New Books in History

Russell Martin, "A Bride for the Tsar: Bride-Shows and Marriage in Early Modern Russia"

Marshall Poe et al. — Mon, 03 Dec 2012 13:14:39 PST

You probably know the story about the king who issues a call for the most beautiful girls in the land to be presented to him as potential brides in a kind of "bride-show." And you might think this is just a myth. But actually it's not. As Russell Martin shows in his wonderful A Bride for the Tsar: Bride-Shows and Marriage in Early Modern Russia (Northern Illinois University Press, 2012), early modern Russians actually held bride-shows when selecting a mate for the tsar. They brought potential brides to Moscow, had their health checked (fertility was an obvious concern), and investigated their backgrounds. Yet, as Russ points out, the Muscovite bride-shows were as much propaganda as they were mechanisms to select tsarinas. Muscovy was an autocracy comprised of closed castes. Only the tsar could raise subjects out of one caste and into another. The bride-shows were the most visible and valuable example of the tsar's power to arbitrarily change a subject's fortune. In reality the bride-shows were rigged. The tsar and his advisors only considered certain young women from certain castes and belonging to certain families as potential brides. Russ explains exactly why and how the brides were chosen and what the bride-shows tell us about the nature of the early modern Russian political system.

Marek Jan Chodakiewicz, "The Massacre in Jedwabne, July 10, 1941: Before, During, After"

Marshall Poe et al. — Mon, 03 Dec 2012 13:14:37 PST

On July 10, 1941, Poles in the town of Jedwabne together with some number of German functionaries herded nearly 500 Jews into a barn and burnt them alive. In 2000, the sociologist Jan Gross published a book about the subject that, very shortly thereafter, started a huge controversy about Polish participation in the Holocaust. In the furor that followed, many simply took it for granted that Gross's interpretation of what happened-that radically anti-Semitic Poles murdered the Jews with little prompting from the Germans-was simply correct. But was it? This is the question Marek Jan Chodakiewicz tries to answer in The Massacre in Jedwabne, July 10, 1941: Before, During, After (Columbia University Press; East European Monographs, 2005). After an exhaustive and meticulous investigation of the sources (which are imperfect at best), Chodakiewicz concludes that we don't and will never know exactly what happened on that horrible July day in Jedwabne, but it was certainly more complicated and mysterious than Gross imagines. Chodakiewicz puts the massacre in its wider context or, perhaps more accurately, contexts. These include: Jedwabne itself, Polish life there, Jewish life there, the interaction between the two communities in the town, the Soviet occupation, the coming of the Germans, German policies toward Poles and Jews, the Polish resistance, Polish anti-Semitism, Polish anti-Communism, and the intersection of the two ("Zydokomuna"). No punches are pulled: Chodakiewicz places much of the blame for the atrocity squarely on the Poles (or, rather, some faction of them) in Jedwabne. But he puts their actions-insofar as we can know them-into a much wider frame and therefore helps us understand why they did what they did.

Astrid M. Eckert, "The Struggle for the Files: The Western Allies and the Return of German Archives after the Second World War"

Marshall Poe et al. — Mon, 03 Dec 2012 13:14:36 PST

At the end of World War II, the Western Allies seized pretty much every official German document they could find and moved the lot out of Germany and often overseas. They had, effectively, taken the German past. And they kept it for the better part of a decade. Why did they take the records and why did they eventually return them? In her fascinating book The Struggle for the Files: The Western Allies and the Return of German Archives after the Second World War (Cambridge University Press, 2012), Astrid M. Eckert explains. The Western Allies saw that the archives could be used for a number of purposes: military intelligence (the Germans knew a lot about the Soviets), occupational administration, prosecuting war criminals, and making sure that the history of World War II was written just the way they wanted it written. And they used them in all these ways. The Germans, of course, wanted their documents back. They wanted to write their own history. But the Western Allies were skeptical that the Germans could really manage their archives (many German archivists had been active Nazis) or portray their past truthfully (it was, after all, a rather ugly past). In the end, the Allies relented and the archives were given back, new archivists were trained, and Germans faced their past themselves.

