Reviews matching:
Tag selected: biography & memoir
Results matching: 7
Results matching: 7
In times of war, there are two types of people: the victors and the losers, but is it possible that both are fighting for the same thing and against the same enemy? Is it even possible that for victory to be achieved, losses must also be sustained, losses that involve a degree of self-sacrifice, an eschewing of self-aggrandizement, and an acceptance of fate incomparable under almost any other circumstances? If so, the battle for the Philippines, during the opening shots of World War II in the Pacific theatre, is exactly such a situation, and historian Jonathan Horn has invited us to step back into time and witness for ourselves the cost of victory: the fate not only of the generals, as the title suggests, but of the nation which the generals represented.
Nearly everyone who has even a rudimentary understanding of World War II, and of the American strategy during it, exemplified by a Europe-first approach embraced by Chief of Staff George C. Marshall, has also heard of the self-serving yet brilliant general who pushed for a front that prioritized what he saw as a more immediate threat: the rising sun of a Japanese empire. Such a man was Douglas MacArthur, and in the half century since his death, his actions during both the Second World War and the subsequent Korean War, in which he would serve admirably but would be discharged dishonorably, the man’s legacy has been fiercely disputed by historians, political strategists, and military commanders alike. Two rival visions of MacArthur’s personality have overwhelmed the imagination of our time. Jonathan Horn does not take either of the two most typical approaches as regards MacArthur, either presenting him in an entirely positive or negative light or, compromising between the two and showing an image that is neither positive nor negative, but neutral. Horn avoids neutrality like the plague, painting a portrait of MacArthur that is at once entirely positive and entirely negative. Strengths and flaws become inseparable, and for once, Douglas MacArthur has come to life.
Far less common in discussions of military commanders is the story of Jonathan Mayhew Wainwright, the commander left behind by MacArthur upon his retreat from the Philippines, who courageously but unsuccessfully tried to defend Bataan and Corregidor islands from an oncoming Japanese onslaught. Yet through these pages, he too comes to life, as a far less complex figure than MacArthur—perhaps it is this lack of complexity that made him vulnerable to caricature in the first place—but a figure nonetheless compelling. Loyal and true to his superiors, yet perpetually doubting his moves and struggling through the acceptance of reality and the desire to protect his troops, this is a man to admire, and Horn compels us to admire the alcoholic general who would nearly die in a Japanese POW camp.
Horn brings in the background story of both of these figures, though he spends considerably longer on MacArthur for the simple reason that he had a far longer story to tell. Using quotes from Wainwright’s diary during the war, as well as the correspondence of Douglas MacArthur, his aide Sutherland, the loyal Lew Beebe, George C. Marshall, and Franklin D. Roosevelt, this book is meticulously researched and wonderfully written. At times it is necessary to stop and contemplate the sheer beauty of the writing, despite the ugliness of the situation which it describes. Here is one example:
“They had feared the coming of the rainy season on Bataan, and now it found them midway up Luzon’s central plain, in the town of Tarlac. They had dreamed of taking showers on Corregidor, and now they struggled to keep their bunks dry. They had cursed the dust blinding their eyes, and now they saw mud and mildew everywhere. They had lain awake through bombardments, and now they tried to sleep through thunder…”
As I mentioned in the opening paragraph, Horn makes this story center on the sacrifice of Jonathan Wainwright. It may appear that Horn’s purpose is to put MacArthur down; certainly, that is how some have interpreted this work, but I do not think that this is the purpose of the work, or how it should be read. Rather, Horn does not make the reader admire Wainwright and despise MacArthur, but love MacArthur because of Wainwright. Without the latter’s sacrifice, the former’s triumph would have been impossible. Without the former’s triumph, the story of the latter would never have been told. In a strange way, Wainwright completes the picture of MacArthur that we have always wanted but never had. It is by showing MacArthur’s faults that Horn has shown his greatest strength. Through the sacrifice of one, the victory of the other, and the courage of both, the nation as a whole could emerge from what Winston Churchill called its darkest hour, not unscathed, but undefeated, not as angels, but as men whose actions showed the world clearly the better angels of our nature.
