Just because you die doesn’t mean life is over. Imagine an alternate universe where zombie’s are a part of every day life, and find themselves outsiders in a world that loathes them more than fears them. These misunderstoods rise from the grave and must learn to exist alongside the living. These are not the fearsome flesh eating zombies that stalk the living, but rather they are the stalked. Forget the taste of human flesh.

Main character Andy is in just that predicament. He finds a group of kindred spirits at an Undead Anonymous meeting. It is within this group that he learns to come to terms with his new unlife, and he learns to embrace what he is rather than skulk through dark streets aware of his rotting form. Humor takes a dark turn when Andy and his friend discover the joys of human flesh, and the regenerative power that comes from eating real human flesh. Those who were once the scared, the rotting, the “other,” now discover the source of their power. There is some gruesome but amusing scenes, my favorite being the invasion of a frat house that doesn’t end well for either human or zombie.

Now I am sure there are people out there who would try to liken this struggle to others, who will make some sort of in depth social commentary on the concept, but not me. I choose instead to appreciate this for what it is: a story that takes the terrifying, mindless monster that is a zombie, and gives it a mind. A more human zombie is still not human, but yet we are faced with the perplexing paradox of living, breathing, very real feelings within. On one hand, this makes the story sweeter. On the other hand, it makes the situations that much more bizarre.

This is a must read for those who are into the zombie genre. The list of zombie books is becoming an endless repeat of the same formula, over and over again. It is hard to say that there is anything truly fresh and new, but this is not the genre’s fault. A sweet, human look at zombies may not be what fans want, at least those fans who love the mindless, drooling horror of running or, to Romero’s credit and opinion, shuffling zombies. And the “human side” of zombies is being explored through other media like movies. But this book was years ahead of all that.

It’s not a complex story, it’s not a revolutionary genre story, it’s not a serious read that inspires deeper thought on the meanings of equality. It’s just a light, fun, sometimes sweet, sometimes disturbing read.

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Disclaimer(s):

- More can be found in my Reviews section.
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Sacred Hearts by Sarah Dunant
The year is 1570, and a new novice has just been forced into the Italian convent of Santa Caterina. Ripped by her family from the man she loves, sixteen-year-old Serafina is sharp and defiant. Her first night inside the walls is spent in an incandescent rage so violent that the dispensary mistress, Suora Zuana, is dispatched to the girl’s cell to sedate her. Thus begins a complex relationship of trust and betrayal. As Serafina rails against her incarceration, disorder and rebellion mount inside the convent, while beyond its walls, the dictates of the Counter-Reformation begin to impose a regime of oppression that threatens what little freedom the nuns have enjoyed. Acclaimed author Sarah Dunant brings the intricate Renaissance world compellingly to life in this rich, engrossing, multifaceted love story encompassing the passions of the flesh, the exultation of the spirit, and the deep, enduring power of friendship.

Zoe Tyler is an editor with a unique gift that allows her to see things happening in her head. Desperate to start a new life far from her reputation and the stresses of the city, Zoey moves to a small Canadian town where she becomes editor for a tiny local newspaper. All is well until one night Zoey is attacked by a wolf, a werewolf. Enter Connor Macleod, veterinarian and werewolf, who rescues her, though not before Zoey is bitten. It is love at first sight, at least for Connor, who makes it his mission to ensure that Zoey does not become a werewolf. Problem is, her sire is insane and set to destroy the local wolf pack, which he has chosen not to join. The sire is out for blood, killing man and human without hesitation. He also wants Zoey. It’s a dangerous situation for wolf and human alike. Yet, even among the life threatening drama, there is still time for love to grow between Zoey and Connor.

Dani Harper clearly knows her way around a word. She has a very clean but elaborate writing style that is both entertaining and accessible. Her book does not falter or linger too long in drawn out description, though it certainly does not lack in detail. Unlike those who just seem to have just gotten lucky, Dani Harper clearly has a natural writing talent, so she well deserves the praise she receives.

I will admit that romance is not my cup of tea or preferred genre. As a result, I tend to be a bit harder on it than romance genre fans. Problem is, I think that most romance tends to be contrived and fails to convince me. It is almost formulaic the way a perfect, rugged, handsome loner (or playboy) falls in love with an equally perfect but firey woman who is certainly the first to resist his charms or fight against his possessive/protective/etc nature. And of course, when they have sex, lightening sparks behind her eyes and she has screaming orgasms that leave her shaking. Sound familiar? I bet it does. Because it’s probably somewhat or in part true for 95% of the romance books you’ve ever read. And it to me, it all feels very forced.

What was the point of the above rant? Because if I were to pin the one part of the book that I disliked, it was because it fit the formulaic and forced romance model outlined above. Because, as I said, I just do not like romance as it all seems to be like the above and I want something new, something real, something full of complications. Something about discovery, not love at first site with cookie cutter personalities. This is not meant to insult the book because I am sure romance fans would love it.

So you may be asking yourself: do I like the book?

And the answer to that would be a definite yes.

Here is why: because Dani Harper has created a believable preternatural world. I respect anyone who can approach an unexplainable situation and say simply, “this is how it is and we don’t know why” such as Connor did when he explained how during the shift their present clothes seem to fall into an invisible third dimension that return as soon as the shifter turns back into a human. Why? Because I think people over think things and sometimes fail to see that sometimes some of the best things are the things we cannot possibly answer. The world of the hidden wolf and normal human was also very believable. I also liked how Dani threw in her own little invention of silver suppressing the change as a way to control those who lack proper control. As a story of a supernatural world, I very much enjoyed reading Changeling Moon. The reader is neither flooded with a complex supernatural world, nor confronted with something that is impossible to believe or simplistic. Dani Harper fuses the natural and supernatural worlds together with flawless ease, and in that way convinces me that there just may indeed be hot werewolves veterinarians with a small auditorium full of brothers and a quaint, quiet farm out there.

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Disclaimer(s):

- More can be found in my Reviews section.
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Title:

Varus, give me back my legions!