Jennifer Hall-Witt, "Fashionable Acts: Opera and Elite Culture in London, 1780-1880"

Marshall Poe et al. — Mon, 03 Dec 2012 13:14:35 PST

When I was young I liked to go to bars, especially bars where bands were playing. But when I got there, I often didn't listen very carefully. And in truth, I wasn't there to see the band; I was there to "make the scene," which is to say see and be seen by my peers. As Jennifer Hall-Witt explains in her fascinating book Fashionable Acts: Opera and Elite Culture in London, 1780-1880 (University of New Hampshire Press, 2007), that's apparently why English notables went to the opera in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth century. They dressed up, went out, and "made the scene." All the while there was an opera being performed, but it doesn't seem anyone was paying close attention to it. They milled about, traded glances, visited each other's boxes, talked, joked and generally had a good time. That all changed in the second half of the century. Most significantly, people began to watch and listen to the opera instead of each other. Jennifer tells us why.

Jennifer Guglielmo, "Living the Revolution: Italian Women's Resistance and Radicalism in New York City"

Marshall Poe et al. — Mon, 03 Dec 2012 13:14:34 PST

There is exactly one strong woman in the movie "The Godfather," and she's not Italian. (It's "Kay Adams," played by the least Italian-looking actress alive, Diane Keaton.) Such is the stereotype about Italian women, at least in the U.S. They are always in the background, sometimes cooking for la famiglia, sometimes counting rosary beads, sometimes simply missing (as in the case of "The Godfather" films). Alas, it's all wrong. In her pathbreaking book Living the Revolution: Italian Women's Resistance and Radicalism in New York City (University of North Carolina Press, 2010), Smith College historian Jennifer Guglielmo dives into the archives to show that before the First World War Italian women were at the forefront of radical, predominantly socialist politics in the New York City region. They organized parties and unions; protested and marched for fairness and against injustice; they struck and stood fast on the picket line; they wrote and published newspapers, flyers and books. And, in their daily lives, they tried as best they could to "live the Revolution." As Jennifer points out, though, Italian women had to adapt. The ways they did so involved becoming both American and "white." It's a fascinating story remarkably well told. I urge you to read it.

David Brandenberger, "Propaganda State in Crisis: Soviet Ideology, Indoctrination, and Terror under Stalin"

Marshall Poe et al. — Mon, 03 Dec 2012 13:14:32 PST

Though most people would rightly consider capitalists to be the founders and masters of the science of "marketing," communists had to try their hands at it as well. In the Soviet Union, they had a particularly "hard sell." The Party promised freedom, peace, and prosperity; it delivered oppression, war, and poverty. So how do make people believe in what will be rather than what manifestly is? David Brandenberger explores how the Party did it in his terrific book Propaganda State in Crisis: Soviet Ideology, Indoctrination, and Terror under Stalin (Yale University Press, 2012). The answer, in short, is badly. At first, the message they sent-clashing -isms, class struggle, "contradictions"-was too abstract for most folks on the street. The people wanted heros. So the Soviet propagandists gave them heros: flyers, arctic explorers, and, of course Lenin and the "Old" Bolsheviks. That worked pretty well until Stalin et al. began to kill the heroes in the Purges. The problem wasn't that dead heroes don't make good heroes. They do. Discredited dead heros, however, another story. They can't be heros at all. In fact, they have to be rubbed out of history entirely. And so they were. So, once "the dialectic" campaign had failed and the "heroes" campaign had foundered, what was left for the propagandists to work with. Well, Stalin still worked, and he in fact crowded most everyone out of the picture ("Father of Nations!" "Universal Genius!" "Greatest General of All Time!"). But was that enough? Perhaps not. So the propagandists fell back on some very bourgeois totems: the Church and Nation. See how they did it in David's wonderful book!

