In this new thriller series created by crime novelist Dennis Lehane and based on a true story, a revered arson investigator played by Taron Egerton is leading the hunt for two serial arsonists in the Pacific Northwest when he’s reluctantly paired with a gifted detective played by Jurnee Smollett. Soon, his new partner suspects that he knows more about the fires’ source than he’s letting on. With John Leguizamo, Greg Kinnear, and Anna Chlumsky. Friday, June 27, Apple TV+.

by Jay Winik

The most serious attempt to evade America’s Civil War was probably doomed to fail, said Adam Gopnik in The New Yorker. But that effort at reconciliation was “more substantial than most subsequent histories have acknowledged,” and historian Jay Winik has made it the focus of his latest work. The subtitle here mildly overpromises. “Nowhere in the book do we encounter a truly plausible compromise that might have averted the conflict.” Winik instead uncovers insights into the war’s causes by looking closely at a peace conference convened at a Washington hotel four weeks before Abraham Lincoln’s March 1861 inauguration. The event brought together 131 delegates from both free and slave states, and the Northern delegates contemplated surprising concessions, including letting slavery continue to exist where it already did. Even so, “Winik offers a portrait of two sides talking past each other, rather than with each other.”

“The political intrigue leading up to 1861 rivals the battlefield action readers have come to expect from Civil War histories,” said Andrew DeMillo in the Associated Press. Lincoln opposed slavery on moral grounds and signaled that it was destined to die out eventually, but Winik depicts him as a careful politician who was able to present himself as a moderate open to negotiating with the representatives of the slave states. Still, “1861 is one of the few Civil War histories where Lincoln isn’t the most compelling figure.” That title might belong to any of several figures, including abolitionist John Brown and John J. Crittenden, a U.S. senator from Kentucky who, despite owning slaves, defied sentiment in his home state by urging compromise to avoid a national breakup. Winik’s “taut yet dramatic” writing style “makes the book a compelling read even for those well versed in the history.” 

“Winik diverges from recent scholarship that views the war as unavoidable and the fight for emancipation as righteous,” said Harold Holzer in The Wall Street Journal. The Lincoln we meet here “emerges as less idealistic and more stubborn than in most portraits,” and Winik suggests that our revered 16th president wasted the opportunity to avoid a devastatingly deadly war when he backed off from compromising and rejected the recommendations of the peace conference. In the end, however, Winik describes the war as necessary and Lincoln as a genius. And whatever argument you may make against Winik’s interpretation of events, the author of April 1865: The Month That Saved America remains as appealing a historical guide as he was when that book was a No. 1 best-seller 24 years ago. “Winik has lost none of his narrative verve, ear for dialogue, eye for the unexpected detail, and willingness to stir some controversy.”

The troubled genius who powered the Beach Boys

Brian Wilson sang of a sun-drenched, carefree world that stood in striking contrast to his tormented inner life. In songs like “Fun, Fun, Fun,” “California Girls,” “Surfin’ U.S.A.,” and “I Get Around,” the Beach Boys leader wrote of a Southern California idyll where eternal surf beckoned and there were “two girls for every boy.” Their more than 30 Top 40 hits made the Beach Boys America’s top band of the mid-1960s. But in reality, Wilson was a troubled introvert who preferred the isolation of his bedroom to parties on the beach. He took a turn toward moody introspection—and made a quantum artistic leap for pop—with the 1966 album Pet Sounds, a masterpiece that influenced countless bands to follow. But his genius was eclipsed by a descent into drug abuse and psychological turmoil, as he grew paranoid and began hearing voices. “I have been living with mental illness for many decades,” he told fans when canceling a 2019 tour. “I’ve been struggling with stuff in my head and saying things I don’t mean, and I don’t know why.”

Wilson grew up in Hawthorne, Calif., an L.A. suburb, said The Washington Post. His father, a frustrated songwriter who sold heavy machinery, was a “tyrant and heavy drinker” and abused Brian physically and emotionally. Brian was a musical prodigy, teaching himself piano and writing his first song at age 5. Captivated as a teen by the intricate vocalizing of the Four Freshmen, Wilson enlisted his younger brothers Dennis and Carl to harmonize, making tapes on a portable recorder. The three formed a band along with their cousin Mike Love and friend Al Jardine; Dennis, a surfer, suggested that Wilson write them a surfing song. The result, “Surfin’,” was issued by a small label and became a local hit. Signed to Capitol Records, the Beach Boys won nationwide acclaim with the 1963 Chuck Berry homage “Surfin’ U.S.A.,” said Rolling Stone. With Brian as chief writer, producer, and arranger and often lead singer, they “rolled out hits like convertible Thunderbirds coming off an assembly line.” 

Wilson’s musical sophistication shone through in the band’s “harmony-drenched” arrangements, said The New York Times. But “signs of instability” emerged as well. After suffering a breakdown in 1964, he quit touring to focus on writing and “immersed himself in the studio.” Fueled by pot and LSD, he composed increasingly complex, intricate songs and recorded them using “a broad sonic palette” incorporating French horns, strings, and timpani. The result, Pet Sounds, was “an album of staggering technical and musical virtuosity,” said The Times (U.K.). Its “pocket symphonies” explored loss of innocence and disorientation—and inspired the Beatles’ Sgt. Pepper. Wilson followed it with the electrifying 1966 No. 1 single “Good Vibrations,” an “epic sound collage” featuring theremin and elaborately layered vocals. 

Things went south from there, said the Los Angeles Times. Consuming “drugs by the bucketful,” Wilson slaved for months over a concept record called Smile, writing on a grand piano installed in a giant sandbox in his Bel Air mansion. But he was increasingly unstable, and he shelved the project and retreated into seclusion, ballooning to 300 pounds and spending days confined to bed. In the 1970s and again in the 1980s he fell under the care of Dr. Eugene Landy, a psychologist who moved into his mansion and controlled his every move. Wilson did show improvement, “but it was short-lived,” and Landy raised eyebrows not just with his Svengali-like control and staggering fees but with his insistence on production and co-writing credits for Wilson’s solo projects. Stripped of his license after a state investigation, Landy was blocked from seeing Wilson by a family lawsuit in 1992. 

By the mid-1990s, Wilson was doing better, said People. He married Melinda Ledbetter, a former model he credited with rebuilding his life, and “embarked on a career resurgence.” Wilson released numerous solo albums and one with the Beach Boys, finally issued a version of Smile, and returned to the stage solo and for a 50th anniversary Beach Boys tour. Living up to his legend was always “a cross to bear,” he said in 1988. “‘Genius’ is a big word. But if you have to live up to something, you might as well live up to that.”