Enthused reading: "One Summer - America 1927" by Bill Bryson

In the people-I-might-actually-like-to-be stakes, I have already identified Bill Bryson as a front runner. This book has done nothing to modify that opinion. Again, I am struck by the guy's sheer curiosity and the delight he takes in serving up stories of both the ordinary and the extraordinary, both of which he finds in the midst of its apparent opposite. It is typically Bryson to alight on one particular year - indeed the summer of one particular year - and lay it out for us in a breeze of fascinated enthusiasm and anecdote. As ever the research is formidable but lightly-worn, the details arresting and illuminating, the regard inquiring and amusing.

Yeah, so I liked it...

But why 1927, I hear you ask, it is not one of those usual suspects, 1914, 1929, 1933, 1968, 1945, 1989 for example, usually included in the pantheon of twentieth century landmark years. There is a rationalisation for the choice, to which I will come back, but my own suspicion is that Bryson's interest in the year started rather with a typically rather boyish attraction to the two centrepiece occurrences of the book. The first is the famous Lindbergh transatlantic flight and its extraordinary aftermath, the second the remarkable season enjoyed by that supposedly over-the-hill baseball star, Babe Ruth. Hmm, thin pickings, one might think, on which to construct a 550 page popular history, especially for a European audience, which may have heard of Babe Ruth, but does not know the difference between a batting average of 0.295 and one of 0.375, and may be more familiar with Charles Lindbergh as a noted Nazi sympathiser than as aviation hero.


But that would be to underestimate Bryson's capacity for scene-setting anecdote, offbeat detail and creative digression. In reality, the book is a kaleidoscopic evocation of the entire USA at this point in history, in the throes of a huge transformation from the cultural status of insecure backwater to that of global hegemon. The exploits of Lindbergh and Babe Ruth, and the way they were received, are just part of a wider canvas in 1927, encompassing early aviation derring-do (and the birth of an industry which did much to shape modern America), Prohibition, the height of Al Capone's reign in Chicago, notorious murder trials, apocalyptic Mississippi floods, epic boxing clashes, the most amazingly hands-off presidency ever seen, the start of work on Mount Rushmore, the talking movies, and, as they say, much, much more.

Babe Ruth

To return to that post-rationalisation, 1927 emerges as at least a decent candidate for pivotal year, at least in modern American history (thus, one might reasonably argue, in world history) before the tribulations of the Great Depression hit two years later - incidentally, itself the direct consequence of a key central bankers' decision taken in the US in 1927, says Bryson. The year, goes the argument, marks the point at which the USA shed its backwater status and became in effect the world's most important country: the richest, the most dynamic, the fastest growing, the most innovative and the most prolific in terms of its popular culture.

Charles Lindbergh

Well, you can make a pretty good case for all that, but, for all the depth of his research, it is simply not Bryson's thing to argue historical theses, but to tell great stories and share his enthusiasm for the characters and events of a memorable year. Along the way, as ever with Bryson, you absorb a lot of information and impressions in the most enjoyable way.

Which is why, of course, I do recommend this book.

Lindbergh's aeroplane, the "Spirit of St. Louis".
Note, no forward visibility.