The Washington Post reviews Jon Lauck’s The Lost Region: Toward a Revival of Midwestern History. Lauck argues for renewed scholarly engagement with a region that has left an indelible mark on the course of American development and nursed quite a few innovative historians and historical institutions. Looks like an interesting read.
Category Archives: Historiography
As many of you probably know, Michael Kammen passed away a couple of weeks ago, ending a distinguished career marked by several important books and a term as president of the Organization of American Historians.
Coincidentally, when I found out about Kammen’s death I was about to start re-reading his book A Season of Youth: The American Revolution and the Historical Imagination. In this work, he argued that a common theme in fiction about the American Revolution was the notion of the founding as a rite of passage. Novelists have portrayed the War for Independence as a national coming-of-age story, and many have amplified this theme by populating their stories with characters on the verge of adulthood. For these characters, participation in the Revolution marks a transition to maturity, so that their own life stories reflect the larger story of their country. Many of these novelists have also employed generational conflict as a narrative device, with their young characters chafing under parental control just as America sought independence of a different kind from the mother country.
Kammen’s book deals primarily with novels, plays, and imagery. He relegated films about the Revolution a short sub-section of one chapter, due to a scarcity of original material. In the three decades since the publication of A Season of Youth, we’ve seen a few more (but not that many) theatrical and TV movies about the Revolution, and for the most part I think his thesis still holds up.
In fact, the most successful recent movie about the Revolution fits Kammen’s argument to a T. The Patriot is a story of generational conflict between Benjamin Martin and his oldest sons. Martin knows what sort of devastation the war with England will bring and is reluctant to get involved, while the two boys are eager to enlist. The protagonist gets dragged into the war by his children, one of whom is burning with patriotic idealism, and one of whom seems more fascinated by the trappings of war than anything, playing with toy soldiers and trying on his father’s old uniform coat.
The movie also portrays the war as a transition of a different sort for Martin’s younger children. For them, the war is not so much a step into maturity as a loss of innocence. Just as Martin predicts in an early speech, the Revolutionary War is fought on their doorstep. The family farm is an idyllic sanctuary in the movie’s opening sequence, but when the shooting starts, Martin’s attempts to shield his children from all the death and destruction prove futile. Check out this deleted scene:
There’s another way in which The Patriot supports Kammen’s thesis. He argued that by pitching the Revolution as a coming-of-age, Americans have also domesticated their own history. We’re a nation born in revolution, but we value order and stability. If the founding was a passage into adulthood, it was a one-time event that doesn’t need to be repeated. The notion of the Revolution as a rite of passage is thus a way of celebrating our violent and radical beginning without endorsing the overthrow of the status quo.
The Patriot’s closing scene shows us the Martin family returning to the site of their burned home at the war’s end. When they arrive, they find white and black veterans of Martin’s command working together to build them a new dwelling. The implication is that the destructive work of war and revolution is over, and it’s time to move on to the constructive work of building on a foundation. The movie thus emphasizes the possibilities the American Revolution opened and passes over the issues it left unresolved. And it would take another such violent upheaval to resolve some of them.
Rick Atkinson, the Pulitzer Prize-winner best known for his work on WWII, is writing a trilogy on the American Revolution.
The Siege of Vicksburg is the subject of Jeff Shaara’s newest novel.
Finally, a new book on Dunmore’s War is hitting the shelves in July. I’ve really been looking forward to this one; the publication date apparently got pushed back, so I’m glad it’s coming to the stores soon.
The Civil War in 50 Objects by Harold Holzer is one of the more engaging books I’ve received lately. It’s neither a catalogue nor a popular history of the war but an interesting fusion of the two.
The book features items from the New-York Historical Society’s collections, arranged chronologically and illustrated in color. The images are great, but this isn’t a picture book with the text limited to captions. Instead, Holzer uses the objects as jumping-off points to explore various aspects of the Civil War era. A wheel used to select names for the draft is the springboard for an examination of conscription, an 1864 campaign flag prompts a discussion of Johnson’s selection as a candidate for the vice presidency, and so on. The chapters are short, but still substantial enough to give readers a nice little overview of the subject.
