The title is drawn from a recurring theme throughout Barack Obama’s presidential campaign, culminating in his acceptance speech at the Democratic Convention in 2008 where, as Alter relates, he used the word nineteen times.

Of course, it also conveys the transformational importance of Obama’s election within America’s often strained, racially-charged social contract and the nation’s seemingly unrivalled capacity for self-reinvention.

In another sense, the ‘promise’ is a complex metaphor at the heart of Obama’s political philosophy and governing discourse: a place where reciprocal responsibilities between past and future, and individuals and communities all intersect.

Alter aims to observe this at work but also establish an implicit comparison between Obama and Franklin Delano Roosevelt (FDR), the thirty-second president of the United States and the subject of his previous book, The Defining Moment (2006). Specifically, Alter asserts that Obama’s victory is most significant because it delivered someone to the nation’s highest office as close to FDR since FDR and at a time of crisis closer to FDR’s own than any president since.

This operative comparison prevails largely because it is content to haunt the foreground of Alter’s engaging narrative while he moves through specific events in Obama’s first 365 days: the administration’s preferred metric for evaluation.

That, and it also happens to be true.

In effect, Alter’s familiarity with FDR enables him to make specific analogies that build toward a broader economic and historical contextualization of Obama’s policies. Readers will no doubt welcome this as a refreshing alternative to the nauseating, near-constant comparisons between Obama and America’s sixteenth president, Abraham Lincoln.

The Promise is presented as a blend of journalism and history intended to “…serve as the basis for future arguments” and research. It prevails at this, too — largely by drawing on “more than two hundred interviews” that work together to establish the atmosphere of the Obama White House by examining the president’s “zen temperament” and decision-making process, expanding well-known milestones with lesser-known (sometimes shocking) anecdotes, and exploring the personal quirks and rivalries of his staff and advisors.

Alter’s narrative begins with Obama’s post-election decisions and his earliest orders in office, but it quickly becomes apparent how the president selected healthcare as his primary issue for year one. Despite Obama’s “three dimensional” calculus, many staff felt this was a counter-intuitive approach and it set off an internal war between the “the perfect and the good” — not to mention a legislative stand-off with Congress that just barely succeeded.

Alter also relates not only how alarmingly few (economic and military) advisors were available to fill top posts but how dysfunctional relationships carried over from previous appointments. A lack of unburdened talent with executive experience is clearly one of the extenuating factors in America’s standing disputes with both Wall Street and the Pentagon.

While Alter does disclaim a certain affection for his subject (and fellow Chicagoan), some readers will find him overly sympathetic to Obama. This is a fair point; there is room in The Promise for more criticism of the new president. Consider, for example, the president’s reluctance to investigate and prosecute the misdeeds of the previous administration.

Still, Alter’s approach is less a partisan effort than an attempt to take Obama at his own deed and word (read: journalism over history), and considerably influenced by Alter’s underlying comparison between presidents thirty-two and forty-four (read: history over journalism). And this may, in fact, be the book’s most important contribution: a layered, accessible journalistic history of a still raw and fairly recent event with as much for readers today as tomorrow.

Within the burgeoning Obama book industry, The Promise has more in common with Richard Wolffe’s campaign-road tell-all, Renegade (2009) and David Remnick’s biographical sketch, The Bridge (2010) than some of the more narrow studies. However, the real measure of The Promise will be contrast to Bob Woodward’s forthcoming (as-yet titled) Obama book, slated for release in September from the same publisher.

Among the more compelling reasons to read The Promise, at least for Americans, is a means of getting some quiet time with their new president and for a better understanding of how he thinks and governs, far from the cacophony of the media.

While readers outside the United States will find Alter’s accessible prose and refreshing analysis a cathartic means of cleansing their palate from eight years of war and privatization under George W. Bush and his unfriendly cast of nicknamed, neoconservative goons.



NOTE

It is not without some irony that FDR is responsible for setting the “first hundred days” presidential benchmark. Nevertheless, the media’s fixation on it has much less to do with historical precedents than selling headlines and speculative newsmagazine specials. It is often far better, as Alter proves, to measure someone by their own personal metric.



