Dead Wake: The Last Crossing of the Lusitania

Dead Wake: The Last Crossing of the Lusitania

by Erik Larson
Dead Wake: The Last Crossing of the Lusitania

Dead Wake: The Last Crossing of the Lusitania

by Erik Larson


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Notes From Your Bookseller

This true tale of hubris and horror set between the sinking of the Titanic and our entry into WWI is told like only Erik Larson can.

#1 NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER • From the bestselling author and master of narrative nonfiction comes the enthralling story of the sinking of the Lusitania

“Both terrifying and enthralling.”—Entertainment Weekly
Thrilling, dramatic and powerful.—NPR
Thoroughly engrossing.—George R.R. Martin

On May 1, 1915, with WWI entering its tenth month, a luxury ocean liner as richly appointed as an English country house sailed out of New York, bound for Liverpool, carrying a record number of children and infants. The passengers were surprisingly at ease, even though Germany had declared the seas around Britain to be a war zone. For months, German U-boats had brought terror to the North Atlantic. But the Lusitania was one of the era’s great transatlantic “Greyhounds”—the fastest liner then in service—and her captain, William Thomas Turner, placed tremendous faith in the gentlemanly strictures of warfare that for a century had kept civilian ships safe from attack. 

Germany, however, was determined to change the rules of the game, and Walther Schwieger, the captain of Unterseeboot-20, was happy to oblige. Meanwhile, an ultra-secret British intelligence unit tracked Schwieger’s U-boat, but told no one. As U-20 and the Lusitania made their way toward Liverpool, an array of forces both grand and achingly small—hubris, a chance fog, a closely guarded secret, and more—all converged to produce one of the great disasters of history.

It is a story that many of us think we know but don’t, and Erik Larson tells it thrillingly, switching between hunter and hunted while painting a larger portrait of America at the height of the Progressive Era. Full of glamour and suspense, Dead Wake brings to life a cast of evocative characters, from famed Boston bookseller Charles Lauriat to pioneering female architect Theodate Pope to President Woodrow Wilson, a man lost to grief, dreading the widening war but also captivated by the prospect of new love. 

Gripping and important, Dead Wake captures the sheer drama and emotional power of a disaster whose intimate details and true meaning have long been obscured by history.

Finalist for the Washington State Book Award • One of the Best Books of the Year: The Washington Post, St. Louis Post-Dispatch, Miami Herald, Library Journal, Kirkus Reviews, LibraryReads, Indigo

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9780307408877
Publisher: Crown Publishing Group
Publication date: 03/22/2016
Edition description: Reprint
Pages: 480
Sales rank: 11,834
Product dimensions: 5.10(w) x 7.90(h) x 1.30(d)
Lexile: 1190L (what's this?)

About the Author

About The Author
Erik Larson is the author of six New York Times bestsellers, most recently The Splendid and the Vile: A Saga of Churchill, Family, and Defiance During the Blitz, which examines how Winston Churchill and his “Secret Circle” went about surviving the German air campaign of 1940-41. Larson’s The Devil in the White City is set to be a Hulu limited series; his In the Garden of Beasts is under option by Tom Hanks for a feature film. He recently published an audio-original ghost story, No One Goes Alone, which has been optioned by Chernin Entertainment, in association with Netflix. His Thunderstruck has been optioned by Sony Pictures Television for a limited TV series. Larson lives in Manhattan with his wife, who is a writer and retired neonatologist; they have three grown daughters.


Seattle, Washington

Date of Birth:

January 1, 1954

Place of Birth:

Brooklyn, New York


B.A., University of Pennsylvania, 1976; M.S., Columbia University Graduate School of Journalism, 1978

Read an Excerpt


On the night of May 6, 1915, as his ship approached the coast of Ireland, Capt. William Thomas Turner left the bridge and made his way to the first-class lounge, where passengers were taking part in a concert and talent show, a customary feature of Cunard crossings. The room was large and warm, paneled in mahogany and carpeted in green and yellow, with two fourteen-foot-tall fireplaces in the front and rear walls. Ordinarily Turner avoided events of this kind aboard ship, because he disliked the social obligations of captaincy, but tonight was no ordinary night, and he had news to convey.