Samuel Morris Brown, "In Heaven as it is on Earth: Joseph Smith and the Early Mormon Conquest of Death"

Marshall Poe et al. — Mon, 03 Dec 2012 13:14:31 PST

Every person must confront death; the only question is how that person will do it. In our culture (I speak as an American here), we don't really do a very good job of it. We face death by fighting it by any and every means at our disposal. Why we do this is hard to figure, as the struggle against death is often terribly painful (not to mention costly) and always futile. In his new book In Heaven as it is on Earth: Joseph Smith and the Early Mormon Conquest of Death (Oxford University Press, 2012), Samuel Morris Brown tells us how Joseph Smith, the founder of the Church of the Latter Day Saints, told his followers to prepare for and confront death. It didn't come to him all at once. A certain amont of what would become Mormon dogma was revealed to him; a certain amount was borrowed from other creeds; and a certain amount was Smith's own invention. The doctrine he evolved was profoundly humane. He rejected the idea that we would meet our maker alone. God gave us families and he would never, ever take them away. In heaven, God would re-unite us with our kin and we would enjoy, effectively, eternal life in the bosom of our loved ones. There was, therefore, nothing to fear in death, for it was but a continuation of life, albeit more perfect for being in the proximity of God. I don't know if it is easier for Mormons to die than for the rest of us, but I can easily imagine that it is.

Stuart Henderson, "Making the Scene: Yorkville and Hip Toronto in the 1960s"

Marshall Poe et al. — Mon, 03 Dec 2012 13:14:30 PST

You've probably heard of the Berkeley, The Village, and Haight-Ashbury. That's where "the scene" was in the late 1960s, right? But have you heard of Yorkville? I hadn't until I'd read Stuart Henderson's terrific social history Making the Scene: Yorkville and Hip Toronto in the 1960s (University of Toronto Press, 2011). Turns out (and, Canadians, pardon my ignorance) that Canada had its own "scene" and it was in the Yorkville district of Toronto. Henderson, who is the L.R. Wilson Fellow in department of history at MacMaster University, does a remarkable job of tracing the rise and fall of Yorkville as a kind of "counter-cultural" capital. He also shows how Yorkville was part of a more general international cultural movement, one that spread all over North America and the World. The book is a fascinating look at a significant moment on Canadian and international history.

James M. Banner, Jr., "Being a Historian: An Introduction to the Professional World of History"

Marshall Poe et al. — Mon, 03 Dec 2012 13:14:29 PST

What is a historian? How are they trained? What do they do? What should they do? Are they doing it well? These important questions addressed in James M. Banner, Jr.'s excellent Being a Historian: An Introduction to the Professional World of History (Cambridge University Press, 2012). Banner knows whereof he speaks: he's been working historical trade in various capacities (far more varied than most, I'm happy to say) for half a century. He's a careful observer, a trenchent critic, and (something I found refreshing) an unrelenting optimist. In this interview he talks about the historical discipline, professional historians, and historians (including history majors!) working in a great variety of occupations. If you are a thinking about studying history, already study history, or are in one of the historical trades, you would do well to read this book.

Gregory Crouch, "China's Wings: War, Intrigue, Romance, and Adventure in the Middle Kingdom during the Golden Age of Flight"

Marshall Poe et al. — Mon, 03 Dec 2012 13:14:27 PST

When I was a kid I loved the movie "The Flying Tigers." You know, the one with John Wayne about the intrepid American volunteers sent to China to fight the Japanese before the United States really could fight the Japanese. I recall building a model of one of their P-40 Warhawks with their distinctive "shark's mouth" nose art. And though I knew a lot about The Flying Tigers, I didn't really know much about the Big Picture in which they operated.