This is the first instalment in a running series of short book reviews. More information on the series and my approach to reviews can be found here.

The leadership challenge came outside of any apparent crisis or election and took less than a day to resolve.

The Associated Press’ Rod McGuirk writes:

Kevin Rudd’s deputy, Julia Gillard, was elected leader in an uncontested vote about 12 hours after she surprised many colleagues by challenging a prime minister who until recently was one of the most popular in modern Australian history.

It also makes her Australia’s first female prime minister.

Of course, the first surprise event came back in May when the highly anticipated election in the United Kingdom — the first in five years — failed to reward either of the leading three parties with a majority.

The surprise continued as David Cameron’s most-seats Conservative Party not only refrained from rushing into power via a minority government (as is common) but succeeded in wooing Nick Clegg’s third-most-seat Liberal Democracy Party into a coalition government over Gordon Brown’s second-most-seat Labour Party.

If a bridge coalition between the UK’s right and left parties over the centrist Labour Party is unprecedented, then Gillard’s successful shock-challenge to Rudd is playing on another level entirely.

COMPARATIVE RELEVANCE TO CANADA

Some are calling Gillard’s surprise move a coup.

It isn’t.

Gillard was installed by her caucus and well within her rights as a sitting MP. More directly, she affected a change in party leadership exclusively through elected party members. It just so happens that her party is currently in power and the title of party leader also comes with the added perque of being prime minister.

A challenge like this is virtually unheard of in Canadian federal politics — where party caucuses are influenced and intimidated by clique factionalism, unelected party officials, advisors, leagacy-laden leaders emeritus, and a wide variety of donors with an even wider variety of interests.

Still, any sitting Canadian MP would be well within their rights to do the same as Gillard.

We often forget this. And we’re often encouraged to forget this.

Prime Minister Stephen Harper would prefer you ignore the fact that the only thing that keeps him prime minister are — not your votes — but his fellow caucus members.

Liberal leader Michael Ignatieff would rather you ignore it, too — he’d rather you not only overlook the fact that his party is openly whispering about replacing him but that any of his 73 caucus colleagues could attempt it just as easily as Gillard.

Sure, their being replaced in such a way is unlikely.

The point is, they’re both far more disposable then they let on.

Still, it’s nice to know there’s at least one parliamentary democracy out there where MPs know their rights and aren’t afraid to use them.

So, what did we learn?

Not much, apparently.

Our American friends seemed pleased to have a source of political news that didn’t involve rambunctious Republicans or their fickle filibuster. But their coverage was based more on contrast than curiosity.

Keith Olbermann seemed genuinely excited to talk all things parliamentary democracy with his BBC guests but was also keenly aware of his audience’s implied attention span and therefore reluctant to pursue truly complex questions. While Jon Stewart’s half-sincere insistence on the American federal system being superior — U-S-A ! U-S-A ! U-S-A ! — felt more like a question than an assertion.

In America, coverage of foreign events can only be justified by bringing the narrative to rest on some matter of importance for America itself. Of course, that’s less a reflection of their national character than simply one of the luxuries of imperial affluence and therefore perhaps best referred to it as the imperial attention span — where the business of the empire is the only news fit to print.

It’s not exactly something you see in Canada but that doesn’t mean coverage here was any better. And while the American perspective is typical of their own mutual harried relationship with the UK, Canada’s blasé coverage was atypical of a country that has forgotten more about British politics throughout its history than much of the world.

The Globe and Mail‘s Campbell Clark reminded us that:

In six years of minority Parliaments, you would think Canada has seen all the cliffhanger twists. But we haven’t seen this one: two parties actually forming a real coalition with each holding ministerial posts in cabinet.

Which is probably the run-away observation of Canada’s entire coverage and most useful point of departure for all future comparison. But his colleague, John Ibbitson, sets us back with this puzzling statement:

The attempt in 2008 to force a coalition government on the Canadian people was an adolescent effort by the opposition to wield its newfound power. As coalition negotiations in London this week demonstrated, voters expect the party with the most seats to be part of the government.