Anyone who knows anything about Roman history has heard those words. Just the same, anyone who knows anything about Roman history can pick out the important names and places on the back cover alone: the ill-fated Publius Quinctilius Varus; the Emperor Tiberius, successor to Augustus; and Germanicus, glorious military man and the father of the infamously corrupt Emperor Caligula.

James Mace’s Soldier of Rome: The Legionary is about what takes place after the defeat at the Teutoburger Wald forest when Rome sets itself up for a retaliatory measure against the Germanic people, led by the heavily applauded Germanicus.

James Mace is not a Roman historian, or an historian by training at all. Rather, he is a military man with an avid passion for Roman history. While historians know to be cautious around the world of enthusiasts who usually do not understand issues such as historiography and source creditability, I have always tried to be more fair minded than that. I liked that in the front of the book is a glossary of Roman military ranks, which is a godsend to any and all who know nothing more about the Roman military than the centurion helmet. I cannot wait to start pulling out all of my books about Rome and checking against them. It’s like a great big fun scavenger hunt of historical detail. My favorite kind.

I will admit that I too know little about the Roman military in the age of Empire. My experience is with the military structure of the Republic via historians such as Livy and Plutarch, and of Late Antiquity thanks the volumes of respected historians who study the endlessly to either prove or disprove that the Roman military was a dysfunctional machine by the end of the 200s. The complicated structure of the Roman military during its height makes my head spin. Republican that I am, I wonder where the Consuls are and then remember this is a couple centuries after the Punic Wars. So you see, simply having a glossary of ranks and jobs really assisted me in what I read.

You know what else impressed me? That when I flipped back to the end of the book I saw a bibliography. Very few writers who dive into historical fiction bother to give proper credit to sources or reveal where they received their historian information. Perhaps they feel as fiction writers they do not have to disclose their sources or give credit where credit is due, but I am a stuffy nonfictionists who feels that things should be credited. Mace lets his readers know that he got some of his information from good ol’ Tacitus who was writing around the turn of the second century CE. I only wish he had elaborated on it and revealed more of the histories he read to recreate his Roman world, and not only cited Tacitus.

The story begins with the disastrous battle of the Teutoburger Wald, which Rome mourns as military men plan and seek revenge. Loss is not something the Roman military takes lightly, after all. And enemies must be punished or annihilated. The rest of the story takes us through the early stages of retribution and then battle. A young Roman named Artorius has a personal vendetta since his brother was killed in the forest. Led by the young Germanicus, the Romans reenter battle against the Germans who pretended to be allies only to betray them. It becomes an epic battle between the forces of Germanicus, fighting for Rome, and Arminius, who is fighting to preserve his own land and his own people.

The book was very exciting. “War” stories are not my thing, but the truth is that I will read anything about Romans. I just dig them. But this book was more than the overtly masculine posturing of male valor, and went beyond the tedious technicalities that bog down a lot of historical writing of the military nature where military maneuvers are described in long and diagram-free detail.

I did wish that there was more… Roman context in it. Hidden beneath the surface are important Roman values, norms of respect and rank, and military training. I was also a bit confused about the naming of the characters in the book. But again, this could just be me, as a Republican, understanding Republican conventions of prenomen, nomen, cognomen, etc, as well as what the difference between Claudius and Clodius is. I wanted to be fully involved in not only what it meant to be a soldier, but what it meant to be a ROMAN soldier. One of the most fascinating things about the Romans is how they were. I wish there was more about this, which would place the reader more securely in the Roman world and therefore create a more realistic story.

Also, unfortunately, the book needs a good editor. There were many words misspelled and even a mistake on the back cover book description. That alone could cause a lot of people to disregard the book and never give it a chance. It is clear, though, that Mace truly does love the Roman military and has put more research into them than your average person or even hobby historical enthusiast. It was a good and worthwhile read, I think, and puts me one book closer to my ultimate goal of reading every fiction book I can find set the era of the Romans.

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Disclaimer(s):

- More can be found in my Reviews section.
- If you would like me to review your book, send an email to me at morbidromantic@gmail.com. Read my Book Review Policy for more information.

Changeling Moon by Dani Harper
He roams the moonlit wilderness, his every sense and instinct on high alert. Changeling wolf Connor Macleod and his Pack have never feared anything–until the night human Zoey Tyler barely escapes a rogue werewolf’s vicious attack. As the full moon approaches, Zoey has no idea of the changes that are coming, and only Connor can show her what she is, and help her master the wildness inside. With her initiation into the Pack just days away and a terrifying predator on the loose, the tentative bonds of trust and tenderness are their only weapons against a force red in tooth, claw… and ultimate evil.

In A Bitter Revolution, Rana Mitter looks into China’s past to explain how modern China developed. He chooses as his focus the May Fourth Movement of 1919, which he feels was a pinnacle moment during which Chinese students and intellectuals eager to modernize China looked outward to the West and beyond to applaud democracy and science while rejecting their own cultural past. Mitter’s argument is that the “ghost” of the May Fourth Movement lingered as an undertone to China’s bumpy road to modernization, and that ideas of the May Fourth Movement remained a constant, though their meanings transformed and differed in importance as various parties and people interpreted and used them (xi). Mitter looks away from the development of the Chinese Communist Party as the turning point toward modernity. Instead, he places the formation of the CCP as part of the May Fourth Movement’s legacy, though not its inevitable conclusion. Mitter focuses on what he considers the more formative years of the development of modernity in China: the 20s, 40s, 60s, and 80s. However, Mitter does not ignore the events that fall outside of those decades, briefly looking at events such as the war with Japan in the 30s and the Hundred Flowers Campaign of the late 50s.

Mitter provides a narrative background of the events of May 4, 1919 in order to describe larger issues of the May Fourth Movement. Students and intellectuals were struggling to make sense of a modern world that subjected them to imperialism and unfair treaties. When the Versailles Treaty of World War I gave German land in China to the Japanese, many Chinese were enraged. They pinpointed that the source of their problems was a traditional Confucian culture that kept them from modernizing. Mitter approaches the exact date in which the ideas surrounding the May Fourth Movement took shape with caution, and rather than try to fix a date he chooses instead to insist that it was the “atmosphere and mood” that defined the era, not clearly defined dates (19). This complicates his argument because spirit and mood are hard to quantify and define with certainty. Mitter admits, “the May Fourth period did not spring up from nowhere” and enumerates previous reform and change (22). Yet this would suggest that the May Fourth Movement happened along a trajectory, albeit not a straight or stable one, and was therefore not as watershed as Mitter makes it out to be. Though it would ultimately be no less important, it would be less isolated as the starting point of modernity. Yet Mitter sufficiently illustrates how the May Fourth Movement developed out of its social and political context, and why it was such a powerful movement.