Review Written by C. A. Gerber
April 29th, 2026
A famous battle surrounded in myth—what truly remains when legend is stripped away?
For a book to be eight hundred pages long, it must inevitably cover a topic for which there is a wealth of information. Regarding the Alamo and the lives and fortunes of the three men whose lives ended at that historic siege, there is indeed an abundance of material; the problem lies in the fact that much of it is false. Historian William C. Davis does an excellent job of dissecting truth from falsehood and history from myth, carefully tracing the available information on these three men while remaining clear of the dangerous shore of deification into which popular media has so often drifted. In doing so, Davis strips away the romanticized versions of these men, who, far from flawless, exhibited many transient weaknesses and moral failings.
From the son of a tavern owner in Tennessee, to the backwoods adventurer, to the congressional manipulator and naïve legislator, Davis presents a compelling portrait of the most famous of the three: Davy of the wild frontier. Prey to his own public image, Crockett becomes both its beneficiary and its victim. Loved by the people, hated by his party, and eventually alienated from both, this complex man flees to Texas, like the other two, as a means of escaping the consequences of his political and personal failures.
Then there is “Big Jim” Bowie, whom tradition credits with inventing the Bowie knife, though this honor properly belongs to his brother, Rezin. From fraudulent land dealer and slave trader, to collaborator with the pirate Jean Lafitte, to a man of explosive temper and a readiness to fight and kill, James Bowie’s ambition and moral flexibility ultimately propelled him to San Antonio, Texas. His reckless pursuit of wealth, whether in rumored gold or contested land, coupled with his personal sense of moral rectitude and genuine desire to defend the innocent, renders him a hero of a deeply flawed sort.
Finally, and perhaps most strikingly, there is William Barrett Travis, alone among the three to be largely forgotten by the annals of history. The son of a minister, Travis emerges as a man driven by an intense desire to make a name for himself, an ambition he pursued repeatedly and unsuccessfully before heading west to Texas. A man marked by serious moral failings, including the abandonment of his wife and children, womanizing, and slaveholding, Travis was nevertheless acutely aware of his own shortcomings and continually sought redemption. A devout Christian and committed patriot, he had only recently begun to take responsibility for his young son in the months preceding his premature death.
Author William C. Davis, a renowned expert on the antebellum South, frames the story not as a myth of American beauty, nor as a rallying cry for a return to the golden age of patriotism. Nor does he deliver a one-sided attack on the character and lives of these complex men; rather, uncovering all the evidence, and writing on both the good and the bad, Davis shows us the portraits of three human beings, consumed, as most Americans, with a sense of rugged individualism, of willing the impossible and then doing everything in their power to bring the impossible to pass; sometimes succeeding, more often failing, but always, as Theodore Roosevelt said, “in the arena.”
Finally, each man was forced to forge his name in one of the most memorable battles—or massacres—in American history. The fight for Texas Independence started at the Alamo. The lives of William Barrett Travis, David Crockett, and James Bowie ended there—as men who, despite their flaws and overwhelming ambition, died for the defense of what they knew to be right.
The Middle East is fraught with stories of bravery and stories of cowardice, of war and peace, of all that makes the human heart noble and all that makes it vile. Indeed, throughout history, names that will long be remembered have often carved their mark into the annals of the past because of their actions in this region, which divides three continents: from Lawrence of Arabia to David Ben-Gurion and now, most recently, Benjamin Netanyahu.
It was surprising to me, as I read through the earlier parts of this book, how much time the Prime Minister spent, in his early years, in the United States. This makes his vision of an Israeli-US alliance, akin to that formed by Roosevelt and Churchill during the Second World War, look far less prophetic and far more realistic. Having attended college in the United States, having been the Israeli ambassador to the United States, and having spent a period in Manhattan as Israel’s ambassador to the United Nations, Netanyahu is full of praise for the “arsenal of democracy,” but also warning.
