Tuesday, September 09, 2025

The Company We Keep

I just finished reading "The Sons of Heaven" by Kage Baker. It is an entry in her series often referred to as The Company; it wasn't until the end of the book that I realized that it is, essentially, the last book in the series. From some light online research, it sounds like she did publish subsequent works after this, but The Sons Of Heaven definitively wraps up all the major plot threads and character arcs she had been working on up to this point, and I think the later novels are a fresh start.

 


It's been a long, leisurely and enjoyable journey through these books. Looking back through my archives, I started with the first book just over a decade ago. These have become sort of comfort books to me. Not in the sense of being soothing books - there is a fair amount of violence, heartbreak and tension throughout the stories - but they're very readable, fun, with great characters, good worldbuilding and a nicely twisty plot. For a while I was reading them in tandem with Charles Stross's Merchant Princes books, and more recently with his Laundry Files. Just, y'know, a good series! I think we all want some of those.

MINI SPOILERS

I haven't been blogging about each entry; I think I have a hard time writing up stories that end in obvious cliffhangers with the next entry waiting for me to read. Because I've been reading these over such a long period of time my memory feels a bit hazy at points, but I'm also surprised at just how clearly I can remember a lot of things, particularly the supporting characters: Literature Specialist Lewis, Regional Director Suleyman, Labenius, Chatterji, Billy Bones and more. The Sons of Heaven doesn't spend a lot of time recapping things or re-introducing characters, so I was glad to have retained as much as I did.

MEGA SPOILERS

I am impressed that she was able to wrap everything up so neatly. I'm used to other series, fantasy in particular, that sprawl out exponentially as they get further along, to the point where two new plot threads get introduced for every one that gets resolved. The complexity of The Company has definitely expanded over the course of the series, as we've learned that some of the core axioms are actually flexible and gotten to know various vying factions among the immortals. But by this point all the pieces are on the board, and she can focus on making them move in a satisfying manner.

The one big introduction that felt "new" here was the literal Dr. Zeus. That's been one of the odd things about the series. In the first couple of books, you have the vague impression that the human members of The Company are incredibly intelligent, not just in their scientific acumen but as incredibly talented schemers, planners and manipulators. Then you eventually get to meet the humans, and they're... pretty lame. Childish, peevish, picky, easily startled, lacking in culture or grit or just about any redeeming virtue. How did these dummies get to run everything?

We eventually learn that, at the behest of one of the (secretly disaffected) servant cyborgs, the humans opted to make The Company's database (the "Temporal Concordance") into a self-aware artificial intelligence. This parallels Captain Morgan, the Pembroke Playmate given to Alec some books ago that turned into an incredibly powerful (and humorous, and caring) AI. Because Dr. Zeus has sprung from the time-traveling historical record, he doesn't just turn into an AI: he's an omnipotent and omnipresent AI that, after he has been created, has always existed in the past and has been responsible for all the actions and decisions taken thus far.

Physically, Dr. Zeus manifests as a lifesize statue of, well, Zeus, in his Artemision depiction. This is a fairly chilling character, who SPEAKS IN ALL CAPS and seems to know what everyone is thinking before they say it.

Jumping ahead a bit (well, a lot), Captain Morgan and Alec's several-books-long plot comes to fruition, as the various bombs and things they've hidden throughout space and time all erupt into a massive assault on Dr. Zeus. He ends up not getting a whole lot of "screen time" or putting up much of a fight, at least from what we can see, although it does sound like the Captain has his hands full dealing with him.

The most interesting part of this book, to me, are the various cabals among the immortals. I get the impression that most cyborgs aren't really affiliated with any of them and are just on the sidelines watching. There are two "bad guy" factions, one that wants to enslave humanity, the other that wants to exterminate them, led by Labenius and... hm, I'm blanking on the other guy's name. Then there's the "good guy" faction, led by Suleyman, that wants to free the cyborgs from human control but to coexist peacefully with them.

Outside of them are the core characters of Mendoza and the various manifestations of Nicholas Harpole / Edward Fairfax / Alec, along with the Captain and his lackeys. Mendoza has usually been one of my favorite characters, but these sections of the book were relatively less interesting to me. The concept of what's happening is pretty stunning: in the previous book, Edward succeeded in tricking Nicholas and Alec, stealing Alec's body and partitioning away their minds. In this book, Mendoza and Edward wed, Edward becomes immortal, and then Mendoza becomes pregnant with two cloned children bearing the full consciousness of her former lovers. They are born, and a lot of the book is given over to raising this very strange family.

There are a lot of other plot lines as well. I was particularly moved by the plight of Lewis, who had been cruelly sacrificed to the Kin, who seem to be a race of aliens / gnomes who have created most of the actual inventions of The Company. He was experimented on and left for dead as part of a plot to develop a means to permanently destroy the immortal cyborgs. He is found, rescued and eventually rejuvenated by the unlikely named Princess Tiara, one of the Kin. This seems like an homage to Arabian Nights, and I really enjoyed how it played out.

Oh, and there's also Budu, one of the ancient Enforcers who fought the Great Goat Cult, and Joseph, who is helping Budu in his quest to take down the faithless mortal masters. This plot line surprisingly also includes William Randolph Hearst. This isn't the first time a historical figure has entered the story - we've already met Shakespeare and Robert Louis Stevenson and lots of other folks - but Hearst is unusual; apparently he figured out about the existence of the Company, approached them, and became the only person from the past to become a Company shareholder and the only adult to become an immortal cyborg. Watching Joseph and Hearst interact is pretty interesting; Joseph is playing a very particular role, like a 1920s newsie, all "Gee whiz, mister Hearst!" even though they both know what Joseph is. Budu and Joseph fill in Hearst on "the silence", the plot of the mortal masters to destroy all cyborgs in 2355, so Hearst comes over to their side and proves invaluable in collecting equipment and information for their scheme. He's one of the few new characters to be introduced and make a major impact in this novel. (At least I think he's new, I don't recall him from the other books, but it's been a while.)