Which seems to imply that we’ve somehow popularly disabused our Parliament of its representative powers by mandating that all power-sharing possibilities be cleared with the electorate before the election?

That’s now how it works, John.

If there’s anything to learn from this most recent UK election it is that parliaments are only as functional as their members’ willingness to cooperate. And more directly, that even parties adjacent to the centre can bridge their common interests to form a government.

Anyway, here’s the angle that virtually no one in English-Canada picked up on and that is perhaps most relevant to Canada’s peoples-centred framework: David Cameron (fairly Scottish) beat out Gordon Brown (very Scottish) to form a government with Nick Clegg (not Scottish, but Scottish-sounding).

When Prime Minister Cameron arrives in Canada (a place both literally founded by a Scot and with a provincial namesake) for the G8 and G20 meetings next month, he’ll be met by Prime Minister Stephen Harper and members of his obstructionist government, not the multi-party coalition that might have formed a government in 2008 (as was their right) — a government that would have been far more representative of Canada’s own parallel “Scottish situation” in all of its de-federalised complexity.

Reviews will appear at least once a month and be no more than a thousand words each. Ideally, they will be much closer to five hundred words but books vary in breadth and scope and reviews should, too.

Most of what I read revolves around current research projects, but I tend to wander beyond my areas of interest into more general history and current events while also keeping up with recently released fact and fiction.

Some reviews will be more academic than others (as the subject demands), but my point of departure (or basis for title selection) will not be any form of expertise — well, other than as an avid book reader with a moderate attention span and an affection for declarative sentences.

And since I have been teaching for a few years now and tutor individual students, I thought I would share the template for the series while breaking down the core elements of a review at the same time.

CORE ELEMENTS OF A REVIEW

Books reviews are supposed to be challenging.

Reviewers must often relate highly specialized research or work in a broad way while making a direct effort to avoid alienating both experts and the general public.

They have to be critical without engaging in personal attacks or trespassing over the author’s credentials, experience, and intent.

And they also have to avoid retelling or replicating the contents of the book in question — after all, why should I read it if you’re going to do that for me?

Below are the five inescapable, core elements of a review. I have arranged them in a complimentary order that makes the most sense to me but you could rearrange the middle three to reflect your own approach.

+ What is it about and what does it argue?

+ What content or evidence does it offer and is it effective?

+ What are its strengths and weaknesses?

+ Where does it fit into the existing literature?

+ Why read it?

OTHER THINGS TO KEEP IN MIND

Less is more — Answering any of these questions can take as little as a single declarative sentence without any punctuation apart from a single period. But that’s a bit brief, so feel free to help yourself to a whole paragraph. Still, be sure to keep your answers as concise and direct as possible.

It’s not about you — There’s a lot of pressure to make reviews about you: perhaps by including some story of how you came to read the book in question, your expertise on the subject, or some personal anecdote about the author. However, it isn’t your book and you should hold out on writing yourself into the review. And even if the book in question does relate to your expertise, keep in mind that the book isn’t about your expertise.

Analysis over description — of course, spoiling the plot doesn’t apply to fact like it does fiction, but you should still avoid describing things at all cost. Analysis is much more effective. And feel free to allude to things — either the reader will find out later when they read the book, or they won’t and it doesn’t matter.

SAMPLE REVIEWS

A Comicbook Orange (ACO) — happens to be a video podcast about comic books but it’s still the best short review available in any medium! It is concise, engaging, and superbly written. And what I like most is how it slays the perception that comic appreciation (read: any appreciation) is all fanfare by leveling relevant, well-founded criticism on their weekly selection of titles.

It’s probably one of the best examples for students learning how to be critical of art and literature and likely one of the most under-appreciated reviews out there.

Literary Review of Canada (LRC) — is a print magazine in Canada with a keen eye for typography (read: it’s pretty and uncluttered) that offers a monthly series of reviews from various authors, intellectuals, and public officials on a wide variety of fact and fiction.

Their reviews tend to more lengthy than what you’ll find in other magazines and newspapers but offer less gimmicky — please, please, please read our review section — filler by including more contextual or historical information. In other words, their approach is less should you read this book? and more how does this book change our perspective about? …well, whatever it’s about.

