wahistorian's Reviews (506)

I loved this book, not just for Cunningham’s eye for detail and his ability to recreate the fashion world of the 1950s and 1960s, but also for his indomitable spirit; when called up for the Korean War-era draft, Cunningham was thrilled at the possibility he might be sent to Europe and, sure enough, he was. Taking time away from his barely launched millinery career, the designer ended up stationed in Paris, his real introduction to a fashion world still reeling from the Second World War. He astutely identifies this period as the time of the passing of “the Old Guard,” when fashion was solely the field for wealthy women (whom he calls “fashion climbers,” those who use clothing solely as markers of status, rather than sources of personal pleasure). Although he laments the disappearance of hats for women and the rise of ready-to-wear, he’s also describing the democratization of fashion. He observes the designers’ struggles to be creative *and* competitive, their battles with “the press,” and his own attempts to be a part of a passing world. His reminiscences of Paris fashion shows—Dior, Balenciaga, Givenchy—and the upstart Americans challenging them were fascinating. Finally, his passion for the art of clothing was moving: after years of looking for an audience for his own unique vision, he writes after seeing a pivotal Balenciaga show in 1958, “no one will ever again be able to influence my fashion thinking, for I have seen the proof of creative design, and it’s worth every drop of hardship to climb to the top” (220).

In 1953 Olivia de Havilland moved to Paris with her young son Ben to be with her new French husband; 66 years later she’s still there at 102. Her chipper voice and elegant unflappability make this book a fun read, about landladies and concierges, learning French, shopping in Paris, and navigating family holidays. A happy story about a Hollywood star who found a way to live some sort of ordinary life.

One of the wonderful things about reading is the way a really clever author can allow you to enter a world you’d never otherwise visit. Retired detective George Palmer-Jones takes on the investigation of a murdered “twitcher,” or British birdwatcher, drawing on his considerable interest in the pursuit of ticking rare birds off a list. What would drive a seemingly harmless hobbyist to kill? It’s about what you’d expect, but still fun to meet the many varied species of twitchers, ringers, and the people who depend on their trade.

Obviously this book is a campaign document, so it’s impossible to tell how much of this polished account Mayor Pete *actually* wrote. But it’s clearly informed by his unfailingly positive values of respect, a love for learning, and a desire for justice for those around him. He relates his life story—a somewhat charmed life with loving parents, supportive community, and stellar education—but the narrative really takes off when he becomes South Bend’s youngest Mayor. It is clear that Mayor Pete believes deeply in the power of politics and government to change lives and he refuses let the cynicism of others shape his practice of it. He is respectful and even-handed even to opponents like then-Governor Mike Pence and his Restoration of Religious Freedom Act that would have allowed Indiana businesses to discriminate against gay men and women in the guise of protecting their own religious freedom. In our vicious dark environment, it’s a little difficult to get used to Buttigieg’s determination to stay positive. But by the end, when he ventures an argument about what national greatness *really* should look like, I was won over. We’re lucky to have people like this in American politics.

What a strange book! The entire book traces 21 months of periodic interrogations by a team of Maryland detectives determined to break the cold case of the disappearance of ten- and twelve-year-old sisters, Katey and Sheila Lyon from a Hyattsville mall. Bowden lays out lie after lie on the part of the suspect—who shall remain nameless—who, with each interview, throws out enough tidbits of truth for the cops to follow. Almost all the action takes place in the prison interview room; it often reminded me of Janet Malcolm’s book about Sheila McGough. As the story unravels, the horrifying details became clear, as well as the suspect’s complete disregard, his sociopathy, and lack of empathy for these two vulnerable children. Not a book to read at bedtime.

Since the 1920s the extended Bogle family has produced 60 criminals that Fox Butterfield was able to identify. Is criminality in the genes or in the environment? That’s the question Butterfield sets out to answer through extensive interviews, court records, and other sources. The book painstakingly—and painfully—traces the criminal exploits of the worst members of the Bogles through Oklahoma, Texas, Washington, and Oregon. The book is a follow-on to ‘All God’s Children: The Bosket Family,’ which asked similar questions of one African American family. Butterfield is light on analysis, but he does identify some of the factors that seem to lock so many of the Bogles and others like them into a future of crime.

Mind blown! Polletta explores the use of storytelling and its devices in politics, protest, and the law, in order to tease out its many uses and abuses. Her book uses case study chapters to look at how stories mobilize people to political action, but also how they can reinforce assumptions based in existing power, gender, and racial structures. Once you get past the academic jargon, the book has so much to offer, especially at a time when we’ve come to understand how many evils a good story can cover up, even one with few words: “We’re going to build a wall and Mexico is going to pay for it.”

This was a challenging book for me, because while I agree with many of Sasse’s point about the importance of community and rootedness, his argument is (very occasionally) flawed for me by his political perspective, one which he insists in the end that we need to set aside in favor of a civic perspective. He rightly argues that as a country we make ourselves vulnerable by focusing on divisions. Yet for many of us—women, people of color, immigrants, LGBTQ—it’s the *consequences* of political divisions that require our constant focus. It’s easy for Sasse to say, “embrace your neighbor,” but when I know my neighbor will send me to jail for controlling my reproduction, it more difficult to feel neighborly. That said, the book’s simple advice about contributing to stronger communities, turning aside the distractions of technology, and putting down roots are all worth considering. The path to a satisfying life is truly through others.

Kamala Harris’s story is inspiring, not just for the obvious reasons—multiracial daughter of immigrant parents, California Attorney General, 2nd Black women elected to the U.S. Senate—but mostly because of her intentionality: whatever issues Sen. Harris has taken on, she has done so for clear reasons that are spelled out in this book. As CA Attorney General, she saw her role as representing the people of her state, and one of the first issues she took on was truancy, because she recognized that without an education, kids were prey to drugs, crime, and poverty. I may not agree with her methods, but I better understand her deeply felt rationale and the breadth of her experiences makes me believe at least her solutions were well thought through. The last chapter outlining “What I’ve Learned” is worth the price of admission. I admire her intellectual power and her moral courage—demonstrated in her questioning of Brett Kavanagh and Gine Haspel—and her ultimate optimism. Our grandchildren will ask us “where we were when the stakes were so high,” she says. “I don’t want us to just tell them how we felt. I want us to tell them what we did.”

Booker’s campaign bio is a bit difficult to read, because his focus is on lessons from people who guided him mainly during his terms as Mayor of Newark, rather than a chronological reciting on his life. It’s an interesting journey from law school graduate to Newark City Councilmember to U.S. Senator (only the 21st Mayor to skip directly to the Senate). Booker barely mentions law school, Oxford, or his childhood, although he credits his parents for their wisdom, warmth, and middle-class advantages. Each chapter describes his a different hero: Virginia Jones, guiding light of one of the public housing units he lived in early on in Newark; Hassan Washington, the kid he failed to save from the streets; Henry Louis Gates, who helped him discovery the strength of his ancestry; and Robin Dougherty of the Greater Newark Conservancy, who helped him understand the importance of environmentalism in an urban setting. These are fascinating people from whom Booker has obviously gained a real world understanding of interdependence, complexity, and compassion. Booker’s memoir is honest where Kamala Harris’s is cagey, and flawed where hers is cautious. I appreciate his frankness about how complicated and painful relationships can be, *and* his belief that they are the only way to save the republic.