Everything comes to a head on Santa Catalina Island, and again, it's a lot of fun: good action, scheming, plans executed or thwarted, betrayals and double-betrayals, redemption, catharsis. One of the core concepts for the entire series is that nobody knows what happens after The Silence, so there's a lot of genuine tension and drama heading into the climax. I suspected that the series would have a happy ending, but it really could have gone in any direction and felt meaningful.

One last note: the epilogue is narrated by Joseph, and man, I'd forgotten just how much I love his voice! He hasn't been very present lately, and it's a shame, he has such a wonderful point of view: cantankerous, world-weary, sarcastic, but with a grudging deep-seated love for humanity. It did make me wish he could have narrated more of this book, but that wouldn't have worked with all the different storylines and perspectives on display. It does kind of make me want to go back and re-read Sky Coyote, though.

END SPOILERS

So, yeah! It's been a great journey through The Company novels, and I'm glad to see them through to a proper conclusion. I know that Kage Baker has written some other novels, including a few in The Company's universe; I also should go back and finish her House of the Stag series, which is where I first was introduced to her. Sadly she's no longer with us, but I'm glad she left such great books behind!

Friday, August 29, 2025

Hawkmoon! Hawkmoon!

I tend not to blog about the more pulpy books I read, but I thought I'd drop in a quick post about "Hawkmoon: The History of the Runestaff". This is a volume that collects four books in Michael Moorcock's mostly-fantasy series about Dorian Hawkmoon. They're pretty breezy quick reads, which ended up being a good background book to have around.

 

 

MINI SPOILERS

I picked up this book as part of my continuing meandering through a list of sci-fi and fantasy works recommended by China Mieville, a contemporary writer I particularly enjoy. Moorcock is a giant of the speculative fiction field, and I was mildly surprised and impressed to learn that he's (1) still with us, and (2) still publishing new work. The Hawkmoon books were written back in the 1960s, and I think they fall into the category of works that were seminal at the time of publication; they're still enjoyable today, probably not as earth-shattering as they would have been at the time, but that's because people like me have previously read, watched and played newer works of fiction that were themselves inspired by it.

The books are very firmly in the sword-and-sorcery side of the fantasy genre, contrasting with the high fantasy style of other writers like Tolkien. I haven't read much Conan the Barbarian but these books read like how I imagine those books go: there is a lot of action, lots of fight scenes, very visceral passages describing how, like, someone stabbed someone else and what it sounded like and looked like. I just now opened the book to a random page, here is a representative excerpt:

The first came flying down on Hawkmoon, naked body gleaming, sword raised. Hawkmoon's own blade rose to skewer the man as he fell; another twist of the sword and the corpse dropped down through the narrow gap between the ships, into the sea. Within moments the air was full of naked warriors swinging on ropes, jumping wildly, clambering hand over hand across the grappling lines. The three men stopped the first wave, hacking about them until everything seemed blood-red, but gradually they were forced away from the rail as the madmen swarmed onto the deck, fighting without skill but with a chilling disregard for their own lives.

Hawkmoon became separated from the comrades, did not know if they lived or had been killed. The prancing warriors flung themselves at him, but he clutched his battle-blade in both hands and swung it about him in a great arc, this way and that, surrounding himself with a blur of bright steel. He was covered in blood from head to foot; only his eyes gleamed, blue and steady, from the visor of his helmet."

It can be a bit cheesy but is enjoyable, and I do really appreciate the very unique monsters and other creatures introduced over the course of the books. There's a lot of fighting, so it's impressive that the fights can all seem so distinct, even though it's always the sole hero or a small group of good guys fighting a huge number of bad guys.

The characters are pretty likeable (or hateable for the villains), but thinly sketched, usually just one or two character traits to define them. Characters, dialogue and plot mostly seem to service the action, which is not the case for most books I read but is exactly what this book wants to do, so that's great!

There isn't usually much worldbuilding in sword-and-sorcery books, and this series doesn't devote a ton of time to it, but it actually is a pretty interesting backstory. While I think of these books as fantasy, they're actually technically science fiction, set on Earth a thousands years or so from now. Like many fantasy books, this one has a map of the world near the front; but the map is a map of Europe, with the names slightly changed. Turkia instead of Turkey, Kyrus for Cyprus, Espanyia for Spain and so on. Further away and unmapped are the distant continents of Amerehk and Asiacommunista.

 


We eventually learn that there was a period of time referred to as the "tragic millennium" that separates our time from Hawkmoon's. The books never describe exactly what happened during this time, but it does seem apocalyptic: perhaps a nuclear war, environmental catastrophe, a bio-engineered plague, or some combination of things. In the resulting world, things seem generally low-tech: people ride on horses and fight with swords. But, unlike in our world, there is also magic, a strong tradition of sorcery. The magic system is never really fully explained and seems to just serve the needs of the plot. There are also many new and unfamiliar creatures, ranging from giant tameable flamingos who serve as aerial mounts to unnamed Lovecraftian tentacled horrors lurking in the water.

