard to argue against that. He will be forever tied to the R101 disaster. Yet we also learn in Gwynne’s fine book that Thomson was also instrumental in bolstering the Royal Air Force, an entity that would prove essential in thwarting Nazi attempts to destroy England by fire.

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Review by Jason Sullivan

Brave Hearted: The Women of the American West by Katie Hickman

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Katie Hickman’s Brave Hearted: The Women of the American West is as much about westward expansion and the colonization – or, in seemingly benign language, westward ‘migration’ and ‘settlement’ – of what we now know as the American West as it is about the history of the women who were among the first to make their way westward.

Stories, both fictional and non, of westward migration abound. Most of these stories, like much of the romanticized imagery of, and entertainment about, the American West, are about men–cowboys, explorers, fur traders, guides, merchants, military, warriors, etc. But what about the women? Although Brave Hearted is not, nor does it pretend to be, comprehensive, it helps tell a fuller story about travels to, and the settling of, the American West. And it all starts with a couple of ladies who felt called to missionary work.

Narcissa Whitman and Eliza Spalding, along with their husbands, set out for the so-called frontier in 1836. In fact, both women married their husbands, who they barely knew, in order to fulfill their dreams of becoming missionaries. It was unacceptable for women to set out on their own at that time and, even if it had been acceptable, women lacked the means to do so. But these two men needed the women as much as the women needed them because they needed to be married to set up permanent missionary settlements in the West. Thus, their marriages were mutually beneficial. It was an interesting dynamic, with a bit of personal history and tension (that you could read more about in the book proper).

The two couples set out from Liberty, Missouri, in the company of a handful of others, including a carpenter, who served as “lay assistant and mechanic,” three Nez Perce, and two other men. Communally, they made some necessary purchases for the journey, such as cattle, horses, and a farm wagon, and each carried “a plate, a knife and fork, and a tin cup.” Any other personal belongings were toted along however by whoever owned them. They were headed to an American Fur Company rendezvous spot from which they would start the “real” journey West. Their arrival caused a sensation there, as it did when they made it to their final destination, for Narcissa Whitman and Eliza Spalding were the first white women to travel westward overland–it was a magnificent feat.

They, like the women who followed, left everything – material and immaterial – behind with the hopes of successfully establishing themselves in the West. Often, and likely more often than not, these women did not again see the family or friends who they left behind. Also, communication could be sparse, as it depended on mail delivery. To say it was not an easy journey, or an easy way of life if and when they got there, is perhaps an understatement.

Hickman’s book, however, isn’t just about the experiences of the Narcissa Whitmans and Eliza Spaldings of the world. As she writes in her introduction, the women she depicts “encompass an extraordinarily diverse range of humanity, of every class, every background, and of numerous different ethnicities, many of them rarely represented in histories of the West.” Indeed, that’s an accurate description, if self-described.

In addition to writing about the women of the Whitman Mission, Hickman writes about others who traveled west for religious reasons, such as the Mormons, as well as Native American, African American, Chinese, and other women, from all sorts of social classes and standings. Her story starts with Whitman and Spalding, presumably, because they were the first women who traveled overland to the west. Their success – meaning only that they actually arrived alive to where they were going – illustrated that women, too, were capable of making the journey. Soon thereafter, an unprecedented amount of people, including “unheard of” amounts of women, traveled overland to migrate west.

Not all women who landed in the west chose that journey, however. General Custer and his wife, Elizabeth, took their slave, Eliza, from camp to camp. Biddy Mason, who was born into slavery in Georgia in 1818, and her family were forced west by their owner, Robert Smith, who was part of the Mormon migration. Fortunately for Mason and her family, they were able to become freed when in California, due to a legality when Smith tried to remove them to Texas. Biddy Mason moved to Los Angeles, was “one of the first non-Mexican residents,” and became a well-respected, “prominent property owner and philanthropist.” Others were not as fortunate, such as the numerous Chinese women who languished as slaves or indentured sex workers after arriving from China by sea, often in horrendous conditions.