Also surprising is the intense factionalism of Israeli politics. Completely different from the two-party system of the USA, the portrayal of the inner bargains and fights for power, as well as scandal, corruption, and jockeying for parliamentary control, creates an almost laughable picture, yet it is a deadly serious game, for nothing less than the survival of the Jewish state is at stake. It is at once unapologetically partisan, yet rings true nonetheless.
Readers seeking a conventional autobiography will be disappointed. To be clear, Netanyahu does write about his family life, his father’s role in the founding of Israel, and the story of the death of his brother, his hero Yonatan Netanyahu, at Entebbe Airport after the terrorist hijacking. Rather than give only a biography of himself, it seems at times as if Netanyahu is attempting to give a biography of the Middle East, and at that, I certainly believe, he succeeds wonderfully. This is a long book; it is a book that will likely sit on your nightstand and gather dust, but it is a book that should be finished, and when it is finished, you will emerge from your room wiser and more equipped to understand the complex, yet incredibly simple, dynamics of the Middle East.
Having written this book during one of the few brief periods of the last three decades in which he has not been in power, Netanyahu’s highly personal analysis of his life as both a statesman and a man does not include the period for which he is most well-known: specifically, the period following the Hamas massacre of October 7th. However, that is not to say that the book is devoid of interesting periods. From the signing of the Oslo Accords to the Second Intifada, from Cairo to Berlin, Netanyahu captures the prime movers behind the modern geopolitical landscape. Enclosed within these pages are stories of interactions with former Israeli Prime Ministers—some opponents, others, far less, friends: Shimon Peres, Yitzhak Rabin, Ariel Sharon, Naftali Bennett—they are all here, written about by their arch-nemesis and most long-standing opponent, Benjamin Netanyahu.
Also in these pages, you will find intriguing details about US-Israeli relations: from the controversy-fraught administration of Bill Clinton, plagued with scandal at home yet naively hoping to achieve peace with Yasser Arafat, to Barack Obama, who promised to “lead from behind.” Donald Trump and Joe Biden also have a significant role to play, from the Abraham Accords onward.
Neither does the Prime Minister spend all six hundred pages of this book crying over spilled milk or controversial relations with public figures. He does not exclusively concentrate on the present or the future, on what can be if “the right person is elected,” a narrative which so often fills the reminiscences of public figures. To be clear, Netanyahu devotes a considerable amount of time to clearing his own name from controversy and does, at times, seem a little self-serving. Not to excuse him from acting as a human, but his narrative is full of self-praise evinced by other public figures such as Winston Churchill.
Indeed, Netanyahu evokes, at times, an almost Churchillian sense of destiny. And well may he do so, for throughout these pages, although tinted with personal bias, you see before your eyes a figure of immense proportions and vast schemes come to life: a man like all others, full of errors and vanity, but also a man filled with a passion for the true, the good, and the beautiful; a man preoccupied with the defense of his own nation and of Western civilization more broadly.
Review Written by C. A. Gerber
March 17th, 2026
There is a time for all things under heaven, including, as it turns out, A Time to Betray. Written by an Iranian student who was recruited into the Central Intelligence Agency to gather information on the activities of the Iranian Revolutionary Guard Corps, Reza Kahlili — the author uses a pen name to protect his identity — discusses the issues at the heart of the human soul: the urge to remain loyal to one’s own country, to protect innocent family members, yet the revulsion produced in the soul in the face of sheer evil.
Having read numerous works of fiction on the Iranian Revolution, CIA activities in the region, and the apocalyptic worldview that drives the Muslim regime, I was quite intrigued when I first learned of the author and the book’s thesis.
Certainly, the author’s perspective is very interesting. He approaches the IRGC from a very westernized perspective (he spent several years at UC Berkeley), and the reader is left constantly guessing what his current religious convictions are. He is constantly praying to “God,” but he gives no hint as to which god that is. At one point it becomes very clear that he has left Islam, or at least that he has left radical Islam. There are, unfortunately, no redemptive virtues in the narrator’s life that give any indication of a conversion to Christianity; yet the role of Providence remains an irreducible part of the narrator’s life story, as he comes to terms with good and evil in his own homeland and is faced with unthinkable choices.
