16 March 2008 | John Adams

John Adams
David McCullough
Simon and Schuster, 2001
751 pp

January 1798 in Congress Hall in Philadelphia, by contrast, was marked by a battle royal on the floor of the House. Vicious animosity of a kind previously confined to newspaper attacks broke out in the first physical assault to occur in Congress. In the midst of the debate, when Federalist Roger Griswold of Connecticut insulted Republican Matthew Lyon of Vermont, Lyon crossed the chamber and spat in Griswold’s face. Soon after, Griswold retaliated with a cane. Lyon grabbed fire tongs from the fireplace, and the two went at each other until, kicking and rolling on the floor, they were pulled apart. To some, the scene provided comic relief. To others, it was sad testimony to how very far the republican ideal had descended. It was also apt prelude to much that would follow.

It’s interesting to see that in the two hundred plus years of our country, politics remains the nastiest bloodsport around. In our modern era of deception, backbiting and the politics of personal destruction, it’s good to see that we haven’t fallen as far as we thought.

That politics hasn’t changed much since the 18th century is one of the recurring themes in David McCullough’s magisterial tome on the second president of the United States. Whether frustrated in his attempts to secure an alliance with France, or seeking allies in Holland, John Adams comes across as a reluctant hero, forged by the tumultuous events of his day: independence from Britain and the creation of the American republic.

McCullough clearly respects his subject, and draws extensively on Adams’ copious letters to dictate the narrative, giving the reader a sense that the writings between Adams and his wife Abigail form not only an arch to their story, but also the voice of a chorus. When there’s a lack of Adams voice, McCullough frames his hero’s actions by the historical record. Dispatched by the Congress to France to secure an alliance and weaponry, Adams appears as a simple man charting dangerous waters and almost becoming sucked into the whirlpool of politics.

Yet Adams personality often comes across as somewhat dated, even during his own time. He clearly relished the important role the times required of him, even though professing to feeling neglected and hateful of politics in general. His often steady correspondence to Abigail seems to have him yearning for their home back in Braintree, Massachusetts, rather than angling around the minutiae of the French court. But despite the respect that McCullough shows for Adams, there is a sense that Adams almost appears as an anachronism, almost like a joyless professor in a classroom full of irrepressible children. Staid and stodgy, Adams’ appeal almost pales in comparison to that of Thomas Jefferson, who as a secondary character in this biography, often comes across as more interesting and much more flawed. Jefferson seems very much a complex man, while Adams is always portrayed as playing it straight without so much as a smile.

Still, McCullough’s ability to harness the letters Adams left behind and fashion a narrative against the backdrop of the Revolutionary War is a tight construction and it pays off well. The book brims with history, fact and observation without falling into the tedium of listing dates or providing too much historical background as to bog down the reader. First and foremost, he is telling a story replete with first, second and third acts. Because of this, the book is a remarkably quick read despite its length.

Now since it is a history as well, what can you learn? Plenty, if you pay enough attention. In laying out the canvas, with Adams’ letters as the foundation, McCullough also introduces us to processes. In our day and age, with quick access to information, McCullough is able to depict just how slowly things moved back in the 18th century, and how diplomacy was a much different game, In fact, while detailing the lengthy interlude of Adams mission to France, it’s a wonder that anything was accomplished at all. Interestingly, McCullough seems to intimate that France's involvement in American independence was not as deep as previously thought, neither today nor in Adams’ time. France is held almost as an ideal, possessing much more fantasy than reality. While the contribution of France to the Revolution can’t be understated, it may not be the depiction of the mighty French saving the newborn American lamb from the British wolf as we initially believed.

While Adams is a resolute character, we feel sympathy for his bathetic yearning for home. In this vein, McCullough shows how the lives of men (and women) are easily sucked into the events and times they live in. In an echo of Adams’ wishing for an different life, Israeli hero and general Moshe Dayan often remarked that he would have made a good farmer given the opportunity to do instead of fighting wars. Adams, Jefferson, Franklin and Washington may appear to us as larger than life heroes and founding fathers, but in McCullough’s narrative thread, these are men who cannot return to a simpler life. No sheer force of willpower can allow it. Just when it appears that one thing is accomplished, another issue rises up that requires the utmost attention. There is no rest, so to say, for the wicked.

To his credit, McCullough avoids hagiography. His style and narrative demeanor towards Adams is apparent, but never reverent. Adams is a flawed man, prone to vanity and conceit — someone who appears to be more respected than truly liked. And it’s a pity that his relationship with his children is not more fully explored, or more importantly, what McCullough has to say about Adams’s relationship with his wife, Abigail. McCullough goes through great pains to inform us that they two loved each other very much, and while their letters, as primary sources, are invaluable, there is no psychological comment by the author. Are we to take it for granted that married men and women seemed more polite to one another than as a couple in love? It’s unfair to judge their relationship by our standards (we marry for love, our forefathers married by arrangement), McCullough does not offer us any insight into why Adams and Abigail act the way that they do with one another.

These are just quibbles, of course, because McCullough is more interested in history, not psychology. And as a well-written and informative historical piece, the author succeeds admirably.