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The notion of addiction has always conjured first-person stories, often beginning with an insidious seduction, followed by compulsion and despair, culminating in recovery and tentative hope for the future. We are all familiar with this form of individual life arrative, Susan Zieger observes, but we know far less about its history. “Addict” was not an available identity until the end of the nineteenth century, when a modernizing medical establishment and burgeoning culture of consumption updated the figure of the sinful drunkard popularized by the temperance movement.

In Inventing the Addict, Zieger tells the story of how the addict, a person uniquely torn between disease and desire, emerged from a variety of earlier figures such as drunkards, opium-eating scholars, vicious slave masters, dissipated New Women, and queer doctors. Drawing on a broad range of literary and cultural material, including canonical novels such as Uncle Tom's Cabin, The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, and Dracula, she traces the evolution of the concept of addiction through a series of recurrent metaphors: exile, self-enslavement, disease, and vampirism. She shows how addiction took on multiple meanings beyond its common association with intoxication or specific habit-forming substances—it was an abiding desire akin to both sexual attraction and commodity fetishism, a disease that strangely failed to meet the requirements of pathology, and the citizen's ironic refusal to fulfill the promise of freedom. 

Nor was addiction an ideologically neutral idea. As Zieger demonstrates, it took form over time through specific, shifting intersections of gender, race, class, and sexuality, reflecting the role of social power in the construction of meaning.

Honorable Mention, 2025 North American Society for Sport History Book Award

On Boston Common stands a monument dedicated to the Oneida Football Club. It honors the site where, in the 1860s, sixteen boys played what was then called the “Boston game”—an early version of football in the United States. The boys were largely the sons of upper-class Boston Brahmins, and they lived through the transformative periods of the Civil War, Reconstruction, and the Gilded Age. Later as they grew old, in the 1920s, a handful of them orchestrated a series of commemorative events about their boyhood game. Benefitting from elite networks developed through the city’s social and educational institutions, including Harvard University, they donated artifacts (such as an oddly shaped, battered black ball) to museums, deposited self-penned histories into libraries and archives, and erected bronze and stone memorials, all to elevate themselves as the inventors of American football (and later, by extension, soccer). But was this origin story of what, by then, had become one of America’s favorite games as straightforward as they made it seem or a myth-making hoax?

In Inventing the Boston Game, Kevin Tallec Marston and Mike Cronin investigate the history of the Oneida Football Club and reveal what really happened. In a compelling, well told narrative that is informed by sports history, Boston history, and the study of memory, they posit that these men engaged in self-memorialization to reinforce their elite cultural status during a period of tremendous social and economic change, and particularly increased immigration. This exploration of the Club’s history provides fascinating insight into how and why origin stories are created in the first place. 

Born to poverty in the Irish county of Tipperary, John Egan participated in some of the most dramatic events of the nineteenth century, including mass migration to the United States during a catastrophic famine, the “opening” of Japan via gunboat diplomacy, Sherman’s March to the Sea, and homesteading in the Upper Midwest. In Irish Born, American Made, his great-grandson examines the processes by which a scorned British subject became a proud American citizen.

Although Egan’s life was filled with epic drama, the author does not shy away from unsavory truths, such as his ancestor’s doubts about the virtues of abolition or his enthusiastic participation in settling land appropriated from Indigenous peoples. Equally, Egan recognizes the real hardships his ancestor faced in assimilating to American society, from the prejudices of the ascendant Know-Nothing movement to the condescending caricatures of Irish soldiers by his Union compatriots during and after the Civil War. The result is both a moving reminder of the hardships of immigration and a timely reckoning with the imperfections of our forebears.

The visionary voice who helped shape American Judaism—and Charleston’s cultural soul.

Isaac Harby of Charleston, 1788–1828 is a richly detailed biography that brings to life one of early America’s most fascinating and underappreciated Jewish intellectuals. Gary Phillip Zola offers a compelling portrait of Harby—a playwright, newspaper editor, drama critic, educator, and religious reformer—who emerged as a central figure in Charleston’s vibrant cultural scene during the early 19th century. At a time when Charleston was experiencing both economic prosperity and cultural efflorescence, Harby stood at the crossroads of literary ambition and religious innovation.

A descendant of Sephardic Jews, Harby was deeply engaged in the intellectual and civic life of his city. He founded a literary journal at just eighteen, established a private academy, and wrote prolifically on politics, education, and religion. But his most enduring legacy lies in his role as a pioneer of Reform Judaism in America. As a founding member of the Reformed Society of Israelites in 1825, Harby advocated for a rational, modernized approach to Jewish worship—one that emphasized universal ethics and intellectual engagement over ritual formalism. His efforts, though controversial in his time, laid the groundwork for the broader Reform movement that would flourish later in the century.

Drawing on newly uncovered archival materials, including Harby’s personal library and writings, Zola’s biography not only illuminates Harby’s life and thought but also offers a window into the broader cultural, religious, and political transformations of the early American republic. This book is essential reading for anyone interested in American Jewish history, Southern intellectual life, and the roots of religious reform in the United States.

When Isaiah Rogers died in 1869, the Cincinnati Daily Times noted that “in his profession he was, perhaps, better known than any other person in the country.” Yet until now there has been no study that fully examines his remarkable, influential, and instructive career. Based largely on Rogers's own diary, this book tells his story and adds much to our understanding of architectural practice in the United States before the Civil War. 

In 1944 the distinguished historian Talbot Hamlin wrote of New York's Merchant Exchange (1836–42) that the building had “been so grandly conceived, so simply and directly planned, and so beautifully detailed . . . [that] the whole was welded inextricably into one powerful organic conception that shows Rogers as a great architect in the fullest sense of the word.” Rogers's Tremont House in Boston has been called the world's first modern hotel; it spawned many progeny, from his first Astor House in New York to his Burnet House in Cincinnati and beyond. 

Rogers designed buildings from Maine to Georgia and from Boston to Chicago to New Orleans, supervising their construction while traveling widely to procure materials and workmen for the job. He finished his career as Architect of the Treasury Department during the Civil War. In this richly illustrated volume, James F. O'Gorman offers a deft portrait of an energetic practitioner at a key time in architectural history, the period before the founding of the American Institute of Architects in 1857.