Brave Hearted is told in 18 expertly-researched chapters, complete with maps, notes, and a select bibliography. Although the book is not image-heavy, it does contain a handful of photographs, including one of “Handcart Pioneers” (pg. 196), people who headed west pulling what they owned themselves with a hand cart; a promotional image of Olive Oatman (pg. 231), who became famous for her time among the Mohave; Biddy Mason (pg. 284), who is described above; and others, some of whom remain anonymous/unknown.

Brave Hearted is one of the better books I’ve read about women and the American West, if not the best. Which is to say I highly recommend it to anyone with an interest in the topics discussed herein. As always, happy reading.

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1000 Design Classics by Phaidon

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Phaidon’s revised and updated 1000 Design Classics (2022) is as entertaining as it is educational, bringing together the visual depictions of 1000 designs and their brief histories. For those of you familiar with social media, you might imagine a well-curated, expertly-researched feed of objects, from everyday wares, such as cutlery or various types of chairs, to more obscure items, like the Mercedes-Benz Type 300 SL and other vehicles, and everything in between, complete with wonderful, full-color photographs published into a book. Although I don’t make a habit of likening books to social media, flipping through this title was not unlike scrolling through a well-organized Instagram feed, with each entry being its own tidy standalone post. But the comparison stops there because this book is tangible, and, like many nonfiction art and design books, bulky and heavy–a coffee table book that perhaps one day will become a classic in and of itself!

1000 Design Classics is organized chronologically, beginning in 1663 with the Zhang Xiaoquan Household Scissors and ending in 2019 with the Bata Stool. Each entry falls within one of 20 categories, including: accessories; cameras; clocks and watches; electronics; furniture; glassware; household items/homeware; kitchenware; lighting; luggage; music/audio; packaging; sport; stationery and office accessories; tableware; telephones; tools; toys and games; transport; and utilities. An entry’s category is signified by colorful tabs on the edges of the pages for quick reference, with the legend at the beginning of the book.

In keeping in spirit with the way the book is organized, I’ll discuss selective contents in chronological order, except for a few things that, to this day, their designers remain unknown. I chose the following objects either because I like the way they look, their histories are interesting, or simply because they are familiar to most people, thus hopefully familiar to you.

Jigsaw puzzles, which date back to 1766, have a somewhat surprising history, especially because they are so widely available today (even through the library’s “Library of Things” collection, which contains a wide variety of things that may be checked out). They were first introduced by a London-based mapmaker as a tool to teach geography to children. The term “puzzle” was coined in 1908. The 1900s also saw the introduction of jigsaw puzzles for adults. Expensive to make, they were at first accessible by only the “well-heeled” members of society, with mass-production not making them available to everyone until the Great Depression.

The Pocket Measuring Tape came about in 1842. It was patented by James Chesterman (1795-1867) when he was only 25 years old. He founded the Chesterman Steel Company, which fashioned “high-quality measuring instruments, especially tapes, calipers and squares, exporting its products to the US.” It’s interesting to think of the design of tools that, in turn, help us to further the field of design, whether it be the precision designing of our built environment or commonplace everyday objects. The 1800s saw numerous other useful designs, such as the safety pin (1849), drinking straws (1888), and the Swiss Army Knife (1891), as well as some that are more for entertainment, such as the Bolz Musical Spinning Top (1880) and the dartboard (1898).

The 1900s ushered in a plethora of designs. From Dixie Cups (1908), which ended the era of communal drinking vessels, and the Ford Model T (1908), to the Apple Macintosh (1984) and a wall-mounted CD player (1999), it is the most expansive century of those covered in the book. One of my favorites is the US Tunnel Mailbox, which was engineered by Roy J. Joroleman. Prior to this design, rural mailboxes were made of whatever empty thing people had that could be attached to a pole. When the design was approved (1915), it was not patented “in order to encourage competition between manufacturers.” Other favorites from the 1900s include the Ticonderoga Pencil (1913), the pint glass (1914), the Chemex coffee brewer (1941), the pendant lamp (1947), and numerous styles of furniture, especially that of midcentury.

