The most recommended Teddy Roosevelt books (Theodore Roosevelt)

Will-Weber extensively researched the drinking habits of every U.S. president from George Washington to Barack Obama to compose this outstanding volume. Mint Juleps is brimming with fascinating facts. Did you know that the Carters, who were Southern Baptists, were much heavier drinkers than the Reagans? (Ronald Reagan, who effectively imposed the twenty-one-year drinking age on all fifty states, was the son of an alcoholic and wary of alcohol abuse). I think that I enjoyed the profile of George Washington the most, who not only plotted American independence over a pint or two but distilled his own applejack brandy as well.

This is where the “Western novel” began.

By reading this book, people of the early 20th century were introduced to a prototype protagonist who would be duplicated (with variations) for generations to come. Authors who followed this lead were Zane Grey, Louis L’Amour, Jack Schaefer, Charles Portis, Elmer Kelton, and I.

As a boy I found my heroes in the format of the lone common man who faced up to adversities that cut against his moral code.  These protagonists played a large part in shaping my values. Even though the characters were fictitious, the lessons were real. The inspiration hit home.

Wister’s influence on later writers remains intact for good reason. His work was the historical beginning of the “Western,” which, to many folks, serves as the quintessential American story.

When historian Douglas Brinkley said he intended to write a trilogy of thick environmental books, comedian Jon Stewart quipped, "How many trees will you kill to do it?" But Brinkley's gift is no joke. He did our world a remarkable service by writing this encyclopedia of American conservation.

Despite profiling great presidents, a lesson I learned repeatedly from Brinkley is how much conservation history has been driven by everyday Americans caring about a part of the country and acting. 

Theodore Roosevelt read the book and loved his philosophy and way of telling a life story. Autobiography is at the heart of American literature. Washington, the founder of the Tuskegee Institute and Roosevelt’s contemporary in age and thinking, was the first writer the President invited to lunch at the White House, controversial as that invitation came to be. We love the book because, in this day of reconsidering Black history, the reader can see how Washington’s notion of self-reliance, captured in his famous admonition, “Cast down your bucket where you are,” helps to define the quest for economic and social freedom for people of color in the early 20th century. Readers will discover a compelling man with an engaging writing style who speaks to the struggles within American society that persist to this day.

It’s near impossible not to fall for the lure of urban history when a skilled writer brings to light compelling stories of the men (atlas no women in this book) who transformed New York into an economic powerhouse, the capital of capitalism, in the late 19th century.

Their names are familiar but not so their complete stories: J.P. Morgan, Andrew Carnegie, John D. Rockefeller, Jay Gould, Samuel Gompers, Theodore Roosevelt. The writing is so good, it’s hard to put the book down.

I read this one in college, and it sparked my imagination for years and years. Set in 1890s New York, it combines the lowbrow pleasures of gory crime with lots of nifty historical settings and facts (the history of psychiatry! Early forensic science! Gilded Age politics!).

I read it on my bottom bunk in the dorms in about 8 hours, probably while I should have been studying. I’d love to recapture that intensity of pleasure in reading, but a job and two small children make it tricky. 

This novel’s power remains intact every time I read it, even as the nature of the tragedy seems to shift – from the perils of living by one’s looks (my teenage reading) to the cruelty of the world towards women (my young adult reading) to the struggle for personal freedom in a money-obsessed culture (my more recent readings).

Edith Wharton’s novel is a masterpiece, both electrifying and relevant, and worth re-reading as often as possible. 

Once you finish the book, watch the Terence Davies-directed film, starring the luminous Gillian Anderson as Lily Bart.

Like Sacks, Jamison is the rare scientist whose writing is both research-based and accessible.

In An Unquiet Mind, the memoir she published in 1995, Jamison shared her diagnosis of manic depression, chipping away at stigma by opening up about herself. In Exuberance, she takes readers in another direction by delving into a single human characteristic.

I have always been fascinated by people who are positive, upbeat, and charming—people who seem to be enveloped in joy. Jamison explores the history of exuberance and the people who exude it, from Teddy Roosevelt to P.T. Barnum.

Jamison’s enthusiasm for her subject springs from the page. Exuberance “leaps, bubbles, and overflows, propels its energy through troop and tribe,” she writes. “It spreads upward and outward, like pollen toted by dancing bees…” 

When Natalie’s career as a professional musician collapses, she travels out west. There, she learns the US government’s Indian Code makes it illegal for Native Americans to sing, dance, and tell their stories. She records Native songs and dances and advocates for the lifting of the Code.

For those of us who’ve seen plans crumble to dust, Natalie’s life of recovering from adversity to advocacy is an inspiration.

I regularly reread this book because, in blazing prose, Egan tells a history of our public lands via President Theodore Roosevelt's historic partnership with Gifford Pinchot.

Pinchot, the peculiar first chief of the U.S. Forest Service, defined conservation as: "the greatest good to the greatest number for the longest time." I learned not only that definition of conservation but also Roosevelt and Pinchot's epic challenge: To save land, wildlife, and democratic opportunity while standing up to the political power of wealthy Robber Barons and the elemental force of fire.