Showing posts with label biography. Show all posts
Showing posts with label biography. Show all posts

June 5, 2014

Book 13: The First Tycoon

The First Tycoon: the Epic Life of Cornelius Vanderbilt
T. J. Stiles

Even though I've spent much of the past four years significantly immersed in 19th-century U.S. history, I realized upon picking up The First Tycoon that I knew very little about Cornelius Vanderbilt beyond a vague sense that he was one of the country's most successful robber barons. According to the pleasantly enlightening biographical note that T. J. Stiles appends to his meticulously researched biography of the transportation titan, this is partially due to the fact that Vanderbilt receives surprisingly little academic attention, especially relative to the class of magnates (the household names Carnegie, Rockefeller, and Morgan come to mind) that followed in his wake. Despite the fact that Vanderbilt has seemingly become merely an historical footnote, Stiles effectively utilizes the facts of Vanderbilt's life to highlight the sweeping economic and social changes that his subject experienced and influenced throughout his lengthy tenure as a steamship and railroad executive.

Indeed, if there is a primary complaint to be made about the book, it is that Stiles focuses almost exclusively on Vanderbilt's extensive economic endeavors, often ignoring his personal life or interrupting otherwise compelling narratives of personal feuds, corporate takeovers, and civil wars (not just ours) with non-sequitur anecdotes. Though Stiles attempts to relate these brief notes into relevant points of the greater narrative (and makes it quite clear that there exists little evidence of the man's personal life and private relationships), they often seem a bit ham-fisted; there surely could have been a more effective way of integrating them into the larger portrait of Vanderbilt. Likewise, Stiles seems fond of dropping foreshadowing hints before brief and long breaks alike, making it sometimes difficult to follow the thread of a particular story or business relationship across several chapters. His adherence to chronology does, however, give the book crucial momentum despite the inherent difficulties Stiles faces in relating stories that are strikingly similar to one another and that rely heavily on complex financial maneuvers that are almost certainly foreign to the bulk of his readership. This momentum, along with the author's consistent focus on his subject's forceful personality, make the book a strikingly readable account of business history that rarely becomes boring even to the uninitiated (such as myself).

The book's economic approach to Vanderbilt's life, though obviously warranted, necessitates frequent explanations and asides regarding the rapidly changing economic and political context of his times. Stiles handles these admirably, and the book is as enlightening for its insights into the world of 19th-century social customs and financial systems as it is for its retellings of Vanderbilt's various professional achievements. He clearly had a general audience in mind while writing the book, yet he strikes the right balance between explaining the obvious and becoming mired in tedious (and unnecessary) details. Some of the intricacies involved in stock maneuvers continue to elude my understanding in spite of his best efforts, but given my personal history with attempts to understand the period's economic theory I'm not sure it's quite fair to blame Stiles for that; in fact, he should be lauded for his success in making some of this stuff actually make sense to my notoriously business-averse mind. Those familiar with the era's politics will recognize and appreciate the ways in which Jacksonian laissez faire radicalism gradually became more stringent Democratic conservatism over the course of Vanderbilt's considerably influential career, and Stiles includes plenty of relevant context for those approaching the era decades after their high school history classes.

All told, Stiles has put together a compelling academic study of a man and his contemporary context that is far from dry, despite relying on the intricate economics of business deals for many of its most potent plot points. Somehow, in his hands the story of Cornelius Vanderbilt is continually compelling, both a vivid portrait of the man and a reasonably nonpartisan exploration of the monumental economic, political, and social changes he saw- and significantly contributed to- throughout his lifetime. The First Tycoon is a well-written, unapologetically academic, and appealing history, representing an admirable (and largely successful) attempt to understand the seemingly inextricable history of both Cornelius Vanderbilt and the economic climate of the 19th-century United States.

