Fans pick 100 books like Abe

After his presidential victory in 1860, Lincoln still had to get to Washington to take office. I loved this book because of its cliff-hanging, blow-by-blow description of how close pro-slavers came to assassinating Lincoln even before he took office; if they had succeeded, slavery would have been preserved for years to come.

In a fascinating and original story, Widmer notes the parallels between Lincoln’s courageous Odyssey—a 1900-mile, thirteen-day train trip to Washington DC, with dangers lurking all along the route—and Odysseus’s perilous journey home in Homer’s Odyssey.

If you can read only one book on Lincoln, this is the one I would choose. In my opinion—as well as that of many professional historians—it is the best book ever written to examine why Lincoln waited two years after becoming president to issue the Emancipation Proclamation. In this brilliant and elegantly written book, a Pulitzer Prize historian argues, entirely convincingly, that the need to keep together his pro-union coalition required Lincon to proceed very cautiously.

To be sure, Foner writes that while Lincoln’s long-held anti-slavery convictions were not in doubt, he also initially shared the racist attitudes that black people were not ready for full freedom. However, Foner emphasizes that as Lincoln grew in office, his beliefs increasingly moved towards those of Frederick Douglass—whom Lincoln came to greatly admire—and other full-fledged abolitionists.

I loved this book because it is the most original, detailed, elegantly written, and argued examination of Lincoln’s famous Gettysburg address, by common acclamation, one of the greatest and most powerful political speeches in world history.

In this Pulitzer Prize book, Wills argues that at Gettysburg, Lincoln “came to change the world, to effect an intellectual revolution”—and succeeded in doing so. “No other words,” Wills writes, could have successfully brought about both “a revolution in thought” and  “a revolution in style.” Wills concludes that the address “wove a spell that has not, yet, been broken,” as Lincoln “called up a new nation out of the blood and trauma.”

I loved this book for its examination of how John Brown (the Zealot), a violent terrorist,  and Abraham Lincoln, a cautious political genius, shared the same goal—the end of slavery—but radically differed in their methods. Yet, despite their differences, it is striking that Frederick Douglass considered both men to have been essential to ending slavery.

Brands note that Douglass, though a critic of Lincoln’s caution for many years, came to appreciate how Lincoln overcame the many obstacles to ending slavery. As for Brown, Douglass told a black college audience his  “zeal in the cause of my race was far greater than mine….I could live for the slave, but he could die for him.”

I was thrilled when I read this book, the first one I found that cited Frederick Douglass’s little-known 1865 eulogy of Lincoln describing him as “emphatically the black man’s president.”

Historians often cited Douglass’s well-known 1876 speech (where he called Lincoln “preeminently the white man’s president”) but ignored the eulogy that I had discovered in Douglass’s papers at the Library of Congress. In vain I had long tried to call scholars’ attention to it.

So when I read this book I immediately wrote the author, thanking him and praising his work. We became fast friends, enthusiasts for opera as well as history. This book shows how Lincoln and Douglass started out from different political positions but moved together over time. Like Douglass Lincoln was “at bottom a racial egalitarian.”  

This 1981 book influenced my decision to become a Lincoln scholar, for the author – a gifted historian of the Reconstruction era – effectively challenged the regnant notion that Lincoln was a “reluctant emancipator.”

So in my first book I devoted a chapter to the origins of Lincoln’s hatred of slavery, building on the foundation that Lawanda Cox had laid.

Examining closely the president’s dealings with racial politics in Louisiana, she traced his maneuvers behind the scenes in support of emancipation and Black suffrage and concluded that Lincoln was “a determined, though circumspect, emancipator and friend of black civil and political rights, consistently striving to obtain what was possible in the face of constitutional restraints, political realities, and white prejudice.”

In this beautifully written study of Lincoln’s pre-presidential years, the political ethicist William Lee Miller, a warm and generous friend as well as a gifted scholar, argued that to “appraise Lincoln fairly” one “should not compare him to unattached abolitionists in Massachusetts or to anyone a century and a half later” but rather to “other engaged politicians in the Old Northwest in the 1850s,” who were far more skeptical about racial equality than Lincoln was.

Miller observed that Lincoln was consistently “cordial and welcoming in his treatment of individual African-Americans,” but that he was more than that. In Miller’s words, Lincoln’s interaction with those Blacks demonstrated “a racially inclusive egalitarianism.” Miller’s companion volume, President Lincoln: The Duty of a Statesman is an equally insightful examination of Lincoln’s presidential years.

Richard Hart, a prominent, civic-minded Springfield lawyer and an exceptionally kind and generous friend, was also an avid local historian who tirelessly examined original sources in search of information about Springfield during Lincoln’s time.

In 1999, he published a seminal article demonstrating that African Americans “were a significant part not only of the town’s life, but of Abraham Lincoln’s life and environment.” He then elaborated on that point in this book, written with the assistance of Bonnie Paull, a retired professor of English.

I dedicated one of my books to Hart, paying tribute to him as the author “who pioneered the way,” showing that Lincoln’s interaction with African American neighbors, friends, clients, and employees in the Illinois capital profoundly shaped his racial egalitarianism.

I loved how this book offered an intellectual history of the Lincoln administration in action and memory, and with a personal touch.

Focusing on the lives and works of Lincoln’s two personal secretaries, who—as Zeitz points out—were perhaps more akin to a modern president’s Chief of Staff, Zeitz takes you from the prewar years, through the war itself, and then deep into the changing landscape of post-war America.

I enjoyed how it provided a front-row seat to see the rough-and-tumble world of American politics, the process of getting things done during Lincoln’s presidency, and the refashioning of Lincoln’s image in the public mind.

Nicolay and Hay together assembled a monumental history of Lincoln and his presidency, one that still shapes scholarly understandings of him to this day. 

Donald’s one-volume biography of Lincoln remains the standard in the field. I knew David Donald and found him always generous. From his perch at Harvard, Donald dominated the Lincoln field for many decades. His biography of Lincoln stands head and shoulders above a host of more recent studies. In fact, it surprises me people keep writing biographies of Lincoln that go over the same ground repeatedly. Donald brings Lincoln alive with the authority that comes from a lifetime of reflection and writing on the Civil War and our greatest president.