Horrific Press, Great Outcomes and Fascinating History: The Mongols

Few figures in history have been more feared than Genghis Khan. While there have been more than a few truly horrific political leaders able to act on global ambitions, Genghis Khan stands out as an exceptional empire builder. During his sixty-one years (1162 – 1227), he conquered created what many consider the largest state ever, covering much of Asia, from China to parts of Europe. Hundreds of millions were affected by him and tens of millions lots their lives. But what do we know of Genghis Khan as a person? Jack Weatherford, an anthropology professor and author, penned an accessible best-selling biography that has remained in print – and popular – for more than two decades. Genghis Khan and the Making of the Modern World reads like a novel and sheds a great deal of light on this extraordinarily fascinating – and understandably polarizing – figure.

Weatherford’s aim is to explain, to contextualize, and to appreciate the impact of Khan and his empire. Questions of morality are view through an anthropological lens. Weatherford’s goal is not to judge, but to document and explicate. With that as a grounding, the book provides a extremely interesting history of a compelling man. Khan, through ruthless intelligence, was able to build power within Mongolian culture and then across a continent. He was rigorously meritocratic, restless to a fault, and innovated in how he treated and organized peoples. From military structure to rights for women to how conquered lands were treated, Khan established a kind of rough “fairness” for those under his control. His approach benefited him, naturally, and distinguished the Mongolian army and empire from all others. He sought great power without any sustained interest in cultural conversion. If one agreed to submit to the power of Genghis Khan and his taxes and wants, life could be good. Resist his empire and death was more than likely.

Without any real practice of agriculture or the making of goods, the Mongol economy depended upon taxes and plunder. Accordingly, outcomes mattered more than anything else to sustain Mongolian rule. What mattered and did not to Khan and his people is very interesting. The Mongols greatly valued Mongol life. There were no sacrifices of troops. They had little interest in torture or excessive cruelty, in contrast to many leaders of the period. The Mongols had no sense of honor and were not keen on proselytizing. The unusual admixture of traits and preferences gave the Mongols great advantages in their drive to expand. They used terror and general fear to achieve their aims. Genghis Khan, who appreciated the value of scribes, laws and structure, took advantage of all and more. They welcomed the terrible press, for it made sieges all the easier.

Weatherford’s book moves quickly. He knows how to dwell on an anecdote and when to pull back to explain broader themes. The big picture does not suffer, for he shows how the Mongolian empire had an incredible impact on world trade and commerce. Were it fiction, it would stand on its own as an incredible story. All in all, Genghis Khan is a fascinating window into an ancient and little understood world.

David Potash

Magic of Mules

Rinker Buck is a character, a raconteur, a man you cannot help but admire. Author, former journalist and inveterate adventurer, he has made improbably journeys a hallmark of his life.

As a teenager, Rinker and one of his brothers flew a rebuilt Piper aircraft across the country. That became Flight of Passage, an award-winning book. In 2022, he wrote Life on the Mississippi, an account of his time on a home-built flatboat on the river. Between the two, in 2015, Buck penned The Oregon Trail: A New American Journey. It is a wild tale of Buck’s trip in a covered wagon from Missouri to Oregon. Rinker, by the way, came from a large family, and a different brother joined him on this adventure.

The book is a travel memoir, a personal history, a space for observation and reflection, and a training guide for those who might take DIY all too seriously. Rinker’s reason for the trip were complicated. He was reshaping a career, redirecting his life after a painful divorce, and working to come to grips with his childhood. His father, a charismatic, successful, and self-destructive man, took his children on a much shorter wagon journey through Bucks County, PA. The time in the wagon resonated with Rinker and in some ways, the entire adventure was an attempt to give himself clarity about his family and himself.

As one might imagine, the trek across the west was a tremendous adventure. No one had attempted such a feat in many decades. Complicating the effort, the history of the Oregon trail was hazy. There was no one route. People came, went, came back again over decades until train travel took over continental America. The Buck brothers met extraordinary people and made many, many friends. They had problems, disasters, mistakes and much to learn across the thousands of miles. Parts of Oregon Trail are truly funny, especially if you appreciate the challenges with trying to do something on your own. The Buck brothers also found moments of true transcendence.

The true heroes of the adventure, though, at least to me, are the three mules that made it all a reality. Rinker gives us a good history of mules, the vital role they played in American and world history, and the difficulties of finding and managing a reliable team. Mules, the offspring of a male donkey and a female horse, are not so much stubborn as sensible. They are indefatigable and surprisingly interesting. Buck’s journey is wholly dependent upon the hard work of Beck, Bute and Jake. Each had their strengths and weaknesses, their personalities. Averaging twenty plus miles a day, the trio towed the Becks, their wagon, their pup wagon (worthy of its own history), over two thousand miles. Think about that!