Mitter addresses his geographical limitations in chapter two. The story he tells is largely one of urban youth and university intellectuals. The two primary cities of the May Fourth Movement were Beijing and Shanghai because they were where universities thrived, intellectuals flocked, and young people came in contact not only with the West, but also with the effects of imperialism and modernism. The atmosphere and mood that Mitter explores was therefore one of a very limited scope, encompassed by small groups of people who did not reflect wider ideas and standards within the whole of China. It must be noted that the largest portion of the Chinese population is unaccounted for. Mitter chooses four individuals to exemplify the “different facets of the era,” and how the May Fourth Movement included “a wide variety of attitudes and ideas” that questioned Chinese culture, used mass media, and tried to reconcile nationalism with class and gender (54). His choice in selecting female writer Ding Ling is a contribution to the study of Chinese women and gender. There is one error in continuity found in Mitter’s numbers. When discussing readership of Zou Taofen’s newspaper, Life, he states the readership was at a record of 200,000 when Nationalists shut it down. Later, Mitter states the readership numbering 1.5 to 2 million (56-57, 63). Though he may be accounting for people who did not subscribe but read the magazine, he does not provide rationale for such a large difference in numbers.

Chapter three attempts to describe what life was like for the youth of the New Culture and the May Fourth Movement. For the Chinese of this era, foreign imports abounded, youth no longer deferred to the wisdom of the elderly, women were more independent and involved in the workforce, free love reigned, print disseminated ideas, people sought business ventures through which to “save China,” science and technology were considered a way forward, and individualism was prized (70). It was a time of new culture and opportunity without the restrictions of Confucian values. It would be an overly optimistic picture had Mitter left it at that, but he shows that many Chinese struggled to define their new boundaries. Zou Taofen had a popular advice column in Life, which betrayed the level of anxiety youth felt in their search for new identities. In trying to explain what the spirit of the times entailed, Mitter makes more than one comparison to the American 60s (99, 105). While it is a good comparison to make to understand the essential spirit of new freedoms and ideas, the cultural values implied are not so easily transferred. The era died, according to Mitter, for two reasons: the Japanese invasion and world depression (99-100). The spirit of the May Fourth Movement would not return fully until the 80s, detouring during Communist era.

Chapter four delves into the more political aspects of the May Fourth Movement, what people thought about new political realities, and how people saw themselves globally. Mitter attempts to address the unique and complex arrangement of Chinese politics to make a few important points. First, the Nationalists should not be secondary to the Communists, and both used rhetoric of the May Fourth Movement in their ideologies. Second, party and political identification was weak among the mass population, even among the May Fourth Movement. Third, while Communists saw themselves as the inevitable end of the May Fourth Movement, China could have taken numerous paths toward modernity. Fourth, that the Chinese modified outside models from the West, Eastern Europe, and other countries like India and Turkey. Fifth, that Confucianism did not end because of the May Fourth Movement, and continued afterward (103-108, 114, 129). Mitter also answers the question of why China and Japan developed so differently. Mitter cites many differences: the Japanese wanted to overcome the West while China did not, Japan retained a hint of mysticism and a respect for their past while China focused on nationalism and modernity, and Japan was less influenced by the West while China had many years of direct influence through imperialism (120-122). However, what Mitter does not explain is why things that should have seemingly stunted Japan actually assisted it, while China, which by all rights should have modernized first under their strict tenants to do so, did not.

Mitter takes a dark turn in chapter five, giving quick histories of China throughout the 30s during the invasion of Japan. Due to the immediacy of crisis, people could not afford to think of issues of free thought and love, and sidelined May Fourth ideology. Out of necessity, China began to turn inward and lose the cosmopolitanism that punctuated the May Fourth Movement. Pluralism and the open forum for debate vanished. It was also during this time that the Nationalists and Communists battled with the Communists the final victors (155-157, 184). Mitter rewrites the traditional interpretation of the Nationalists by insisting that they were more than a mere dark blotch in Chinese history, but rather they were thrust into a time of chaos with little resources and organization. Their undoing was not an inevitable failure on their part, but rather it was logical given the circumstances. With Mao in power, Mitter moves on to issues surrounding Mao and the Chinese Communist Party both in internal and external policy. Not only did Mao institute his disastrous Hundred Flowers and Great Leap Forward, but Communist China came to power just as the Cold War sparked international tension and forced Mao to insulate China from the outside. Self-sufficiency was vital and Mao saw weakness in lingering elements of the past, which he attempted to stamp out with his Cultural Revolution (190-198). Mitter gives an accurate sense of the chaos and fervor of the time, and of Mao’s unique personality. Mitter also fuses together Mao’s seemingly opposed vision of China to May Fourth beliefs, though they are hard to reconcile in his argument when Mitter himself says that the Communist era was absent May Fourth ideals (198).

Chapter six continues with Mao, the Cultural Revolution, and the Cold War. Both the May Fourth Movement and the Cultural Revolution wanted to stamp out the influence of China’s cultural past and exalt youth, but the Cultural Revolution saw this to fruition through violence. Mitter feels it was a “disorientation” of May Fourth. Mao’s policies were also, in part, influenced by the Cold War and the “either/or” dynamic of it. Mao thought in black and white because the world was thrust into two opposing camps (200-201, 217, 229-230, 237, 240). Mitter contributes to the overall historiography of China with his analysis of the language of violence, and how the Communist era was a time in which language held great power over a person’s fate and livelihood (208-209). The analysis of the youth who made up the Red Guard is also an interesting piece of psychoanalytical history. It illustrates the extents that people went in order to avoid the negative effects of being labeled a term that had a negative connotation. Mitter also presents Mao as the Chinese counterpart to the Soviet “machine man” who identified technological power with virility. This is also a good illustration of the complexity of the Chinese psychology of power because Mao rejected the help of Soviets, though technological advance could not have happened without Soviet support (237).