The narrative is interesting from both a cultural and psychological perspective, and learning about what truly goes on in the echelons of power in Tehran is fascinating. Further, the author explains the mindset of the radical, apocalyptic jihadists and does not sugarcoat it. Sadly, it does not read like a novel or a spy book, so if that is what you are expecting, you will be disappointed. The author is not a writer by training; English is not his native tongue, and it is immediately obvious. Although the style can at times become annoying, and the constant shifts in time — avoiding nearly all chronological order or sense of location — distract the reader from the core of the matter, this remains an essential read for understanding both the mindset of those who were in power until recently and the mindset of those who have been persecuted by this deadly regime for well-nigh half a century.
Truth is stranger than fiction.
Review Written by C. A. Gerber
The Gilded Age has long been fraught with controversy, from the actions of John D. Rockefeller’s Standard Oil to the trust-busting of Theodore Roosevelt and the Sherman Anti-Trust Act. Both sides of the political spectrum have a special interest in this period of American history. It was, depending on perspective, an age of greed or an age of enormous technological progress; a period during which the robber barons reigned supreme, or an age when the captains of industry generated thousands of jobs and fueled the economic boom that would send America to the forefront of world geopolitics and economics within a matter of decades.
Now, Doris Kearns Goodwin, author of the Pulitzer Prize–winning Team of Rivals, dedicates her talent and her pen to this age, and to two figures who were dominant not only in politics, but also in economics. In an intriguing and fascinatingly told tale involving the friendship and rivalry of Theodore Roosevelt and William Howard Taft, Goodwin weaves into the narrative the questions of the day: is, as the social Darwinists and conservatives believed, the role of government limited by time and space, or is it to play an active, and, in the hands of Roosevelt, incredibly active role in asserting the rights of labor and protecting the interests of the worker? From McClure’s periodical, where Ida Tarbell and her team of “muckrakers,” as Roosevelt, in a fit of anger, would describe them, labored tirelessly to expose what they perceived as injustice on the part of capitalist businessmen and financiers, to the halls of Congress, where Goodwin portrays the group she labels as the “conservatives” as both enemies of the people and, in her view, defenders of the status quo; in short, as corrupt career politicians dedicated to preserving their own livelihoods.
In terms of style, Goodwin has delivered another masterpiece. The characters, personalities, and foibles of both Theodore Roosevelt — the passionate, temperamental, and extremely dedicated former colonel and outdoorsman — and William Taft, in personality his opposite, though in mental fortitude, if not in dedication, his equal, come alive in this narrative. From Roosevelt’s appointment as Vice President and Taft’s tenure as Governor-General of the Philippines, to Roosevelt’s presidency and his nomination of Taft as his successor, Goodwin captures the excitement of the moment, as a team of talented, if biased, journalists set to work to expose the rich and wealthy in what some may call a personal vendetta — in the case of Tarbell — or an ideological obsession — in the case of Lincoln Steffens.
Leading up to the break between the former president and the sitting president, as tensions increased, the issues of the day came to the forefront. With Taft’s catastrophic, though arguably necessary, firing of Roosevelt’s top ally, Gifford Pinchot, the two men came head to head, and both used the power of the bully pulpit to its fullest, ultimately leading to the election of 1912, in which Theodore Roosevelt, wounded after a bullet struck him in the chest during an assassination attempt, for the first and only time in history defeated one of the two main party contenders while running as a third-party candidate, coming in second to the Princeton professor Woodrow Wilson. The Progressive Era is very much an era to be remembered and studied, from the populism of Bryan to the labor strikes throughout the nation and the political backrooms of Washington, D.C.