There was already a good deal of tension in the room, despite the singing and piano playing and clumsy magic tricks, and this became more pronounced when Turner stepped forward at intermission. His presence had the perverse effect of affirming everything the passengers had been fearing since their departure from New York, in the way that a priest’s arrival tends to undermine the cheery smile of a nurse.

It was Turner’s intention, however, to provide reassurance. His looks helped. With the physique of a bank safe, he was the embodiment of quiet strength. He had blue eyes and a kind and gentle smile, and his graying hair—he was fifty-eight years old—conveyed wisdom and experience, as did the mere fact of his being a Cunard captain. In accord with Cunard’s practice of rotating captains from ship to ship, this was his third stint as the Lusitania’s master, his first in wartime.

Turner now told his audience that the next day, Friday, May 7, the ship would enter waters off the southern coast of Ireland that were part of a “zone of war” designated by Germany. This in itself was anything but news. On the morning of the ship’s departure from New York, a notice had appeared on the shipping pages of New York’s newspapers. Placed by the German Embassy in Washington, it reminded readers of the existence of the war zone and cautioned that “vessels flying the flag of Great Britain, or of any of her allies, are liable to destruction” and that travelers sailing on such ships “do so at their own risk.” Though the warning did not name a particular vessel, it was widely interpreted as being aimed at Turner’s ship, the Lusitania, and indeed in at least one prominent newspaper, the New York World, it was positioned adjacent to Cunard’s own advertisement for the ship. Ever since, about all the passengers had been doing was “thinking, dreaming, sleeping, and eating submarines,” according to Oliver Bernard, a theater-set designer traveling in first class.

Turner now revealed to the audience that earlier in the evening the ship had received a warning by wireless of fresh submarine activity off the Irish coast. He assured the audience there was no need for alarm.

Coming from another man, this might have sounded like a baseless palliative, but Turner believed it. He was skeptical of the threat posed by German submarines, especially when it came to his ship, one of the great transatlantic “greyhounds,” so named for the speeds they could achieve. His superiors at Cunard shared his skepticism. The company’s New York manager issued an official response to the German warning. “The truth is that the Lusitania is the safest boat on the sea. She is too fast for any submarine. No German war vessel can get her or near her.” Turner’s personal experience affirmed this: on two previous occasions, while captain of a different ship, he had encountered what he believed were submarines and had successfully eluded them by ordering full speed ahead.

He said nothing about these incidents to his audience. Now he offered a different sort of reassurance: upon entering the war zone the next day, the ship would be securely in the care of the Royal Navy.

He bade the audience good night and returned to the bridge. The talent show continued. A few passengers slept fully clothed in the dining room, for fear of being trapped below decks in their cabins if an attack were to occur. One especially anxious traveler, a Greek carpet merchant, put on a life jacket and climbed into a lifeboat to spend the night. Another passenger, a New York businessman named Isaac Lehmann, took a certain comfort from the revolver that he carried with him always and that would, all too soon, bring him a measure of fame, and infamy.
With all but a few lights extinguished and all shades pulled and curtains drawn, the great liner slid forward through the sea, at times in fog, at times under a lacework of stars. But even in darkness, in moonlight and mist, the ship stood out. At one o’clock in the morning, Friday, May 7, the officers of a New York–bound vessel spotted the Lusitania and recognized it immediately as it passed some two miles off. “You could see the shape of the four funnels,” said the captain, Thomas M. Taylor; “she was the only ship with four funnels.”

Unmistakable and invulnerable, a floating village in steel, the Lusitania glided by in the night as a giant black shadow cast upon the sea.

Reading Group Guide

1. In his Note to Readers, Erik Larson writes that before researching Dead Wake, he thought he knew “everything there was to know” about the sinking of the Lusitania, but soon realized “how wrong [he] was.” What did you know about the Lusitania before reading the book? Did any of Larson’s revelations surprise you? 