Phaidon doesn’t let us forget that the 2000s brought some classic designs, too! The iPod (2001) and the iPhone (2007) made their debuts, as did the Spun Chair (2007), which, I can attest, is as fun as it is spun. Although we do not have one at the library, you’ll find them downtown at the Harry M. Cornell Arts & Entertainment Complex. No doubt more designs from the 2000s will be added to future editions of this book as well.

Scissors, jacks, and Moleskin notebooks, all designed in the 1800s, as well as the whisks and disco balls of the 1900s have unknown designers. Some designs were hilarious, such as the Snurfer, a sort of snowboard, that came out in 1965, and others, such as egg cartons (1966) are particularly useful.

A library-related design that I’m fond of is the Kickstool. Designed by the Wedo Design Team in 1975, it’s a stool that can be kicked along by foot yet provides a stable platform when weight, such as a standing person, is placed on top of the stool. As stated in the book, the Kickstool is “an emblem of the librarian’s and archivist’s trades.” In fact, I keep one in my office!

I recommend this book to anyone interested in design and/or the histories of the objects therein. If you’re looking for a book to keep atop your coffee table for a few weeks, then I’d recommend it for that, too. Whether your eye is caught by the wares of centuries ago or by a more present-day design, I encourage you to check out Phaidon’s 1000 Design Classics.

As always, happy reading.

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Star Wars Fun

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Titles Reviewed:

LEGO Star Wars in 100 Scenes by Daniel Lipkowitz

The Padawan Cookbook: Kid-Friendly Recipes From A Galaxy Far, Far Away by Jenn Fujikawa and Liz Lee Heinecke

Star Wars: The Complete Visual Dictionary–The Ultimate Guide to Characters and Creatures from the Entire Star Wars Saga by David West Reynolds and James Luceno

Star Wars Everyday: A Year of Activities, Recipes & Crafts From A Galaxy Far, Far Away by Ashley Eckstein

Officially, Star Wars Day is observed on May 4, as in “May the Fourth be with you.” In my family, however, it’s Star Wars Day everyday–mostly because my brother is a superfan who can tie just about any day and any thing back to the world of Star Wars. Why limit yourself to one day when there is an epic space saga to explore!

While searching for resources to celebrate the ongoing holiday, I ran across several titles that go beyond the usual fiction and graphic novel rehashing of the movies. Here is a quartet of nonfiction books tied to the Star Wars universe.

I’m a big fan of the heavily illustrated, informational books published by Dorling Kindersley (DK). Known for their clean layout with a focus on bright, engaging illustrations accompanied by easily digested, explanatory text, DK books offer an accessible entry to a multitude of topics. Star Wars: The Complete Visual Dictionary–The Ultimate Guide to Characters and Creatures from the Entire Star Wars Saga by David West Reynolds and James Luceno is a prime example. It offers the standard DK presentation of a 1-2 page spread on each entry consisting of full-color photos on white background, accompanied by informative summary paragraphs along with detailed captions and sidebars. The book provides comprehensive coverage of characters, creatures, and concepts from the films accompanied by a short glossary. What I like about the DK layout is that it accommodates whatever I have time or am in the mood for which can be anything from a targeted search to random browsing to a deep dive. I can treat it like a reference book or enjoy it as light reading. This title is great for both the casual and hard core Star Wars fan.