Thanks to Gregory Crouch's fine China's Wings: War, Intrigue, Romance, and Adventure in the Middle Kingdom during the Golden Age of Flight (Bantam Books, 2012), I do. Greg does not tell the story of The Tigers; he tells the story of the aviation pioneers who made The Tigers possible. These were the men of the China National Aviation Corporation. They brought commercial aviation to China, which is an excellent tale in itself. But they also volunteered to fight the Japanese even before The Tigers entered the picture. Importantly, they also blazed "the Hump," the dangerious trans-Himalayan air route between India and China that kept the Nationalist Chinese in the game and generally provided aid and comfort to anti-Japanese forces.

This is a wonderful book full of remarkable characters and unbelievable adventures. There's a bit of romance as well. I asked Greg during the interview whether he'd sold the film rights. I imagine he will soon.

Marnie Anderson, "A Place in Public: Women's Rights in Meiji Japan"

Marshall Poe et al. — Mon, 03 Dec 2012 10:46:56 PST

In the late nineteenth century the Japanese elite embarked on an aggressive, ambitious program of modernization known in the West as the "Meiji Restoration." In a remarkably short period of time, they transformed Japan: what was a thoroughly traditional, quasi-feudal welter of agricultural estates became a modern industrial nation-state. Since the inspiration for these reforms came from the West (the Japanese had seen what the Western Powers had done in China), the question of women's status had to be dealt with. How did the Japanese-men and women, elite and commoner-do it? In A Place in Public: Women's Rights in Meiji Japan (Harvard University Asia Center, 2010), Marnie Anderson attempts to answer this question. It's a fascinating story, and Marnie does a terrific job of telling it (despite, I should say, of working in a remarkably thin and difficult documentary environment). This book is essential reading for anyone interested in East Asian and Gender Studies.

Kimberly Zarecor, "Manufacturing a Socialist Modernity: Housing in Czechoslovakia, 1945-1960"

Marshall Poe et al. — Thu, 23 Aug 2012 09:53:07 PDT

When I first went to the Soviet Union (in all my ignorance), I was amazed that everyone in Moscow lived in what I called "housing projects." The Russians called them "houses" (doma), but they weren't houses as I understood them at all. They were huge, multi-story, cookie-cutter apartment blocks, one standing right next to the other for miles. "Why?" I asked myself.

Kimberly Zarecor's wonderful Manufacturing a Socialist Modernity: Housing in Czechoslovakia, 1945-1960 (Pittsburgh UP, 2011) goes a long way in providing an answer, and it's a surprising one. As she shows, socialism and architectural modernism were tightly linked even before the Second World War. This was true in the Soviet Union, of course, but it was also true throughout much of Europe-especially in Czechoslovakia. The avante guard of Czech architects were enthralled with modernism, just as they were (with some exceptions) enthralled with the promise of communism. They believed modernism provided a template for a truly socialist architecture, particularly in the sphere of housing. Once the communists came to power after the war, the Czech architects were given the opportunity to realize the dream of building that truly socialist built environment. The result was the "panel house": pre-fab apartment blocks built in factories, transported to sites, and then assembled. They were strikingly modern in terms of design, construction techniques and materials. Over time, the panel-house vision was compromised: by Socialist Realism, by economic contraints, by corruption and politics. But if you travel to the Czech Republic today, you can still see excellent examples of modernist panel houses in more or less pure form. Let Kimberly Zarecor be your guide.

Monica Black, "Death in Berlin: From Weimar to Divided Germany"

Marshall Poe et al. — Thu, 23 Aug 2012 09:53:06 PDT

Over 2.5 million Germans died as a result of World War I, or about 4% of the German population at the time. Somewhere between 7 and 9 million Germans died as a result of World War II, or between 8% to 11% of the German population at the time.* It's hardly any wonder, then, that in the first half of the twentieth century the Germans were preoccupied with death and how to deal with it-it was all around them.

Monica Black's impressive Death in Berlin: From Weimar to Divided Germany (Cambridge University Press, 2011) explains how they did it. She focuses on remembrances of various sorts (funerals, monuments, eulogies, etc.) and the ways in which they were shaped by German tradition, transient ideology, and exigency. As Monica demonstrates, Germans themselves changed "German Way of Death" radically over this short period as they attempted to deal with a whole variety of competing pressures, values and interests. This is a fascinating book as it shows how the dead, though gone, are really (and particularly in the German case) still with us.