Mitter then takes the reader forward in time to the 80s and the so-called New Era, when the true spirit of the May Fourth Movement was revitalized. After the death of Mao, China began to look outward again, and the West had a notable influence on culture, which made the New Era mirror that of the New Culture generation, anxieties included. Those involved in the movement made an explicit link between their movement and the past by stating that it was their mission to continue the spirit of May Fourth. Mitter notes that one of the major differences between the two was that the New Era did not feel it had to “save China” because warlords and imperialism no longer existed (245, 248-254, 259, 275). However, there is a lot to be said about post-Communist and post-xenophobic recovery, and the extent people felt the past was going to hurt progress and necessitate a “saving.” Mitter chooses media to express the Chinese mindset of the time, using the book The Ugly Chinaman and a documentary Heshang. The Ugly Chinaman placed blame for Chinese troubles on something negative passed down through culture that stunted development, which mirrored the May Fourth rejection of the past. Heshang, highly controversial, expressed through nature scenes a conclusion that China needed to abandon its “yellow” past for the “blue” West (263-265).

Mitter’s final chapter focuses on events post-Tian’anmen Square. It was not long after the bloody end of the 1989 showdown that Communism throughout Europe began to collapse. China decided to “reinvent itself as a developing state,” and rapidly modernize in response to a bid for the Olympic games (287, 290-291). China began to embrace its past again, which the May Fourth and New Era had rejected as destructive, making them more like Japan during its years of development. People increasingly began to support the government, and the government, while still careful to monitor certain behavior, allowed people more freedom to create and be their own definition of patriotic. Many began to see the government as too complacent rather than too repressive. Mitter states that China’s uniqueness may be in that it avoided options that seemed too risky in a time of crisis, such as democracy, yet undertook large-scale technological projects such as the Three Gorges Dam despite the protest of outside powers (299, 303, 308-310). In this way, the spirit of science from the May Fourth Movement, also part of Mao’s projects, survived on as official practice. According to Mitter, the most important legacy of May Fourth was that it showed China that it could survive with a variety of opinions and possibilities (313). Mitter aptly surmises that China is still in a point of transition and still struggling with many of the issues of modernity and globalization. China is not exceptional in that it is a product of its own past, but China’s struggle with modernity is more contemporary than in other parts of the world.

Bitter Revolution is by no means a comprehensive history of modern China. However, the events and people Mitter chooses to expound upon are so thoroughly explained that no reader will be left with gaps. One need not be a scholar of Chinese history to understand Mitter’s arguments because he formulates them with great detail. He further assists his readers through a short chronology and pronunciation guide, though the chronology misses many key events that Mitter himself discusses. A glossary of concepts, people, and groups would have been useful to the novice of Chinese history. Mitter’s lack of a proper bibliography, as well as his narrative style, point to Bitter Revolution being more of a popular history, though it is not without scholarly merit. He is careful to cite his sources through endnotes, though it is notable that the majority of his sources are secondary. Nevertheless, Mitter does use primary sources such as newspapers, pamphlets, novels, and firsthand accounts.

Mitter unfortunately succumbs to Western-centric interpretations, though he balances them out with internal Chinese matters so that he does not excessively overstate the impact of the West. Nevertheless, he does not use enough caution when he makes statements like, “the most violent challenge to Confucian values… was the introduction of two western systems of thought… capitalist modernity and Christianity (17).” Fortunately, Mitter does not rely solely on the Western impact interpretation, noting the variety of influences on China from within and outside, giving a balanced and global assessment. Overall, Mitter successfully traces May Fourth thought throughout Chinese history, pinpointing its changes and deviations, in a book useful to scholars and students.

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Disclaimer(s):

- More can be found in my Reviews section.
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In Discovering History in China: American Historical Writing on the Recent Chinese Past, Paul A. Cohen contributes insight in to the field of Chinese historiography by investigating what American historians of the post-WWII era have written about China. According to Cohen, American historians of the post-WWII era have been guilty of writing about recent Chinese history with an ethnocentric bias, using a western-centric perspective to interpret the conditions of Chinese historical change and thereby distorting Chinese history. Cohen identifies three biased-based frameworks that he feels American historians erroneously worked inside of: the impact-response model, the traditional-modernity model, and imperialism. All three of these models distorted the West’s actual role in Chinese history, in Cohen’s opinion, or over-stated it as more influential than it was (x). Cohen arranges the book in to four parts, the first three chapters are discussions of the three frameworks, and the fourth chapter introduces Cohen’s “China-centered” model for historical interpretation.

Discovering History in China is a reflective work as much as it is an assessment of historiographical trends. Cohen admits from the onset that the book was inspired by early moments of personal and professional self-evaluation, which led him to pinpoint some of the biases inherent in his own interpretation of Chinese history. This extended to deeper analyses of other American historians of China, or historians from elsewhere heavily influenced by American models. Cohen protects himself from some criticism by admitting that Discovering History in China is a largely subjective work with a very limited scope (xxxiv). By disclosing that Discovering History in China is not and does not intend to be the definitive statement on Chinese historiography, Cohen does more than protect his method. Cohen effectively opens up a dialogue about Chinese historiography that he invites other Chinese historians to engage in with him, and hopefully inspire other historians to self-assess and to follow up his analyses with further issues within the field. At the heart of Cohen’s argument is a lesson that transcends American and Chinese borders, and can be beneficial to historians throughout the world no matter their field. The dichotomy between the role something is perceived as having played in history and the role it actually played is a flaw in thinking that all historians should be cautious of in their individual specializations. Precisely, how their internal biases can alter their perception of events and motivation. What seems to be Cohen’s contribution to Chinese historiography is really a wider contribution to historiography as a whole.