My other takeaway from the Oregon Trail was overwhelming admiration for the courage and drive of the tens of thousands of Americans who sought a better life out West. What they endured – willingly – in pursuit of that dream is beyond impressive. It reflects something fundamental of the American story. For that and more, I am most grateful to Rinker Buck.

David Potash

Rethinking Attica and the Carceral Imperative

The 1971 Attica prison riot lives in collective culture as a violent event during a period of historical civil unrest. It is a call out in history text books and a reference in studies of America’s criminal justice system. Details of what actually happened, though, are far from well known. As the years add up, fewer are aware of what transpired and why. Pay attention, look more closely, and understanding Attica explains a great deal about America, its political history, and the power of government to shape a narrative.

To make sense of Attica, historian Heather Ann Thompson devoted more than a decade to research, filing numerous Freedom of Information Requests and challenging New York State and other government entities for records. With perseverance and luck (her words), she found all manner of material. With great skill and insight, she wrote the uprising’s definitive history: Blood in the Water: The Attica Prison Uprising of 1971 and Its Legacy. It is truly an outstanding work, well worthy of its many accolades and awards.

The Attica State Correctional Facility is located in Erie County, New York, not far from Buffalo. In 1971, as today, many of its inmates are people of color from the New York City area. Erie County is primarily White. Thompson sketches this out effectively, along with the rebellions of prisoners across the country in the period. Conditions in many prisons were deplorable, with inmates housed in outdated facilities designed for far fewer people. Prisoners sought changes that might bring them basic decencies. Their requests were often met with retribution, violence and disdain. The problem was nationwide and linked by many to broader questions of civil rights and justice.

Thompson addresses the budding tensions fairly, as one might analyze a labor conflict. She explains, expands, and teases out the nuance that is woven into change, resistance, and negotiation and/or resolution. We meet prison officials, prisoners, and numerous figures involved in the criminal justice system in New York State. The riot, or takeover of part of the prison, happens almost accidentally. There was initial violence, with a guard severely beaten (he later dies of his wounds), a prisoner murdered, rape and other terrible trauma. Surprisingly quickly, however, leadership among the inmates took hold. The inmates organized and began to think about their situation and requests. Their prisoners – guards – were protected. In a fluid situation, leadership among the prisoners sought stability and some relief. The inmates negotiated, seeking protections and greater opportunities, such as competent medical care. Elected and civil officials from around the country made their way to Attica. It was a major news story and a flashpoint for race, law and order.

NYS Governor Nelson Rockefeller, ambitious for the presidency and publicly supported by President Richard Nixon, decided to end negotiations. He ordered NYS police and others retake the prison by force. Hundreds of criminal justice professionals, armed to the teeth, stormed the prison and began shooting everywhere. They killed 39 people, hostages and prisoners, and wounded hundreds more. The prisoners were not armed. It was a naked display of power.

Government officials lied and/misled about the nature of the attacks, the violence, and what was transpiring in the prison. Worse still, as the prison fell under official control, wounded inmates were beaten, tortured and denied medical care. Thompson provides chilling details of the violence, which was truly terrible. It was also not initially reported to the public. Much of what happened took many years and court cases to emerge. Many records remained sealed to this day. In brief, Attica was a bloodbath, a site of racist violent retribution of government officials against prisoners. The weeks following the Attica uprising were horrific for the inmates. “Blood in the Water” is an apt title for the book.

The story does not end in 1971, though, for the state worked hard to prosecute prisoners involved in the riot. Thompson tracks the court cases, the multiple investigations, and the four-decade plus push for accountability. She documents how police and other state officials murdered and tortured inmates and then covered up crimes. The details of Attica emerged slowly, report by report and case by case. Lawyers, both for the state and the prisoners, devoted their professional careers to cases both holding prisoners and officials accountable. So, too, did coroners, prison officials and many others involved. Ultimately, no government official was ever held responsible for the deaths in retaking the prison or the following deplorable behavior of prison officials.

Thompson brings the history into a full circle through investigation of the lives of the guards and their families. Families of guards killed during the retaking of the prison struggled to find justice and support. Over time, many found connections with the inmates. The entire hisstory calls into question what justice might or could mean.

