“Ferris had nearly gotten it right. In that single day [July 4, 1893] 713,646 people had paid to enter Jackson Park. (Only 31,059—four percent—were children.) Another 37,380 visitors had entered using passes, bringing the total admission for the day to 751,026, more people than had attended any single day of any peaceable event in history.”

This is my second read of this book, which I read for a book club. I must first read this nearly a decade ago, so my memory of it this time around was not that great, except for a vague enthusiasm and enjoyment that lingered from my first read. The Devil in the White City follows two different narratives, one centered around the construction of 1893 world's fair in Chicago and the other centered around a serial killer named H.H. Holmes. Larson has admittedly mentioned that his method in this book is rather unorthodox, because it focuses on two separate narratives, and although they run parallel, the point of the book is not to have them intersect. Thus there are a lot of reviews that discuss this narrative imbalance and see it is a flaw—while I understand their reasoning, it is how the author intended it. For his discussion of the origins of the novel, see this interview.This book was definitely just as enjoyable as I had remembered, although this time I probably got a little bit more out of it. I was captivated by the descriptions of the architects and the planning of the world's fair, which made me feel like their efforts were a lot more relatable than I had expected. Almost nothing happens on time and there are always last minute rushes and deadlines that are violated over and over again. Despite having a magnificently immense vision, it seems at many points that the world's fair might not turn out as well as they hope. In spite of these obvious challenges however, or perhaps because of them, the undertaking of the world's fair and its eventual completion is incredibly inspiring and impressive. The completion of the Ferris Wheel, the fair’s monumental achievement, is a story that seems like some impossible feat lifted from a work of fiction—but it is true! (And still one of the best wheels ever made—though modern wheels surpass it in height and longevity, the passenger capacity of the first is still competitive to modern versions.)It is also fascinating getting a look at the elite culture of the city that permeated in the Gilded Age, and the legacy that it had on the fair. For instance, a significant feature in the Chicago world fair and also the earlier Paris world’s fair is the exhibition of “exotic” people, who are taken en masse from their native lands and homes and brought over across the sea to be put on display for eager visitors. That this was acceptable back then is unfortunately not that surprising, but it is still awkward to read about. Larson also doesn't insert any modern commentary, for better or worse. In that respect the book doesn't pull its punches about how grim the developers of the world's fair could be. The creation of the ‘White City’ definitely had a huge dark side to it, which makes it all the more enigmatic. However, a lot of things were also introduced in the fair as a response to this brutal push on the workers—for example, many union positions were successfully advocated for, and the workers’ quarters in Jackson Park had their own hospital (with provided healthcare), fire service, and were paid on their sick days. It seems quite out-of-place with the extremely flagrant OSHA violations a modern onlooker would recognize today.Reading about the Palmers and other notable figures of the time was also an enjoyable look at something quite different from my own time—the concept of the ‘Chicago nobility’ isn’t really something that is as explicitly in the city consciousness anymore, although I’m sure it exists. We do still have the Pritzkers and similar families that pop up over and over again, but we no longer endeavor to copy their every move or write copious amounts of detail on their latest fashion trials in the papers. Or at least not that I’m aware of. On the one hand, you have this incredibly dirty underbelly of the city that is filled with litter and criminals and unsightly things, and, on the other hand, you have this posh elite that is trying to dress up Chicago for the world stage. It makes for an interesting dichotomy.Larson echoes this divide with the inclusion of the narrative of H.H. Holmes, a New England transplant in Chicago who operates at roughly the same time as the development and run of the world’s fair. Although I remember enjoying his sections during my first read many years ago, this time around I was a bit more skeptical given the nature of the flimsy and unreliable evidence that builds up much of Holmes’s murder career. (There is an interesting book by Adam Selzer that seeks to set the record straight about Holmes and criticizes some aspects of Larson’s book.) While I do think Larson sensationalizes the story for narrative effect—particularly with his retelling/reconstruction of certain murders from a third-person omniscient perspective like in fiction—he is fairly transparent about his sources and his conclusions. His reconstructions may add a dash of speculation for flair, but reading from the reconstructed voices and last days of his victims—particularly his final few—is heart-wrenching.We know, based on