Alongside magic, there is also science. Much of this seems to be previously-created artifacts that are uncovered and used; this reminded me of the Numenara from Monte Cook's RPG setting. But there are also modern scientists who research and invent their own new machines; fittingly for this genre, these are invariably Bad People. The most common piece of technology is the "flame lance," which seems to be some kind of phaser or blaster weapon that's wielded alongside swords in combat. The bad guys also use "Ornithopters", which are flying machines; interestingly, they seem to fly by flapping mechanical wings, not via thrust or spinning a rotor.

The socio-political situation is that Europe has been an unruly group of warring states for a long time. However, there is a great rising power in the form of Granbretan, the updated form of Great Britain. Granbretan has the world's leading scientists, and the most ruthless generals, so they have been able to carry on an unprecedented campaign of expansion. Typically they will seek alliances and influence where possible, but when the time is right they will mercilessly attack and annihilate their conquests. The entire nation is portrayed as bloodthirsty and insane.

Hawkmoon is the last Duke of Koln (which I think is Cologne?), who before the start of the first novel was captured by Granbretan after a hopeless battle to resist the invaders. The first character we meet, though, is actually Count Brass, the ruler of Kamarg, in our present-day Provence. Brass is a slightly aging hero who did great things in his day and has decided to settle down to protect a land instead of venturing forth in search of adventure. Brass starts off the novel actually rather sympathetic to Granbretan: while their actions are harsh, he does think that the unification of Europe will be an improvement over the regular warring between small states and will lead to a better future. His resident philosopher Bowgentle, daughter Yisselda and others all disagree with him, having seen evidence of Granbretan's sadism.

I don't want to recap all of the plot in this post, but the narrative shifts over to Hawkmoon fairly early on and mostly stays with him through the rest of the series, though we do get occasional point-of-view chapters from other characters, both allies and enemies, to learn more about what's going on. The action keeps escalating higher and higher, and I can see Moorcock periodically fiddling to keep things manageable: for example, Hawkmoon will find an artifact that gives him superhuman power and able to slaughter an entire army with ease, which is a very satisfying conclusion to a particular arc, but then the author will need a reason for why he doesn't just use that artifact for all of his other fights in the future.

While I think these stories were published as regular novels, they definitely feel like serializations that would have originally appeared in magazines, with regular cliffhangers and recaps. I believe that's an homage to the style of Robert E. Howard and similar writers of the past who actually did serialize, though.

One random note: late in the novel, there's another worldbuilding-ish allusion when Moorcock describes a Granbretan ship:

Gilded figureheads decorated the forward parts of the ship, representing the terrifying ancient gods of Granbretan - Jhone, Jhorg, Phowl, Rhunga, who were said to have ruled the land before the Tragic Millennium

I puzzled over that for a while. Jhone was probably King John, and Jhorg was one of the King Georges, but who were Phowl and Rhunga? It took me a minute to clock that, oh yeah, it must be John, George, Paul and Ringo, the Beatles. That's funny, and especially striking since this book was published back in 1967, when they would have very much been an of-the-moment cultural phenomenon. It would be a little like a sci-fi writer putting, I dunno, Sabrina Carpenter into the backstory of their science-fiction epic.

The passage continues:

Chirshil, the Howling God; Bjrin Adass, the Singing God; Jeajee Blaad, the Groaning God; Jh'Im Slas, the Weeping God and Aral Vilsn, the Roaring God, Supreme God, father of Skvese and Blansacredid the Gods of Doom and Chaos.

"Chirshil" was previously referenced as the subject of the play "Chirshil and Adulf", which must be a WW2 reference to Winston Churchill and Adolf Hitler. I don't recognize (or can't parse) any of the other names in this list, I'm curious if they are other Prime Ministers or other folks I would recognize if I was more familiar with British politics. Some or all of them may be purely made-up names, bridging the gap between our time and the onset of the Tragic Millennium.

END SPOILERS

This was a pretty light read, but a lot of fun. One of the more visceral things I've read. It definitely makes me think of old-time-y radio serials and pulp magazines. Part of me wonders if those styles have grown less popular partly as a result of the rise of television, cable and streaming movies: we can watch Hollywood action movies any time we want, which might satisfy our urge for raw-knuckled kinetic violence, while previous generations would need to get it from the printed word (or by entering the boxing ring!). In any case, I'm glad to have read it. Moorcock has been a very prolific writer and I'm not about to set on a goal to read everything he's written, but I would definitely be interested to read more from him in the future, particularly knowing that he's been active across several different genres and mediums over the course of his career.

Sunday, August 24, 2025

Playful Date

This is a slightly odd post for this blog, but I wanted to note that earlier this year I got a Playdate handheld console and I've really been loving it. It's a unique piece of hardware from Teenage Engineering and Panic. The design feels a bit like an original Game Boy, with a monochrome screen, D-Pad and two action buttons, but the most notable twist (heh) is the addition of a pull-out crank, which is a great nod to the analog design that Teenage Engineering is best-known for.


As part of buying a Playdate, you get free access to "Season One", with two free games released every week for twelve weeks for a total of 24 games. I'll chat more about these below. Games are delivered over WiFi, but other than that and a handful of leaderboards this is an entirely offline device. They recently released "Season Two" that you can buy, and there's also a curated game store where you can buy games (generally ranging from around $1 to $12), as well as side-load games you purchase or download for free off sites like itch.io.

