All Muslims are scum and they all need to be wiped off this planet. Same thing for the politically correct assholes who suck up to Muslim scum.

The Wall Street Journal had a book review of two books which I will probably buy, "The Only Plane in the Sky" and "Fall and Rise: The Story of 9/11".

Nothing in the book review and in the comments said anything about the Muslim scum that made this cowardly attack against America possible. Most likely the WSJ censored any comment with the word "Muslim" in it. This wimpy political correctness is ridiculous.

Who is worse, Muslim scum or the wimpy assholes who suck up to the scum? I wrote a comment for the Wall Street Journal wimps. It will probably be vaporized.

What I wrote: "Let's not talk about the religion that made this genocide possible because that would not be politically correct."

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Here is the whole thing:

BOOKS
BOOKSHELF

THE ONLY PLANE IN THE SKY
By Garrett M. Graff
Avid Reader, 483 pages, $30

FALL AND RISE: THE STORY OF 9/11
By Mitchell Zuckoff
Harper, 589 pages, $29.99

Two new journalistic accounts that strive to preserve the memory of September 11, 2001.

By Tunku Varadarajan

September 6, 2019

A remembrance of beauty persists alongside the horrors that mark Sept. 11, 2001. A storm had swept across the Northeast the day before, giving rise that morning to a rare meteorological phenomenon known as “severe clear.”

In “The Only Plane in the Sky,” an oral history of 9/11, Garrett Graff writes of the “cloudless skies that made an enduring impression on all who would witness what transpired in the hours ahead.” He quotes people who describe the sky high over New York and Washington. “A gorgeous blue,” says a Virginia police officer. “Deep blue,” says a Capitol Hill staffer. “Deep, deep blue,” says a chef in Manhattan. Others remember the hue overhead as “cobalt blue,” “cerulean blue” and “the bluest of blues,” and as one “that you wish you could put in a bottle.”

Over 64 fine-sliced chapters, Mr. Graff, a former editor at Politico, gives us “the stories of those who lived through and experienced 9/11—where they were, what they remember, and how their lives changed.” The result is remarkable, and Mr. Graff’s curation of these accounts—drawn from hundreds of his own interviews and from the reporting of other journalists and historians—is a priceless civic gift. After all, as he notes, the fall of 2019 “will mark the entrance of the first college class born after the attacks.”

This is a new generation that “barely remembers the day itself,” and it is Mr. Graff’s mission to offer these young, unscarred Americans a book that will teach them about what happened on 9/11. The book is refreshingly free from editorializing, ideology and ululation. It gives us instead poignant, often distressing, vignettes and impressions of the day and its aftermath.

On page after page, a reader will encounter words that startle, or make him angry, or heartbroken, or queasy. Mohamed Atta was running late at Portland International Jetport, in Maine, for his flight to Boston, where he would board American Airlines Flight 11, the plane he crashed into the North Tower of the World Trade Center in New York. Mike Tuohey, a ticket agent in Portland, recalls saying, with the usual professional courtesy: “Mr. Atta, if you don’t go now, you will miss your plane.” (Yes, everyone who reads this will ask himself what might have been had Atta missed his flight.) Pages later, we encounter the recorded words of Amy Sweeney, a flight attendant on AA 11, spoken on an Airfone to a manager on the ground. “Something is wrong. I don’t think the captain is in control. I see water. I see buildings. We’re flying low. We’re flying very, very low. Oh my God. We’re flying way too low.” Within seconds, the plane hit the tower.

There is much in this book about the bravery of the firefighters and security personnel who responded to the attacks. Father Mychal Judge was a chaplain with the Fire Department of New York, the only priest to enter the towers that day, administering last rites. He died in the North Tower. “The firemen took his body,” a friar says. “Because they respected and loved him so much, they didn’t want to leave it in the street. They quickly carried it into [nearby] St. Peter’s Church.” Rick Rescorla was a former British paratrooper who was vice president of security for Morgan Stanley in the South Tower: Ignoring the Port Authority’s assurance that the tower was safe, he said: “I’m getting my people the f— out of here.” He saved hundreds of lives in the process but lost his own.

