Say this name to schoolteachers and children’s librarians and watch our faces light up, our backs grow a trifle straighter, our steps quicken. Dr. Seuss is the closest thing we have to a patron saint, and when I saw this biography, I wanted it as badly as I’ve wanted any galley. Big thanks go to Net Galley and Penguin Dutton, and many apologies for my tardiness. It’s a strange thing but true: when I must write an unfavorable book review, I know just what to say and can do it the same day I finish reading, but for a momentous work such as this one, I need some time for my thoughts to gel. Brian Jay Jones writes biographies of quirky visionaries such as Washington Irving, George Lucas, and Jim Henson, and he doesn’t cut corners. This biography is highly recommended to adult readers, but don’t go handing it off to your precocious fifth grader until you’ve read it yourself. Geisel’s life held some very deep shadows.
Geisel grew up with comfort and privilege as the heir to a
family beer making business; the slings and arrows that came his family’s way
during Prohibition taught him that small minds can do ugly things. Still, his
youth was mostly untroubled; he attended Dartmouth , where he was voted Least
Likely to Succeed, and then Oxford, where his studies in Medieval German
floundered, his attention drifting to the margins of his notebook, where he
drew fanciful creatures and turreted buildings that would later become iconic. It
was Helen, his sweetheart, who suggested he follow his heart and pursue art for
a living. His early success came in advertising for Flit bug spray. Once he and his bride became financially
stable enough to move out of their low rent neighborhood and into a tonier
area, he discovered he had no use at all for pretension, and he wrote:
“Mrs. Van Bleck
Of the Newport Van Blecks
Is so goddamn rich
She has gold-plated sex
Whereas Miggles and Mitzi
And Bitzi and Sue
Have the commonplace thing
And it just has to do.”
He served in the military during World War II with Francis
Ford Coppola making propaganda and training films. His pro-intervention
cartoons are surprisingly hawkish—I have the collection titled Dr. Seuss Goes to War on my shelves—but
he later realized that it was wrongheaded to demand the internment of Japanese
Americans, and in some bizarre way, he intended Horton Hears a Who to be his apology for it.
His family was not Jewish, but his surname confused some
people, and he received some anti-Semitic shade that inspired him to stand up
for the rights of Jewish Americans.
Jones deserves credit for confronting the anti-Japanese
racism and xenophobia in this author’s early years; he doesn’t gloss over it,
and he doesn’t turn it into something prurient either. He lays it straight out,
along with Ted’s more enlightened thinking in his later years, and it strikes
exactly the right tone. This isn’t comfortable material, but then it shouldn’t
The most amazing thing is to learn that Seuss—known to
family and friends as Ted—wasn’t a successful author until well into middle
age. He vacillated between advertising and “brat books” but hit it big when he
submitted How the Grinch Stole Christmas to
Bennett Cerf at Random House, which would be his second home for many years.
Though he and his wife moved to Southern California and much of his work was
mailed in, he became known for coming to read his book to the Random House
staff in person when it was publication time.
(He was also known for being difficult at times, micromanaging the
publication of his work, and this may be part of the reason he wasn’t urged to
attend business in person on a more regular basis.)
Ted and Helen were unable to have children, a painful fact
that they chose not to share with the public. When asked during publicity tours
why a man with such a great heart for children had none himself, Ted deflected
it by saying others should have the children and he would write for them.
Helen’s illnesses and Ted’s infidelity were aspects of this
author’s life I knew nothing about. It’s
hard to read about, but again, Jones includes these things in the narrative not
to shock us, but because they have to be there.
He was widely known and revered for his insistence that
books should be fun for children to read and should not preach or moralize, but
instead, should respect the readers. He
was a pioneer in this regard, and I owe him a great debt for teaching me to
love literature as a preschooler, and for providing such wonderful books for my
own children and students later in my life. It is this legacy that remains when
the rest falls away, that reading should open new worlds for its young readers;
it should not trick or manipulate its audience, but instead should speak to
children with respect using language they can understand.
I love good military history, and so when I saw this title I
requested and received a review copy, thanks to Net Galley and Scribner. It’s
for sale now, but I can’t recommend it to you.
One of the first things I do when I read a new author in
this genre is to check notes and sources.
A first rate military historian will have multiple sources for each fact
cited, and a reasonably good one will have a variety of sources, primary
sources being most desirable.
Fenelon doesn’t do this. Much of his information hangs on a single source, and often these are not well integrated. This is the first time I have seen military history published by a major house, that uses Wikipedia as a source. All of the history teachers I know send their students back to do a rewrite if they hinge their citations on Wiki, and if teenagers aren’t allowed to do it, I cannot think why Scribner permitted it.
What drew me to the book is the paratroopers. There seems to
be a spate of these coming out right now, and I find it fascinating subject
material. There’s also a trend, of which this book is also an example, of
embracing the brave German troops against whom American forces fought, and not
unnecessarily, either. I could get behind this trend more easily were it more
universal, but somehow U.S. historians are quick to recognize the shared
humanity of former enemies that are Caucasian, and others, not so much. If I
could see one, just ONE WWII history that recounts kind of brave actions on the
part of the Japanese during this conflict, I would be a good deal less cranky.
Be that as it may, this book is inadequately researched and
inadequately documented. It’s not professionally rendered, so if you want to
read it, do so critically and evaluate as you read. Get it free or cheaply; don’t
pay full price.
My attention was riveted on the title. Frogmen! Spies!
Thanks go to Net Galley and Henry Holt for the galley, which I expected to love.
Though I am disappointed, I would have been more so had I paid the cover price
for this fast-and-loose pop history.
The author takes the events surrounding D-Day, the massive
attack that turned the tide of World War II, and recounts them from the
perspectives of those that were there, both on the Allied side as well as on
the Germans’. Though the narrative flows in a congenial tone, it represents a smallish
amount of research stretched and padded, and the result is a smattering of
important information that’s already been conveyed in a million other sources,
most of which he doesn’t cite, and a great deal of trivial information provided
by bystanders, which he does.
So there is the research—or mostly, there isn’t. The author
draws to some extent upon stories garnered through his German wife’s family,
but a lot of it comes across as the sort of long-winded recounting that causes
even loving family members to inch toward their coats and make noises about how
late it’s getting to be. Long passages of direct quotations pass without a
citation, and then later there are citations, but they aren’t well integrated,
and almost nothing has more than a single source provided. In other words, it’s
sketchy stuff that cannot pass muster.
In all fairness, I have to admit that it’s bad luck on the
author’s part to have his work released so soon after Spearhead, which is brilliant and meticulously documented. On the
other hand, this is no debut, and though I haven’t read the author’s other
work, I can’t imagine that he doesn’t know he’s cut corners here.
Then there’s the other thing, an elephant in the room that
isn’t entirely this author’s fault. Why is it that when a war ends and enmities
cool, the folks that are invited back into the fold by the UK and USA are always
Caucasians? Brits and Americans wax sentimental now alongside Germans, none of
whom belonged to families that liked the Fascists, yet the Japanese fighters of
World War II never make it back into the family, so to speak. And in this
Milton has a vast amount of company, but this is where it is most obvious, so
this is where I’ll mention it.
So there it is. It’s for sale now if you still want it.
“The memory of an elephant, the cleverness of a fox, the guile of a serpent, and the fierceness of a panther.”
Marie-Madeleine Fourcaude ran the largest spy network in France during World War II. Charismatic, organized, intelligent and completely fearless, she was possessed of such obvious leadership skills that even very traditional Frenchmen (and a few Brits as well) came to recognize and respect her authority and ability. I had never heard of her before this galley became available; thanks to go Net Galley and Random House. This book is for sale now.
Fourcade was born into a wealthy family, and this fact almost kept me from reading this biography. Fortunately, others read it first and recommended it, and once I began reading I quickly caught onto the fact that no one without financial resources could have initiated and organized this network. At the outset, there was no government behind them and no funding other than what they could contribute themselves or scrounge up through the kinds of contacts that rich people have. There are a few fawning references to some of her associates—a princess here, a Duke there—that grate on my working class sensibilities, but they are fleeting.
Fourcade’s organization ultimately would include men and women from all classes, from magnates and royals to small businessmen, train conductors, waitresses, postal clerks and so on. Some were couriers delivering information about Nazi troop placement and movement, U-boats and harbors and so forth, whereas others quietly eavesdropped as they went about their daily routines. Once they were able to network with the British, the organization became better supplied and funded, and it had an enormous impact on the fascist occupiers, which in turn drew more enemy attention to the resistance itself; among the greatest heroes were those that piloted the Lysander planes that delivered supplies and rescued members that were about to be captured. But not everyone was rescued; a great many were tortured, then killed. Fourcade herself was arrested twice, and both times escaped.
If you had tried to write this woman’s story as fiction, critics would have said it lacked credibility.
In reading about Fourcade, I learned a great deal more about the Resistance than I had previously known; in other nonfiction reading this aspect of the Allied effort was always on the edges and in the shadows, not unlike the spies themselves. In addition, I also came to understand that France was barely, barely even a member of the Alliance. The British bombed a ship to prevent fascists from seizing it, but they didn’t evacuate it first, and an entire ship full of French sailors were killed, leading a large segment of the French population to hate the British more than the Germans. Then too, there was a sizable chunk of the French government that welcomed the fascists.
Revisionist histories will have us believe that the Nazis were opposed but that France was powerless to stop them, and for some that was true; yet the ugly truth is that it was the French themselves that incorporated anti-Semitism into their governmental structure before the Germans demanded it. Vichy cops had to take an oath “against Gaullist insurrection and Jewish leprosy.” When planning D-Day, U.S. President Franklin Roosevelt didn’t even want to include the French in the planning or even inform them that the Allies were invading. Let them find out the same way that the Germans would, he suggested to Churchill. But the British insisted on bringing in friendly French within the orbit of De Gaulle, not to mention those around a pompous, difficult general named Henri Gouroud, a hero from World War I who had to be more or less tricked into meeting with the Allies at the Rock of Gibraltar. The guy was a real piece of work, and some of the humorous passages that are included to lighten up an otherwise intense story focus on him.
I have never read Olson’s work before, but the author’s note says that she writes about “unsung heroes—individuals of courage and conscience who helped change their country and the world but who, for various reasons, have slipped into the shadows of history.” Now that I’ve read her work once, I will look for it in the future.
Highly recommended to historians, feminists, and those that love a good spy story, too.
I read this historical gem free and early, thanks to Net Galley and Random House Ballantine; it’s among the top ten percent of the military histories I have read, and it’s one of the few that I have recommended to friends and relatives. Makos’s introduction tells us what he has done to lay his groundwork, and it’s impressive:
We traversed the battlefields of the Third Reich—with the men who made history…In 2013. Clarence Smoyer and three other veterans traveled to Germany and allowed us to tag along, to interview them on the grounds where they had once fought. We recorded their stories. We recorded what they remembered saying and hearing others say. Then we verified their accounts with deep research. We drew from four archives in America and one in England. We even traveled to the German Bundesarchiv in the Black Forest in search of answers. And what we found was staggering. Original orders. Rare interviews between our heroes and war reporters, conducted while the battle was raging. Radio logs of our tank commanders’ chatter, allowing us to time their actions to the minute… Is the world ready for a book about tanks? There’s one way to find out. Shut the hatches. Tighten your chin strap. It’s time to roll out.
Spearhead is equal parts memoir and history, and Makos is known for using a “You are there” writing style, though he is new to me. He writes about the most riveting parts of their service there, and though each of these four men starts the war in a different place, at the end they are joined together when they reach Cologne.
The congenial narrative is enhanced with photographs of the men then and now, along with pictures of other men they served with, some of whom made it out alive as well as many that didn’t, or who survived the war but emerged crippled. There is a great deal of comfort, when reading a tale that must include so much carnage, in knowing from the get-go that Clarence Smoyers, Buck Marsh, Gustav Schaefer, Chuck Miller, and Frank Audifred will survive. There are a lot of names and faces, and here I was grateful to be reading digitally on Kindle, because I could use the “search book” feature to quickly regain the identity of participants I couldn’t recall when they came up again.
There are some poignant moments; after all, they were really just kids. Sometimes they made it through battle because their commanders made wise decisions; sometimes they lived on in spite of incompetent or negligent commanders; and sometimes they found themselves in command.
I never knew much about how tanks are operated. I believed that the guy whose head sometimes pokes up out of the hatch was the driver; that’s not so. And I had never given any thought to where the tankers sleep at night, or where they go to the bathroom. And the scandalous lack of safety for the men in Sherman tanks wasn’t clear to me till I read that the British called the Sherman as the “Tommy cooker,” the free Poles named it a “burning grave,” and Americans called it a “crematorium on wheels.” Ultimately this made it into the press when journalist Ann Stringer reprinted the comment that “Our tanks are not worth a drop of water on a hot stove.” The Pershing tank would be a tremendous improvement, and would be largely responsible for keeping our veterans alive to tell about it.
There are some amazing high-tech photographs and diagrams that were unavailable during this conflict; I went back to them several times as I became more acquainted with the lives of the men inside them. The maps could be better, but then you can’t have everything.
For those interested in World War II military history, or for those that read war memoirs, Spearhead is hard to beat. You can also visit the author’s website at AdamMakos.com. This book will be available to the public February 12, 2019. Highly recommended.
You could say I am late to the party, and you would be
right. I had a chance to read a galley, but I read the synopsis and then
scrolled past it. More World War II fiction? Ho hum. But the most well-worn
subject matter can be made brand new in the most capable hands, and Hannah has
done that. I thank the Goodreads friends that insisted I should read this book,
and Seattle Bibliocommons for providing me with a copy.
Our two protagonists are French sisters whose mother has
died. Vianne, the elder sister, marries and leaves; Isabelle is sent to one
boarding school after another by her grieving papa, who has nothing to give his
daughters emotionally. The Nazi threat is far away and of little concern to the
people of Paris—until they come closer, and then they’re here.
The Nazis sweep through Papa’s bookstore. They trash the
shelves and confiscate all of his Marx, all of his Trotsky. They say these are
terrorist materials. And then—they put him on their payroll.
Isabelle leaves yet another boarding school and goes home to
her Papa, determined to remain at home. She receives a cold and unwelcoming
return; then the Germans pierce the Maginot Line, once believed to be
impenetrable, and Paris is no longer safe. Papa sends a bitter Isabelle to live
with her sister, but she is traveling in the car of neighbors, and they are
forced to abandon their vehicle. Isabelle is on her own.
Vianne, meanwhile, is tending to hearth and home. For years
she miscarried one baby after another, late miscarriages at that, and the love her
sister might have expected has instead turned to grief for the tiny people
buried in a family plot in Vianne’s yard. Her husband has been conscripted, and
she is alone with the one child she was able to bear. Vianne is not a risk
taker, because she has too much to lose. Everything she does is in the interest
of her daughter, Sophie, and her husband. Isabelle arrives and almost
immediately begins making waves, behaving provocatively toward the occupying
German forces, and Vianne is horrified. Isabelle has to go.
Over the course of the story both sisters are developed in a
way that is so natural, so believable that I can sometimes predict what they
will do, not because the writing is formulaic—it isn’t—but because I feel I
know them so well now. I want to speak to the characters directly, so visceral
is my reaction to them. Isabelle, who at the outset is reactive and reckless,
joins the Resistance and becomes a disciplined patriot, code-named “The
Nightingale”. She is still courageous, but she learns to weigh her actions
against the benefits and risks to her cause. Vianne, who at the outset is
conservative, becomes more willing to take risks on behalf of the Jewish
children in her small community, children that are likely to either starve or
be killed if they are not smuggled into safe homes. All along, I am murmuring advice to them: “Do
it! Do it!” and “Don’t you dare.”
A particularly interesting and unexpected development is the
change in Papa; the drunken, abusive, uncaring lout has a side that nobody
suspects, and he becomes a flawed yet heroic side character.
Once I realized that Hannah is a force in today’s literary
world, I read the galley of her next novel, The Great Alone (reviewed by me
also.) It was good, but nothing close to what this story is, and so I am glad I
read them in this order, saving the better story as a tasty dessert. If you haven’t read this book yet, do it now.
Sometimes I feel sorry for writers that hit it big the first
time they publish a novel, because then the expectations are raised for
everything they write thereafter, and so I wondered whether Loigman, the author
of A Two Family House, would be able
to match the standard she has set for herself. I needn’t have worried, because
if anything, The Wartime Sisters is
even more absorbing. I was invited to read and review, and my thanks go to Net
Galley and St. Martin’s Press. This excellent novel will be available to the
public January 22, 2019.
The setting is an armory not far from where the author grew
up, one that was an important manufacturing site during World War II. The
characters are what drive the story, but Loigman’s intimate understanding of
the period’s social mores and the economic impact the war had on women on the
home front make it far more resonant. Rather than rely on pop-cultural
references to set the tone, she conveys unmistakably what American women were
expected to do—and to never do–in this unusual yet unliberated time period.
Ruth and Millie are sisters, and yet in some ways they don’t
really know each other. Each has built up a personal narrative full of
grievances and assumptions about the other over the course of their lives; they
are estranged, with Millie back home in Brooklyn and Ruth in Springfield,
Massachusetts. Both are married, and both of their husbands have decided to
enlist, but otherwise their circumstances are vastly different. Ruth has
married well, but when Millie’s husband Lenny is gone and their parents are
dead, she has no one to turn to. She has a small child to consider, and during
this time period it was unusual for a mother to leave a young child in the care
of others. Men worked; women stayed home. And so although she dreads doing it,
Millie writes to her older sister Ruth; Ruth doesn’t want to take Millie in,
but she does.
Both sisters carry a lot of guilt, and each is holding onto
a terrible secret.
The story alternates time periods and points of view, and
the reader will want to pay close attention to the chapter headings, which tell
us not only which woman’s perspective is featured, but also what year it is. At
the outset we have the present time alternating with their childhoods, and
gradually the two time periods are brought together.
In addition, we see
the viewpoints of two other women that are introduced later in the story. One
is Lillian, the wife of a commanding officer; she befriends Ruth and later,
Millie. The second is Arietta, the cook that feeds the armory personnel and
also sings for them. Although these women’s backgrounds are provided as
separate narratives, their main role is to provide the reader with an objective
view of Ruth and Millie.
I generally have several books going at a time, but I paused
my other reading for this one, because I felt a personal obligation to Ruth and
to Millie. Family is family, and while I read this story, they were my sisters.
You can’t just walk away.
Loigman joins women’s fiction and World War II historical
fiction masterfully, and if this work reminds me of any other writer, it would
be the great Marge Piercy. This book is highly recommended to those that
cherish excellent writing.
I read my copy free and early, thanks to Net Galley and St. Martin’s Press. This book is for sale now.
This meaty little nugget is one of a kind. I had sworn off World War II, both fictional and historical, because so much information gets repeated; you can only read so much about the most visceral parts of this conflict before your worldview darkens. I am out of the classroom and had promised myself a chance to stop and smell the roses in my retirement years. But then there’s this.
Firstly, there’s nothing about the Holocaust to speak of here. That was a draw card, because I am done with that most searing of horrors for awhile. Instead, she writes about Latin America during the war—and I knew nothing, nothing, nothing about any of this. I was aware that there were some nations down there that are reputed to have flirted with the fascists, and even then, I wasn’t sure it that was the truth or a myth.
The book is broken down, not by relevant Latin American countries, but by subtopics, and this is both more analytical and more interesting than if she’d done it the obvious way. Who knew that there was a model city established inside of the Amazon in an effort to rope more employees—well, slaves—into harvesting rubber for the war? Who knew that vast amounts of South American petroleum ran the trucks and tanks that rolled over Europe? Perhaps most appallingly—who knew that Japanese expatriates and their families, born and raised in Peru and other locations in Latin America, were kidnapped in a down-low deal between the US and the governments of the affected nations so that the US could intern them, then use them for prisoner swaps?
There are enough weird-but-true facts here to cross your eyes, and the author has her documentation at the ready. A fifth star is denied because of what isn’t here; why portray United Fruit as upstanding patriots? Many of us know this corporation was a sinister entity with its roots tangled deeply in the CIA. Lots of Guatemalans have plenty to say about United Fruit. More directly related here is the brief, friendly reference to Disney as a WWII patriot, and yet many of us know how warmly Uncle Walt regarded Hitler: the catch-phrase “Mauschwitz” says it all. Partial truths make me wonder what else I am missing as I read this.
With that one caveat, this book is recommended to you. The citations are thorough and the text is written free of technical terms that might hamper a wide readership. Read it critically, but do read it.
hp printer setup, hp customer support number, hp printer drivers for mac, hp printer drivers, hp wireless printer setup, hp printer support number, hp printer support phone number, hp printer tech support phone number