*To put German losses in perspective, 117,000 Americans died in World War I (.13% of the population) and 418,000 Americans died in World War II (.37% of the population).

Jen Huntley, "The Making of Yosemite: James Mason Hutchings and the Origins of America's Most Popular National Park"

Marshall Poe et al. — Thu, 23 Aug 2012 09:53:05 PDT

I used to hike in and around Yosemite National Park. To me (and I imagine thousands of other visitors), Yosemite was the embodiment of "nature," something grand, pristine, and, well "natural." Of course there is a sense in which that is true: Yosemite was not made by the hand of man.

But in another sense that understanding is false, as Jen Huntley explains in The Making of Yosemite: James Mason Hutchings and the Origins of America's Most Popular National Park (UP of Kansas, 2011). Yosemite the Place may be "natural," but Yosemite the Park is not. It was made by a set of people with a variety of interests, some familiar to us (e.g., making money) and others not (e.g., purifying the nation). Suffice it to say that the makers of Yosemite the Park were not exactly "environmentalists" as we understand them. They were people of their own time, and with that time's ideas and values. Jen does a terrific job of exploring them (and the fascinating James Hutchings in particular), what they thought, what they wanted to do, and what they did to create Yosemite.

Carolina Armenteros, "The French Idea of History: Joseph de Maistre and his Heirs, 1794-1854"

Marshall Poe et al. — Thu, 23 Aug 2012 09:52:59 PDT

When I was an undergraduate, I took a class called "The Enlightenment" in which we read all the thinkers of, well, "The Enlightenment." I came to understand that they were the "good guys" of Western history, at least for most folks. We also read, as a kind of coda, a bit about the "Counter-Enlightenment," of which you may never have heard. The writers of the Counter-Enlightenment were, I learned, the "bad guys" of Western history, for they (apparently) didn't like reason, truth, progress and all that.

First among the black-hats was Joseph de Maistre. He believed the French Revolution was "satanic," as were the ideas behind it. Or so I thought until I read Carolina Armenteros' excellent book The French Idea of History: Joseph de Maistre and his Heirs, 1794-1854 (Cornell University Press, 2011). Turns out de Maistre was a good deal more subtle and thoughtful than the "received view" of him suggests, and Carolina does a marvelous job of making plain how and why. In this interview, Carolina explains not only the complexity of his thought, but also that he wasn't really French, let alone a black-hat wearing reactionary.

Francis Spufford, "Red Plenty: Industry! Progress! Abundance! Inside the Fifties Soviet Dream"

Marshall Poe et al. — Thu, 23 Aug 2012 09:52:58 PDT

Historians are not supposed to make stuff up. If it happened, and can be proved to have happened, then it's in; if it didn't, or can't be documented, then it's out. This way of going about writing history is fine as far as it goes. It does, however, have a significant drawback: it limits the historian's ability to tell the truth-not the truth of "facts," but the truth of stories. Facts are facts; stories have meaning. Most history books are full of facts; yet many lack stories, and necessarily so. As a practicing historian, I can tell you this situation is very frustrating. We know that sometimes the facts are just not enough, but there is nothing we can do about it within the confines of our discipline.

There are historians-if that's what they are-who just can't stand these restrictions. They want to tell historical stories, and they do. They write "historical fiction" and, as a rule, they get very little respect in the literary or academic worlds. I doubt most of them are bothered. Why should they be? Historical fiction is remarkably popular: thousands of titles appear each year and those titles are read by millions of readers. Who cares if literary journals and professional historians poo-poo historical fiction? People love it.

