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What I read this year and what I thought of it

What the heck, everyone else is posting these. I usually wait till New Years, but here goes.

To be honest, this year's reading was largely disappointing. I don't think I read anything that I would recommend without reservation, except for re-reads of books I already knew were great. So with that in mind, here is what I read in 2020, and what I thought of it.

Best book I read this year:

1. Three New Deals by Wolfgang Schivelbusch

This is an extremely interesting and insightful comparison of the fascism of Italy, Germany, and America in the decade preceding World War II. Much of this is material you will not find elsewhere, or apt comparisons that other historians are too timid to make. It’s an impressive work. It’s too short, unfortunately, so it is at best an appetizer for the neglected study of how the New Deal actually worked, as opposed to our cultural myths about it. But I do recommend it strongly.

Honorable Mentions:

Why we shouldn’t abandon the consumer welfare standard

This year marks the 75th anniversary of one of the most destructive legal decisions in American law: US v. Alcoa, which declared it illegal for businesses to outcompete their rivals. Fortunately, in the 1970s, the legal community realized the errors of its ways and adopted a new rule, the “consumer welfare standard,” instead. The result was an explosion of economic growth. But today, activists are trying to eliminate that rule and move backwards to the days of the Alcoa case. I explain in today’s Dispatch.

My review of The Meritocracy Trap

My review of Daniel Markovits' book The Meritocracy Trap is up at The Objective Standard. Excerpt:

It makes no sense to blame “meritocracy” for inequality while at the same time accusing it of obstructing “the avenues that once carried people from modest circumstances into the American elite.” “Meritocracy” cannot simultaneously be the source of class divisions, the result of class divisions, a weapon against class divisions, and a device for reinforcing class divisions—unless the word means whatever Markovits wants it to mean.... Many of the problems Markovits writes about are real ones. But rather than addressing private choices and public policies that would expand opportunity for advancement and improve life even for those whose dreams do not direct them to the heights of the corporate ladder, Markovits’s prescription is for a society in which government will reward “uncompetitive mediocrity” instead of individual initiative, and mankind’s noblest quality—the love of excellence—is regarded as a menace.

Read the rest...

2020 was bad, but is it worse than the 1930s?

This morning’s Dispatch has my article reflecting on how much of the insanity we see in the country today has a precedent in what Auden called the “low, dishonest decade” of the thirties.

Bruce Herschensohn on the Constitution

Here's a little video that captures beautfully why I loved Bruce. From a 1998 event celebrating Constitution Day.

Remembering Bruce Herschensohn

In this morning’s Dispatch, I celebrate the memory of my friend and mentor Bruce Herschensohn, who died Monday at the age of 88.

I first met Bruce when I was 17. His book Lost Trumpets had just come out, and I had always loved seeing his commentaries on TV, so I went to see him speak about his book at the Nixon Library. I remember my question was, “What do you think of Ayn Rand?”—whom I was just starting to read. Rather than ridicule her or belittle me, Bruce, who was certainly no Objectivist, replied, “I love Ayn Rand! The Queen of Libertarianism. I don’t always agree with her, but I think she’s great.”

I followed up that meeting with a fan letter and he invited me to meet him at the Claremont Institute, where he was then a Distinguished Fellow. From then on we corresponded, typically by old fashioned letters. I did most of the writing because he preferred his letters to be only one page long. Now I realize how much he was indulging me, and I think I realized that then, but it thrilled me—and still does—that someone I admire so profoundly would take the time. When I entered college in Southern California, I actually scheduled my classes around his morning radio commentaries on KABC, so that I wouldn’t miss any.

I think he was always disappointed that I wasn’t as interested in foreign policy questions as in domestic. But he was always enthusiastic—genuinely enthusiastic—whenever I would tell him of what I was up to, or send him one of my books. (“Always start writing your next book the instant you finish your previous book,” he told me once, and I took it to heart. When I last spoke to him, only about two or three weeks ago, he was working on one of his own.)

I brought him out to Chapman to speak about the end of the Clinton presidency, once. He objected to my proposed title (“The Clinton Years: An Obituary”) because he didn’t want to be negative about the President. He preferred to talk about what good had been done and what more could be accomplished. And I loved his sly sense of humor. I remember I saw him smoking that day. “You should quit,” I said. “No,” he replied, “if the government is this opposed to smoking, there must be something good about it.”

Bruce was probably the person in politics that I have most admired. In some ways he and I could not be less alike. He was patient, soft-spoken, an admirer of Richard Nixon—all of which I’m not. But he was profoundly principled—he refused to “con people” into voting for him—and he took the time to care about a 17 year old upstart whom he once said he hoped would run for President. I will never, ever forget him.