2. After reading Dead Wake, what was your impression of Captain Turner? Was he cautious enough? How did you react to the Admiralty’s attempts to place the blame for the Lusitania’s sinking squarely on his shoulders?

3. Erik Larson deftly weaves accounts of glamorous first-class passengers such as Alfred Gwynne Vanderbilt with compelling images of middle-class families and of the ship’s crew. Whose personal story resonated the most with you?

4. Charles Lauriat went to extraordinary measures to protect his Thackeray drawings and his rare edition of A Christmas Carol, but eventually both were lost. In Lauriat’s position, which possessions would you have tried to save? Why does Larson write in such great detail about the objects people brought aboard the Lusitania?

5. Edith Galt Wilson would come to play a significant role in the White House after Woodrow Wilson suffered a massive stroke in 1919. What made her a good match for Wilson? What other aspects of Wilson’s personal life did you find intriguing?

6. Why was Wilson so insistent on maintaining neutrality even as German U-boat attacks claimed American lives? Was his reluctance to go to war justified?

7. How did you respond to the many what-ifs that Larson raises about U.S. involvement in the Great War? Would Wilson have abandoned his isolationist stance without the Lusitania tragedy? Could Germany and Mexico have succeeded in conquering the American Southwest? 

8. By attacking civilian ships, were Captain Schwieger and his U-20 crew committing acts of terrorism? Does it matter that Germany ran advertisements declaring the waters around Great Britain to be a war zone? 

9. How did Captain Schwieger’s leadership style compare with that of Captain Turner? Did you feel sympathy for Schwieger and his crew?

10. Though the British Navy was tracking U-20’s location, it didn’t alert the Lusitania, nor did it provide a military escort. Why not? Do you consider Churchill and Room 40 partly to blame for the sinking? How should countries balance the integrity of their intelligence operations with their duty to protect civilians?

11. Some have argued that Churchill deliberately chose not to protect the Lusitania in hopes that the sinking of such a prominent ship would draw the United States into the war. After reading Larson’s account, what do you think of this theory? 

12. While Germany’s advertisement scared away some would-be Lusitania passengers, most placed their faith in the British Navy to protect the ship, and some laughed off the risk altogether. In their position, would you have cancelled your ticket?

13. What lessons does the sinking of the Lusitania have for us in the twenty-first century?


Barnes & Noble Review Interview with Erik Larson

In May 1915, in one of the greatest maritime disasters in history, the Cunard liner Lusitania was attacked on its crossing from New York City to Liverpool, by a German U-boat off the coast of Ireland. Germany had warned that its submarines would fire on ships like the Lusitania if they entered the zone of European hostilities; the ship's owners and passengers believed that the Lusitania's record-setting speed would make it an impossible target. Of the nearly 2,000 passengers and crew aboard, almost 1,200 died as the enormous ship was struck by two torpedoes and quickly sunk. International outcry followed, and President Woodrow Wilson came under increasing pressure to enter World War I against Germany — though this would not come to pass until two years later.

Can it be any surprise that Erik Larson — the author of Devil in the White City, Thunderstruck, and In the Garden of Beasts — would be drawn to the story of the Lusitania, its passengers, and its place in the history of technology, warfare, as well as America's emergence as a dominant world power? Researching his riveting new book, Dead Wake, Larsen sorted through passenger manifests and correspondence, reconstructing meals, games, wardrobes, and worries of its self-contained world. He also uncovered a little-known story of naval espionage that paralleled the disaster, a game of fox-and- hounds carried out by an unlikely team of British cryptographers. They could not save the ship, but in time they changed the course of the war.

Erik Larson spoke with us via email about the many stories that were braided together in Dead Wake. —Bill Tipper

The Barnes & Noble Review: Your book coincides with the centenary of the 1915 sinking of the Lusitania—what initially drew you to the subject? Had you been interested in writing about it for a long time, or were you prompted by the anniversary?