Thompson raises so many questions. Blood in the Water is more than a moment in history; it is a study of how broader societal trends in law, crime, and criminal justice intersect with civil unrest, political ambition, and the tremendous power of the state.

David Potash

A Celestial How To Do It

Andy Weir is an immensely talented writer. His first science fiction novel, The Martian, was an outstanding read (and a pretty good movie, too). Project Hail Mary, his latest, is fascinating and an even more engaging work. Tucked in between and published in 2017 is Artemis, an adventure caper set on the moon. The book highlights Weir’s strengths as well as some his weaknesses.

The story is told in the first person. Our narrator is “Jazz” – a twenty something who lives on Artemis, the only city on the moon. She is an ethical smuggler, a great friend with edges, and a troubled protagonist. A complicated back story founds out the picture. Solicited into a crime much more serious than smuggling, with all manner of complications, Jazz works to resolve her personal problems through ingenuity, courage and a healthy does of science. The city is saved along the way. She is a very smart, well-rounded heroine.

The science in Artemis is extraordinarily interesting. Physics, chemistry, and advanced technologies are examined in great detail. Weir’s world building is outstanding. The book even comes with schematics. If you follow along closely, it’s possible to imagine and see much of the action. It may be science fiction, but the book is far from fanciful.

While the story is strong, if a little convoluted, the characters other than Jazz are thinly sketched. Internal dialogue, complexity of thought and nuance simply are not part of Weir’s focus. They are types, and in some cases, stereotypes. The characters serve in function of the plot. Weir gives more attention to the airlock mechanisms than emotions. Artemis lacks the staying power of Weir’s stronger books. The technology and science are simply what interests him here, along with intersecting plot lines. It is fun to get caught up in remembering high school chemistry to guess next steps.

Artemis is entertaining, a good read for a summer holiday, but not for extended consideration.

David Potash

Martial Mindset: Bush’s War Cabinet

James Mann is a journalist and author. An expert on American foreign policy, he does his research thoroughly and writes with clarity. One of Mann’s strengths is that he knows how to build a narrative with direction and surety. Read his works and one comes away with a real sense of learning something.

Rise of the Vulcans: The History of Bush’s War Cabinet is Mann’s best-known book. Published in 2004, it straddles the boundary between journalism and history. It was a best-seller for good reasons. Mann tells the history of the six key figures in President Bush’s war cabinet: Vice President Cheney, Secretary of State Powell, Deputy Secretary of State Armitage, Secretary of Defense Rumsfeld, Deputy Secretary of Defense Wolfowitz, and National Security Advisor Rice. Collectively, these well-known leaders helped to guide Bush and America into the invasion of Iraq. Understanding the team, their backgrounds and values, goes far in explicating the Republican foreign policy establishment. That goal – explication of them and how they thought – is the goal of Mann’s book. It is not an examination of how and why the US made the decision to invade.

The book spans more than three decades. We learn of the figures’ childhoods, education, and their rise to influence. As one might expect, amid the diversity of backgrounds there were multiple alignments and affiliations. One of Mann’s skills is teasing out those connections, something akin to backwards looking analysis. The book makes clear how the right background, ambition, and ability to skillfully play the Washington “game” of power could situate one in a position of privilege. Mann’s study likewise illustrates how the wrong choice, the wrong move, or simply bad luck could derail or delay a career. For each of the six, success was neither instantaneous nor assured. Each took different paths to secure a spot in history.

Mann sees the Bush group as representing both Cold War and post-Cold War thinking. He rightly stresses the prevalence of military thinking to the group. They had outsize faith in military solutions, regardless of the source of the issue. Accordingly, the group consistently advanced a military-first mindset, shaping policy and American priorities. Their influence spanned decades and remains a vital strand of thinking. The nickname “Vulcan” was self-assigned. The group believed that they were forging a military machine that would protect and advance US interests. Interestingly, that outsize belief may have been one of the reasons that they were chosen to be in Bush’s cabinet. Criticized for his lack of foreign policy bono fides, Bush intentionally sought out cabinet members that would burnish his reputation.

The traits that all shared, that seem to have pervaded the Bush establishment, included confidence, optimism that America was in the right (if only be default), and that American knowledge, values and problem-solving would eventual prevail in any situation. Mann is very effective in demonstrating how their confidence emerged, was rewarded and reinforced. We know more today about the missteps, the assumptions, and the outright errors of the Bush team. Mann, writing at the time, was able to forecast the strengths and weaknesses that could lead to all manner of consequences, good and bad.