Once in a great while, however, a book comes along whose truth is so powerful that even the literary critics and professors take notice. Francis Spufford's Red Plenty: Industry! Progress! Abundance! Inside the Fifties Soviet Dream (Greywolf Press, 2012) is such a book. It contains more "truth" about the Soviet project than an entire library of "serious" novels and dry-as-dust histories. If I had to recommend one book on the Soviet Union to someone who wanted to understand it, Red Plenty would be it. Read it.

Cynthia Wachtell, “War No More: The Antiwar Impulse in American Literature, 1861-1914″

Marshall Poe et al. — Fri, 17 Feb 2012 11:33:18 PST

My favorite book as a teenager (and in fact the only book I ever read as a teenager) was All Quiet on the Western Front. I liked it mostly for the vivid scenes of trench warfare. Teenage boys love that stuff (or at least I did). But even then I recognized that it was essentially an anti-war book. It was hard to miss: the protagonist, Paul, has a pretty nasty time of it in the trenches, and he gets killed at the end. In the years that followed I somehow got the impression that All Quiet was essentially the first real anti-war book. Before WWI, I thought, everyone who wrote about war glorified it.

As Cynthia Wachtell shows in War No More: The Antiwar Impulse in American Literature, 1861-1914 (Louisiana State University Press, 2010), I was just dead wrong about this. In American letters anti-war sentiment abounded. Many of the leading lights of American lit wrote anti-war tracts, and some of them were remarkably “modern” (those by Ambrose Bierce are particularly astonishing, and I highly recommend them). Wachtell does a masterful job of uncovering many of these neglected works, putting them in historical context, and establishing that there was, in fact, an American anti-war tradition. This is an excellent, eye-opening book.

Michael David-Fox, “Showcasing the Great Experiment: Cultural Diplomacy and Western Visitors to the Soviet Union, 1921-1941″

Marshall Poe et al. — Fri, 17 Feb 2012 11:33:12 PST

People who care about other places (and that’s not everyone) have always thought of Russia as a strange place. It doesn’t seem to “fit.” A good part of Russia is in Europe, but it’s not exactly “European.” Russia has natural resources galore, but it’s surprisingly poor. Russians have written a lot of great literature, but for most of Russian history most Russians have been illiterate. Russia has produced some great scientists, but it has also produced some catastrophically bad ones (see “Trofim Lysenko” for more).

The most consistent of the Russian inconsistencies has to do, however, with politics. Russia has had a lot of very “enlightened” rulers. Peter, Catherine, Alexander (two of them), and, of course, Lenin and co. These folks took the best theories the West had to offer and put them into practice, or at least tried to. The results, however, were usually disastrous, and never so much so as in the case of the Bolsheviks. In the name of progress, they arguably created the most despotic state in history.

Interestingly, many of the people who cared about other places–especially Western Leftists–didn’t notice this contradiction between theory and practice. Why? The ordinary answer (and, I should add, a quite convincing one) is that they loved the theory, so they were willing to overlook the practice. But, as Michael David-Fox shows in his highly original Showcasing the Great Experiment: Cultural Diplomacy and Western Visitors to the Soviet Union, 1921-1941 (Oxford University Press, 2011), that was not the only reason the Western Leftists got it wrong. Another reason, and one David-Fox explores in great detail using a remarkable range of archival sources, is that the Soviets built a PR machine to send the right message to the fellow-travelers. They wined them, dined them, and showed them the many (and carefully selected) victories of socialist labor.

Which brings us to the most fascinating part of David-Fox’s book. The fact of the matter is that the Soviets, no matter how hard they tried, could not hide what came to be known among cynical Russians as “Soviet reality.” The Soviet Union in the 1920 and 1930s was a mess of titanic proportions. The Bolshevik elite knew it (they’d been to the West and often lived there), and so did the fellow-travellers. The Western visitors in David-Fox’s book saw “Soviet reality,” and sometimes they even wrote, disappointedly, about it while they were in the USSR. But when they got home, all this “Soviet reality” was forgotten, replaced by an image of a utopia in the making.