Grade: A-

November 17, 2009

Book 59: Julie and Julia

Julie and Julia: My Year of Cooking Dangerously
Julie Powell

After the weighty, cynical humor of The Book Thief and with a large term paper looming before me (as well as, conveniently, Thanksgiving), I decided to go for something on the lighter side. Julie and Julia is not the best book ever written. It is, at heart, more or less a standard tale of someone who goes out on a limb, faces some difficulty, and ends up learning some Valuable Life Lessons along the way. It is, at heart, one of those books, the cheesy pick-me-ups where you know everything will turn out all right. It is also cynical, snarky, sarcastic, and wonderfully vulgar. Entirely unchallenging and brisk throughout, Powell's humor pulled me through my own tough week. Cliche or not, I loved every single minute that I was reading Julie and Julia. Facing a crisis at the prospect of imminently turning 30, Powell decides to cook her way through Mastering the Art of French Cooking while living in a cramped apartment just outside of New York City and while working as a beauocratic drone for The Man. The results go over just as smoothly as you'd expect; though it's obvious that Powell entered her challenge with more culinary knowledge and practice than the average snarky 20-something posesses nowadays, she faces her share of hangups and challenges, but never stews over them.

Indeed, the book's great strength is that it very rarely comes across as whiny. Powell turns many merely discouraging incidents, and even some seeming crises that turn out quite well, into drawn-out dramatic scenes, but her humor gives the book a bounce and her ability to be self-deprecating in an endearing way carries the novel. Most engaging is Powell's voice, uncensored and seeming incredibly authentic: here is a woman who thinks the way I do and who will, to put it simply, go there. Powell attempts the incredible and must have gained an insane amount of culinary prowess during her year cooking in the footsteps of one of the most beloved chefs of all time, but throughout the whole process she seems emphatically normal. Though there are bad nights and fights with her husband, she doesn't excessively dramatize them; Julie and Julia feels like a true account, stretched perhaps for dramatic effect but never straying too far from its essential crass warmth. Indeed, when it came time for Julie to deliver her Required Life Lesson Learned, it was delivered with such self-awareness that I was actually laughing out loud at the sheer ridiculousness of it all. Sure, Julie and Julia has its moments where it's obvious Powell is stretching a bit, trying a tad too hard, but her voice is endearing and so wonderfully sarcastic that I could not wait to pick the book up for another valiant attempt at Chasing the Dream.

Grade: A

October 29, 2006

Book 40: The Generals of Saratoga

The Generals of Saratoga
Max M. Mintz

There are many ways to write a book about history, and all can be effective in the hands of a good author. There's the dry and informative historical account, complete with footnotes on every page. There's the narrative approach, and even historical novels. There are hybrids that intersperse context with their main narrative or thesis, educating their readers without being too smugly academic. While I contend that very few strictly nonfiction books about history are actually well-written, it's rare to find a book that so spectacularly fails as this one does.

From the cover and first couple of chapters, one would assume that the book is a dual biography, a narrative and lively look at one of the decisive battles of the American Revolutionary War through the eyes of its two generals. The chapters alternate between the two featured men, John Burgoyne and Horatio Gates, and though the book shows disturbing signs of excessive name-dropping early on, these early pages set up a nice dualistic structure. Even when this begins to be disturbed, the generals are still separated by sections within chapters. Though these divisions had previously divided chapters based solely on one general, the continued interaction of the men's fates provides a reasonable basis for this change in technique.

It's around this point, though, that the book gets confused. Is it a history of Saratoga through the eyes of the men who were in charge? Is it a history of the campaign for New York in general? Is it a biography? Is it even about Gates, who disappears for a good three or four chapters?

Unfortunately, I can't answer these questions; nor can any reader. The book, which had such an interesting premise and an intriguing prologue, descends into a holier-than-thou mess of confusing and irrelevant details, neglecting one of its main characters for the sake of context. I am a firm believer in context, but it does not lay in petty details and in completely discarding one of the main characters in lieu of other American generals. A compelling narrative needs details, but it also needs a general plot and it cannot get lost in irrelevant stories that don't illustrate any points.

The only thing that the book does well, besides allowing me to feel infinitely superior in my own writing abilities (quite the formidable task, I assure you), is in highlighting the confusion in both the British and American commands regarding who was to take charge where. Unfortunately, this is conveyed so well because the reader is right there with the officals, left with no clue what's going on but staring stupidly at a list of names that sound vaguely familiar but are unexplained.

I would like to blame myself for zoning out during large portions of this book, but the portions that had my full attention absolutely failed to reverse any of my perceptions. I think it's safe to say that I learned more about the Revolution through a fact-based fictional account (Jeff Shaara's The Glorious Cause) than through this muddling procession of factual assaults on my intelligence.

Grade: C-