LEGO Star Wars in 100 Scenes by Daniel Lipkowitz, also a Dorling Kindersley publication, employs the same helpful visual focus. It is exactly what it claims–100 key scenes from Star Wars films (original and prequel trilogies) enacted in LEGOs. The book’s tagline is “six movies…a lot of LEGO bricks” for a reason. Full-color photos of LEGO sets and minifigures include speech bubbles of dialogue or self-referential text. Brick icons offer insight into LEGO sets related to the scene at hand. Sidebars offer commentary from C-3PO as an ongoing comedic bit. LEGO Star Wars in 100 Scenes is a fun title for elementary ages and up. There’s something here for everyone–LEGO builds, plenty of minifigs, and humorous, sarcastic asides (think family-friendly Mystery Science Theater 3000 commentary). Lots of fun for LEGO or Star Wars buffs!

Another entertaining title for elementary age and up is The Padawan Cookbook: Kid-Friendly Recipes From A Galaxy Far, Far Away by Jenn Fujikawa and Liz Lee Heinecke. It’s full of do-able recipes for a variety of ages with differing levels of kitchen experience and adult assistance. Both the content and presentation are enticing with colorful borders and line illustrations throughout along with jauntily displayed color photos for nearly every recipe. The book is divided into eight sections labeled to mimic Jedi Trials with a helpful glossary in the back. Each recipe lists prep time, cooking time, yield, and dietary consideration codes plus sidebars imparting a range of information about ingredients, techniques, culinary terms, food science, and tidbits from the Star Wars Universe. A handy measurement conversion chart and kitchen tools list round out the helps. The recipes themselves are colorful and entertaining whether it’s the frothy blue of the Bantha Milk Slushie (butterfly pea flower powder for the win) or the adorable Butter Chewies (butter mochi topped with toasted coconut and icing to resemble Chewbacca) or the bright Ahsoka’s Jelly Cubes (orange, blue, and white gelatin bound together and sliced) or the Sarlaac Shake (chocolate milkshake with a mouth and tentacles of pie dough rising from the top). The Padawan Cookbook has a positive, can-do vibe about it that encourages fun in the kitchen.

The Star Wars Universe has its share of hard core fans, and Ashley Eckstein, author of Star Wars Everyday: A Year of Activities, Recipes & Crafts From A Galaxy Far, Far Away, is no exception. A self-proclaimed superfan from childhood, Eckstein grew up to be the voice of Ahsoka Tano in the Star Wars: The Clone Wars animated series. When she says, “Star Wars is truly a lifestyle,” she means it. Arranged by month over the course of a year, the book offers crafts, recipes, party ideas, and mindfulness activities in each chapter. Each entry includes a brief description tying it to the Star Wars Universe. Many of the entries seem conventional approaches such as Hoth Chocolate Snowballs (white chocolate hot chocolate bombs), Bantha Suprise Burger Bites (tempura meatballs), Carbonite Clay Masks (home spa facial masks), Ewok House (decorated bird house), Cardboard Box Podracer (for kids to drive and adults to make), Planet Paper Lanterns, and a felt Boba Fett helmet stuffie. However, some activities appear to be a bit out of the ordinary including the Cloud City Dinner Party featuring the recipe Betrayal With A Side of Rice. (This is why I love nonfiction–some things you just can’t make up.) This, along with the incorporation of lifestyle activities, is certainly a new take on the Star Wars Universe for many fans although it is likely to attract the attention of a new audience. While some entries may seem a reach–budgetary or otherwise–there are also neat possibilities. Like the movies themselves, this title is interesting fun that can take itself a tad too seriously on occasion. Star Wars Everyday lends itself to an adult audience due to its approach, presentation appeal, and difficulty level of several activities.

Whether Star Wars is your jam or it’s another fandom, the Library has you covered! May the Force be with you!

