100 Books Like A Savage Conflict

Few books have changed the course of history like Harry Caudill’s Night Comes to the Cumberlands. Exposing political corruption, environmental destruction, and endemic poverty in Appalachia, Night Comes put poverty squarely on the national agenda and inspired LBJ’s War on Poverty. Although not rigorously factual — Caudill never let the facts get in the way of a good story — Night Comes is a priceless document of its time and place, and required reading for anyone who wants to understand Appalachian culture and history in the middle of the 20th century.

I love how this book turns the foundational stereotype of the backward, violent hillbilly, formed by the Hatfield-McCoy feud in 1880s West Virginia, on its head. There was friction between the two families after the Civil War, but both used courts rather than violence.

Then came the first railroad into the area in 1892, and with it came outsider capitalists intent on industrial coal mining and timbering through manipulation of political leaders. Conflicts over land and timber rights ignited the feud, as the Era of Deforestation and social destabilization in the Appalachians accelerated.  

This book by a Kentucky journalist, based on the sparse court records and on interviews with descendants of the feudists, helped me understand that the Hatfield-McCoy feud was not an isolated occurrence. In addition to the Hatfield-McCoy feud, it describes five other feuds being conducted in Kentucky at the same time. There appear to be similar patterns governing the combustion and ferocity of all these feuds, having to do with a struggle for control over the shifting social, economic, and political hierarchies following the upheavals of the Civil War and the invasions launched by lumber and coal companies.

Much of this book by two psychologists covers familiar ground and some may find their explanation for what they found unpersuasive, but get this: When they brought white male undergraduates into the laboratory on a pretext and called them "asshole," Northern subjects laughed it off or ignored it, but Southern ones bristled. Subsequent tests showed that the Southerners had heightened blood levels of stress-related hormones and testosterone, but the Northerners did not. Moving the study of the South’s “culture of violence” to the physiological level was a remarkable achievement, but hardly anyone seems to have noticed.

Here's another amazing woman—angry, determined 18-year-old Adair—who travels through Missouri’s brutal Civil War landscape looking for her father. Jailed in St. Louis under horrid conditions for suspected Confederate sympathies, she brawls with a fellow prisoner, strategically worms her way into the prison matron’s good graces, then captures the heart of a Union interrogator who helps her escape.

I am not a horse person, but Jiles’s description of Adair’s relationship with her horse Whiskey is otherworldly and totally converted me. One nightmare scene follows another as Adair makes her way back to her family home, and I love the resourceful lies she concocts to save herself and Whiskey amid guerrilla warfare and martial law.

Beautiful language; Jiles is a poet, and it shows.

More than 170,000 African Americans served in the Union Army and navy during the Civil War. From 1863 on, they performed heroically on many battlefields, most famously at the assault on Fort Wagner in Charleston Harbor, as dramatically depicted in the film “Glory.” Much less well-known was the deliberate slaughter of nearly two hundred black federal troops at Fort Pillow, Tennessee in 1864, by Confederate forces led by Nathan Bedford Forrest, a prewar slaver trader and a postwar leader of the Ku Klux Klan. It was the worst wartime atrocity committed on U.S. soil outside the Indian wars. What happened at Fort Pillow demonstrated the additional risk that every black soldier in blue faced: not just injury, but murder or reenslavement by the enemy. Ward’s account moves at a pounding pace. More than the account of a single battle, it places the role of black troops in the larger context… show more.

I picked up this book while on a study course in the United States – I was based in Washington DC and intended to visit some of the nearby Civil War battlefields, and decided that I needed to know more about the conflict. It was perhaps the first American history book I had read, and immediately I was struck by the very different style of writing when compared with European works.

For a single-volume account of a terrible conflict that did so much to shape the United States, this is probably unmatched. The people involved, from those in high-level political positions to the men and women caught up in the fighting, are brought to life in an unforgettable way.

I picked this easy-to-read novel because I’m an Okie! And, while I know of the few battles fought in Kansas, Missouri, and Indian Territory (we weren’t called Oklahoma until 1907), they are not the usual Civil War locations written about.

I liked the major character, a young boy driven to sign with the Union Army after the family farm was attacked by Confederates. That happened in my family (as it did for many if you study family history), stirring sympathy and anger.

I loved that you not only got the Union but the Confederate, as well as Stand Watie’s Cherokee side of the fighting and I cared about characters on all sides. The writing is 1950’s style, but the story and well researched history overcomes that.

I once stumbled onto a celebration of Confederate Memorial Day in a small Kentucky mountain town, but I had always been told that the mountains of eastern Kentucky were a stronghold of Unionism during the Civil War. McKnight’s book helped me understand the complexity of the Appalachian region and its experience of the war. Both armies used the mountain gaps as gateways to invasion, exploited the local residents, and despoiled the landscape. Life in the mountains in the 19th century had always been hard; the Civil War made it a lot harder.

Much like how Glymph recaptures the daily lives and struggles of African Americans in the South, Jordan takes you into the personal histories of Union veterans.

Following them as they march home and then struggle with social acceptance, battlefield wounds, and personal struggles, he offers a sobering view of the legacies of the war. The book takes a lot of the shine off the Civil War, reminding us of the immense human toll it took, even among its victors.