(Reprinted from the Chicago Center for Literature and Photography [cclapcenter.com]. I am the original author of this essay, as well as the owner of CCLaP; it is not being reprinted here illegally.)

So I finally got a chance over Christmas to read Erik Larson's massively popular and influential 2003 The Devil in the White City, basically the first post-9/11 book to combine academic-worthy research with a gripping, fiction-like narrative style, a combination which has become so popular that it's inspired an entire subgenre of nonfiction titles by now. And it's extra ironic that it should take me in particular this long to finally get around to it, in that it's all about a specific period of Chicago history, and it seems sometimes as if the entire population of this city has read it at one point or another; specifically, it tells the dual tales of the 1893 World's Fair down in Jackson Park on the south side (mostly through the eyes of lead architect Daniel Burnham), one of the most important events in Chicago's history, along with the sordid tale of H.H. Holmes, one of the first-ever modern serial killers back in the same days of Jack The Ripper, who built a block-long hotel across the street from the fair which turned out in reality to be a massive multifloor torture chamber, including secret passageways, dissection tables, and a body-sized gas oven in the basement, all of which he used to kill up to perhaps as many as 200 young good-looking single women before finally being caught. It's utterly fascinating, a well-done and easily readable project that deserves the reputation it's developed over the last half-decade; although let me warn you that this book is guilty as well of something I can't stand, which is the deliberate withholding of obvious information at the ends of chapters as a way of falsely building narrative tension. (For example, Larson mentions George Ferris and the construction of his Ferris Wheel a dozen times before ever mentioning the word "Ferris," sometimes in these really awkward ways that profoundly point out just how deliberately he's avoiding mentioning it, even though it's patently obvious from the start that this is what he's talking about.) Other than that quibble, though, I found the book nearly perfect for what it's trying to accomplish, and it comes highly recommended not only to those interested in Chicago history but also urban planning, the Victorian Age, and lurid true crime.

Out of 10: 9.5 ( )

I really enjoyed reading this book about the world's fair in Chicago at the turn of the century. It was fun to go back and learn about all the great architects I studied while in college and and the inventions that came out of the fair. The book also contained a chilling and completely engrossing account of a serial killer who preyed upon young naive women. It is still amazing to me that people never even suspected him of any type of foul play. I learned so much and it just makes me want to go visit the city. I totally recommend anyone who reads this to read Sinclair's "The Jungle" for a good insight into the stockyards. ( )

non-fiction that reads like a great crime drama. highly recommend ( )

I've been meaning to read this book for years, I'm glad I finally got around to it! This year we are celebrating architect Daniel Burnham's plan for Chicago, which ensured the lakefront remained the gem it is today. Before that, however, he made his name by designing and building the Columbian Exposition -- a world's fair that was, at the time, the greatest ever. The impetus behind the fair was a strong national desire to eclipse the Paris Exposition, where the Eiffel Tower was the marvel of the show. By the time politicians all agreed and funding and location was secured, Burnham had only about two years to construct his vision, which featured among other things, the first Ferris Wheel.

Meanwhile, nearby a young, charismatic man changes his name to H.H. Holmes, begins down the path of a swindler only to wind up a notorious serial killer, more insidious than his English contemporary Jack the Ripper, as these weren't random acts of violence, but calculated plots involving people he knew that had trusted him.

The Devil in the White City narrates the two stories (and a third involving an attorney who went off his nut and assassinated the mayor) to highlight the dichotomy of the era. On one hand, there was the monumental accomplishment of the fair, bringing world renown to the city and country. On the other, there was the shadowy "black city" of what was and what was yet to come -- corruption, violence, soul-sucking industry, and poverty. It reads like a fascinating novel -- yet it all really happened. I'm interested in reading more about Burnham -- Holmes? Not so much. There aren't many characters in history more fundamentally evil. ( )

I knew virtually nothing about the Chicago World's Fair before I started this book. And, honestly, I didn't think I cared. Was I ever wrong!

Erik Larson paints a vivid picture of what Chicago was like in the late 1800s. He weaves the personal tales of the architects who designed the fair into the story with meticulous research. During the time of the fair, a prolific serial killer lived and worked in Chicago. His incredible story is told here as well.

Larson is an excellent writer and kept me involved throughout the book. I found the style sort of a cross between nonfiction and historical fiction. The "characters" came to life on the pages, as if I was living during this crazy period in history. ( )