One of the things I like best about the Playdate is that it is not backlit and it looks best when played in natural sunlight. This is the opposite of how I normally feel about video games: I'm usually playing on my PC, or occasionally on my PlayStation, which feels great if it's a dark winter night or a drizzly weekend afternoon, but I feel bad about being glued to my screen when it's beautiful outside. With the Playdate, though, I love sitting out on the balcony or lying on a sun-drenched couch and gaming for a bit. It's really been a perfect summertime gaming system.

I've had the Playdate for several months now, but had fallen pretty far behind on the weekly releases of Season One, and just finished trying the last couple of games today. I really love the variety: different genres, levels of polish, length. Some are pretty basic tech demos, others look like they'd be at home on a (grayscale) Switch. There are a bunch of different action games, puzzle games, music games, some RPG-adjacent games, and some that defy a genre label. My personal favorites include:

Casual Birder. This was one of the first games I played, and I still haven't finished it, but it's really fun. It reminds me a lot of Earthbound / Mother. Kind of a top-down RPG-esque view, but no combat. Simple conversations, item collection, puzzle-solving, with a cute story.

Saturday Edition. My favorite game of the collection. I'm reluctant to write too much about it since it was such a fun experience to uncover; it felt a little like Zak McKracken and the Alien Mindbenders, but more of a drama than a comedy.

Sasquatchers. Another RPG-ish game, you lead a team of cryptid hunters trying to capture photos and videos of various elusive creatures: the Sasquatch, Chupacabra, Swamp Creature, and more. This is kind of my holy grail of a game that uses RPG systems without any combat.

Pick Pack Pup. Really fun and cute and surprisingly varied matching game - I think like Bejewelled or Candy Crush maybe, though I'm not very familiar with the genre. You generally need to line up certain types of products in order to collect and ship them, which earns you money, but there are a lot of creative challenges across the various missions. It has a much stronger story than you would expect from a game like this!

Those are my faves, but there are several others I enjoyed a lot. Some games just weren't for me, and that's fine! That was a fun thing about getting 24 games, you just kind of expect that you won't love all of them.

I've already picked up a couple (literally two) of the Catalog games, I'm looking forward to checking those out. I'm also intrigued by Season Two, which apparently includes baffling video content in addition to more good games.

Oh, I should also mention that there's a proper development kit for the Playdate - actually, multiple kits, including a low-level C API (and apparently bindings from other languages that can cross-compile to C), a Lua API, and an integrated editor called Pulp that you can use for RPG Maker-style games. There's a simulator and you can side-load binaries to the Playdate, and you can share games any way you want, including releasing for free on your site or (if approved) selling on the Catalog. I haven't personally tried out the dev kit, but I think it's amazing that there's such a sizeable and passionate developer community around an indie project like this.

I received this Playdate as a gift, but I think I would have been happy buying it for all the entertainment I've gotten from it. Like I said before, it occupies a different niche from the games I'd play on my PC or PlayStation, or even from mobile games. It's been a fun summertime companion, and I feel like I'll be cranking it for years to come.

Friday, August 22, 2025

Retire THIS!!!!

After reading Jane Bryant Quinn's "How To Make Your Money Last," I thought I would be done reading retirement books for at least a decade or so: it was a nicely authoritative, comprehensive and readable book. Since then, though, I learned that one of my favorite money writers, Christine Benz, has written her own book, simply titled "How to Retire." I think I first learned about Christine through her work with the Bogleheads conference and as a presenter, but since then I've read quite a few of her articles for Morningstar, and I really like her: she has great principles, a combination of curiosity and directness, and focuses on what matters, which tends to be very rare in the financial press.

 


The book ended up being a pretty nice kind of companion piece to Jane's. The structure is interesting: instead of a "normal" book, organized by subject, it's a collection of twenty interviews Christine has had with various experts on retirement-related subjects. These include some of my favorite people, notably William Bernstein, Wade Pfau, Mike Piper and Maria Bruno, as well as many others who I was only vaguely familiar with or who were completely new to me. The interviews mostly focus on a person's area of interest and expertise, such as Mike Piper talking about taxation while others might address subjects like estate planning, steps to take in the years leading up to retirement, living situations, finding a new sense of purpose, and so on. The interviews aren't rigid, so the conversation naturally flows and you get some overlap or digressions, but I really loved those - you get a sense for peoples' values and priorities, which in turn helped me process how to apply their ideas to my own life, much like how you might interpret a film critic's recommendation differently based on their point of view.

So in some ways, this ends up being kind of an opposite book to Jane's. What I loved about "How to Make Your Money Last" was that it had some good, strong opinions and gave direct advice: do this, don't do that. The world of financial writing is overflowing with discussions of different options and too little guidance on which options are good or bad, so Jane's book was a breath of fresh air. The reality, of course, is that there isn't a one-size-fits-all solution for everyone: we all have different backgrounds, resources, goals and futures, and a certain option might be good for one person and not another. Christine's book ends up being sort of a survey of what good, smart, respected and thoughtful people think about retirement, and they don't all agree with each other! This ends up having a powerful effect. Over the course of the book, you hear many different people agreeing with certain ideas, which gives them extra power: for example, that most people should usually delay taking Social Security until they turn 70. A few people raise the possible caveats and exceptions to that, while others just touch the main principle and move on. Other topics see more sharply divergent opinions, most notably annuities: some strongly dislike all forms of annuities, some like one or two types in specific situations, others think various types of annuities could be helpful for people in a variety of situations. I think a person reading this book will walk away with a good understanding of the areas of expert consensus (holding a portfolio diversified across risk levels), areas of legitimate debate (annuities, long-term care insurance), and what charlatans to avoid (crypto).

