Michael Ennis has been a regular contributor to Texas Monthly since 1977. He is the New York Times best-selling author of the historical novels The Malice of Fortune, Duchess of Milan, and Byzantium, which have been published worldwide. He earned his degree in history from the University of California, Berkeley; taught art history at the University of Texas, Austin; and is a former John D. Rockefeller III Foundation Fellow. His nonfiction writing, on subjects ranging from military preparedness and national politics to art and architecture, has won several national awards; been included in the curriculum of the U.S. Military Academy at West Point; and has been published in a number of books and anthologies as well as magazines such as Esquire, ARTnews, and Architectural Digest.
The secret history of cotton, the crop that transformed the global economy—and kept Texans in poverty for generations.
Larry McMurtry, Bill Wittliff, and Jeff Guinn turn to familiar turf—the Old West—to challenge old-school readers.
With its tight prose, waitress heroine, and stinging insight into urban life, Merritt Tierce’s debut marks an exciting turn in Texas literature.
Journalist Chris Tomlinson delves into the parallel histories of two Texas families with the same last name—one black, one white.
Energy reporter Russell Gold gives us a reason to give a frak about fracking.
Former state demographer Steve H. Murdock is back, with a book that should be required reading for all 26,060,796 of us.
Contrary to what the national media would have you believe, Texas is not politically monochromatic. It is, and always has been, a state with two minds.
For half a century the world has regarded the Dallas of 1963 as a city of hate. But as JFK knew when he got there, that wasn’t the whole story.
Why, in books and movies (not to mention politics), we keep returning to the epic frontier struggle between the Comanche and the Texas Rangers.
Acting like a rube used to be the best way to get ahead in politics. Now something crazier is required.
Just over forty years ago, Texas was the kind of place dismissed as hopelessly provincial and culturally mediocre. But then came the Kimbell Art Museum.
Contrary to our self-mythology, ideas—and the people who wrote them down—have always been central to Texas history.