The point has to be made at once that any attempt to quantify public reaction to Nazi propaganda is fraught with difficulties. Accurate measurement of the effectiveness of Nazi propaganda is weakened by the absence of public opinion surveys and the fact that, in a society that resorted so readily to coercions and terror, reported opinion did not necessarily reflect the true feelings and moods of the public, especially if these views were opposed to the regime. Nevertheless, to state that public opinion in the Third Reich ceased to exist is not strictly true. After the Nazi ‘seizure of power’ in 1933, Propaganda Minister Joseph Goebbels stressed the importance of co-ordinating propaganda with other activities. In a dictatorship, propaganda must address itself to large masses of people and attempt to move them to a uniformity of opinion and action. But the Nazis also understood that propaganda is of little value in isolation. To some extent this explains why Goebbels impressed on all his staff at the Ministry of Popular Enlightenment and Propaganda the imperative necessity constantly to gauge public moods. Goebbels therefore regularly received (as did all the ruling élites) extraordinarily detailed reports from the Secret Police (SD reports) about the mood of the people and would frequently quote these in his diary. Hitler, too, was familiar with these reports, and his recorded determination to avoid increasing food prices at all costs for fear that this would undermine the regime's popularity suggests a political sensitivity to public opinion. To assure themselves of continued popular support was an unwavering concern of the Nazi leadership, and of Hitler and Goebbels in particular.

After 1945, the reordering of international affairs around the ideological polarities of Washington and Moscow initiated for European social democrats an extended period of self-examination. Accustomed to a place at the centre stage of ideas on the evolution of advanced capitalist economies, they suddenly found themselves in a smaller Europe, the principal theatre of the superpower confrontation. At the point when it seemed only reasonable to suppose that the crisis of industrial capitalism in the 1930s, followed by six years of war, would at last bring a durable electoral majority to the cause of reconstruction under democratic socialism, both domestic and international politics were full of new ambiguities. The hope of the immediate post-war years gave way to uncertainty. That uncertainty, however, could not be attributed to altered circumstances alone. The fact that the decade of the 1950s turned out to be ‘long’ – involving electoral defeats to which there appeared to be no obvious answers – was due in no small part to the nature of the social democratic tradition itself.1

These days, the institutions of the European Community, and especially the Commission, are criticised for being, if anything, too effective and for submerging the sovereignty of member states in the interests of a concept of European union not universally shared. In the late 1970s the perceived problem was very different. The economic crisis following the breakdown of Bretton Woods and the oil price hike had caused a resurgence of nationalism within the Community and the reemergence of barriers to trade. ‘[S]ince about 1973, trade integration among the original six members has largely stagnated, as new market barriers outweighed new liberalising action, and economic growth was cut in half.’2 The one recent achievement, the European Monetary System (EMS), had been largely created outside the machinery of the Treaty of Rome. There was resentment within the Community at its failure to protect member states against the onset of crisis or to help them to find a way out of it. There was resentment at the way in which, at a time of crisis, France, Germany and the UK tended to ignore the Community, and their obligations under the Treaty of Rome, and to enter into consultations with the USA and Japan about matters which affected all member states.

Historians of Europe need to take into account these two new books of general business history, as they throw new light on the European economy and society. Their approach, however, is different: Chandler, an historian of America, ventures into two European countries; Lazonick, an historian of Britain, now deals also with the US; Chandler's ambitions are to attempt a comparative history of industrial organisations, whereas Lazonick focuses on the workplace.

The events of 1989, the annus mirabilis, have led to a great demand for new research and a re-thinking of the history of Eastern Europe. Those sources which were kept from us for years are now available, at least in part. As part of this process political scientists and historians of Eastern Europe are now concerned to fill in the gaps in our knowledge and provide the answers to urgent questions. A consequence of this situation has been a veritable flood of publications, of which eight have been chosen for review here. With two exceptions these studies have deepened our understanding of the issues involved. There are clear differences between the historians on the one hand and the political scientists on the other in terms of their starting-point and the questions they ask. Whereas the historians deal descriptively with the origins, trends and structures of the last centuries and place the revolutions of 1989/90 in their historical context, the political scientists proceed analytically and place greater emphasis on social, ethnic and economic factors. This dichotomy is demonstrated in the different problematics of the books under review.