a book about the work of the American military shipyard in Newport News (that's what it's called), where they build huge aircraft carriers. I've read enough to know that not everything runs smoothly there either. But there are certainly a lot of interesting nuances. The book is good for its multilayering. In it you find about politicians (incl. presidents) who maneuver between the desires of the Ministry of Defence, shipbuilders and voters. And about geopolitics - competition with China. And about military technology. And about the interesting, but dangerous daily work at the shipyard. And about the lives (including outside the shipyard) of workers and their families. Both pluses and minuses are described. There are examples of recklessness, "optimizations", and screw-ups, but also of feats of labor and professionalism. There are fears for the future and hope. A strong niche nonfiction. Anyone who is more interested in the Military Industrial Complex, the anthropology of the profession, the underside of modern life in the US should like it.

This is an easy read. Yet it is fairly biased toward the shipyard workers and the US Navy. I'm still not sure what the problems were with the catapult system and the elevators. I guess Fabey thought that any problems were beyond the scope of the story. But it is disappointing to read a whole book on carrier construction and still feel like you're missing half the story. Fabey also doesn't go to any contractors, and we don't learn anything about the full systems that the Navy provided for integration. Reading between the lines a little, there seem to be huge problems with sloppy work, non-work, racism, …

> The real fight started over the choice spots in Hidens where one could make the speediest exit out of the lot at the end of the day. To even have a shot at nabbing those first few spots, steelworkers like McCann and Patterson had to arrive more than an hour before their shift started. … Once safely anchored in Hidens, McCann and Patterson joined the streams of steelworkers for the fifteen- to twenty-minute walk to the gate, lugging skateboards, pushing bikes, or carrying running sneakers. In the fall, some found the walk pleasurable, but come winter, that freezing wind off the James cut like an icy dagger. Many workers remained in their cars to sleep for another hour or so instead of going through the turnstiles so early … He jumped in, started it, and hit the gravel road, trying his best to accelerate while navigating the potholes to a back road that might just get him out of the lot in time to beat the traffic jam. But he didn’t make it to the exit until after 3:38, so he sat there, turned off his engine, and listened to the radio for the next hour.

> Reporters joked that the navy should design a brand-new carrier, the USS Trump—with coal-powered boilers, hand-operated pulleys and levers operating the elevators, and medieval catapults to fling aircraft out to the sky.

> He had entered many a space, brushes in hand, and discovered a chaotic mess, the metal in some cases damaged by a welder’s carelessness, and he spent half his time just cleaning the steel so he could start the actual painting. Sometimes, another trade would come in, install a new box, and ruin a perfectly good paint job, forcing him to repaint everything he had just finished a day or so before. … Patterson often retouched the same space four times due to sloppy work by other trades. … the chief cause of daily friction among painters, metalworkers, and the other trades remained the rules for how they could work—or more accurately, could not work—with one another. Painters could work within ten feet of hotwork (jobs involving blowtorches, electric arcs, and other tools that produce high heat or sparks). But paradoxically, hotworkers had to remain at least thirty-five feet away from paint work and combustibles, to create a safety zone so flying sparks couldn’t cause a fire with the highly flammable painting materials. … More than once, Big Ed Elliott arrived at a space, saw a painter, and found a bucket to sit on. “Might as well get comfortable,” he’d say. “Not going to get any work done here today.” … It could be so damn annoying when a painter like Patterson would arrive in a space where steel was being cut, ground, or welded—and open a paint can twelve or fifteen feet away. That served as a fine distance for the painter, but it ended a shift’s work for a hotworker the moment the paint lid came off. … If a painter could do the job ten feet or farther away from the hotwork, then that painting had to be done. The fact that the painting forced the hotworkers to stop their job—well, that was their problem. Efforts to change the rule to thirty-five feet for everyone failed, and during the Kennedy dry-dock work, the two separate distances applied. ( )