In chapter 1 of Discovering History in China, “The Problem with ‘China’s Response to the West,’” Cohen looks at the impact-response model. Inside of this model, American historians of China viewed all significant change in China to be the result of the impact of the West. China’s role in its own history was solely in how it responded to the impact of the West. It would be excessive for Cohen to deny that the West had no impact on Chinese history at all, or that the Chinese were never motivated to action by the involvement of the West. What Cohen concludes is that much of what happened in China was either completely unrelated or only partially related to the involvement of the West. Things that fall into the grey, Cohen explains, which are either directly or indirectly shaped by Western influence, cannot be interpreted as being only a response to the West because there were a lot of internal factors to consider (15-16). Cohen uses the Taiping Rebellion and T’ung-chih restoration as case studies to his point. Some historians have interpreted both as being directly caused by the involvement of the West, but Cohen insists that in reality the rebellion was caused by internal factors, and the restoration was truly restorative, not innovative (20-22).

Cohen insists that in some instances the West was an accomplice to events in China that would have happened no matter what, even if the West had never become involved (43). However, to use ahistorical reasoning to support his claim weakens the value of Cohen’s assessment. He cannot assume that Chinese history would have progressed the same, come to the same end, if the West were entirely absent. There is no need to take his interpretation to such an extreme because he has already stated that Chinese history can progress independent of Western involvement. Next, Cohen looks at the Boxer Rebellion and uses the fact that the majority of the rebellions began in rural places removed from Western influence as proof that it had nothing to do with the West (52). Cohen already admits that the West could indirectly influence events, but he does not recognize that resentment is something uncontainable that flows from its source, and may even build up to a more volatile condition. The rebellion was too complex to eliminate causes based on small details. In the end, it would still ultimately be the internal factors that bred and fed the rebellion, but it would recognize Cohen’s own acceptance that the West can influence.

Yet Cohen is successful in what he attempts to do in chapter 1: proving that the impact-response model is indeed a problem in Chinese historical interpretation. Chinese historians need to be aware that there has been lacking consciousness in the breadth of causes for change in China, as well as in the motivations that awakened the need for, and the acceleration of, change in China. Cohen makes it necessary for Chinese historians to pause in their interpretations and ask what truly inspired the event(s) in question, and to search for underlying endogenous reasons despite more apparent exogenous influences. After all, it is often the exogenous that seem the most obvious or influential by its very nature of being new and different. Historians now have to work a little harder to discover the truth. Cohen’s “corrective” to the impact-response model outlines the zones in which events of Chinese history can be placed: events that were direct consequences of the West, things influenced but not caused by the West, and things left unchanged by the West (53-54). It is the second zone that presents difficulty because it is so broad. The problem with the impact-response model is that the historians Cohen is directing his book at had been unable to distinguish slight influence from heavy impact, and Cohen’s corrective will still be plagued by that very problem. However, Cohen is only presenting problems, not trying to fix them despite his giving a loose corrective framework for the benefit of the reader. It is up to the individual historian to be aware as they interpret and self-correct their own assumptions.

Chapter 2, “Moving Beyond ‘Tradition and Modernity,”” shifts the discussion to Cohen’s second problem framework: the traditional-modernity model. The tradition-modernity model was built on the premise that China was locked in an unchanging and static condition, which the West liberated it from by bringing in Western modernity. Cohen identifies the problem in this being that China was judged against purely Western standards, and so was set up from the start to appear backwards. The model also introduced a lot of subjectivity because historians measured for themselves the change that they believed to be significant using a Western definition of modernity. Sometimes this caused historians to make unfair judgments about Chinese tradition being a barrier for progress (62, 65, 80). Cohen focuses on a small number of sources which he feels best reflect his point, and particularly dissects the writings of historian Joseph Levenson, as well as others such as Mary C. Wright and Thomas A. Metzger, though less extensively than in his treatment of Levenson.

Cohen looks outside of his own imposed limits in chapter 2. Cohen defines his focus as the post-WWII era, which is ambiguous on its own. However, Cohen specifically states the decades of the 1960s and 1970s, and it is also assumed by the term post-WWII that the 1950s will naturally be a factor. Cohen repeatedly reiterates those decade periods, yet some of his sources are outside of that scope such as Gilbert Rozman’s edited volume The Modernization of China, which was published in 1981, and Thomas A. Metzger’s Escape from Predicament, published in 1977. If Cohen is going to break his own established boundaries for the sake of sources, he should not be so quick to erect them in the first place. This is a minor slight, though it detracts from the overall exactness of his critique of others. It also leaves Cohen vulnerable to the critique of peers who may assert that Cohen shapes evidence to his needs despite the soundness of his analysis. To his benefit, Cohen’s careful reasoning again saves him from the trap of optimism; he openly admits that it is impossible for any historian to be completely culturally neutral, and he again does not frame a solution for this. Like in chapter 1, chapter 2 merely intends to illuminate a problem, and then allow every historian to make of it what they will, but hopefully with more attentiveness in their scholarly pursuits.

Chapter 3, “Imperialism: Reality or Myth?,” discusses Cohen’s final problem framework. According to Cohen, historians approached imperialism from two different perspectives. The first saw imperialism as the “source of China’s problems,” a reverse of the traditional-modernity approach that saw Western intervention as necessary to progress. The effects of the Vietnam War heavily influenced this perspective because it was during the Vietnam War that Americans had to face the destructive realities of American intervention. The second perspective was that imperialism, taking a page from the traditional-modernity approach, brought about great political and intellectual changes to China, and not always for the bad (97, 125). Cohen feels that the imperialism approach is evidence of not only how bias was introduced into interpretation, but also how contemporary events caused historians to read backwards with the inevitable result of connecting the assumed cause and effect. Cohen does not deny that imperialism had a very real impact on China, but rather objects to the idea that imperialism was the “master key” to Chinese history. The challenge Cohen presents to historians is that they must pick out which situations were truly relevant to imperialism, and then to move a step further to show how the situation was relevant (147). By treading a careful line, Cohen comes off with an analysis that is carefully discussed and that adequately presents the problem while giving shape to its reality through practice.