Is that good or bad? It depends! I think someone who wants to get a survey of the field and is interested in doing a lot of additional reading and mulling through things could end up with a really great and highly personal strategy for retirement. People who are more indecisive by too many options or feel overwhelmed may be better served by Jane's book.

I should also mention that "How To Retire" seems more timeless to me. The subjects Christine writes about are evergreen and pretty big-picture. There are a couple of discussions related to specific elements of the tax code that have changed in recent years and may change again in the future, like Roth IRAs not being subject to RMDs or IRMAA surcharges for Medicare Part B, but for the most part these conversations would have been as relevant in the 90s as they are in the 2020s. "How To Make Your Money Last" has both the big-picture and the granular details: Jane rewrote it after the TCJA to incorporate the latest changes in the code, and has a lot of good, specific tactical advice. So Jane's book is more directly applicable, but also may not age as well as Christine's.

Oh, and a final general comment: I've been focusing mostly on the financial aspects of retirement, both in this post and as my focus in reading, but both books put a strong emphasis on the non-financial aspects as well. "How To Retire" in particular is probably more than half about emotional and social topics, including motivations behind retirement, keeping a sense of purpose, the difference between how men and women define themselves, sources of happiness, finding ways to keep busy and fulfilled, how to talk with loved ones about end-of-life issues, and many more. Partly because of this, I think "How To Retire" is probably especially useful to people like me who are still a ways off from retirement, as it's geared to prompt thinking about subjects that many people don't consider until much later.

All in all, I wouldn't say this is essential reading, but is definitely worth picking up if you or a loved one are in or nearing retirement. It would make for a great conversation starter, as an early warning for potential blind spots or "known unknowns" lurking in the future. It doesn't serve as a complete solution to retirement planning, but would make for a great introduction to that journey.

Sunday, August 17, 2025

How the War was Won and Where It Got Us

I just finished reading "How the War was Won" by Phillips Payson O'Brien. I think I first heard about this during an interview with Paul Krugman, and was sufficiently motivated to pick it up. The book's main thesis is that World War 2 was primarily won by the US and the UK applying overwhelming naval and air power, and not so much as a result of large land battles. The book ended up being more technical and less narrative than I expected: there are a lot of tables and charts, and long paragraphs in which O'Brien rattles off facts like the numbers and prices of pieces of equipment produced by different countries in various years. I'm not complaining: the book is really good, just written a bit differently than I was expecting.

 


I do appreciate when he tells illustrative stories, which are a smaller part of the book but placed well and generally help reinforce the data-based arguments he primarily focuses on. One example is Saburō Sakai, a very talented Japanese pilot who was wounded in combat, redirected to training new pilots, pressed back into service due to a shortage of experienced pilots, and tried to lead a squadron from the home islands into combat. Bad weather, training and equipment kept them from making it in time for the battle, and many planes were lost along the way. This neatly lines up with O'Brien's arguments about the danger of deployment and the loss of material: throughout the war, and increasingly as it went on, far more equipment was destroyed off the battlefield than on the battlefield.

I think the author is writing to people towards the upper side of the Dunning-Kruger curve, while I'm to the left of that. As an American who has a middling grasp of World War 2 from secondary school and erratic reading as an adult, I tend to associate the war with events like Pearl Harbor, D-Day and Hiroshima. O'Brien isn't so much writing to me: he's writing to address fellow professional historians, who have the view that WW2 was largely decided by fighting on the Eastern Front, particularly battles like Stalingrad and Kursk that caused massive casualties for Germany and the Soviet Union. O'Brien spends quite a bit of time at the start of the book summarizing the arguments and citing experts who disagree with his thesis, which I actually hugely appreciated, as I was personally not very familiar with the dominant thinking. I've read other books (Erik Loomins's "A History of America in Ten Strikes" comes to mind) where I feel like I've wandered into the middle of a long-running argument and I have no idea what people are talking about or why.

It seems like the push for massive investment in air power was mostly driven by the political leaders of the countries (Roosevelt, Churchill, Hitler) and not so much the military establishment, which I thought was interesting, and does line up with other things I've read like Erik Larson's "The Splendid and the Vile." It also makes me think a little of Abraham Lincoln, who didn't have a military background but studied military topics thoroughly and ended up with a better understanding of strategy than many of his generals. Part of this may be the tendency of militaries to fight the last war, applying the lessons of the past instead of anticipating the effects of more recent technological advances. I got the impression from this book that generals and admirals didn't necessarily disbelieve the power of air, but it took outside political pressure to take resources away from existing services and put them towards the new ones. (Of course, many would say that the Air Force learned this lesson too well!)

A crystallizing statement O'Brien makes is something like "The United Kingdom essentially traded expensive equipment for human lives." Throughout the war, the UK lost something like 47,000 members of the RAF, either during offensive and defensive missions or when being targeted by the Luftwaffe. That 47,000 sounds like a huge number, but it was fewer men than the UK lost in the first two days of the Battle of the Somme in World War 1. The UK was fighting for survival: not in the abstract sense of remaining an independent political entity, but in the literal sense of letting the human beings on that island continue to live past the war. So, by building expensive airplanes and bombing factories making tanks, the UK ensured that those tanks wouldn't face British soldiers on the battlefield. Likewise for the US, many pilots and sailors lost their lives attacking merchant shipping in the Pacific, but one result of that was that only a handful of Japanese tanks made it to the Philippines, and most of those were bombed before their first combat, so when American ground troops did land they had a much easier time fighting than they would have otherwise.

