{"id":4807,"date":"2006-05-05T06:27:06","date_gmt":"2006-05-05T10:27:06","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.sheilaomalley.com\/?p=4807"},"modified":"2015-05-08T10:46:51","modified_gmt":"2015-05-08T14:46:51","slug":"the-books-john-adams-david-mccullough","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.sheilaomalley.com\/?p=4807","title":{"rendered":"The Books: \u201cJohn Adams\u201d (David McCullough)"},"content":{"rendered":"

Next Daily Excerpt:<\/p>\n

\"51D40KR9FZL._SS500_.jpg\"Next book in my American history section is John Adams<\/a>\"\"<\/i> by David McCullough<\/p>\n

You know, I read a lot of biographies and most of them are kinda crappy. I read them for the TOPIC mainly. I have a crappy biography of Gary Cooper – which is written so salaciously and so badly (I mean, it’s also so much fun) – but I have it because I love Gary Cooper, and there are some great anecdotes in there. But sometimes a biography comes along (and it’s very rarely) that re-defines the entire genre, raises the bar, throws down a gauntlet to other writers – whatever you want to call it. And it’s a short short list. When book reviewers talk about high-water-mark biographies there aren’t many on their list. The same titles referenced over and over: Juliet Barker’s The Brontes<\/a>\"\"<\/i>. Barker was one of those gauntlet-throwers. She makes all other biographies pale in comparison. The standard Bronte biography before Barker’s had been written over a century before… by someone who KNEW Charlotte Bronte. Barker went straight into the heart of the Bronte myth, and wrote a massive exhaustively researched book which actually made readers have to re-think the Brontes. The myth is so enduring of Haworth Parsonage, etc., and the wild Bronte girls, and their isolation … but Barker researched EVERYTHING – the footnotes are almost as long as the book. We have financial statements, and leases, and grocery lists – all used as evidence – I mean, it’s a stunning accomplishment. It came out in th 80s or 90s, I think, and you can STILL see it referenced on an almost weekly basis in various book reviews. Richard Ellmann’s James Joyce<\/a>\"\"<\/i>. Another gauntlet. It has yet to be topped and it was published decades ago. Gerald Clarke’s Capote: A Biography<\/a>\"\"<\/i>. That book came out years ago and it is telling that nobody has even tried to compete with it. Nobody has said, “Let ME write a biography of Capote … ” Because … why bother after that one? Scott Berg’s Lindbergh<\/a>\"\"<\/i> was also hailed as a high-water-mark of the genre – the access he had to Anne Lindbergh’s private papers was unprecedented. These are the ones I can think of off the top of my head – biographies that made a real STIR -not just because they were best-sellers but because they really made reviewers and readers look at the actual genre, and realize the possibilities of it. All of this is a lead-up to say that David McCullough’s biography of John Adams is one of the best biographies I have ever read – it’s on the short short list of greatest books I have EVER read, fiction or non-fiction. John Adams is having a bit of a resurgence right now – a couple of other people have come out with biographies of Adams since McCullough’s book took the entire damn world by storm (there were a couple months there where you couldn’t take a subway ride without seeing SOMEONE reading that book – it was so so cool) – but McCullough’s book is so commanding, so readable, so … GOOD … that all biographies now have to compete with his. He is the guy to reach. Same with anyone who would want to write a biography of Joyce. Like it or not, you have to compete with Ellmann’s book.<\/p>\n

I LOVED McCullough’s book. I love him, in general.<\/p>\n

My whole family read this book (naturally – we’re all such Adams freaks) … and I remember Siobhan and I just LAUGHING about the anecdote in the following excerpt. It’s my favorite anecdote in the whole book. I just love the image of it so much that it almost makes me nervous<\/i>.<\/p>\n

It’s from 1776. The Declaration has been signed. There was the disastrous battle of Long Island (disastrous for the rebels, I mean) … when Washington, in the dead of night, removed his troops across the Hudson. A retreat. Adams, when he heard the news, replied, “In general our generals were outgeneralled.”<\/p>\n

Lord Howe requests a conference with some of the delegates of the Continental Congress – who were all in Philadelphia. Adams was unanimously chosen as one of the delegates who should go (the conference was going to be on Staten Island). Benjamin Franklin was also chosen – and Edward Rutledge.<\/p>\n

What happens on the journey just … I picture it and I just LOVE IT. Thank God these guys kept diaries.<\/p>\n


\nFrom John Adams<\/a>\"\"<\/i> by David McCullough<\/b><\/p>\n

They were to meet His Lordship on Staten Island, and on the morning of September 9, in “fine sunshine”, they set off, the whole city aware of what was happening. Franklin and Rutledge each rode in a high, two-wheeled chaise, accompanied by a servant. Adams went on horseback, accompanied by Joseph Bass. Congress, in the meanwhile, could only sit and wait, while in New York the admiral’s brother, General Howe, temporarily suspended operations against the rebels.<\/p>\n

Free of the city, out of doors and riding again, Adams felt a wave of relief from his cares and woes, even to the point of finding Edward Rutledge an acceptable companion. The road across New Jersey was filled with soldiers marching to join Washington, mainly Pensylvania men in long, brown coats. But for the “straggling and loitering” to be seen, it would have been an encouraging spectacle.<\/p>\n

The journey consumed two days. With the road crowded, progress was slow and dusty. At New Brunswick, the inn was so full, Adams and Franklin had to share the same bed in a tiny room with only one small window. Before turning in, when Adams moved to close the window against the night air, Franklin objected, declaring they would suffocate. Contrary to convention, Franklin believed in the benefits of fresh air at night and had published his theories on the question. “People often catch cold from one another when shut up together in small close rooms,” he had written, stressing “it is the frowzy corrupt air from animal substances, and the perspired matter from our bodies, which, being long confined in beds not lately used, and clothes not lately worn … obtains that kind of putridity which infects us, and occasions the colds observed upon sleeping in, wearing, or turning over, such beds [and] clothes.” He wished to have the window remain open, Franklin informed Adams.<\/p>\n

“I answered that I was afraid of the evening air,” Adams would write, recounting the memorable scene. “Dr. Franklin replied, ‘The air within this chamber will soon be, and indeed is now worse than that without doors. Come, open the window and come to bed, and I will convince you. I believe you are not acquainted with my theory of colds.’ ” Adams assured Franklin he had read his theories; they did not match his own experience, Adams said, but he would be glad to hear them again.<\/p>\n

So the two eminent bedfellows lay side-by-side in the dark, the window open, Franklin expounding, as Adams remembered, “upon air and cold and respiration and perspiration, with which I was so much amused that I soon fell asleep.”<\/p>\n