In the fourth and final chapter, “Toward a China-Centered History of China,” Cohen presents the direction he would like to see Chinese history move. His ultimate feeling toward American historians is pessimistic because he feels that it would be impossible to rid analysis entirely of ethnocentrism. Pessimistic though it is, it is most likely a correct conclusion. However, Cohen hopes that using a China-Centered approach will lessen Western-centric interpretations (153). This is the chapter in which Cohen attempts to give a model for an actual solution, which he splits into four components: begins in China with the Chinese, breaks China up into smaller regions, looks hierarchically from the bottom of society up, and brings in methods from outside disciplines (186-187). Yet there can be some problems with Cohen’s suggestions. First, to break China into exclusive smaller parts may distort the broader picture. While in many cases a small region may stand on its own, historians should be sensitive to the fact that sometimes the broader picture must be paralleled in order to give true scope to an issue, and to connect it to larger cause factors in China. Second, historians should account for the fluidity of ideas and events through social classes, and look from the bottom up, but also the top down. The two of them should work together.

A few additional criticisms can be made toward Discovering History in China as a whole. Though the book provides historiographical lessons that can be beneficial to historians of all areas, Cohen’s attentiveness to dissecting specific works and authors of Chinese history makes the book complicated for people who are unfamiliar with the most popular and essential works in the field. Discovering History in China can be a useful tool for novice or expert, but the significance of many works Cohen discusses will be lost on the novice. Additionally, Cohen generalizes a lot based on his few sources. As a result, it is difficult to gauge just how pervasive the problems Cohen presents were. It is understandable that Cohen left out contrary examples because they would mitigate the importance of his historiographic problems, and would distort the significance of his argument. Yet not every historian was guilty of one or more of Cohen’s problem models, certainly, and in all fairness Cohen should illustrate this better. Finally, Cohen reissued the book in 2010 from its original publication in the 1980s. However and unfortunately, he did not update it with any new information. Therefore, it is impossible to know how the field has developed, whether Cohen’s problems are still at all relevant, if new problems have arisen, or if there has been progress in the field. With over 20 years spanning the original publication to the current edition, no doubt many changes have taken place. Even if only in the preface or introduction, Cohen should have discussed current trends to avoid becoming a snapshot of the past that is no longer relevant. Regardless, Cohen still has a solid place in historiography. Discovering History in China is an essential part to the whole of Chinese historiography for students and scholars who desire more precise and accurate methods in their research.

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In “When I Can Read My Title Clear”, Janet Duitsman Cornelius states that though much has been written about American slavery, little attention has been paid to slavery literacy. It is her intent to present information, sectioned off into six topical chapters, in the hope of inspiring further discussion and research (6). For this reason, Cornelius presents no overarching thesis or argument, though the book does present a number of her own interpretations and counters claims made by other historians. For example, Cornelius objects to Eugene Genovese’s assertion that evangelists fully embraced the cause of slavery, which allowed them to win the trust of slave masters and safely preach the gospel. Cornelius feels that this interpretation is wrong, however, and plainly states her own opinion that acceptance was really just the language of appeasement, which evangelists utilized in order to have access to the slaves they wanted to educate (48). While Cornelius certainly proves earlier in the book that many evangelists rejected slavery and certainly may have catered to slave owners opinions through appeasement, much of the evidence that Cornelius presents also counters that generalized and optimistic image of the evangelical preacher. A subsequent quote by Methodist preacher James O. Andrew that their goal was not to civilize slaves or encourage them to freedom, but only to make holy their deaths would seem to prove that not all evangelists were simply speaking to appease, or to prove that Andrew did not make such a statement in sincerity. Cornelius even presents evidence of Christian preachers who insisted that slavery was a blessing to both the slave and the slave master. Some preachers even taught that educating slaves would, in fact, make them better slaves (46-48, 52). It is impossible, therefore, for Cornelius to claim that proslavery sentiment was entirely absent from evangelism, which, through “mysterious providence” did not always see slavery and Christianity as contradictory.

That is not the only instance in which Cornelius fails to make her point with sufficient strength to convince. In chapter one, Cornelius promises to discuss the various reasons for white reluctance toward slave literacy in early North America, including the ways in which slave owners sought to restrict a slave’s right to education (5). What Cornelius implies is that the chapter will be about the power of white resistance, especially after revolts aroused a sense of threat for the permanence of the slave institution, which white southerners adamantly protected. Throughout the chapter, Cornelius mitigates the strength of white resistance by stating that the rules against allowing slaves an education were rarely enforced, and that, in the end, only four states total had laws passed banning slave education, which were also rarely enforced. She admits herself that “the sweeping extent of these laws has been exaggerated.” In addition, with her emphasis on various religious groups and their efforts to bring education to slaves, Cornelius seems to prove the opposite of what she claims will be discussed (18-22, 33-34). What the reader is left with is a sense that the white power structure actually cared very little about slave literacy, as evidenced by their ambivalent political stand on the matter.

Cornelius can be praised for her careful use of sources in many cases, and in her attempts to point out where sources may be misleading, which is particularly useful for people new to the subject, or to students of history who are learning historical research methods. In one instance, after spending pages talking about the ways slave masters facilitated the learning of their slaves, Cornelius reminds the readers that we should not assume the picture presented was the total shape of society because such stories were often written in order to justify slavery and counter criticism (108). However, there are moments when Cornelius’s use of sources and the information contained within can be called into question. When discussing slave testimonies that speak of how slaves learned to read and write, Cornelius uses the autobiographies of the Federal Writers Project. The findings of the FWP, she feels, support her claim that by the 1840s restrictive literacy laws of the decade previous had been relaxed. One of the major pieces of her evidence is that most of those interviewed by the FWP claim to have learned to read between the years of 1856 and 1865 (63). It must be noted that the FWP was interviewing slaves who were still alive in the 1930s, and slaves who learned to read earlier in life would have been older than most of those who learned to read in the 1850s and 1860s, and therefore may not have survived into the 1930s. In another instance, Cornelius discusses the punishments slaves would face if caught learning against their master’s will, one major punishment in particular being amputation. One of the stories used is of an uncle of a Mr. Henry Nix who had his finger removed because he stole a book to learn to read and write (66). Cornelius assumes from this story that the punishment was because the slave was trying to read and write, but by the quote she presents, nothing directly indicates this. It could be the case that the slave had his finger removed for stealing.

