Taking a brief pause from reading every book I can find about Abraham Lincoln, I pulled this book off my shelf to accompany me on a visit to Savannah last week. It’s from the same time period as the Lincoln books I’ve been reading, but is both broader and narrower in scope, as it covers decades of antebellum, Civil War and Reconstruction history, but does so by focusing on a single mid-sized Southern city.
I used to live in Savannah many years ago, so I know there’s a lot more to the place than the romanticized image of a beautiful, charming, easygoing tourist destination - or the quirky, mystical, sometimes-seedy city filled with eccentric characters as popularized by John Berendt. If there’s one thing this book does well, it’s telling the real warts-and-all history of a real city, and how it grappled with inequality, war and integration during a consequential period of time.
The opening chapters set the scene, belying the image of a sleepy, laid-back city by describing what was a busy commercial port with a vibrant but uneasy population mix. The wealthy and powerful who lived in the stately homes that the tourists visit today, presided over what was essentially a caste system of poor white laborers (many of them from the North, or from Ireland), slaves and free Blacks (some of whom even owned slaves themselves).
The book tells of the lower classes’ struggle to survive; the concern among the upper class as northern abolitionists came to town stirring up trouble, while they kept a wary eye on national political developments that threatened their way of life, and were perplexed with and increasingly paranoid about their slaves’ customs and traditions; and scourges like a yellow fever epidemic that did not discriminate based on class.
The middle chapters cover the Civil War years and how they affected the city’s various classes. Poor whites and immigrants who were not particularly involved in politics and were not slaveholders had little incentive to fight for the Confederate cause, while slaveholders worried about deserting, self-emancipating slaves aiding the Union enemy.
General Sherman arrives about halfway through the book, “saving Savannah” by declining to destroy it - or perhaps it’s the mayor who gets credit for “saving Savannah” by eagerly giving it up without a fight. Either way, the war, for Savannahians, effectively ends at this point. So the remaining chapters tell of the adjustment to postwar life, freed slaves attempting to make new lives for themselves, and the early stages of a century’s worth of Jim Crow laws designed to intimidate, disenfranchise and keep Blacks “in their place.“
This overall arc was compelling, as something of a microcosm of how the South experienced the period. But that also felt to me like one of the book’s drawbacks - despite the book being about, and named for, Savannah, in some ways it could have been about anywhere. Even coming into it with my own knowledge of the city, and reading it while in the city, it seemed like the book was somewhat lacking a sense of place. There were a few times I could visualize places and neighborhoods that were referenced, but mostly I didn’t feel anything like a “you are there” sense while reading it, and there were no specific locales described in the book that compelled me to want to visit.
The book also has few recurring, compelling individual characters. There are so many names it’s difficult to keep track of them all, or discern when someone is going to be an important player or is just an individual who’s referenced once and never again. The book ultimately reads rather like a collection of vignettes, chronologically told, that are seemingly meant to add up to a larger story. Jones clearly did her research, but the narrative reads less like a story than a mere recounting of that research, as she cites sources like census records, election results and contemporary newspaper reports and strings them together in an attempt to divine a larger story from them.
I was reminded of an interview I once heard with historian and author Joseph Ellis, in which he said to be wary of historians who say “I’ve done all the research, now all I have to do is write it up.” A good, readable work of history isn’t a regurgitation of research, it needs to tell a story. I felt like this book had the research and the facts, but couldn’t quite turn them all into a compelling story, with characters I cared about or a good sense of the actual city it described.
One particular missed opportunity in the book may have been due in part to when the book was published, back in 2008. Interspersed among other vignettes, Jones spends a few pages on what has become known as the “Weeping Time” slave auction that was held on the outskirts of Savannah in 1859. She describes it somewhat benignly as “one of the largest in recent memory,” when more recent scholarship has established that this was one of, if not the, largest slave auctions in American history, and entire books have since been written about this singular event. Perhaps less was known about it at the time of this book’s publication, but it’s nonetheless a shame that it’s not better and more prominently covered here - instead, it’s just another anecdote, among countless others.
But what makes the Weeping Time auction particularly noteworthy in the context of the larger story that Jones attempts to tell, is that it’s still very much in the consciousness of Savannah today. There are current efforts underway in the city to preserve some of the land where the auction is believed to have occurred, with conflicting opinions about moving forward versus memorializing a painful past. This dovetails with Jones’ conclusion, which ponders the Savannah of today and how it is still struggling to acknowledge its past without jeopardizing its present and future, by presenting a somewhat less rosy picture to the many tourists who aren’t necessarily coming to Savannah to be confronted with some uncomfortable historical truths. In the end, by tracing one Southern city’s history - and seeing how that history resonates in the city even today - Jones ends up proving the point of another well-known Southern author, who wrote that “the past is never dead. It’s not even past.”