Entertaining, illuminating and disheartening. Rise of the Vulcans remains a relevant book. One of Mann’s strengths is his ability to know how to explain while remaining disciplined. He does not pretend to explain broad historical movements. Nor is this a study of causality. Rather, the book humanizes political leadership and group think, something we would be well-served to always keep in mind.

David Potash

Southern Industrialism, New Deal to Civil Rights

How the South organized and worked to become an industrial force is the focus of Katherine Rye Jewell’s Dollars for Dixie: Business and the Transformation of Conservatism in the Twentieth Century. An outgrowth of Jewell’s Boston University dissertation, this closely researched book is very interesting. Using the SSIC (Southern States Industrial Council) as a framework, Jewell traces evolving and shifting strategies on behalf of southern businesses. Politics and intentionality were critical factors in the transformation of the south’s economic profile.

Jewell, a professor of history at Fitchburg State University, begins the book by tracking the emergence of the SSIC in the shadow of the NRA. Neither fully on board nor opposed to the NRA, business rallied around the SSIC to position the south as a special market, different from the north and cities, committed to lower wages and high productivity. Textile firms made up the majority of the SSIC’s membership. Southern business leaders tended to portray themselves as civic leaders, committed to the health and well-being of their communities. It was very much business in the owner-proprietor mindset, not managerial capitalism. Furthermore, business leaders championed traditional regional values, which meant the perseverance of class, gender and race norms. Holding on to that status quo was central to the argument of maintaining southern “values” in a changing world.

The Wagner Act, accordingly, was viewed as a great threat by the SSIC. Organized labor could hardly be aligned with southern values. Voters democratic leanings in the New Deal made SSIC leadership’s commitment to conservatism clear. The response, for southern conservative Democrats has limited national power, was to advance the South as a bastion of free markets and free labor. This is part two of Dollars for Dixie.

The SSIC’s strategies included no minimum wage, linking agriculture to industry, and emphasizing southern exceptionalism. Defensive actions, all geared to preserve a class and race based economic system, kept the organization active through the end of the 1930s. During the war, decentralization of industry became a key focus. After the war, the South and the SSIC tried to position itself as a bulwark of democracy. Local control was the main message. The first political battle was against the FEPC (Fair Employment Practices Commission), which was castigated as meddlesome and intrusive. By the end of the 1940s, the SSIC’s brand of conservatism neither had a home in the national Democratic or Republican parties. Anticommunism was the path forward to garner influence and support, especially as the SSIC downplayed racial conflict. It was, after all, bad for business. The SSIC may have emphasized southern traditions, but in many ways it stressed the South’s alignment with national values. The book does not end with a hard date, but instead a soft landing in the widespread changes affecting the region in the latter half of the 1950s and 1960s. Big picture, as Jewell summarizes, the SSIC’s efforts did not stop federal interventions or competition from abroad, but did shape thinking and policy.

Dollars for Dixie teaches a great deal, from the study of business organizations to the interplay of local and national politics. It underscores the complexity of conservatism, which is best understood in context. The book further expands appreciation of the South, which was and remains far from monolithic. Jewell’s monograph also offers fascinating reminders, too, of the many arguments made over the years to keep wages low and power in place.

David Potash

The New World: Gotham ’45

Manhattan ’45 is a history filled with love and nostalgia. Written in 1987 by Jan Morris, the book is an impressionistic look at New York City and the island just as World War II ended. Morris begins with the arrival of the SS Queen Mary in June of 1945, carrying nearly 15,000 servicemen and women. Morris ends with a backwards summary, stressing a deep and long-lasting affection for Gotham.

For those of us enamored of New York City, how can we not be attracted to this kind of history?

The end of the war brought tremendous optimism to the world and New York City. The horrors of WWII were ending and not yet fully processed, and to a certain degree a new age of internationalism was still a few years away. Morris paints the city in transition, shaking off an earlier mindset and beginning to think about embracing modernity – whatever that might mean. The chapters are structural, not chronological. On Style looks at manner, moralities, sights and sounds. On System describes government, leadership, the powerful and the structures of order. On Race takes in the key ethnic groups of the city: Blacks, Italians, Chinese and Jews. Celebrities, the wealthy and the less fortunate are recounted in On Class. On Movement describes the subways, busses, ferries and roads, and On Pleasure is about eating, dancing, music and performance. Last is On Purpose, which looks at business and economics.

