Books like Monument Wars

I was transfixed by Kelman’s story, masterfully, sympathetically narrated. It’s populated by few monuments, and the one squatting at the Sand Creek Massacre National Historic Site is modest and understated. Here even the place of those dark events was in dispute.

Blending history with a gripping account of the struggle over public memory, and centering Native people, Kelman chronicles the modern search for the site (and meaning) of one of the most gruesome acts of government violence in American history, at Sand Creek, where U.S. troops slaughtered more than 150 peaceful Southern Cheyenne and Arapaho campers (mostly women and children) in November 1864.

The Colorado Pioneer Association commemorated (and glorified) the sordid event in 1909 with a Denver monument cataloging Sand Creek as a Civil War battle. But a search for truth and reconciliation would challenge and remake this public memory, and Kelman is an unrivaled guide in that process.

The Unfinished Bombing was eerily prescient when first published in 2001 and remains uncannily relevant today.

Linenthal set the standard in his analysis of public tragedy, its impact on an American community and the larger nation, and its memorialization.

In April 1995, a white homegrown right-wing terrorist bombed the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City, killing 168 men, women, and children. Linenthal’s story of the massive crime, outpourings of grief, and the efforts to memorialize the dead and prevent future cataclysms is gripping and personal yet academically astute.

The Oklahoma City National Memorial & Museum that rose from the rubble is among the most culturally and aesthetically successful monuments in the history of American public memory. Though seemingly eclipsed by the catastrophic events of September 11, 2001, this story of rupture and recovery, so well told by the author, continues to be critical and instructive.

Civil War statues have long been the gold standard for America’s monumental public landscape.

They are the public sculptures and architectural features we are now rediscovering, sometimes with horror, and arguing over, after years of mute service as park furniture and pigeon roosts. Brown’s book is a definitive history of these classic, heroic monuments.

Beautifully written, perceptive, and illuminating, it explains their history, offering readers an engaging and invaluable background and context for understanding how and why they were erected, and how they’ve not only reflected American culture but have propelled it, particularly (as the title suggests) towards militarization and the affirmation of racial and class hierarchies.

Reading Civil War Monuments focuses our view on monumental things all around us that we’ve never really seen.

This book tells the story of when, why, and by whom Confederate monuments were erected in the United States.

I love its careful attention to race and class, which helps us to understand how this process consolidated white supremacy but also undermined a revolutionary working-class politics. There is a terrific chapter on Stone Mountain in Georgia, which has been described as "the largest shrine to white supremacy in the history of the world."

The historical context provided by the book helped me to make sense of what was at stake in the Black Lives Matter protests of 2020, and in the white supremacist backlash to it that we are currently living through. Most memorable sentence: "Shuffling statues around our cities is like moving an abusive priest to another parish."

This book taught me to think of Central Park not just as a greenspace but as a gallery of art. 

When I had finished it, I had come to fully admire the many statues that stand in bronze amid the groves and lawns.

I love that Eding covers, in great detail, not just the more famous sculptures such as the Alice in Wonderland and Balto statues, but also less appreciated pieces like the Daniel Webster Monument. I also love that I got to learn not just the what of the statues, but the why behind them.

The background information in this book added a whole new layer to my admiration for the fine art in Central Park.

The President’s House is marvelous two-volume work that is the most comprehensive history ever written about the White House. The book starts with the laying of the cornerstone, all the way through the Truman Renovation. The author writes the detailed history in the style of a page-turning novel! I had the honor of meeting the author, Dr. William Seale, during my first week working in the White House Usher's Office in 1986, a great guy!

This is a little book I bought second-hand. Published in 1896 by the Religious Tract Society, each chapter is based on the author’s visit to different Christian churches and missions in East London. It’s full of lovely illustrations as well as incredible detail about the different communities and ways of life in this part of London. 

This isn’t romance, mystery, or suspense per se. Living Landmarks are historic places that you can still visit, and they tell us the story of Chicago. Although much was destroyed in the Great Fire of 1871, some of the early architecture remains. And what was built after defines the “city of big shoulders.” As the author says, “Chicago is the physical manifestation of dreamers, malcontents, philanthropists, and grifters.” You can read about what is, maybe, the oldest house in Chicago, Clarke House, now a museum or any other of the forty-nine sites. Places I used like the Palmer House, The Rookery, the Art Institute, Union Station, and the Civic Opera House are all represented. The stories are short but compelling and the book is a valuable resource if you want to know more about the romance and mystery that define Chicago. 

Time and time again, I refer to this book because it is chock full of fascinating history about New York told in an unusual way.

Packed with beautifully reproduced photos on every page, it takes as its subject the seemingly dull characteristic of urban experience—the street grid—and fashions over 200 short succinct stories of people, politics, and real estate development. It’s a bravo book.

Murphy writes about uncertainty in science better than anyone else I know. The reality of sick building syndrome was hotly debated in the 1970s and ‘80s. However, Murphy shows that the important question is not whether it was an illness but how evidence was constructed for and against its existence.

The last chapter on MCS (Multiple Chemical Sensitivity) is my favorite part of the book. Murphy describes how people living with MCS, in the face of expert skepticism, developed their own science to understand their bodies in relation to the risky ecologies of indoor spaces.