A beautifully designed work limited by its rose-colored admiration of a flawed, complicated politician.




A debut biography focuses on the life of William Jennings Bryan.

As the wife of Bryan College’s president, Livesay saw the need after nearly two decades with the institution “for students and alumni of the College to understand the significance and uniqueness of” its namesake, one of the most important politicians of the early 20th century. From the outset, it is clear that this book is not a critical assessment of Bryan’s life, but a celebration. Eschewing the chronological conventions of biographies, the author instead divides her work thematically into five sections that explore Bryan’s family life, his turbulent political career, his oratorical prowess, his religious activism, and his place in America’s historical memory. The author paints Bryan as a principled common man worthy of contemporary admiration. In particular, she highlights the paradox of Bryan as an unwavering religious fundamentalist who championed progressive politics. The same man who advocated for the income tax, women’s suffrage, business regulations, and fair labor laws also led the crusade against teaching evolution in public schools and was one of the nation’s first radio evangelists. Yet the strength of Livesay’s book is not its biographical information, which is rather encyclopedic, but its gorgeously designed pages. Nearly every page features photographs, charts, maps, timelines, or other visual aids that collectively form a polished, accessible, and engaging work. Unfortunately, readers looking for nuance will be disappointed by the author’s lack of critical analysis, which is no doubt in part due to the volume’s connection to Bryan College, a conservative Christian school founded in the wake of the politician’s anti-evolution campaign in the 1920s. For example, though Bryan at times lived in the South and was a beloved figure among white Southerners, Livesay is silent on the statesman’s ambivalence toward segregation and black disenfranchisement, two defining features of Southern politics. More context on the Populist and Progressive eras would also help readers see Bryan not just as a self-made, “great” man, but as the byproduct of grassroots movements as well.

A beautifully designed work limited by its rose-colored admiration of a flawed, complicated politician.

Pub Date: Sept. 1, 2019

ISBN: 978-0-9980305-0-0

Page Count: 208

Publisher: Bryan College

Review Posted Online: Oct. 22, 2019

Did you like this book?

No Comments Yet


Possibly inspired by the letters Cleary has received as a children's author, this begins with second-grader Leigh Botts' misspelled fan letter to Mr. Henshaw, whose fictitious book itself derives from the old take-off title Forty Ways W. Amuse a Dog. Soon Leigh is in sixth grade and bombarding his still-favorite author with a list of questions to be answered and returned by "next Friday," the day his author report is due. Leigh is disgruntled when Mr. Henshaw's answer comes late, and accompanied by a set of questions for Leigh to answer. He threatens not to, but as "Mom keeps nagging me about your dumb old questions" he finally gets the job done—and through his answers Mr. Henshaw and readers learn that Leigh considers himself "the mediumest boy in school," that his parents have split up, and that he dreams of his truck-driver dad driving him to school "hauling a forty-foot reefer, which would make his outfit add up to eighteen wheels altogether. . . . I guess I wouldn't seem so medium then." Soon Mr. Henshaw recommends keeping a diary (at least partly to get Leigh off his own back) and so the real letters to Mr. Henshaw taper off, with "pretend," unmailed letters (the diary) taking over. . . until Leigh can write "I don't have to pretend to write to Mr. Henshaw anymore. I have learned to say what I think on a piece of paper." Meanwhile Mr. Henshaw offers writing tips, and Leigh, struggling with a story for a school contest, concludes "I think you're right. Maybe I am not ready to write a story." Instead he writes a "true story" about a truck haul with his father in Leigh's real past, and this wins praise from "a real live author" Leigh meets through the school program. Mr. Henshaw has also advised that "a character in a story should solve a problem or change in some way," a standard juvenile-fiction dictum which Cleary herself applies modestly by having Leigh solve his disappearing lunch problem with a burglar-alarmed lunch box—and, more seriously, come to recognize and accept that his father can't be counted on. All of this, in Leigh's simple words, is capably and unobtrusively structured as well as valid and realistic. From the writing tips to the divorced-kid blues, however, it tends to substitute prevailing wisdom for the little jolts of recognition that made the Ramona books so rewarding.

Pub Date: Aug. 22, 1983

ISBN: 143511096X

Page Count: 133

Publisher: Morrow/HarperCollins

Review Posted Online: Oct. 16, 2011

Kirkus Reviews Issue: Aug. 1, 1983

Did you like this book?

No Comments Yet

Necessarily swift and adumbrative as well as inclusive, focused, and graceful.


A light-speed tour of (mostly) Western poetry, from the 4,000-year-old Gilgamesh to the work of Australian poet Les Murray, who died in 2019.

In the latest entry in the publisher’s Little Histories series, Carey, an emeritus professor at Oxford whose books include What Good Are the Arts? and The Unexpected Professor: An Oxford Life in Books, offers a quick definition of poetry—“relates to language as music relates to noise. It is language made special”—before diving in to poetry’s vast history. In most chapters, the author deals with only a few writers, but as the narrative progresses, he finds himself forced to deal with far more than a handful. In his chapter on 20th-century political poets, for example, he talks about 14 writers in seven pages. Carey displays a determination to inform us about who the best poets were—and what their best poems were. The word “greatest” appears continually; Chaucer was “the greatest medieval English poet,” and Langston Hughes was “the greatest male poet” of the Harlem Renaissance. For readers who need a refresher—or suggestions for the nightstand—Carey provides the best-known names and the most celebrated poems, including Paradise Lost (about which the author has written extensively), “Kubla Khan,” “Ozymandias,” “The Charge of the Light Brigade,” Wordsworth and Coleridge’s Lyrical Ballads, which “changed the course of English poetry.” Carey explains some poetic technique (Hopkins’ “sprung rhythm”) and pauses occasionally to provide autobiographical tidbits—e.g., John Masefield, who wrote the famous “Sea Fever,” “hated the sea.” We learn, as well, about the sexuality of some poets (Auden was bisexual), and, especially later on, Carey discusses the demons that drove some of them, Robert Lowell and Sylvia Plath among them. Refreshingly, he includes many women in the volume—all the way back to Sappho—and has especially kind words for Marianne Moore and Elizabeth Bishop, who share a chapter.

Necessarily swift and adumbrative as well as inclusive, focused, and graceful.

Pub Date: April 21, 2020

ISBN: 978-0-300-23222-6

Page Count: 304

Publisher: Yale Univ.

Review Posted Online: Feb. 9, 2020

Kirkus Reviews Issue: March 1, 2020

Did you like this book?