Though the book is about slave literacy in the antebellum period, Cornelius includes an epilogue that describes the conditions of learning after slave emancipation. The inclusion of the epilogue strengthens Cornelius’s claims that literacy was important to slaves as a mark of their humanity, as a way to liberate the soul, as a way to read the Bible, and as a way to resist power because it is these values and the lingering importance of them that drove many blacks to push for literacy after emancipation (150). Cornelius’s book also gives the reader a sense of the diversity not only of slaves, but slave work and masters, however unintended this is. The slave testimonies of chapter 3 in particular, which discuss the challenges, obstacles, and dangers slaves faced when trying to learn to read are the most enlightening part of the book not only for what they say about slave literacy, but about slavery itself and all of the variations within the institution (74-78). Cornelius is able to achieve such a varied picture because she used a number of sources, both primary and secondary, in her research. Featuring prominently are slave narratives, which are the sources that give the book life. Cornelius also uses a number of archival materials and manuscripts, government documents, and newspapers. As far as secondary sources go, Cornelius clearly has a very good background in her subject because she uses the research of a number of well known and respected historians of African American history such as Carter G. Woodson, Eugene Genovese, and Herbert Aptheker.

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In Freedom at Risk, Carol Wilson notes that though there is a substantial body of scholarship devoted to the diverse experiences of African Americans before the Civil War, little of it has focused on free blacks who occupied such precarious social and legal positions that their freedom was always under threat. Wilson’s contribution to the field aims to address this gap she identifies, discussing the kidnapping of free blacks into slavery (1). Arranged by topic into a small and compact five chapters, Wilson examines the various characteristics of direct abduction, kidnappers who used the law to facilitate their activities, government initiatives toward aiding free blacks either under threat of or already kidnapped into slavery, abolitionist work toward aiding and securing freedom and more safeguards for free blacks, and finally the ways in which blacks in their communities tried to protect themselves and others. Wilson acknowledges from the start that her sources in no way reflect the prevalence of kidnappings because records of most simply do not exist (6). However limited Wilson found sources to be during her research, she employs a variety of published and unpublished source material, both primary and secondary. Most of her unpublished primary sources come from areas in border states or in the north, mainly Pennsylvania and Delaware, as do only but a few of her many newspaper sources. The use of slave narratives allows Wilson to account for other areas throughout the nation. Wilson justifies her heavy usage of information from Pennsylvania and Delaware with the claim that these states along with Maryland were where the majority of kidnappings occurred due to the greater percentage of free blacks living there than anywhere else in the country (10-11). Whether this is in total number or percentage relative the white population, Wilson does not state. Additionally, the statement that certain areas saw the majority of kidnappings presents difficulty considering the mention that sources are overall very scarce, and Wilson does not make any attempt prove the point. The information from which to know what was truly going on elsewhere, especially in the South, is simply not available. Otherwise, Wilson is very good at reading the information that is available to her, and never gives too much weight to certain facts or stretches her limited facts beyond reasonable interpretation.

It is through her usage of slave narratives and accounts that Wilson breathes real and intriguing life into a book that could all too easily fall to technical statements of numbers and legal proceedings. The stories used by Wilson state better than numbers that free blacks everywhere, no matter their age or social standing, ran the risk of possible abduction into slavery. Wilson does miss the opportunity, as reviewer Shirley J. Yee correctly identifies, to dive deeper into the diversity of African American life by looking at how class differences and community standing gave some blacks better protection and legal recourse.¹ To do so, however, would have caused Wilson to deviate from her intent to show that even well-standing, relatively rich free black members of a community lived under the persistent threat that they would be kidnapped and enslaved (107, 117-118). In this way there was a shared black experience throughout the country that did not allow blacks to obtain special privilege no matter their position, wealth, or reputation. Wilson does not try to psychoanalyze the kidnappers. The very intimate and personal nature of the crime of kidnapping and human selling could all too easily lead to a digression toward hypotheticals of how a person could engage in the practice, but Wilson stays to her two motivations: racism and greed (16-17). No doubt every kidnapper had his or her own reasons for what they did, but Wilson goes with the facts and allows them to speak for themselves. Though it is good that Wilson does not laden her text down with technical details so that it maintains an interesting and narrative flow, she still would have benefitted from the inclusion of some numbers and data. Multiple times throughout the book Wilson makes quantitative analyses such as that Pennsylvania and Delaware had the highest number of free black citizens and also the highest number of free black kidnappings, yet she provides nothing solid in the form of data to substantiate her claim.

One of Wilson’s greatest successes is her ability to take the complex political and legal landscape of the time and synthesize it down into small understandable parts fused with social context and examples. Wilson not only identifies how the all-encompassing federal laws such as the Fugitive Slave Acts facilitated the kidnapping of free blacks into slavery, even delving into the Constitution as the root of fugitive slave laws, but also narrows her focus to look at how local and state laws worked against the free black population to see to their enslavement. For example, Wilson informs the reader that a black charged of any crime could be legally sold into slavery to pay their court and imprisonment debts even if found innocent (41). Therefore, Wilson’s scope looks beyond instances of direct abduction as the only means through which a free black could be sent into slavery, broadening the scope of what kidnapping means. Wilson’s book does, however, suffer from repetition. She has a habit throughout the book of repeating information that she has already given. For instance, she states in her chapter on kidnappers who worked within established laws that Southern states had laws that forbid free blacks from entering. Then, a few pages later, she restates the same fact (41 & 57). The fact of greed bring a primary motivating force is also repeated numerous times to the point of it being excessive (2, 17, 36, 65). Wilson also digresses from her focus in the last chapter on black resistance to kidnapping by drawing an ambiguous line in some cases between free blacks who were captured and compelled into slavery, and fugitive slaves who were captured by dishonest means. Wilson even recognizes that she is doing so, and states that in most cases it is not clear who was free and who was fugitive slave, but the point is to illustrate that slave catchers paid no heed for the law and seized both as the opportunity allowed regardless of the law (115). It is understandable, given the limited evidence that Wilson had to work from, and considering that most black organizations worked toward both the protection of free blacks and fugitive slaves, that the two would be linked together in this instance. Overall, the book presents a brief glimpse into one of many various injustices blacks faced in pre-Civil War America. It is impressive that Wilson was able to include so much information, from the social to the political, dotted with a plethora of examples and real life accounts, to make a book as informative as it is engaging.
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1. Shirley J. Yee, Review [Untitled], Society for Historians of the Early American Republic 15, no. 2 (Summer, 1995), 319.