I was surprised to learn that Germany had about as many civilians working on aircraft construction as the US did. But Germany produced far fewer planes, mostly because of the hostile conditions generated by the RAF. Germany had to disperse its factories into smaller installations scattered throughout the Reich so any single bombing run would be less catastrophic; later, they moved factories into caves and even hollowed-out mountains. That let production continue, but much more slowly, and less reliably, with far more flaws in the finished aircraft. In contrast, America could build huge, sprawling industrial complexes, organized rationally and optimized for speed, without any concern about the defensibility of their factories.

O'Brien acknowledges that there were many acts of heroism in WW2, but also argues that heroism didn't win the war: the fact that the Allies were able to out-build and out-deploy the Axis won the war. Another crystallizing nugget for me: the Battle of Midway was one of the most consequential engagements of the Pacific Theater, with about 250 Japanese planes destroyed during this battle. And yet, at this time Japan was building approximately 100 planes each day, so this great battle only set them back by about three days. What made far more of an impact were the planes that America denied Japan from even constructing in the first place: by destroying shipments of bauxite and oil while being shipped on the seas, by bombing factories that were assembling planes, by picking off finished planes while they were deploying en route to their forward operating bases. These actions were less exciting and heroic than Midway, but had a far bigger impact in defeating Japan.

For most of the first part of the book O'Brien is persuasive in arguing for the importance of equipment, but he does not look at alternative arguments, about the importance of territory and manpower. He explicitly says at one point that this book doesn't take manpower into account, but I think you do have to consider it if you're arguing that equipment is more important. Conceptually, I can see how one human being in the cockpit of a bomber has more destructive power than one human being holding a rifle, and I can kind of intuit how looking at the armed forces through the lens of expenses versus enrollment is valid. But at the end of the day, you do need a pilot in that plane: in the 1940s they weren't flying themselves.

For most of the book O'Brien kind of erases humans from the picture altogether. This does change more later in the book, as he not only looks at the role of people, but also acknowledging hat they aren't all interchangeable. One great example is Japan: they had many talented pilots early in the war, later on Japan still made a lot of planes (even more than before, as they gained access to bauxite from the Dutch East Indies which allowed them to make more aluminum and thus more planes), but they had considerably fewer experienced pilots, and as a result most of these brand-new planes never even made it to the front. O'Brien doesn't seem to really look at the experience of Allied forces, other than the implicit contrast with the poorly-trained late-war Axis forces.

Turning back to the question of the Eastern Front, O'Brien shows how the Reich was forced to deploy most of its air force on the western front to defend against RAF raids, which significantly lightened the air pressure it could deploy to the Eastern Front. This kept Germany from achieving air superiority during battles like Stalingrad and Kursk, which immensely helped the Soviets. But I think you do need to look at the counter-argument as well: 80% of the German army was fighting on the Eastern front, and if they weren't there, then they would have been available for other operations in places like North Africa, the Middle East, and possibly even the UK. O'Brien does eventually address this question of the significance and utility of ground forces, but not until much later in the book.

Outside of combatants, he does write a little bit about human resources. For example, large numbers of German workers had to be redirected to repairing the damage from "strategic" bombing of industry, which made those workers unavailable for new production. Also, Hitler ordered a large increase in the manufacture of anti-aircraft flak guns, which he thought were more effective than fighter planes; these new guns required large numbers of people redirected from factory work to manning AA guns. Later on, as we get into 1944 O'Brien talks more explicitly about the manpower demands on the German population. Men were being taken from factories and put into military service, which caused a spiraling decline in German production, which further harmed the effectiveness of the military, increasing their losses and requiring still more manpower (which was taken from the factories, and so on and so forth). It took a while to get here, but I did like this zoomed-out look at allocation of human resources between military and industrial roles.

Later on, he gives a strong focus on transportation and maneuvering, which contemporary writing confusingly calls "communication". After D-Day, Germany had divisions earmarked to rush to the French coast to repel the invaders; but even groups stationed in France often couldn't get to the front for nearly a month, due to Allied destruction of railroads and bridges, and aerial bombing during the day forced the movements to move during the (short summer) nights, often on foot or occasionally with nearby vehicles. In the last chapter O'Brien colorfully writes that, while Germany had a large number of well-trained troops with superior land equipment, who in theory should have been able to drive the Allies back to the sea; but without maneuverability, they weren't able to meet their opponents in force, and instead were slowly fed into a meat grinder that slaughtered the Axis soldiers. For me, this finally kind of closes the circle on how air and sea power were more important than land combat in the war: if land units can't maneuver, they are kind of irrelevant to the outcome of the war, even on top of the reduced power land units have from lacking material, ammunition, vehicles, fuel, and other resources they were deprived of by the air and sea war.

I really liked the look at personalities driving strategy in the war. Ernest King, the head of the US Navy, stands out for being particularly obstinate and bull-headed. He single-handed caused disaster at the start of the US entry into the war. King was determined to focus on Japan, while all the other military and political leaders wanted a Germany-first strategy. King also deeply distrusted the British, so he wanted the US Navy to operate independently of them. Because of these biases, King kept a huge naval presence in the Pacific, which in turn allowed German U-Boats to operate directly off the American East Coast, causing enormous losses in shipments of vital war supplies to the UK. There were only six U-Boats operating along the coast, and they had a field day, which they called the "Happy Time."