The objects run the gamut from a set of slave shackles to a portrait of U.S. Grant, from a John Brown pike to a manuscript copy of the Thirteenth Amendment. Lincoln, emancipation, and the home front get particular attention, but the selection is broad enough to appeal to anybody who’s interested in the war.
This book gives you the same joy of exploration and discovery that you’d get from a museum exhibit. You can read straight through it for an overview of some important aspects of the war, or jump around to whatever artifacts strike your fancy. If you’re a museum junkie, it’ll be a welcome addition to your library.
Like the name of the battle itself, the title of Nathaniel Philbrick’s Bunker Hill: A City, a Siege, a Revolution is a bit misleading. Just as his Mayflower covered more than the Pilgrims’ ship, his newest book is about more than the bloody confrontation at Breed’s Hill on June 17, 1775. He tells the story of the Revolution in and around Boston from the time of the tea party through the British evacuation in 1776.
In Bunker Hill, Philbrick’s gift for narrative serves him well when there’s some sort of action going on. The chapters on the war’s first day, on the titular battle, and the siege of Boston are where this book shines, although the best modern account of Lexington and Concord remains David Hackett Fischer’s masterful Paul Revere’s Ride. It’s fitting that Hollywood has already taken an interest in this book, which is cinematic in its vivid characterizations, gripping battle passages, and rapid pacing.
The earlier chapters, which deal with the political maneuvering that led up to the shooting war, are not as strong. Perhaps this is because it puts Philbrick out of his element. He first catapulted to popular acclaim with a gripping account of the sinking of the whaleship Essex, he’s at its best when he describes the experiences of men in deadly and dramatic circumstances. Or perhaps this is simply due to the nature of popular narrative history itself, a genre in which character and action often take precedence over analysis.
Philbrick’s bibliography is extensive; he has read widely in the secondary literature on the Revolution in New England. One of his contributions is to emphasize the role of Dr. Joseph Warren, whose critical place in the colonial protest movement is familiar to historians but less so to average readers. Philbrick suggests that Warren’s death at Bunker Hill—he arrived on the battleground to fight as a common soldier even though the Provincial Congress had appointed him a major general—cost the Patriots one of their more able leaders, and he notes several points at which they might have benefited from his presence had he survived.
Ultimately, this is a good work of popular history. If you’re new to the Revolution, or if you’re a more seasoned history buff looking for a refresher before setting off on a summer trip to Boston’s Freedom Trail, you’ll find Philbrick an informed and engaging guide.
The dreams of historical figures, mind you, not dreaming about history in the present day. The essay is based on his forthcoming book, which looks pretty interesting.
David Barton recently responded to Gregg Frazer’s critique of his Jefferson book in WORLD Magazine:
Throckmorton’s original assault on my book managed to avoid its major points and instead criticize minor and even obscure facts, and this new attack by Frazer seems to suggest that this “debate” may become a never-ending discussion over less and less. With so many important cultural battles that desperately need our focused attention, it seems a misuse of time and energy to continue arguing over relatively inconsequential points with those who profess to hold the same common Christian values, so I will now resume my efforts attempting to beat back the secularist progressive movement that wrongly invokes Jefferson in their efforts to expunge any presence of faith from the public square.
I found this response interesting for two reasons. First, I think Barton is understating both the number and the seriousness of the issues his critics have raised. There comes a point where so many errors and misinterpretations accumulate that it’s not a matter of a few tiny nicks, but something more like the old Chinese punishment of death by a thousand cuts.
Second, what to make of Barton’s statement that defending his work against fellow believers is a misuse of time and energy? Does this mean he’ll only be responding to “secularist” critiques from now on? It almost comes across as a tacit admission that his historical writing is merely ammo for the culture war, and that he’s not really interested in teaching history for its own sake.