Yet it is the goodness of ordinary people that leaves the deepest impression. We read, for instance, of the reaction of Heather Ordover, an English teacher at a high school three blocks south of the World Trade Center, just after the first plane hit the tower. “We all heard the scream of the engines,” Ms. Ordover says, “like a bomb in a war movie—then the flash.” As the kids in her class ran to the window, where they saw smoke and falling debris, her protective teacher’s instincts kicked in. “I ran back to the front of the room, yelling to the kids to sit down and write about what they’d just seen—anything to get them away from the windows.”

There are countless other stories of selflessness, of decency, of 911-operators telling people trapped on the topmost floors—who had called in to say, “I’m going to die, aren’t I?”—that help was on the way and that they weren’t going to die. Untruths, of course, but of the utmost kindness. In Mr. Graff’s book, the little details are allowed to speak for themselves, and the effect is one of notable eloquence.

“Fall and Rise: The Story of 9/11,” by Mitchell Zuckoff, is a monumental complement to Mr. Graff’s spare book. A former reporter at the Boston Globe, now a professor at Boston University, Mr. Zuckoff has sought to re-create in dramatic prose the very story that Mr. Graff sets out to assemble by oral jigsaw. He stresses that his narrative takes “no license with facts, quotes, characters, or chronologies.” His book’s avowed purpose is—like Mr. Graff’s—to preserve the memory of the day America was attacked, “to delay the descent of 9/11 into the well of history.”

Mr. Zuckoff’s descriptions of the hijacks—the turmoil on board the planes, the crashing of the aircraft, the destruction of the towers, the rescues, the death, the subsequent anguish—are superb in their tautness and tension. Particularly moving is the account of how Brian Clark and Stan Praimnath, two total strangers who worked on the 84th and 81st floors of the South Tower, respectively, encountered each other in the acrid ruins. When Brian first extended a hand to help a disoriented Stan to his feet, he was startled to be asked by the latter if he believed in Jesus Christ. In response, Mr. Zuckoff writes, “Brian stammered something about church on Sundays. He wondered if the man he was trying to save had lost his mind.” In the middle of the calamity, on the 81st floor, they shook hands, told each other their names, and swore to be brothers for life. Then Brian draped his arm around Stan’s shoulder and said, “Let’s go home.”

They made it out alive. Elsewhere, colleagues of Brian’s remained trapped and doomed. Among them, writes Mr. Zuckoff, was a broker named Randy Scott, “a fun-loving, motorcycle-riding, happily married father of three daughters. With no other way to seek help, he scribbled a plea: ‘84th floor / west office / 12 People trapped.’ ” He tossed his note out of a window, “to flutter among countless bits of paper blown from both towers.” But before he did, he “pressed a bloodied finger against the note,” leaving the DNA that would later identify him as the writer.

Mr. Zuckoff’s chapter on United Flight 93—which crashed to the ground near Shanksville, Pa.—is gripping. This was, sequentially, the fourth of four hijacked flights, and the passengers and crew on board were aware of the hijackers’ intentions, having been in touch with families and officials via the Airfones in the plane. “That knowledge,” writes Mr. Zuckoff, “became a powerful motivator. It transformed them from victimized hostages into resistance fighters.” He describes the passengers’ conversations with their spouses and parents on the ground as “a spoken tapestry of grace, warning, bravery, resolve, and love.”

There are times in which Mr. Zuckoff’s efforts to breathe life back into his characters can be florid or sentimental. John Ogonowski, the pilot of AA 11, is depicted as “country-boy handsome,” his smile etching “deep crinkles in the ruddy skin around his blue eyes.” CeeCee Lyles, a heroic flight attendant on board United Flight 93, “had flashing brown eyes and a love of fine clothes that complemented her athletic figure.”

But such passages do not mar the narrative righteousness of Mr. Zuckoff’s enterprise. Reliving the moment when the second plane hit the South Tower, he writes that “the off-center jolt caused the upper floors to rotate like a boxer’s torso twisted from an unexpected blow.” The image is astonishing, almost magical in its evocation of a heretofore inconceivable assault. Alongside the voices from Mr. Graff’s oral history—calling down from the upper floors for aid, for a rescue that would never come—words like these will keep memories alive.

—Mr. Varadarajan is executive editor at Stanford University’s Hoover Institution.