Erik Larson: I'm not a big believer in timing books to anniversaries. In this case, though, let's just say it was the thing that tipped the balance for me. I'd always been interested in the Lusitania, so, recognizing that the anniversary was at hand, I did a little reading, and immediately realized that there was so much more to the story than I had ever thought. More important, I realized that there was a very rich array of archival resources available that I felt had not been used to full advantage. I saw an opportunity to marshal all these sources in a way that would put readers aboard the Lusitania in a visceral way and conjure for them a rich sense of what that voyage must really have been like — the glamour, the suspense and, in the end, the tragedy and grief. It became for me an exercise in narrative suspense. True, real-life suspense.

BNR: In a sense the centerpiece of the book is the Lusitania's list of passengers and crew, which you mine to deliver a marvelous cross-section of American society at that moment. Did you come to have favorite "characters" among them?

EL: I like all the characters, but my favorite is probably Dwight Harris, a young New Yorker on his way to England to get engaged. He wrote a detailed letter about his journey to his mother, but it wasn't just the detail that drew me to him. It was his youth and enthusiasm. Clearly he was terrified; but just as clearly he was so delighted to have survived and lived to write about it. Passengers aside, my absolute favorite character in the book is easily the submarine commander, Kptlt. Walther Schwieger. He's the villain, of course, but he's a nuanced villain. As strange as this may sound, I think readers will feel a certain amount of sympathy for him.

BNR: By comparison to the Gilded Age or the '20s, the period of World War I in America (as opposed to Europe) has gotten something of a short shrift in popular history and historical fiction. Yet as you unveil it through the lives of the passengers of the Lusitania, it's a heady and rather exciting moment. Are we overdue for more treatments of this place and time?

EL: What makes this period in America challenging for writers is that the real action — the war — was occurring elsewhere, with no American involvement until 1917. Politics and labor history are compelling, but not nearly as much as war. The Lusitania provided a vehicle for looking at the home front in that era, in a way that was inherently compelling and suspenseful. When you know characters will soon be confronting catastrophe, you're likely to find even the most mundane aspects of their lives and their world interesting.

BNR: From the other side of the Second World War, it's hard for us now to imagine the reluctance of many Americans to get involved in the war in Europe—even after the sinking of the Lusitania, President Wilson was not ready to ask Congress for a declaration of war—and Wilson's secretary of state, William Jennings Bryan, resigned over his belief that the administration might be drawn into the conflict. Are we a very different nation now, less reluctant to go to war?

EL: I think we, today, are far more willing to go to war — witness the Iraq invasion and subsequent military action. Wilson understood that war promised only tragedy and grief and tried to keep America out of it as long as he possibly could. His restraint was noble, and moral, but also practical. He recognized that if America did ever join the war in Europe, the nation had to be ready, fully and deeply primed for it, because this war promised evils — gas, machine guns, tanks, Zeppelins, submarines — like no war that had come before it. In 1915, the nation was not ready, and he knew it.

BNR: A torpedo attack against a neutral nation's unarmed ocean liner seems, absent of context, a very cold-blooded and reprehensible act, and of course it was seen by Americans that way at the time. You put it in the context of the more complex struggle of WWI. What does the view of Germany's submarine warfare look like from where you sit now?

EL: The thing that struck me over and over during my research, and while writing the book, was that you really have to go back to that era and adopt the point of view of the time to grasp how utterly, radically new the submarine was as a weapon of war. Only a few souls understood — Sir Arthur Conan Doyle was one, as he revealed in a prescient short story; the Admiralty's Jacky Fisher was another. Even Churchill, as chaotically brilliant as he was, couldn't accept the idea that Germany would actually use submarines to sink ships without warning. But, as Fisher put it so succinctly, "The essence of war is violence, and moderation in war is imbecility." In the end, Germany's submarine commanders were simply soldiers exploiting the power of a weapon that was new to them as well, and that offered means of attack hitherto unknown.

BNR: As passengers are boarding the Lusitania, with a very public threat from Germany published in the newspapers, the sinking of the Titanic — just three years earlier in 1912 — was on the minds of many. Yet the insistence that the ship's physical construction would make a disaster unthinkable seems to have been repeated. Were there lessons from the sinking of the Titanic that should have been applied?

