To put it simply, The Serpent and the Lamb is one of the most respected historians of early modern Germany doing what he does best. As he has demonstrated in such prior works as The Burgermeister's Daughter and The Flesh and the Spirit, Ozment is brilliant at closely examining the primary texts of the period, liberating them from preconceptions and received opinion, and delivering to his readers insightful, surprising and frequently entertaining accounts of life in central Europe at the close of the medieval world five centuries ago.
In fact, Ozment is one of those historians of the period whose nonfiction is more interesting than the work of most historical novelists, precisely because the fruits of the archives are more surprising, and the actual historical personages more engaging, than a twenty-first century writer's imagination might permit.
Consider for example what Ozment has to say on the subject of Martin Luther's relationship to the Elector Friedrich of Saxony. There is no end to the number of books one can find, both non-fiction and historical fiction, who describe Luther as utterly dependent on Friedrich for protection and patronage, and who consider Luther's conservative response to the Peasant's War as the expression of a cringing submission to his Ernestine Wettin master.
Compare that version of events, supported by numerous layers of assumptions, to what Ozment actually finds in the correspondence of Luther and the Elector through the intermediary of Georg Spalatin: responding to an admonition from his electoral patron that Luther's characterization of medieval rulers' relic collections had become too extreme, Luther answers "I would rather lose you, [my] Sovereign, and the whole world with you than [to hold silence]...It's just not going to happen, Spalatin! It's just not going to happen, Elector!" (Page 140, elipsis added). Not exactly the words of a compliant lapdog.
For me that is just the most interesting application of Ozment's method here, but it's far from the only one that manages to entertain. Essentially, in this double biography of Cranach and Luther, Ozment also ventures into the life and works of renaissance Germany's second most famous artist and tries his hand at some art criticism. He proves himself plenty capable at this, and provides the reader great fun in describing the complexity of Cranach's numerous overlapping enterprises and chaotic life. For in addition to being the great painter entrusted with cathedral altarpieces and dynastic portraiture, Cranach ran a pharmacy, imported wine, operated a printing press, designed elaborate hunts for the Elector and visiting imperial guests, served as an interior decorator, and produced an endless supply of "tasteful" boudoir nudes for the elite of the German towns.
And of course it's at the moments when the commercial and artistic interests of Cranach intersect with Luther's rebellion against, well, everyone else in Europe and fifteen or so centuries of received ideas about Christianity, that Ozment's book really takes off. Whether it's Cranach urging Luther to tame the iconoclastic elements among the Reformers, whether it's the two men trying to mediate violent turf battles in the small university town of Wittenberg between the knife-wielding workers at Cranach's shop and the surly students at Luther's university (the Leucorea), or whether it's Cranach's sad climactic efforts to intercede with the Emperor on behalf of Friedrich's nephew the Elector Johann Friedrich the Magnanimous, seeing how personal interests, theological values, commercial norms and political necessities combine in these pages is a neverending source of wonder. At it's best, one feels as if a curtain has been thrown aside and a secret history of the early German reformation has been presented.
Moreover, the focus of Ozment's career has been social history, and certainly his observations on the marriages of Luther and Cranach are fascinating both for what they have to tell us about the norms of the period and for the ways in which they are anything but representative of wider social norms at the time.
In short, this is no less than a great book, a shatterer of preconceptions, a demonstration of the complexity and nuance of the questions that animated times past, a fluent and lively account of a corner of the world that would eventually shape modernity. And one can almost imagine at some points in "The Serpent and the Lamb" sixteenth century Wittenberg as a television show not unlike HBO's Deadwood, with the Elector ruling at its center like a portly Al Swearingen. If you have lay friends who love renaissance history, you should give them this book. And if you have friends who hate renaissance history because of a bad experience with a dull teacher or duller tome, then you should definitely give them this book, for if anything has the power to change their opinion, it surely does.