By Erik Larson
Erik Larson captures the mayhem and magnificence that is Churchill's first year as Prime Minister in The Splendid And The Vile. Larson summarizes the essence of this period (May 1940 - May 1941):
Against all odds, Britain stood firm, its citizens more emboldened than cowed. Somehow, through it all, Churchill had managed to teach them the art of being fearless. (483)
Playing out under the German blitz Larson juxtaposes good and evil, love and war, loyalty and cunning.
We see the splendid heroism of Great Britain contrasted with the vile campaign of Hitler. But this book gives us the big lesson in little pictures. As Larson notes, "It is in frivolity that Churchill often revealed himself, the little moments that endeared him to his staff, despite the extreme demands he placed on all" (p. 506).
Any reader of Churchill's life catches glimpses of Pug Ismay, the Prof, Max Beaverbrook, and various members of Churchill's family. We all know the name, John Jock Colville, the PM's private secretary. But Larson brings many of these characters "to the foreground."
We witness Max Beaverbrook's relentless production of RAF fighters at the same time Göring races to amass his stolen art collection. We witness young lovers as bombs fall; we listen as Hitler's words drive armies to destroy even as Churchill's parry blows, comfort the downcast, and bolster the morale of a nation. We sit with Mary Churchill in "The Prison Room" at Chequers as she muses on life, love, and possible marriage Eric Duncannon. We listen as Pamela Digby Churchill counsels her,
Don't marry someone because they want to marry you--but because you want to marry them.
Contrasts abound!
Larson's seventy-five pages of source notes, bibliography, and backstory will help you catch a glimpse of his scholarship. He leans heavily on Churchill's private secretary John (Jock) Colville's covert diary, which was released as The Fringes of Power in 1985. As noted, he gives us more personal glimpses of two of Churchill's inner circle, Max Beaverbrook ("Some people take drugs. I take Max") and theProf, Frederick Lindemann (“Love me, love my dog, and if you don’t love my dog you damn well can’t love me”). We also get an intimate glimpse into the life of the youthful Mary Churchill, as we do the lively and sad lives of Randolph Churchill, Joseph Goebbels (Hitler's propaganda artist, and the "loving father" who poisoned his children before committing suicide in the end), the eccentric Hermann Goring, and the lovelorn John Colville, unsuccessfully pursing Gay Margesson while he equally pursued Winston Churchill's every secretarial demand.
I appreciated learning how Larson's approached mapping his narrative. He followed the Vonnegut curve (fortune, misfortune, return to fortune) as it related to Churchill. You can read more in his "Sources and Acknowledgements." Fascinating stuff.
I gleaned much. Here is a sampling:
1. Quote: "Don't marry someone because they want to marry you--but because you want to marry them." (Pamela to Mary Churchill as Mary contemplated marrying Duncannon), 462.
2. Goebbels grudging respect for Churchill: "This man is a strange mixture of heroism and cunning. If he had come to power in 1933, we would not be where we are today." 457
3. Indispensable "seconds": Beaverbrook was a 30-year friend, the Prof a 20-year friend. Both were not universally liked, but that mattered not to Churchill. To him they were indispensable.
4. Leaders focus on task and relationship: Beaverbrook was the organizational "task." He was laser focused on the results Britain needed to see with respect to planes for the RAF. Someone else would have to keep tabs on the relational portion of that grid. Britain's war leadership had a hard time putting up with Beaverbrook, but they needed him. When you need speed to scale with excellence, you need a Beaverbrook.
5. Communication: "Churchill's great trick -- one he had demonstrated before, and would demonstrate again -- was his ability to deliver dire news and yet leave his audience feeling encouraged and uplifted. "Fortified" is how Harold Nicolson put it in his diary that day. (p. 124)