This is a book about genocide, but it is not ultimately a “genocide book.” Certainly, Power works her way through the stories of the major, undisputed genocides of the 20th Century (skipping over the Holocaust, other than through its legal ramifications through the Nuremburg trials) – Armenia, Cambodia, Iraq’s Anfal campaign, Bosnia (with special emphasis on Srebrenica), Rwanda and Kosovo. Along the way, she intersperses the tale of the creation of “genocide” as a concept, as something different and more sinister than “crimes against humanity,” and the ensuing enshrinement of that idea in international normative law.

But these tales have been told quite thoroughly in other (even if not always widely read) places. Still, one looking for a good overview of many of these tragedies (“I know something bad happened in Bosnia, but I’m embarrassed to admit that I don’t really know what”) could do worse than to start here. She breaks down each event with a short summary of the political and human history, and then further examines the warnings given to Western leaders, their recognition that genocide was truly occuring (or lack thereof), their response (or lack thereof) and the aftermath and fallout from those policy decisions (or lack thereof).

Okay, I more or less agree with his main thesis here: that sympathy, political correctness, and lots of money have not effectively developed African countries economically, and have often prevented that development from happening. Corruption, a lack of civic rights, and repeated squandering of economic opportunities have kept much of the continent living in extreme deprivation; similarly, honest and outspoken critics of the current system are a rarity, from inside or outside of it.

But I was a little disappointed with this one. Primarily, it is light on substance. He says he wants to make it a work for the general reader (i.e. not drown the main points in technocratic jargon), but almost the entire work is backed up solely through anecdotes, sweeping generalizations, and highly contentious opinions passed off as facts. For example, he claims that one of the three main reasons why African aid rarely achieves its objectives is due to the "culture" of Africans. This assertion is dispatched in a breezy nine pages of stories, reflections based on personal experience, and cherry-picked quotes from Africa-lovers (and haters). He is far better (as a former World Bank official) in the "The Trouble With Foreign Aid" chapter, where he sticks to his field of expertise and buttresses his contentions with hard statistics and sound theory.

This is a book on a fascinating topic, written moderately well. The question at its center - are we comfortable with the increasing privatization of our military, and all the attendant questions it raises - is a good one. Unfortunately, the author's answer is a foregone conclusion from page one, and the reader is expected to agree from the same starting point. This was frustrating, and this book did not answer my questions, merely emphasizing them instead. Often, the author cites DoD officials, leaders in the "private security contracting" industry, and political supporters as if the points they raise are so ridiculous they speak for themselves. If the reader is not beholden to a specific political agenda, but genuinely curious about these issues, I think s/he will find many times that these individuals will raise a good point. Scahill needed to argue clearly and concisely why the things they were saying were so offensive. Lots of research done for this book, but it did not quite add up to the damning conclusion the author reaches.

If anything, the disaster in Iraq should prove that the world's emerging security threats cannot be solved through traditional military solutions. Many of the cases cited in the book, from Sierra Leone, to car bombings in the Middle East, to the ravages of Darfur, prove that the worst cases require new answers - more mobile, more efficient, more versatile forces, buoyed by more in-depth intelligence.

First things first. Bravery. Relevance. Independence. These are watchwords for the best kind of journalism, and they are qualities sorely lacking in the majority of television, radio and print media. They were, however, very much on display in Edward Murrow’s stand against Senator Joseph McCarthy in the early 1950’s, and Good Night and Good Luck conveys that achievement clearly, even inspiringly.

Released in a time when fear is again used as a political instrument, when the news media is "embedded" within the very halls of power, when secrecy, attacks on civil liberties and black-and-white, us-versus-them mentality have again become de rigeur for a moralizing, ambitious administration, this movie was clearly intended more as a warning call about the current state of affairs than as a simple historical tale. Indeed, the framing excerpts from Murrow’s 1958 speech speak directly to the current (mis)use and irrelevance of current television news. Though McCarthy is censured by the Senate, he serves for another 2 ½ years, while Murrow is given a five-program parting package and sidelined. The intersection of advertisers, political pressures and pure cowardice are not easily overcome. In short, the message is that bravery, relevance and independence might shine a brief light in between ad breaks, but the hands that pull the curtain back down at the end of the hour are much too strong.

I read the Atlantic Monthly's scathing review of this before buying it, and in retrospect it seems like an eminently unfair judgment of this fantastic book. No, this is indeed ambitious, but Johnson by and large pulls it off. It moves surprisingly quickly; I didn't find it particularly difficult to keep up with the vast mosaic of places and characters and chronologies and time frames; and it has an undeniable emotional heft.