Canadian Historical Review (CHR) — specializes in short reviews by members of a select community (in this case, the Canadian historical community) much like other academic journals. Their approach has a near-perfect balance between general and specialized information — meaning, in other words, that readers from different fields, students, and the public could find them, if not equally useful, then certainly equally accessible.

They also help demonstrate a type of peer review that illustrates less of a personal assessment of the reviewer’s expertise and more an example of different ways of exploring topics, discussing themes, and solving problems.

NOTE

(1) I will be updating this regularly based on feedback from students.

(2) Titles selected for review in this series are not paid endorsements.

Last updated: Saturday 8 May 2010.

‘I’ve been managing what they call a hung Parliament for four-and-a-half years now. I think managing one hung Parliament is enough,’ Mr. Harper said in response to a question from Canadian reporters travelling with him in Croatia.

In reality, Harper hasn’t been “managing” anything at all. He is the leader of an obstructionist government that has prorogued Canada’s Parliament twice in as many years.

The first as part of a tantrum when the Liberal Party, New Democratic Party, and Bloc Québécois threatened to form a coalition government shortly after the 2008 election. And the second late last year because his party apparently needed to devote their undivided attention to the Winter Olympics in Vancouver.

Running from your problems is not a form of management — something the growing list of scandals, incidents, and alienated civil servants and organizations can attest to.

What Harper should have today said is this:

I wish the all of the newly elected members of British Parliament the best in forming a new government in the coming days, and working together to face the challenges that the people of the United Kingdom have sent them there to address.

Or, at the very least, confined his remarks to hockey.

And despite the fact that media in the United Kingdom and all across the globe have fixated on the tight race in yesterday’s general election by forecasting a hung parliament, it doesn’t mean they exist.

That’s right: hung parliaments are a myth.

What isn’t a myth is the abundant supply of partisan members of parliament with an unfounded sense of entitlement who are unwilling to co-operate with one another.

But that’s a reflection of partisan politics, not representative democracy.

True, close elections can produce political deadlock or a tie regarding certain legislation but that’s where the speaker of the house comes in. Besides, parties (and even individual members) are free to caucus with others or enter into more formal power-sharing relationships — until that government no longer enjoys the confidence of the house or its term expires. Rinse, repeat.

The system works.

Except when it doesn’t. And that’s because we’ve somehow convinced ourselves that majorities are natural and minorities are dangerous. If that sounds familiar it’s because we use the exact same metric to divide parties on issues: protection for some groups; protection from others.

For example, take our approach to youth: we’re repeatedly told that they’re idle and at risk to commit crimes. But since there are generally less of them and they can’t vote anyway, youth-targeted tough-on-crime legislation enjoys wide appeal.

The same goes for immigration: we lack progressive reform because parties appeal to the settled at the expense of the landed.

We don’t pick the best ideas; we pick the ideas that best appeal to the broadest majority. And we like majorities because we think they’re decisive.

Except they aren’t — not unless the electorate decides to award a single party a landslide victory and they have enough votes to railroad everyone else in the house. But that’s the exception, not the rule. And it’s close to tyranny — tyranny that’s typically rewarded with a swing in the opposite direction on election day. Like the Canadian cliché about elections reminds us: we don’t vote governments in, we vote them out.

But that’s not really what our representative system of government is designed for, so maybe it’s time we took a less absolute approach to parliament or picked a different, more populist system.

Regardless of whomever is declared the winner in the UK election and whatever power-struggle ensues before a government is formed today or over the days to come, the outcome will depend on members’ ability to put governance ahead of party — not the apparent failure of the electorate to award a landslide under the spectre of undoing it all in five years.

The media could easily create an incentive for better behaviour by challenging members to make parliament work, but that would involve abandoning a myth they’ve helped nurture and perpetuate.

My posts will primarily explore history and the internet by drawing on some of the more recent debates, services, sites, and web trends that might be relevant or particularly useful to the historical community in general.

My first post, for example, explores how short URLs could potentially rein in run-away links in things like course materials, endnotes/footnotes, and finding aides both online and off.