Morris does outstanding work setting a mood through observation, anecdote and fact. Things that one might find in a history book are complemented with non-academic adjectives and tone. From trivia to important matters, the book is like a Circle Line tour of the island. Morris – whose history is worthy of a biography – wrote travel books as well as history. In Manhattan ’45 the reader is something akin to a time traveler, making sense of the center of the world at moment filled with romance and optimism.

Impressionistic and stylish, Manhattan ’45 intrigued me and made me want to wear a hat, dance at a nightclub, and enjoy the city. Thank you, Jan Morris, for a most unusual work.

David Potash

Charm, Integrity and a Joyful Conspiracy

The most translated novel in the world in Paulo Coelho’s The Alchemist. A short and attractive book, it is a deceptively accessible tale, almost a parable, of discovery. The Alchemist has the power to stick with you long after you close the cover. Told with tremendous clarity and conviction, it is a memorable read.

In the introduction to the 25th edition, published in 2024, Coelho writes that no one paid any attention when the book was first released in Brazil. He never lost faith in the book, despite slow sales and his publisher cancelling his contract. A US publisher picked it up a few years later and the book took hold. It reached critical popularity in the late 1990s and sales have continued across the globe. Coelho, who had a most traumatic life before deciding to become a writer, believes that when you want something, the whole universe conspires to help you. It helped him. That philosophy also figures prominently in the story.

Describing the book’s plot does not do it justice. It is the most basic of tales, a young boy with dreams who travels – a quest – and learns about the world and himself on the way. From Andalusia to Egypt, there are twists and turns, to be sure, but what gives the work special power is the sincerity and integrity woven throughout. While it may be in translation, there is nothing in the English language version of The Alchemist that did not ring with truth. Considering the title and overarching concept, that is no small feat.

My suggestion for this post? When you’re feeling down or a little lost, consider picking up The Alchemist. Reading it will not take much time. You will always discover or appreciate something new. And most importantly, you will be happier once you finish.

David Potash

Journey’s Fascinating Journey

Journey, one of the most popular rock bands of all time, has been making music – and fans and money – for more than fifty years. Their songs have been heard by hundreds of millions of people and sung in karaoke bars by nearly as many. Who they are, and were, and how it happened is the subject of David Golland’s fascinating band biography Livin’ Just to Find Emotion: Journey and the Story of American Rock. Golland is a fan of the group, but this is no expanded fanzine. The book is a critical look at the history of a creative enterprise that has played an outsize role in popular entertainment.

Golland is an historian with several books under his belt. He knows research, theory and the importance of a critical lens, such as race, through which to make compelling historical arguments. In Livin’ Just to Find Emotion, he balances rigorous scholarship with genuine enthusiasm and appreciation for the music. He relies heavily on primary sources and has talked with scores of people in and around the band. Journey has a long and complicated history. Golland’s approach, as it turns out, is truly the best way to chronicle this complicated group.

Journey’s origins stretch back to the early 1970s in San Francisco. Talented musicians with connections to popular artists such as Santana and the Steve Miller Band were the initial members. Golland is good with the fluidity of the scene, explaining how musicians joined, left, rejoined and formed new bands, looking for synergy and success. Journey’s creation was mostly due to the vision of Herbie Herbert, a well-known manager who stayed with the band through the 1990s. Herbert was a savvy businessman, entrepreneur, image-maker and hustler.

Known for their take on progressive rock, Journey was not especially successful in their early years. Their record company pushed for changes. Different musicians auditioned and/or were slotted into particular roles. By the late 1970s, a new lead singer, Steve Perry, joined and took Journey to a new level. Another personnel change a few years later brought keyboardist and songwriter, Jonathan Cain. He meshed with the group’s strengths and wrote several of Journey’s most popular rock ballads. The result was several years of extraordinarily popular songs and albums. Journey’s success was, literally, off the charts. More personnel changes took place in the latter part of the 1980s, followed by a several year break, and then a reunion. The band has remained active and popular since the early 2000s, with ongoing personnel changes and several lawsuits. For many of those years, Journey toured relentlessly, building and pleasing a multi-generational fan base.

Gollands skillfully charts these changes, giving just enough detail to help us appreciate the pressures, expectations, personalities and aspirations of the musicians and surrounding teams. Happily, he does not get pulled into trivia or unnecessary details. Golland is particularly good on explaining the unusual business organizational structure that bound band members together. They established a partnership, with equal representation, and then reformulated the partnership as membership changed. Golland walks us through the consequences. He is equally informative when it comes to appreciated the grueling schedule Journey adopted. They worked very, very hard.