King refused to bring destroyers back from the Pacific, so the problem wasn't solved until enough new ships were constructed to defend the coast; even then, he directed the majority of new ships to the Pacific. King even brazenly lied to the UK during their conferences, stating that 15% of American force was in the Pacific and needed to be higher, when it was actually more like 80% of the Navy.

But in the end, the Navy did prove extremely effective and were able to accomplish their goals, including the smart "Central Pacific" strategy: instead of the original plan of gradual land battles through New Guinea, the Dutch East Indies, Borneo, Malaysia, Thailand, Burma and China before attacking Japan, the Navy island-hopped to come within range of Japan; because of this, they could cut off all support for the deployed Japanese military forces to the south, and not need to fight them at all.

There are lots of things in this book that are probably well-known to people who have studied World War 2, but are pretty new to me personally. One is the difference between US and UK aims in the war. The US had a very clear plan for action - they wanted to defeat Germany and Japan as quickly as possible - and only a hazy idea of what they wanted after the war, just a general sense of a more peaceful and democratic order. In contrast, the UK had a very clear goal for what they wanted after the war - maintaining the power of the British Empire - and were relatively vague and ambivalent about what actions to take during the war, but always kept that goal in mind. That's a big part of why Churchill was so reluctant to commit to a ground invasion of France, and also why he opposed Roosevelt's suggestions to give India a freer hand.

The Americans were pushing hard for a 1943 invasion of France, while Churchill argued strongly for a Mediterranean mission instead. O'Brien seems to suggest that invading France in 1943 probably would have been better. The Allies did occupy more territory in 1943, but gained no land that was really critical for the outcome of the war against Germany. They managed to destroy a decent amount of German production, but production remained high, peaking in 1944. Ultimately the Normandy beaches were far more strongly fortified in 1944 than they were in 1943, so the delay probably hurt at least as much as it helped.

While the Mediterranean fighting had little influence on the ultimate outcome of the war, the Battle of the Atlantic was very impactful. O'Brien says that, when Admiral Doenitz withdrew his U-Boats from the Atlantic, Germany lost any hope of winning the war. They could still make offensive movements and win battles, but after that time they could no longer deny the production and deployment of enemy war equipment, so it was inevitable that the Allies would succeed. As O'Brien writes, "The Germans would continue to fight for two more years, inflict a huge amount of damage and, at times, mount successful operations - but all it was doing was forestalling the inevitable."

In the course of reading this book, I cam to understand how World War 2 required an entirely different conception of war. One fairly straightforward example is the ability to destroy or divert material outside of traditional combat: instead of blowing up tanks while the tanks are trying to blow up you, you can sink the boat that's carrying the tanks into theater, or bomb the tanks while they're in the maintenance yard, or bomb the factory that's building the tanks, or bomb the railroads carrying iron into the factories. But another conceptual shift was requiring the enemy to build up a certain kind of defense, requiring an investment that diminished their strength in other areas. For example, the Germans directly sunk a lot of cargo in the Atlantic early in the war. Later on America built up the Atlantic fleet, stemmed the losses thanks to their escort system, and eventually drove out the U-Boats. That's all great. But building up the escort fleet was very expensive and took a ton of resources that could have gone into aircraft or other production.

The Allies ended up over-shooting their needs, laying down many more destroyers than ended up actually being needed (remember, this all started due to a mere six U-Boats operating off the coast). This is particularly tricky for ships, since they are so capital-intensive and require such a long lead-time compared to other material, so if you turn off the production faucet at some point you still have years' worth of investments that are just lost. So, while the Allies won the battle of the Atlantic, it was also one of the most effective battles that the Germans waged, in terms of requiring big investments from their adversaries.

There are lots of other examples of seeing the war through the lens of expense and investment rather than casualties and territory. The Allies hammered U-Boat pens for years, and never damaged any of them because they were so well constructed. This seems like a sort of victory for the Reich, as they denied the Allies their war goal. But, the pens required massive amounts of concrete, and the concrete used there was concrete not used in beachhead bunkers or factory fortifications. So by making those targets "hot", the Allies drew resources away from other targets they would pursue in the future.

The strategic bombing of German industrial centers incurred huge costs: in some missions beyond the range of fighter protection, something like 30% of bomber craft were shot down, which was seen as an unacceptable loss and led to the canceling of those missions. But having those factories become vulnerable forced the Germans to disperse their production, which led to productivity declines of around 50%. The response to the bombing caused inefficiencies that ended up doing more harm to their production than direct losses from the initial bombing had incurred. Once again, making your opponent respond in a certain way had a bigger impact than the action itself did.

These frequent raids also meant that the Germans had to put all of their air investment into fighter planes to help defend German airspace, which meant they couldn't go on the offensive in the Eastern Front or in North Africa. Anyways, this is an interesting conception: where a traditional analysis would say that one side lost due to incurring more casualties or destruction of equipment, but in the new conception the enemy's response to defend against that action results in an overall superior outcome to your side.

The prose in this book can be a bit dry at times, so I really appreciated it when something punchy lands. Hidden away on page 259 is one of my favorite sentences: "Fighting on water, a substance upon which human beings cannot walk, has always made sea warfare technologically more sophisticated than that on land." Ha!

MacArthur isn't mentioned at all early and late in the book when O'Brien is introducing the key figures in Anglo-American strategy, but he towers over the chapter on the war in the Pacific. O'Brien really slams MacArthur, who seems bad all around. He has political ambitions, and uses political threats to extract support for his military desires, threatening to torpedo Roosevelt's re-election if he doesn't get free reign (and human lives) to do as he pleases. O'Brien bluntly says that MacArthur was "not fit for command" at this time, due to his self-declared top priorities being personal vindication and honor: these are not appropriate priorities for generals in a constitutional democracy.

