I read a lot. I mean, a whole lot. That’s what historians do. Sometimes, the books pile up on me and I have a hard time staying up with them. My resolve to get through the ones I already have before buying another one always weakens when I stumble across one that seems to stand out, particularly when it might be a candidate for a text in one of my upper-level courses.

That’s how I came to purchase and read 1861: The Civil War Awakening, an intriguing volume I finished yesterday. A good history book, for me, has to go beyond basic facts; it also has to bring historical figures to life. Yes, I know we need statistical analyses and other types of studies that concentrate on narrow slices of the historical pie. But I still prefer a really well-written story that incorporates character, plot, and theme. History is literature’s very close sister, with the major difference being that you don’t have to invent the characters or devise the plot—they await the avid researcher, already full-blown.

Author Adam Goodheart [how's that for a name to attract attention?] spins a spellbinding yarn, taking the reader into details he never expected to find. Goodheart understands the necessity of placing people in the midst of his tale because readers will identify better with people than abstractions. I was pleasantly surprised to be introduced to individuals I had never heard of before. Take, for instance, Ralph Farnham, the Revolutionary War veteran who, at age 104, was celebrated the year the Civil War began in 1861. Farnham serves as a link to an earlier era, connected to the age of the Founders. Yet he is still on the scene as the opening salvos of this new war are heard.

Even when Goodheart spends time with people I know, such as James Garfield, he uses them in inventive ways to shed extra light on events other authors have covered. Each chapter has either a key individual around which the theme and plot revolve or a strange occurrence that puzzles the generation that witnesses it. What about that Great Comet of 1861? It startled the world. What did it signify? Was it a sign from God? If so, did it portend a glorious future or doom? Did it mean anything at all?

I so enjoyed reading 1861 that I have decided to incorporate it into my Civil War course when I next teach it. I never will comprehend why most students have difficulty being interested in history. It’s endlessly fascinating. You have my recommendation. Check it out for yourself. Try it; you may like it.

A voice from the American past has a message for us today. His name was James Garfield, who was elected president in 1880. Four years earlier, on the centennial anniversary of the Declaration of Independence, Congressman Garfield—who also was an ordained Disciples of Christ minister—offered this sage insight in a speech commemorating American independence:

Now more than ever before, the people are responsible for the character of their Congress. If that body be ignorant, reckless, and corrupt, it is because the people tolerate ignorance, recklessness, and corruption. If it be intelligent, brave, and pure, it is because the people demand these high qualities to represent them in the national legislature. …

If the next centennial does not find us a great nation … it will be because those who represent the enterprise, the culture, and the morality of the nation do not aid in controlling the political forces.

In short, the Congress, and the government as a whole, are, in the words of a common cliché, merely a reflection of the people who put them in power. If our current Congress is corrupt, we have only ourselves to blame. If the presidency has been debased by class-warfare ideology, again we have to point the finger at ourselves.

Will we learn our lesson after what we have endured the past three years? The 2010 congressional elections show some promise that we have, but we’ll have to wait until November 2012 to know for sure.

I love history books that read like novels. History is a story and should be told accordingly. Character, plot, and all other features of a good novel should be incorporated. As long as the story is fully documented and doesn’t deviate from the facts, it can be a delight to read. I just finished one such book. It’s called Destiny of the Republic: A Tale of Madness, Medicine, and the Murder of a President by Candice Millard.

Few Americans know much about President James Garfield. Those who do only know that he was shot a mere four months after taking office and lingered for another two and half months before dying in September 1881. That’s the extent of our collective knowledge, if we know anything about it at all. As a historian, I had further details. For instance, I knew that Garfield was an evangelical Christian who was ordained through the Disciples of Christ. I also knew that he was a reformer in the best sense—not someone who believed that the federal government should take on responsibility that belongs to individuals, but a man who sought to remove the corruption of the spoils system. As president, in those four short months before the fateful day when he was shot, he already had taken bold steps in that direction.

This book, though, opened up a vista of new information about the man: his commitment to protecting the civil rights of former slaves; the deep relationship he developed with his wife; the high regard in which he was held even by political opponents because of his integrity and kindness. Upon finishing this book, I felt the pain of the loss of someone who could have been a good friend, if I had lived at that time.

The book also paints a portrait of Charles Guiteau, the assassin. All I ever heard was that he was a disappointed office-seeker, perhaps a little crazy. Both are true, but only scratch the surface of the madness a man can exhibit when he gives himself over to megalomania. At first, he was part of a commune that believed in “complex marriage.” He later tried to fashion an identity as a traveling evangelist, but most of his traveling was to stay one step ahead of those to whom he owed money.

After Garfield’s election, Guiteau believed he himself was responsible for the victory and that he was owed an ambassadorship to France. He was wildly out of touch with reality. He finally came to the conclusion that God wanted him to remove Garfield so that the vice president, Chester Arthur, would become president, which would pave the way for Guiteau to realize his dreams. He thought the American people would hail him as a hero. He was literally out of his mind.

The entire American public followed the drama of Garfield’s treatment, hoping that the man they admired would recover from his wounds. The greatest irony is that he would have recovered, if not for the proud, arrogant doctor who took charge of his care—a doctor who rejected the new theory of protecting against germs and infection. Garfield eventually succumbed due to the mistreatment he received at that doctor’s hands. Along the way, the author also gets us better acquainted with Alexander Graham Bell, who was called upon to try a new invention to find the bullet lodged in the president.

The story is tragic. Yet it is a story well told, one that will grip you as you quickly pass from chapter to chapter. Even though you know the ending, you keep hoping it won’t turn out the way it did. In short, this is a terrific read, one that you won’t soon forget.

My latest posting on the Big Government site is now available. Most people know next to nothing about James Garfield and Grover Cleveland, but they understood the perspective we need to have on government. Check it out at

http://biggovernment.com/asnyder/2010/06/23/forgotten-but-honorable-presidents/#more-135814