Rejecting the big man and big event approach many historians adopt when defining any era, Melton A. McLaurin uses the story of a young slave girl accused of murdering her white master in Celia, a Slave to illustrate what he calls the “major issues” of the pre-Civil War period. Melton admits from the start that Celia’s story, in fact, reveals little about slavery as a broad institution. Instead, what he presents is a case study in the “fundamental moral anxiety” produced by slavery, which he feels has been ignored by historians who focus on social or economic aspects of slavery, and therefore need not confront the more intimate moral issues blacks and whites faced daily when participating in an institution that dehumanized one group for the sake of the other. Melton’s task is made all the more difficult by the fact that evidence and sources are scant, and discloses from the start that a lot of his story will be based on assumptions or inferences. Milton states that he will do this with the sensitivity of a storyteller, giving readers a flowing and engaging narrative that avoids what he calls the “dry and dull” history others fall into the trap of (vii, ix-x).

That is not to say that McLaurin’s narrative is void any detail of politics and economy. Since the book itself, taking place in 1855 Missouri, centers on the continual rape of the slave Celia, then the murder of her master Robert Newsome, and finally Celia’s trial, McLaurin cannot avoid including political facets of slave life and slave status. To inform the reader, McLaurin scatters his book with interesting facts of slave legality such as that slaves were considered property, and as a result masters could not be guilty of rape since a man could hardly “trespass” on his own property (93). In addition, McLaurin very nicely frames the intimate events that make up the focus on the book within a larger national context. Featured very heavily throughout Celia is the tumultuous Nebraska-Kansas Act, which threatened the institution of slavery in bordering Missouri where Celia lived. The political climate of the time, especially one so important to Missouri, demonstrates to the reader just why the murder of a white man by a slave, no matter for what reason, was so intolerable. McLaurin then proceeds to describe ramifications of the Celia case more important to Missouri and the power dynamic of slavery than the more famous Dred Scott case (95). McLaurin also finds it essential to illuminate relevant details of the economics of slavery, more specifically the economic value of a slave woman’s reproductive ability, since a judgment in Celia’s favor would have called into question a white master’s sexual control over his slaves (100). It seems McLaurin, despite his intentions, was unable to avoid entirely big names and big events, or politics and economy, but the book is better and more deeply illustrated because he did not avoid including them.

McLaurin’s greatest problem is the one he identified in the introduction: the availability of sources. While his sources include a variety of newspapers, census data records, and even Celia’s court case file, what he does not have is the personal documentation that would direct his formulation of some of the more personal thoughts and motivations. Since the intent is to provide an engaging narrative, McLaurin sets for himself the difficult task of providing the emotional depth that his sources cannot provide to him. McLaurin must address questions like: what was Celia thinking, how did she truly feel about her status as concubine, and what really happened the night of the murder? All McLaurin can do to answer these questions is make inferences based on the facts of Celia’s testimony and the cultural setting. In some cases, McLaurin is very successful in providing logical rationales out of minds he has no access to. For example, when the questioning began after the death of Celia’s master, the first person approached was Celia’s secret lover, George. McLaurin supposes that this was so because the inquisiting party already had some knowledge about the secret affair and suspected that George may have been involved. McLaurin also makes some unnecessary and weak conjecture. This comes about usually when he is trying to develop some of the deeper emotions involved in the crimes of rape and murder. For instance, McLaurin makes the statement that Celia’s adamant denial of any knowledge about her master’s disappearance points to a lack of remorse (36-38). There are also details missing that would flesh out the trial more. Powell, the man who interrogated Celia, willingly testified that he had to threaten Celia to get her to confess to her crime (84). Therefore, what laws were in place to protect people who confessed under duress? By extension, why were these laws not extended to someone like Celia? Was this too a matter of human rights much like Celia’s right to her own body?

In the attempt to create an interesting and novel-like narrative, McLaurin includes many details that are ultimately unimportant to the story itself. An entire paragraph is dedicated to the many ways in which Robert Newsome may have possibly travelled from Virginia into Missouri where he settled his farm, and then later McLaurin discusses the vehicle in which Newsome perhaps travelled in to an adjourning county where he purchased Celia (2, 20). The narrative is also broken by McLaurin’s habit of providing multiple guesses and inferences for one instance or action. The story may have flowed better if not for the lengthy paragraphs dotted with multiple usages of words like “maybe” and “perhaps.” It is reasonable that McLaurin must do a great deal of guessing in order to fill in information that he does not have the sources for, but there are times in the book when it is excessive. McLaurin also approaches his featured players from the perspective that each person at some point had to confront their own private “fundamental moral anxiety” over slavery, whether it was Newsome’s daughters turning the other cheek in regards to Celia’s repeated rapes, or the jury that chose to ignore certain parts of Celia’s testimony in order to protect the reputation of a white slave master and friend, and indeed the institution itself. According to McLaurin, as each individual made their choices, each had to face within himself larger questions about the humanity possessed by slaves and the morality of slavery. McLaurin even points out specifically the moment in which some individuals reached this moment of contemplation (28). Certainly not every person involved had a moment of moral questioning, and if they did, not at the moment that McLaurin feels that they did. Nevertheless, McLaurin is correct that the “fundamental moral anxiety” was essential to the institution itself, though perhaps not to every individual, since slavery and slave supporters did have to repeatedly justify themselves to the increasingly louder voice of abolition. Stressed repeatedly in sections on the case backdrop, trial, and verdict that at hand were moral issues of Celia’s basic human rights, and that is why she is an appropriate case study in the morality of slavery. In this way, McLaurin keeps to the purpose of his book.

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