American Phoenix

One hundred and eighty-nine people died at the Pentagon, one hundred and twenty-five in the building and sixty-four aboard the aircraft, and the attack occupies a fraction of the attention given to New York.

Part of that is scale, since the towers killed far more. Part is imagery, since there was no equivalent of a skyscraper collapsing on live television and the Pentagon footage that exists is fragmentary. And part is simply that the story got told first and loudest from Manhattan, and the shelf filled up.

Starnes set out to correct the imbalance and mostly succeeds. He had help that matters: his brother Ben was one of the first responders at the Pentagon that morning, which gave him access and, more importantly, gave him people willing to talk to somebody they considered one of their own.

Why does American Phoenix start in 1941?

Because the Pentagon’s builders broke ground on 11 September 1941, exactly sixty years to the day before the attack.

That coincidence could easily be milked and Starnes does not milk it. He uses the opening chapters to make the building a character with a history: Roosevelt looking at land that had been part of the Lee family estate and had since become a slum, the wartime urgency that put up the largest office building in the world in a matter of months, and the decades of ordinary work that followed.

The effect is that when the aircraft arrives, it is happening to something instead of at a location. That is a real structural achievement and it is the best decision in the book.

It closes with the memorial dedication in 2008, which gives the whole thing an arc most single-day accounts cannot manage. Sixty-seven years from groundbreaking to memorial, with the attack near the end instead of at the center.

Who went back into the building?

This is the material the book exists for, and it is where the writing steadies and becomes genuinely good.

People who had got out went back in, repeatedly, into smoke and structural collapse and burning jet fuel, for people they did not know. Some were soldiers and many were civilians. Several had no training for any of it and went anyway, in office clothes, into a building that was on fire and would partially collapse about half an hour later.

Christopher Braman, an Army sergeant first class, gave Starnes the line the book uses as its epigraph, and it is the whole thing compressed: that day he saw humanity at its best and its worst, and humanity does not have race, creed, or color when you are looking into the souls of people.

What makes these accounts land is that Starnes lets them stay confused. People did not know what had happened. Early reports inside the building suggested a bomb. Nobody had a picture of the event they were inside, and they made decisions about who to carry out in conditions where they could not see.

What is wrong with the book in American Phoenix?

The opening, and I would rather say so than pretend otherwise.

The front matter and the first stretch are noticeably rougher than the rest. There is a self-congratulatory note about the writing of the book that a firmer editor would have removed, and the early transitions between people are handled clumsily, so you lose track of who you are with.

Reviewers who read it before publication flagged both, and they were right. It improves markedly once the day itself starts, and a reader who gives up in the first fifteen percent will miss the part that justifies the book.

The prose throughout is workmanlike. This is not a stylist’s book and it is not trying to be. Where it succeeds is in access and in patience with the people it interviewed, which for this subject matters more than sentences.

How does American Phoenix compare to the other 9/11 books?

It is the least polished of the three I keep together and the most necessary, because the others have competitors and this one does not.

Several readers compare it to Garrett Graff’s oral history, which is the better-known book and covers the whole day across all three sites. The comparison is fair on method and unfair on scope. Graff is assembling the entire event; Starnes is filling one specific hole with more depth than any general account can give it.

If you are building a shelf on that day, the aviation side is Spencer, the towers are Pfeifer, and the Pentagon is this. There is no better single book on the third, which is both a recommendation and a comment on how little has been written about it.

Verdict

The book that fills the Pentagon-shaped hole in the 9/11 shelf. Not as polished as the best accounts of that day and more necessary than most of them, because this is the part of the story that has been under-told for a quarter century.

Read it after the New York books, not instead of them, and push through the first fifty pages.

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