What is less secure, and remains a topic for music critics, is knowing exactly why Journey became so popular. Golland’s thesis is that the band’s creative appropriation of Black music, particularly through the vocals of Perry, is key. There is much merit to that argument, for it has held true for many other musicians. On the other hand, quite a few White musicians have attempted to appropriate Black music and have not been anywhere nearly as effective. Something else is at play and equally elusive is figuring out the heart of the band over the years. With changing membership, its music and emphasis shifted. That is not to say that Journey changed significantly. There is a core sound to much of their music. Furthermore, it remained a mostly collaborative enterprise. That does not easily fit with our more traditional approach to evaluating popular music, which tends to give credit to a single genius with a supporting cast. Journey was and is a team.

One consequence, at least for this reader and listener, is that while Journey has made some amazing music, it has also made quite a bit of less interesting and engaging music. Critics have labelled some of their songs as corporate rock. Golland’s book, unintentionally or not, provides some evidence in support of that criticism. Some of the choices made by Journey over the years may have been driven more by business concerns than creative direction. The band has not always challenged themselves, their fans, or pushed musical boundaries. However, central to the idea of popular music is giving people what they want. On the other hand, expectations for creative works often carry with them more than simply doing what is expected. Parts of the creative endeavor are about values that are not market driven. The challenge is between seeking creativity and popularity, which may or may not align.

Where does Journey fit on this continuum? Before reading Livin’, I had thought mostly about their innovation and good fortune. Now, thanks to Golland’s research, I give the band more credit for intentionality. Many musicians aim for commercial success. Journey paid the price, worked diligently, and made their way to stardom, hits, and popular culture. And if you’ll allow me to quote one of their hits, “they never stopped believing.”

David Potash

Rawls, Liberalism and the long 20th Century

Katrina Forrester‘s In the Shadow of Justice: Postwar Liberalism and the Remaking of Political Philosophy is a book worthy of multiple readings. Nominally about John Rawls and the impact of his work, especially his 1971 classic, A Theory of Justice, Forrester’s book is ambitious and expansive. Forrester provides a solid and brief overview of Rawls’ life and key ideas. She follows that with an extensive, truly encyclopedic reading of political philosophers’ ideas and efforts in relation to and opposition from Rawls, really for the latter half of the twentieth century. The book is comprehensive, fair, and guided with an underlying sense of coherence that allows for reading – and understanding – a massive amount of philosophy in the context of Rawls and his thinking. In essence, In the Shadow of Justice is a course on political philosophy.

Rawls’ ideas emerged out of the horrors of WWI. The war was no abstraction for him; he served in the Pacific and saw battle. When he left the military to return to higher education, concerns about strengthening the liberal order were paramount to his priorities. Rawls worked on his ideas for decades, and as his thinking was published, he methodically responded to colleagues and critics. Through and through, Rawls was an academic who wrote, rewrote, and wrote more. His theory of justice, accordingly, shifted and expanded over time. Forrester’s tracking of this, her attention to the nuance of context, collaboration and contestation is outstanding. Reading In the Shadow is extremely educational. It is very strong intellectual history.

One key takeaway, beyond the massive material that awaits reading, rereading and consideration for this reader, is a question of who pays attention to political philosophy. Despite the widespread affirmation of much of the Rawlsean project, there seems to have been little impact on policy or politics on the part of political philosophers. Yes, there was alignment with legal studies, but when it comes to shaping political movements, parties or broad understanding of trends, there is little evidence. That is not Forrester’s primary question, but it hangs over the broader project. Why doesn’t it have greater relevance?

One reason might be that the scholars who did this work, through their their academic appointments, backgrounds or training, or some other factors, mostly avoided the public intellectual space. Liberal political philosophers seem to have engaged mostly with each other through a limited number of publications at a small number of elite institutions. They are not household names, even though there ideas undergird the liberal order. It is no small irony that broad scale liberalism, particularly when it affirmed global aspirations, is often distanced from the give and take of politics.

Forrester explores this. While her book is roughly chronological, her periodization frames debates, be it conservation and the fear of the future or the impact of the Vietnam War and what it meant to be a conscientious objector. Rawls’ justice expanded and shifted focus, accordingly, to address these and other issues. Did it lose its essence? Forrester returns to this issue several times, exploring where and how its alterations exacerbated internal tensions. Many of those tensions are with us today as many have come to question the backbone of the liberal political philosophical consensus.

I plan to return to In the Shadow. First, though, much homework awaits. There is much to read and consider. One critical question: when, where, who and why certain political philosophers have been able to move beyond academia and influence larger discussions.

David Potash