I’ve been keeping up with ActiveHistory.ca since they started following me on Twitter a while back and jumped at the chance to join them because I respect their approach and identify with their purpose:

We define active history variously as history that listens and is responsive; history that will make a tangible difference in people’s lives; history that makes an intervention and is transformative to both practitioners and communities. We seek a practice of history that emphasizes collegiality, builds community among active historians and other members of communities, and recognizes the public responsibilities of the historian.

Building community is why projects like ActiveHistory.ca are important and the reason I’m excited to work more closely with them over the coming months.

I know that hardly sounds unusual in 2010, where the latest web and tech trends conspire to make all of us information-news junkies of one variety or another, but in 2003 it meant going a little out of your way to keep up with things.

It was just before the “blogosphere” was invited to join cable news and before the aggregators compiled every little development, from all corners of the media machine, into a single space.

It was back before newspapers disappeared and journalism was still a stable career choice.

A time when columnists could take a leave of absence that they affectionately referred to as book leave.

Why anyone would need to take a specifically sanctioned absence from writing less than 800 words, twice weekly is beyond me — and probably most mere mortals as well.

Still, back then the only thing I wanted more than my own column was to go on book leave.

As of this month, I am on a leave of absence from my graduate program until the new year. There area a number of reasons involved and most of them beyond my influence, but I am going to refer to the whole ordeal as being on book leave.

Disclaimer (1): there will be no bonus, of any sort, should you, by some strange twist of plot, already possess one or more of the titles mentioned here.

Disclaimer (2): these are not formal reviews or paid endorsements (although, who am I to decline free copies?) and am open to suggestions, should certain readers become so obsessed with this occasional series as to somehow confuse their self-worth with validation here.

Disclaimer (3): “Books You Don’t Own But Should” is not to be confused with “Books You Do Own But Shouldn’t,” another occasional series on this site wherein I simply laugh at your poor taste for the bemusement of others.


One of the most useful books I own is Marc McCutcheon’s Descriptionary (1992).

What is a descriptionary, you ask?

It is a “thematic” or reverse dictionary that describes itself as, the book for when you know what it is, but not what it’s called.

Which, in other words, means that it’s a book that helps you sort through sentences like this: you know that stuff, from the thing, that we got from that place?

In short: the Descriptionary makes pronouns feel bad about themselves. It’s the legitimate offspring of the dictionary and thesaurus and heir to their rightful place on your bookshelf.

Which is not to suggest that you should throw out your dictionary and thesaurus — but if you do, please keep in mind that the odds of bounce are directly proportional to height thrown — rather, that the Descriptionary is useful because it draws on a type of learning and thinking that its more antiquated antecedents do not.

We no longer pretend there is a single way or means of learning anything and your relationship with words should be no different.

The Descriptionary is organized by theme, starting with broad categories like animals and insects, architecture, art, clothing, electronics, etc. Each of these has its own list of categories and a number of relevant sub-categories (as needed) that are each comprised of an alphabetical list of related terms.

Let’s look at an example: If I turn, at random, to the category Occupations, then Politics, and then International Relations, I find a number of terms and definitions, including “plenipotentiary” which apparently refers to “any diplomat who may rank below ambassador but may be, nevertheless, vested with complete authority”.

I am not a member of the civil service but that’s still a useful piece of information.

Perhaps another way of explaining how the Descriptionary works is that it provides context before definition, whereas the dictionary provides definition before context — assuming, of course, that you know what the hell you’re looking for in the first place.

I happened to notice recently that the fourth edition of McCutcheon’s Descriptionary will be released in June 2010. It includes just over 700 pages (100 more than the second edition from 2000 that I have) and is priced at a modest twenty dollars, depending on your retailer of choice.

After you pick one up, you can join me in wondering why they haven’t lined grade school classrooms with them.

Her latest album, Junior (2010) dropped this Tuesday and it’s quite good.

You’ll find it a bit heavier and up tempo than her last album, Dreaming of Revenge (2008) but you won’t mind at all.

She tore up Late Night with Jimmy Fallon last night.

Here’s the video: