Hitchcock’s biography imparts a great deal of information about Ike and his times, enough so that the reader can make his or her own judgment about his career. One of the work’s weaknesses is that it does not set Eisenhower’s presidential choices within the context of the times, namely public opinion.
What the Eyes Don’t See is a deeply-readable tale of science, public health sleuthing, and a fight for social justice for some of America’s most disfranchised citizens.
Rich manages to capture the messiness of the human experience, having his characters live in the gray moral reality rather than the black-and-white dichotomies presented in the abstract.
We residents of the St. Louis area know the importance of rivers, but we can learn a lot more from Martin Doyle’s The Source.
McRae’s book insists that the story of racist massive resistance, much of it historically led and sustained by women, was always much more than simply a Southern or a Jim Crow phenomenon, and that it was always about much more than school segregation.
Journalism has changed in this internet age, and Hersh is here to tell how it used to be. One cannot help but think today’s world of instant information may not be an improvement for democracy.
Pipes’s book works hard at making Nixon-in-winter a true conservative as he emerged from his worst days of physical and emotional wreckage after leaving Washington to become a kind of consul without portfolio, the eminence grise of the Republican Party.
The promise of intimacy offers one path to follow through Thomas’s book. An additional path rests on O’Connor’s gender—which made her “first.”
The true beauty of A Good Cry lies in Giovanni’s ability to move between a range of sentiments, doing so in the most poignant of ways: by saying it plainly and direct.
The more you sit with these poems, the more they show their multivalence as they explore the complexities of our fast-paced, media-saturated 21st century.