Two Wheels Good: The History and Mystery of the Bicycle by Jody Rosen

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I consider myself fortunate to have grown up in one of the last generations of people whose childhood was spent off-screen and, for me, mostly outdoors and often riding a bicycle. I recall being quite young and riding all over whatever neighborhood or town we lived in at the time. From that young age through my mid-teen years, not only was riding a bicycle fun, but it was a means of transportation, and, though I didn’t realize it at the time, it symbolized independence. Specifically, freedom from my folks! I don’t mention this to harken back to the so-called good ol’ days, but to say that spending so much time on two wheels certainly was a good time. And one that I’d like to make more time for in adulthood. Which is exactly why I picked up Jody Rosen’s Two Wheels Good: The History and Mystery of the Bicycle. Somehow, making time to read about bicycles seems easier than making time to ride them (which, as Rosen points out, is a privilege in and of itself).

Rosen’s approach is nonlinear. In his prologue, he opens with the “eye-popping” art nouveau bicycle ads of the 1890s, which depict bicycles among the stars, and goes on to discuss the ideas of bicycles in popular culture, which, as it turns out, haven’t changed much. For generations, we’ve fantasized that bicycles are “otherworldly” and could take us to the moon, from the ads of the 1890s to popular mid-century stories, from that famous scene in E.T. to the heights of BMX biking, and beyond. Rosen writes that these fantasies “bespeak a primal desire to cast off the bonds of gravity, to speed away from Earth itself.” When riding, he says, “You’re in another world, an intermediary zone, gliding somewhere between terra firma and the huge horizonless sky.”

Although Rosen does, in fact, tell us of the history and development of the bicycle itself, it’s his cultural and political commentary, memoir, and travel writing that appeals to me most. He reminds us of the controversies surrounding early cycling, particularly for women, and of how bicycles were initially meant for the wealthy, but also details how they can become “equalizers” of opportunity. He discusses what goes into building a bicycle, including the laborers who mine for the raw materials (e.g. magnesium, zinc, titanium, etc.) and the workers who harvest rubber, as well as “the exploitation of child bike factory workers.” He links decades of activism, including the Occupy Wall Street and Black Lives Matter movements, to bicycles and cycling. He tells us of how bikes were militarized, with the armed forces of every major European nation having bike battalions by the 1880s!

Two Wheels Good contains so much information I fear that my review is somewhat like the book itself; that is, nonlinear.

Rosen describes how, in the United States in the 1950s and 60s, bikes were likened to horses when marketed, such as with the Gene Autry Western Bike (which featured a rhinestone studded frame), Bronco, Hopalong Cassidy, and the Juvenile Ranger models. Perhaps thought to be a leftover from the horse-bike rivalry days (which was a hoot to read about). Rosen writes about the “bicycle window” at St. Giles’ Church in Buckinghamshire, England, and even includes a chapter on his personal history with bicycles. Worth mentioning, too, is the “Graveyards” chapter, as, in it, he tells of (unexpected) underwater bicycle graveyards. Readers also learn of stunt and trick riding, which is a whole world in and of itself.

As for the history of the development of the bicycle, I’ll leave you to it other than to share with you the many words used throughout hundreds of years to describe bicycles: the Devil’s Chariot, velocipede, hobby-horse, pedestrian curricle, swiftwalker, accelerator, perambulator, dandy hobby, dandy horse, dandy charger, walking accelerator, pedestrian carriage, and, one of my favorites, the Laufmaschine (which is German for running machine).

Although I’m not so delusional as to think of my younger years as the “good ol’ days” of free-range bike riding, I am so delusional as to think that I’ll get back to using my bike (rather than my vehicle) as a mode of local transportation. Inspired by Rosen’s artful descriptions of bikes (as machines, as artwork), mine now hangs by my front door. Sure, I may pass it up more often than I pick it up, but I aspire to change that and I’m doing my best. In the meantime, I’m thankful to be among those who have the privilege of making that decision.

Two Wheels Good is, indeed, good. I recommend it to anyone interested in learning more about the incredibly interesting and diverse history and mystery of the bicycle, as well as the world’s reactions to it.

As always, happy reading, or, in this case, happy riding.

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