That said, no book should be spared necessary criticism, and this book is no exception. Goodwin, who worked for Lyndon B. Johnson and is a notable critic of conservatism not only in its manifestations of the nineteenth century but also in its current forms, makes no attempt to conceal her disdain for “laissez-faire economics” and clearly takes a view of government as the cure for all ills. Her view of Roosevelt as primarily a progressive candidate opposed to business freedom is not held by all historians; and neither she nor any other historian has the right to monopolize Roosevelt for her own side. Numerous comments made by Roosevelt, Taft, or other close advisors opposing the muckrakers and labor strikers go ignored or underexplained, and while she defends her thesis well and writes it clearly, she does so at the risk of overlooking evidence that does not suit her view. Of course, this is something that many historians, including those on the right, do regularly, and it is a criticism that should apply not only to this author but to all authors when necessary. Her representation of laborers as primarily peaceful or motivated by righteous intentions is an interesting take, one that should be engaged by those on the right as a claim that overlooks the anarchism and socialism of the day, anarchism that would lead to the assassination of William McKinley. The religious aspect is ignored completely. In fact, the only mention the author makes of religion in the entire 900-page book is to state that Taft’s father defended a court ruling declaring that Christianity should have no special place in America. Further, though she does not demonize Rockefeller, J.P. Morgan, or other big business executives, her sympathies are clearly not on their side. In short, this is a book you could and should expect from a progressive, pro-government intervention journalist like Goodwin.
So, what then is the verdict? It is, as nearly all matters are, a complex yet simple answer: it should be read; it should be engaged with. The thesis should be understood but not taken at face value. The facts should not be entirely discounted nor entirely accepted, but should be read critically. Above all, a conclusion must be formed. Agree or disagree, this book will make you choose, and that, ultimately, is the one piece of the puzzle remaining, for which I am proud to recommend this book as a necessary piece of American history.
Review Written by C. A. Gerber
March 6th, 2026
Edwin Stanton, Secretary of War under President Abraham Lincoln, is an imposing figure in American history, particularly in the area of the Civil War. Now, for the first time, historian Walter Stahr has rendered him justice. Stanton, an initial Democrat who served as Attorney General during the failed and disastrous presidency of James Buchanan, then made a complete 180-degree turn in favor of abolition, becoming a Radical Republican and a close friend of Treasury Secretary Salmon P. Chase, Secretary of State William H. Seward, and, most importantly, President Abraham Lincoln.
Stanton was appointed Secretary of War in the middle of the Civil War, following the resignation of corrupt former Pennsylvania governor Simon Cameron. Then, for five years, Stanton headed the War Department in one of the most consequential and controversial tenures as leader of the Department of War. Responsible for the incarceration of reporters, generals, and anti-Lincoln politicians, Stanton suspended the writ of habeas corpus under Lincoln's authorization, one of the most controversial parts of the Lincoln administration. He also served an instrumental role in convincing the President to issue the Emancipation Proclamation, freeing the slaves. Stanton became an advocate for Black voter suffrage and a key figure in post–Civil War Reconstruction before being fired and locking himself in the War Department office for weeks following an intense rivalry with President Andrew Johnson.
Stahr gives an objective analysis of Stanton's life, legacy, and accomplishments, criticizing Stanton for his failures, including significantly limiting freedom of speech and freedom of the press during the war, but also chronicling his immense and numerous successes. Stahr provides a well-rounded view of Stanton's early life as a lawyer and Democrat activist before arguing several landmark cases before the Supreme Court and then becoming Attorney General. Stahr also delves into his character traits, both good and bad, his intense personality and religious convictions, as well as his family life and relationships with other Civil War–era figures, including Charles Sumner, William Fessenden, Salmon Chase, Abraham Lincoln, Ulysses Grant, George McClellan, William T. Sherman, William H. Seward, Gideon Welles, James Buchanan, Philip Sheridan, and others.
Stahr argues that Stanton was not simply an enforcer of Lincoln’s Civil War policies but rather an architect of his victory and one of the key players in the post–Civil War Reconstruction era. More specifically, Stahr also demonstrates Stanton’s evolution from moderate Democrat to Radical Republican. Yet at his core, Stanton was the same man: a man of driving ambition and an outward façade of cold rationality, yet inwardly a man who concealed immense personal loss, like Lincoln, and a man who both loved and hated. A man in words, in personality, in conviction. A man like all the rest of us.
