95 Books Like Ambling Into History

John Quincy Adams is considered the most accomplished presidential son in U.S. history, as well as one of the most important and influential Americans since the nation’s founding. His lackluster one-term presidency and his cold demeanor, however, have left him with a tainted reputation—and yet his years both before and after his presidency are practically unparalleled in their achievements. John Quincy Adams: A Public Life, a Private Life by Paul C. Nagel is definitely the best distillation of Adams’s enormous life into one volume. Nagel covers the entirety of the great man’s public career while also digging into his complex psyche. I walked away from this book shocked and appalled at all I did not know of the younger Adams and his contributions to the creation of the American republic, and left with a voracious hunger to learn even more.

Abraham Lincoln may be the most written about president (and person) in American history, but his children have been relatively relegated to innocuous side characters who all have a few good stories about them. Lincoln’s Sons by Ruth Painter Randall is still the go-to book for anyone interested in the Lincoln boys, as well as their relationships with their parents. In addition to their early years in Springfield and the famous antics of Willie and Tad in the White House, Randall also follows the boys after the death of their father. She explains the sad life of Tad from 1865 until his early death in 1871, and gives a full accounting of Robert’s impressive legacy as lawyer, businessman, public servant, and protector of his father’s legacy—for decades the only book to do so. There have been a few other books ostensibly about the Lincoln boys in the years since Randall’s… show more.

Many people may know the legend of Alice Roosevelt as the headstrong daughter of Teddy Roosevelt who flouted social conventions in the 1920s and made a lasting mark on Washington, D.C. in later life, but few people have actually read her biography. And anyone interested in the history of the presidency and American politics should. Alice Roosevelt Longworth was more than just America’s most memorable first daughter. She was a legend in her own time, loved and feared by the most powerful men in the capital, the doyenne of D.C. for eighty years (and known for her famous quip, “If you haven’t got have anything nice to say, come sit by me”). Her story is utterly incredible, and in her book Alice, historian Cordery offers a page-turning, compelling portrait of one of the most influential women in 20th century American politics.

The memoirs of presidential children are often self-serving jeremiads about the difficulty of growing up in their father’s shadow. My Father at 100 is no such book. It is a fascinating, heart-warming, deeply touching (as well as overlooked and misunderstood) portrait of an iconic president through the eyes of one of the people who knew him best. Ron, who grew up in the 60s and is a political liberal who often disagreed with many of his father’s opinions and public policies, in this book avoids politics and instead simply “attempts to come to grips” with the father he grew up with. Part researched history, part memoir, and part travelogue to Reagan-related locations around the country, this is a wonderful book that is just an honest study of a man and a search for the truth of his life and the meaning of that life as only a son could write. 

Brammer’s novel has resonated throughout my career, warning of almost inevitable disillusionment with a political powerhouse. Brammer had served as a top aide to Lyndon Johnson, on whom he based Arthur Fenstemaker, a star as bright as Penn Warren’s Willie Stark. The Gay Place spoke to me even more directly, focusing on minor politicos and their ambitions, frailties, and humanity. And the book drove home, through a pervading sadness, the anomie that rises from disillusionment. Brammer’s “Flea Circus” metaphor continues to amuse and bum me.

Alaska’s politics have always been a blood sport, in part because participants are usually down-to-earth, no-nonsense Alaskans bound and determined to do what they think is right no matter the consequences—even if it costs them an election. 

A former Marine pilot with the famed “Black Sheep” squadron, Jay Hammond came north as a bush pilot and at statehood in 1959 was elected to the Alaska House of Representatives. His self-deprecating accounts of the political battles of the next quarter of a century, including the Permanent Fund, are sure to bring more than a chuckle. I once looked out an aircraft window to see a small plane upside down on a dirt runway at Hamond’s homestead some miles from Port Alsworth. Inquiring, I was told, “Oh, don't worry, Jay’s fine; he just bounced on a bad landing.”

I’m not usually a fan of political memoirs (I tend to be skeptical of the authors), but this one is an enlightening read in terms of understanding the sorts of structural and governmental prejudices that Hispanic people faced in the early twentieth century as exemplified by New Mexico’s long struggle to obtain statehood. Otero was from a prominent New Mexican family and was the governor of the territory from 1897 to 1906. New Mexico was acquired as part of the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo in the aftermath of the Mexican-American war in 1848, but it didn’t become a state until 1912, due in part to the anti-Hispanic attitudes in Washington DC that Otero discusses in his book.

Rich in detailed scene-setting, Dan T. Carter’s biography of George Wallace is as much about the governor of Alabama as it is about everyone who attended his rallies and cast ballots with his name. I love biography as a medium for rethinking standard periodization, blurring boundaries, whether that be regional or cultural, among others, and using one person’s life to clarify sweeping societal trends.

This book explains, as much as possible, the extreme contradictions of one of the twentieth century’s most consequential firebrands. Carter demonstrates how unadulterated racism and commitment to white supremacy could be repackaged in the 1960s as an answer to a myriad of ills. In my opinion, Wallace is the prime example of the dangers posed by an ambitious politician who exploits divisiveness and weaponizes the worst of our inclinations. 

This is not an Asia book at all, but to understand Asia’s geopolitical future, one needs empathy with both China (already discussed) and the US.

To imbibe the spirit of America, I recommend historian Edmund Morris’ highly controversial and unusual portrait of Ronald Reagan. “Dutch” sympathetically recounts Reagan’s quintessentially American story. Morris reveals a quixotic character who dominates the global stage. 

Mukhopadhyay’s book joined an emerging cohort of books that sought to demonstrate that the collapse of the state does not necessarily lead to a vacuum. This is because any vacuum left by the decline of the state is bound to be filled by other forces, be they local or external to the region.

In the case of Afghanistan, Mukhopadhyay shows through the case of Afghanistan, and based on a fieldwork in the country, how the state that was born out of the ousting of the Taliban in 2001 was capable of co-opting local warlords in the remote periphery and integrate them into the emerging order in the country.

Through a close examination and detailed accounts of several case studies from across Afghanistan, Mukhopadhyay offers persuading arguments about what makes warlords and other peripheral actors useful allies to a weak central government.