January 2011

In 1804, an obscure English sailor named John Davis published an imaginative account of the seventeenth-century romance between Pocahontas and Captain John Smith and called it The First Settlers of Virginia, An Historical Novel. Davis’s book disappeared from view almost at once, but two decades later, in 1821, James Fenimore Cooper’s The Spy appeared, an adventure tale of the Revolutionary War in which the historical George Washington makes several stiff, fatherly, and entirely fictitious cameo appearances. So well-received was this combination (despite its turgid and gelatinous prose) that, ever since, with very little dissent, Cooper has been regarded as the father of American historical fiction.

Biography is an almost writer-proof art. Structure and raison d’être are taken care of in advance. The form—someone is born, does stuff, dies—is as rigid and soothing as the sonnet. Authors write biographies, and we read them for the same reason we gossip: the unquenchable desire to know other people’s business. No wonder the shelves of bookstores groan with biographies. What could be more compelling?

A great biography, however, requires something more: a striking voice, belonging either to the subject or the author, ideally to both, for a voice is what keeps us company after episodes and conclusions have fallen away. Eloquence, wit, and style strengthen a voice greatly, but plain conviction (what Whitman meant when he wrote, “I am the man, I suffer’d, I was there”) can make its way all by itself. With a strong voice in our heads, we gladly surrender to other paraphernalia: births, deaths, dull accounts of dullness.

To teach, write, or read about the “colonial era” is a special challenge. No other part of American history is as remote from our own; by the same token, none has been studied for as long. Revisions lie piled on revisions; and divergent styles of scholarship are stretched across an extraordinary range. The tableau of colonial America constructed in, say, 1875 looks markedly different from its successors in 1920 and 1960, and the latter bear only partial resemblance to predominant views today.

This fiftieth anniversary issue of American Heritage was born on the Garden City, New York, railroad-station platform. That is where my longtime colleague and Forbes vice president Scott Masterson begins his day and, to hear him tell it, this is where he is approached nearly every morning by one neighbor or another with a question that invariably begins: “You work at American Heritage. What’s the best book on … ?” The subject might be the Revolution, or the Great Depression, or the Old West, but the aim is identical: to find an authoritative book on a particular aspect of the American past.

Scott would relay the questions to one or another of the editors, and we’d do our best to answer them, but we’d find ourselves talking about how there was no overall guide to such books, and how useful it would be if there were. Scott urged us to compile one, and, with the laziness common to editors the world around, we’d say: too time-consuming, too complicated, too expensive.

It is rare for any magazine to live half a century. This one’s unusual longevity has been immeasurably helped by the circumstances of its birth, when a brilliant array of people came together hoping to produce a publication for all those interested in our American story. I, for one, have a personal stake in this account, as my father, Robert L. Reynolds (1924-1981), was on the American Heritage staff—ending as managing editor—from 1958 through 1970. But even for those with no familial tie to the magazine, the story of how the founders and staff of Heritage brought it about is a fascinating one.

Having taught my students for more than 30 years about both the Lewis and Clark Expedition and our memory of it, I enjoyed Anthony Brandt’s excellent article “The Perilous Afterlife of the Lewis and Clark Expedition” (June/July 2004). I will not quibble with the selection of the 10 best books about the expedition, although only 2 of them—Rhonda’s on the Indians and Cutright’s on Lewis and Clark as naturalists—take anyone much beyond the traditional account. I was, however, disappointed that the list did not include Thomas P. Slaughter’s Exploring Lewis and Clark: Reflections on Men and Wilderness (Knopf, 2003), a truly unusual look at the journey. The chapters on Sacagawea and York alone are worth the price of the book.

I was disappointed, but not surprised, that Bruce Chadwick neglected to list Ride With the Devil (1999, directed by Ang Lee). Starring Tobey Maguire, it was virtually ignored by audiences and critics but should rank number two right after Glory . Its tale of mixed personal loyalties in the guerrilla “bushwhacker” war in Missouri is unsurpassed.

Ten Greatest Anything lists are always subjective, but I take issue with a few points in Bruce Chadwick’s article, which asks, “What are the 10 greatest movies ever about the Civil War?” (“Actor Against Actor,” August/September 2004). While No. 1, Glory, is a fine film, it is certainly not on a list of anyone’s greatest movies in film history, unlike No. 2, Gone With the Wind . It seems a little harsh to punish GWTW with a second-place position for glossing over the slavery issue when the rest of the film is so iconic and legendary, particularly as Chadwick himself lists as his criteria “entertainment value, commercial and critical success upon release, sustained popularity over the years, and . . . sense of history and ability to evoke deep stirrings about the American past. ” What American film of any period that exceeds GWTW in those particular areas (only The Godfather , I believe, comes close).

Thank you for the engaging, illuminating, and comprehensive article by Peter Ames Carlin entitled “Brian Wilson’s Wave” (August/September 2004). Wilson is a musical genius, and his work has withstood the test of time. Yes, we in America are anxiously awaiting the Smile tour to savor what those in Europe have enjoyed this summer; the concert reviews were more than positive and have served to re-ignite the passion about Brian Wilson’s musicality.

But everyone should take the time to taste Brian’s masterpiece, Gettin in Over My Head , the third studio record of his solo career, released in June. As accurately stated in the accompanying brochure, the CD is “filled with terrific, hook-filled melodies, patented Wilson chord changes and stacked with multi-layered harmonies.” Eric Clapton, Sir Elton John, and Sir Paul McCartney sing with Brian on this CD. Just wait until you hear “Soul Searchin” or “Desert Drive” or “A Friend Like You.” You, too, will agree that the adjective genius is appropriate.