For history buffs or Civil War enthusiasts, as well as for those seeking a deeper analysis of the presidency, legacy, and life of Abraham Lincoln, this is a must-read. A narrative-driven book that nonetheless does not sacrifice legitimacy or the facts, Stahr’s biography both rivals and surpasses previous biographies of the Secretary of War in both scope and reader-friendliness. This is the Civil War not on the field of battle, but in the smoking rooms of Washington, DC, and in the inner decision-making offices of Pennsylvania Avenue. In summing up the book and providing an analysis of Stanton, Stahr quotes the Russian philosopher Alexander Solzhenitsyn: “The line dividing good and evil runs through the heart of every human being.”
Review Written by C. A. Gerber
March 1st, 2026
First off, I’ll say this: if I were going to read a 1,200-page biography on Mark Twain, Ron Chernow would absolutely be my pick to write it. After reading Hamilton, I was impressed by Chernow’s ability to combine exhaustive research with compelling narrative. So when Edelweiss gave me an advance copy of Mark Twain, I was genuinely excited.
Unfortunately, the final result left me more frustrated than fulfilled.
The biography certainly has strengths. Chernow’s research is, as always, meticulous. He doesn’t just know Twain—he practically moves into his psyche. He explores Twain’s evolution from a sharp-witted riverboat pilot to a global celebrity, his financial struggles, his literary innovation, and the private grief that haunted him. There are powerful sections that remind you why Twain still matters today.
But there’s a point where depth becomes overload. The book is enormous—nearly 1,200 pages—and it feels it. At times, I found myself slogging through page after page of minute details that didn’t add much to the overall arc. There’s a fine line between comprehensive and overstuffed, and for me, this book crossed it often.
Secondly, and more importantly: as a Christian, I found Twain’s views on faith—not just troubling, but downright offensive. Chernow doesn’t shy away from Twain’s open hostility toward Christianity, and I commend his honesty in that. But Twain’s consistent mockery of Scripture, heaven, and God is hard to stomach. He wrote entire books satirizing Christianity—one about a man who dies of boredom in heaven, another involving a “young Satan” figure on earth. Is it satanic? I honestly don’t know, and I won’t be reading them to find out. What’s clear is that Twain’s bitterness toward God only grew over time, and Chernow portrays him as a rabid anti-Christian, not merely a skeptic. As a believer, I found this deeply disturbing and disheartening.
Third, unlike Chernow’s earlier biographies, this one feels opinionated in ways that detract from the historical work. Take Twain’s “angelfish”—his oddly intense relationships with young girls in his later life. Rather than presenting the facts and letting the reader decide, Chernow heavily editorializes, even suggesting Twain may have been guilty of pedophilia. That’s an outrageous claim, unsupported by any serious historical evidence. It feels speculative at best—and slanderous at worst.
Chernow also makes no attempt to hide his anti-imperialist stance. That’s his right, of course—but it colors the narrative. Time and again, instead of letting Twain’s words speak for themselves, Chernow filters them through his own worldview. As a reader, I felt like I was being told what to think rather than being allowed to draw my own conclusions.
In the end, I respect Chernow’s scholarship. He’s a gifted biographer. But this book crosses several lines: it’s too long, too biased, and—frankly—too indulgent. I walked away more disappointed than enlightened. If you’re a committed Twain scholar or a fan of Chernow’s voice, you might still get something out of it. But for the average reader—especially for Christians—this one may be more frustrating than rewarding.
Nonetheless, I recognize Chernow’s genius. He has thoroughly investigated the facts and has gone to tremendous lengths to report lesser-known details accurately. As an educational biography, this book receives my wholehearted endorsement. As a political manifesto, it does not. It should be read by those seeking serious moral discussion and by those seeking to learn more about one of the most colorful figures in our history—always bearing in mind that the spiritual never should, and never can, be totally abandoned.
Review written by C. A. Gerber
February 27th, 2028