Part eight in a series “Wars produce many stories of fiction, some of which are told until they are believed to be true,” Ulysses S. Grant said in his Personal Memoirs. Grant was specifically referring to a fiction “based on a slight foundation of fact” from Appomattox Court House, where Robert E. Lee’s army surrendered. The formal surrender [...]
Telling History vs. Making Art: The Civil War’s great storyteller
Part six in a series. No written work embodies the tension between art and history more fully than Shelby Foote’s mammoth three-volume The Civil War: A Narrative. Few people realize Foote was a novelist before he became the “warm and folksy raconteur” of anecdotal Civil War history; his novel Shiloh sits almost forgotten in the shadow of his magnum [...]
Bringing down the curtains
Most people don’t realize that George Washington, “Father of Our Country,” was a devoté of architecture and interior design. We tend to think of him crossing the Delaware, not dressing windows. “How extremely important this was to him, the extent of his esthetic sense, few people ever realized,” historian David McCullough has noted. “Only a [...]
Telling History vs. Making Art: “Frankly, my dear….”
Part three in a series As the horn section carries Max Steiner’s score from its overture into the sweeping, now-iconic strings of its main theme, Gone With the Wind opens with haggard-looking slaves returning from a hard day’s work set against the first of many sunset backdrops. On-screen text immediately evokes a romanticized antebellum past: There was a [...]
Lincoln captures the humanity of American greatness
One of the things I’ve found most remarkable about the Civil War is the physical change that overcame President Lincoln during his time in office. The distinguished, thoughtful lawyer from Illinois who first arrived in Washington wasted away over four years; by 1865, he was virtually a smiling skeleton with a mop of bedhead hair. [...]
Telling History vs. Making Art: "a tension between Art and Science"
Part one in a series As a battlefield guide at Fredericksburg & Spotsylvania National Military Park (FSNMP), I frequently speak with folks who’ve come to the battlefields because they’ve read The Killer Angels, which in turn inspired them to come see a Civil War battlefield. Michael Shaara’s novel is about the battle of Gettysburg and has nothing to [...]
Telling History vs. Making Art: An upcoming series at S&R
Introduction to a series As part of my doctoral work, I recently did some work that focused on Civil War literature. I use “literature” in a broad sense to cover fiction, nonfiction, and film. My interest in the topic stems from my work as a historian for Fredericksburg & Spotsylvania National Military Park. Visitors come to [...]
Big Meadow in the crepuscular hour
It’s the time of change. Autumn. Dusk. 6:40 p.m. The crepuscular hour. Everything’s on the cusp of being something else. I don’t know what has compelled me to drive to Big Meadow tonight. Shenandoah National Park is an hour away from where I’m staying in Chancellorsville this weekend, and Big Meadow is a half an [...]
The colors of change in the time of leavings
Autumn lends itself to metaphors of change because it plays itself out so brilliantly. Here in northwestern Pennsylvania, for instance, the hillsides boil with color. The change metaphor seems so common for this time of year—although it holds true for any season—but I could never reduce autumn to a cliché. My season of leavings continues, [...]
The way of the world and the time of leavings
She puttered around the house until well after midnight last night, washing one more glass, folding one more t-shirt. Later, she found another to fold. She also found, like an afterthought, a half-full bottle of aspirin that she slid, rattling, into a box of other provisions she’d set aside for my daughter, now off at [...]
The congress of cats in the crepuscular hour
On my walk this evening, far out in the country, I came across a sight I was probably not meant to see: a congress of cats gathered in the road. Three of them sat upright, far enough away that I first mistook them for turkeys. A fourth stood poised in midstride, the same color and [...]