It makes one wonder if the Soviets needed to worry about their image abroad at all, for that image was firmly evolved in the minds of Western Leftists before they ever arrived in the USSR and carried away when they left it. What happened in between arrival and departure didn’t seem to matter much.

Gerald Steinacher, “Nazis on the Run: How Hitler’s Henchmen Fled Justice”

Marshall Poe et al. — Tue, 13 Dec 2011 13:33:15 PST

When I was a kid I loved movies about Nazis who had escaped justice after the war. There was "The Marathon Man"("Oh, don't worry. I'm not going into that cavity. That nerve's already dying."). There was "The Boys from Brazil" ("The right Hitler for the right future! A Hitler tailor-made for the 1980s, 90s, 2000!") And there was "The ODESSA File" ("Germany believes she doesn't need us now...but one day she'll know that she does!"). "The ODESSA File" was my favorite because it explained what really happened, how the evil Nazis formed a super-secret group (Organisation der Ehemaligen SS-Angehörigen) to get themselves out of Germany so they could one day return to power.

The trouble is that's not what happened at all. In fact, there was no ODESSA. In 1947, someone tricked Nazi-hunter Simon Weisenthal into believing "ODESSA" existed (he was quite willing to be tricked). Then Fredrick Forsyth amplified the myth in his book "The ODESSA File" (1972). Then Hollywood gave the story the full Hollywood treatment in movie "The ODESSA File" (1974). Hollywood tricked me into believing it existed (I was quite willing to be tricked).

If you want to know the truth about how the Nazis got away, read Gerald Steinacher[sic] remarkably thorough Nazis on the Run: How Hitler's Henchmen Fled Justice (Oxford University Press, 2011). He shows that there was a sort of conspiracy to get the Nazis out, it just wasn't very conspiratorial. Even before the war the Nazis (and the SS particularly) were thinking about how to get away from the crumbling Reich. They talked to one an other, made contacts abroad, and traded tips. After some experimenting with various routes, they determined one was far and away most effective: through Austria, into Italy, and then overseas. They had a lot of help. Some of it was for hire, for example in South Tyrolia where a kind of Nazi-smuggling industry arose. Some was gratis, for example that offered by a German bishop in Rome. Add some bungling by the International Red Cross, some skullduggery by the OSS, some complicity by foreign powers (e.g., Argentina) seeking German "experts," and--just like that--the "Ratlines" were clear and known to anyone paying attention. Steinacher shows that no ODESSA-like organization was necessary for the Nazis to escape. All they had to do was follow the well-trodden, clearly marked path that lead away from justice in Europe and into safety abroad. That's more disturbing than ODESSA.

Kariann Akemi Yokota, “Unbecoming British: How Revolutionary America Became a Postcolonial Nation”

Marshall Poe et al. — Tue, 13 Dec 2011 13:32:59 PST

The founding fathers--and mothers, sons and daughters--were British. Sort of. It's true that they were subjects of the British crown, and that they looked, talked, acted and had the tastes of folks in London. But they were always different. Though they carried with them a sort of "British cultural package," what [sic] they changed that cultural package, sometimes intentionally and sometimes accidentally. To draw an evolutionary analogy, they "speciated," that is, evolved into something new. But just what it was they did not know, not before the Revolution and for a long time after it.

In her enlightening Unbecoming British: How Revolutionary America Became a Postcolonial Nation (Oxford UP, 2011), Kariann Akemi Yokota tells us how early "Americans" dealt with the problem of "American" identity. They were nothing if not conflicted: they recognized that British culture was much more sophisticated than their own, but they also sought to find virtue in American rudeness. One of the most interesting things about Kariann's book is how she uses a variety of unusual sources to study this cultural anxiety--porcelain, maps, paintings, furniture, architecture, cloth, clothes, and other artifacts of "material culture." Her analysis made me look at the "material culture" in my own house differently ("What in the world does a Dustbuster say about being an Amerian?"). Kariann's book will make you think differently about how Americans became Americans.