court evidence and autopsies, that Holmes definitely killed at least nine people—and this Larson emphasizes in the book. That he killed many more is likely, although we can never truly be sure of the extent. Perhaps unfortunately for the knowledge of posterity, Holmes was executed before he could be tried for the other murders he committed. This would have given many more opportunities for evidence and witnesses to testify for the record. (There is also an interesting appearance by Clarence Darrow, whose famous anti-death penalty and pro-labor views see their first formulations in response to events that occur in this book, though not tied to Holmes.) It wouldn't be a bad idea to take Holmes’s Sections in the book with a grain of salt or two, but I do appreciate the way that the author builds up and describes his narrative in a very engaging fashion , so you can almost forget you're reading a work of nonfiction. This is definitely one of Larson’s strengths—not just for Holmes, but for the whole novel. I’m no architect but he makes their struggles appreciable and understandable, and even relatable to some degree. Who can’t help but feel for poor Olmsted as he strives to cultivate the dreary landscape of Jackson Park into something beautiful? (Seriously, this guy had so many illnesses and pains that I truly applaud his dedication to his work.) You can definitely see the pains that the author went to in doing his research through the inclusion of small details and humanizing moments of the various main figures. I should mention that I am quite biased when it comes to this book, because it takes place in my hometown and in the neighborhood I spent several years living in. (Although, much to my immense regret, I never bothered to visit the entirety of Jackson Park when I had the chance!) The chance to see this city from a historical perspective was incredibly endearing, and despite not being a native or having any ties to it, Larson brings out the city’s character extremely well in all of its complicated ways. When I first read it, this book was one of the first nonfiction books I had been so engrossed in at that point in my life, and I'm incredibly grateful to it for giving me a greater appreciation for the city , and also an appreciation for reading nonfiction books about all sorts of subjects, even when I wasn't already well-versed in them. Larson’s trademark ‘narrative nonfiction’ style isn’t that common, but it does set a bar for other nonfiction books. There is also a subtle third narrative that underlies the book, that of the ‘madness’ in the title and featuring a clerk named Prendergast—it may seem a bit incongruous at first, but once you see the machinations that Prendergast sets in motion, it is explosive for the narrative. Still, the juggling of two narratives was an immense undertaking for the author, and the third may have been juggling a bit too much at once. Nevertheless, Larson completes the book’s narrative in an extremely satisfying manner.If you have any connection or appreciation for Chicago, you need to read this book. If you aren’t normally a nonfiction reader, but enjoy reading about a group of determined people succeeding against the odds or true crime and brutal serial killers, you should check this out anyway. This was my first book by Erik Larson, and I regret that I haven’t gotten around to reading his other works in the intervening years since my first read. The greatest accolade for any nonfiction is the spark of desire to learn more about the topic(s) that is illuminated in the reader—and this book will certainly be a great place to begin diving into the 1893 world’s fair and one of the first serial killers in modern media. Thus, I am glad to recommend this book and say that it holds up on a re-read that was many years overdue.A small selection of the many highlights I made:

“It was the first in a sequence of impossibly rich and voluminous banquets whose menus raised the question of whether any of the city’s leading men could possibly have a functional artery.”

“He had paid them even when illness or injury kept them out of work and established an exposition hospital that provided free medical care. He built quarters within the park where they received three large meals a day and slept in clean beds and well-heated rooms.”

“Ferris had created more than simply an engineering novelty. Like the inventors of the elevator, he had conjured an entirely new physical sensation.”

“Only three months remained until the closing ceremony on October 30. (The closure was supposed to happen at the end of October, meaning October 31, but some unidentified crafter of the federal legislation erred in thinking October only had thirty days.)” [Politicians never change…]

“That night the exposition illuminated the fairgrounds one last time. ‘Beneath the stars the lake lay dark and sombre,” Stead wrote, “but on its shores gleamed and glowed in golden radiance the ivory city, beautiful as a poet’s dream, silent as a city of the dead.’”

“‘[B]eing broke didn’t disturb me in the least. I had started with nothing, and if I now found myself with nothing, I was at least even. Actually, I was much better than even: I had had a wonderful time.’ Bloom went on to become a congressman and one of the crafters of the charter that founded the United Nations.” [Sol Bloom is such a wild, unpredictable figure.]