The big debate in this chapter is a three-way argument between the navy, army and army air force. The navy, under Ernest King, wanted a Central Pacific thrust that would take islands in basically a straight line from Hawaii to Japan. The army, under MacArthur, wanted a Southern Pacific thrust that would liberate the Dutch East Indies and the Philippines. And the army air force wanted to liberate China and start bombing Japan from the mainland. Since the US is a democracy and all of the services had large egos and political constituencies, and since the US had the luxury of lots of resources and manpower, Roosevelt never selected a single strategy and all three ended up being pursued simultaneously.

MacArthur's insistence on the Southern Pacific thrust ended up being extremely costly in American lives and didn't achieve any strategic gains. The long duration of this campaign gave Japan plenty of time to reinforce and fortify their positions, making the invasions very challenging, even with strong sea and air superiority. And it didn't gain anything: American already had access to the Japanese home islands through the Marianas and had severed access to the Philippines and other southerly imperial holdings. The death toll of Filipino civilians was much greater as a result of the fighting than it would have been under uncontested Japanese occupation, even considering how brutal the Japanese were.

This book gave me much better understanding of the context behind the rise of kamikaze pilots. At the start of World War 2, Japan had arguably the best planes and the best pilots in the world, and they were extremely effective in combat. It's rational to use these planes and pilots conventionally, so they can fly many missions and do a great deal of damage over time. By late 1944 and through 1945, though, extreme shortages of fuel meant that Japan had to cut back on flying missions, and in particular they slashed the amount of time new pilots had to train: there just wasn't enough fuel to fly as many practice flights as they wanted to. Inexperienced pilots going into combat are very unlikely to survive their first mission, so in this context kamikaze is rational, since it will at least maximize the damage they do in their one and only mission.

I like that O'Brien has a point of view. He never covers the underlying issues in the war or ideologies (other than the UK's desire to preserve the empire), but he will casually use phrasing like "fortunately" when describing a way in which the Allies gained an advantage, or "sadly" when describing where they fell short or where the Axis advanced. He is an American living in the UK, so it's natural that he would be aligned with the Anglo-American powers, and I would think that people interested enough in World War 2 to read a technical book like this already understand why the Nazis and imperialist Japan were bad. (Of course, I'm also saddened to think that a pro-Roosevelt, anti-Hitler bias may become controversial in the not-too-distant future.)

O'Brien avoids ethical discussions for most of the book before finally addressing them near the very end. This is specifically raised by the firebombing campaigns such as Dresden and Tokyo in 1945, as well as the decision to use atomic bombs, but he briefly looks at ethics as a whole. He recounts the various positions people have taken, both contemporary and modern: interestingly, even major figures within the strategic high command such as Leahy opposed both the use of atomic weapons, seeing them as a barbaric throwback to Genghis Khan-era terrorization of civilians, and invasion of the Japanese home islands, which would cause huge losses for both sides.

O'Brien seems to believe that the most ethical course is the one that ends the war most quickly. It's debatable whether dropping the atomic bomb was necessary to end the war, but if it was, the 100,000 direct casualties were certainly fewer than the indirect casualties that would have been incurred if the war had continued for many more months.

He has an interesting brief aside comparing the end of WW2 to WW1. In World War 1, once Germany realized that it had no hope for victory, it surrendered, which saved an enormous number of German lives that would otherwise have been meaninglessly lost. In World War 2, O'Brien thinks Germany lost all hope for victory after withdrawing from the Battle of the Atlantic in 1943, and by late 1944 it was overwhelmingly obvious that it had no hope of winning. Japan had lost any hope of victory once the Marianas islands had been taken, as its high military commanders all recognized. And yet Hitler and the Japanese military insisted on continuing to fight. The ultimate ethical responsibility lay on the side of the Axis for failing to accept reality and making their own soldiers and civilians pay the price for their leaders' hubris.

The book closes with a conclusion that is brief and excellent, recapping the big strategic ideas of the book and the various personalities who shaped the Anglo-American war effort. His last sentence is very clear: "Only by stopping an enemy's movement can you hope to win a war." I think that's a great summary of his rejoinder to the traditional land-centric understanding of World War 2: the Allies won the big battles because they were able to prevent the Axis from moving, thanks to depriving them of fuel, vehicles, bridges, daylight passage and so on. The Allies were able to accomplish these things thanks to effective domination of the air-sea super-battlefield, destroying equipment on the battlefield, en route to the battlefield, while being constructed and as raw materials being shipped.

This focus on movement is also a nod to the challenges the American military has faced in the asymmetric wars we've mostly fought since World War 2: we can win every traditional land battle we engage in, but we can't keep our adversaries from falling back, regrouping and attacking again, which kept us from politically winning wars like Vietnam. That's a whole huge other topic that O'Brien references in this last section but doesn't even begin to explore, and which could easily be its own book

So, yeah! This book ended up being much longer and a little drier than I expected, but I still found it fascinating and persuasive. The reams of data O'Brien presents make it more authoritative than an opinion piece, and he does a good job at finding illustrative vignettes and some colorful personalities that bring home the visceral reality of the war, beyond the abstract spreadsheet-esque focus on production. It looks like O'Brien has written a few other books on aspects of World War 2, and is regularly commenting on current topics like the Ukraine War, and I'll be interested in checking out more of his writing in the future.