EL: We today can look back and cluck at how the passengers and crew of the Lusitania exhibited the same hubris as those on the Titanic. The Titanic was believed to be unsinkable; the Lusitania was too fast to be caught. But the thing that characterized the age was an overweening confidence in the power of man-made objects to overcome obstacles like time and distance, and that confidence could not be deterred. Those who boarded the Lusitania on May 1, 1915, doubtless felt some anxiety, but at the same time, they took comfort in the sheer scale of the ship and its speed, and in the fact that for a century naval warfare against civilian vessels had been conducted in a chivalrous, humanitarian manner.

BNR: In the moment of the attack itself, you point out than a particularly unlucky confluence of events conspired to cause a catastrophe—the timing of the fog, the position of the ship, and even the U-boat captain's misjudgment of the Lusitania's speed, which turned out to result in a deadlier explosion—is it possible now to see the most significant error? Was it ultimately a misjudgment of Cunard to send the ship at all?

EL: The blame, in the end, falls to one man, and one man alone: The submarine commander, Walther Schwieger. Should Cunard have taken Germany's warning more seriously? That's a question that we today can ask, from the comfort of our living rooms. But in writing history, it's important to try to adopt the point of view of the time. POV, as screenwriters are fond of putting it. The fact is, only a few passengers canceled their bookings. Over a thousand passengers got on the ship that day, with every confidence that they would make it safely to Liverpool. What killed the Lusitania was a chance confluence of forces that brought it into the sights of Kptlt. Schwieger, whose torpedo happened to strike exactly the spot in the Lusitania's hull to cause it to sink in just eighteen minutes.

BNR: There is an unexpected thread of espionage and code breaking running through your story, of a type familiar those who followed the history of the Enigma project in World War II. How did you come across the story of Great Britain's "Room 40" and the secret war against German submarines?

EL: I'd like to say that I discovered the secret of Room 40, but I most decidedly did not. The exploits of "Blinker" Hall and Room 40 are well known among naval historians, although as best I can tell no previous writer sought to integrate the story of Room 40 into the voyage of the Lusitania. I must say, however, that I personally had never heard of Room 40 before starting work on this book. To me, just reading the archival materials written by and about the founders of Room 40, and seeing the actual intercepted German naval telegrams was a delight. My favorite research moment was at the National Archives of the UK, in Kew, when I opened a document box and found the actual codebook said to have been washed ashore in the arms of a dead German sailor — the codebook that let Room 40 begin listening in on German naval communications, and allowed it to keep doing so throughout the war.

BNR: You weave throughout the story of the Lusitania the path of President Wilson from grief and loneliness into a new chapter of his life—at the same time that he is drawn closer to war. For all of the significance of his administration, Wilson is a president Americans now have little connection to. Do you think humanizing accounts like this will change that?

EL: I can't speak for anyone else, but my research into Wilson's life during this period caused a profound change in my own perception of the man. I'd always thought him to be a rather stiff, professorial sort of guy. But here he was, a widower, who suddenly found himself falling deeply, passionately in love with the woman who would become his second wife. Such love letters! Dozens of them, revealing a man crushed by the death of his first wife and finding at last a hope of rebirth. I have a new respect for the man.

BNR: With so many other calamities during WWI and just after, which claimed so many thousands of lives, why does this one still fascinate us?

EL: I think, frankly, it fascinates us for the wrong reasons. As I worked on this book, I took every opportunity I could to ask friends and family how long they thought it took America to get into the war after the Lusitania. The replies I got ranged from two days to two months — no surprise, frankly, since high school history timelines portray the Lusitania as the Pearl Harbor of World War I. It wasn't. America didn't enter the war for two more years, and on the day Wilson at last asked Congress for a declaration that a state of war existed with Germany, he never even mentioned the Lusitania. What's been lost, I feel, is the true meaning of the Lusitania — it was a deeply moving, wrenching, horrific human disaster that killed wives, husbands, sons, daughters, and infants, in macabre and capricious fashion.

March 10, 2015

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