A Thousand Days
by Arthur M. Schlesinger, Jr.
Summary
Arthur M. Schlesinger Jr. was a Pulitzer winning Harvard historian when John F. Kennedy brought him into the White House as special assistant, and A Thousand Days is what that appointment made possible: a history of the Kennedy presidency written from inside it, by a professional historian who was in the room. Across eleven hundred pages Schlesinger narrates the whole arc, the 1960 campaign, the assembling of the administration's celebrated talent, the Bay of Pigs disaster and what Kennedy learned from it, the Berlin crisis, the missile crisis of October 1962, the test ban treaty, the slow engagement with civil rights, the deepening commitment in Vietnam, and the ending in Dallas that turned a memoir into an elegy. The book's power and its problem are the same thing: intimacy. No one else could report the president's table talk, his reading, his irony, his growth in office, and no one so close could be expected to weigh him coldly. Schlesinger wrote in the immediate aftermath of the assassination, and the book is open advocacy for the Kennedy he admired, history with the black armband still on. Critics have called it court history ever since, and later scholarship, working from documents rather than memory, has revised its portraits, especially on Vietnam. It remains indispensable anyway, both as testimony and as writing; Schlesinger's set pieces rank with any in American political literature. The book swept the honors of its season, the 1966 National Book Award in History and Biography and the 1966 Pulitzer Prize for Biography, and it fixed the image of the Kennedy years that every revisionist has had to argue against.
Historical Context & Significance
Published in 1965, two years after the assassination, A Thousand Days appeared while the country was still deciding what the Kennedy presidency had meant, and it supplied the answer a grieving public wanted: the thousand days as a brief shining moment of intelligence and promise cut short. Together with Theodore Sorensen's Kennedy, published the same season, it built the Camelot version of the era that dominated for a generation. The double award in 1966 honored the craft as much as the access. Decades of declassification have complicated its judgments, and historians read it now as both a source and an artifact, the founding document of Kennedy memory and the account every biography of the thirty fifth president still quotes and contests.