When I see film of someone climbing the outside of a skyscraper (this is “buildering”, apparently), I am amazed at the audacity of their enterprise, and I am confronted with the reality that, whatever my skills are, they would not include this activity. Yet I wonder at their purpose and find no convincing answer to the question of what has been gained by the successful completion of the exercise.
I feel much the same about Simon Sebag Montefiore’s publication of The World: A Family History..
I am not sure what the purpose is of trying to consolidate history of all earth in a single book. Is it a bit like climbing mountains – or buildings – to show he can do it? I felt at many times during the expedition that this was essentially a vanity project.
I read somewhere that Montefiore had seen, as a child, Toynbee’s A Study of History and mused then upon whether he might one day write a similar work. This seems similar to the multitude of people who have proclaimed as children that they would become Prime Minister or President of their country. Are these ambitions anything more valuable than egocentric vanity?
I must agree that SSM is astoundingly clever: his ability to manage and manipulate all that material is staggering. And, of course, his stamina and persistence in completing this project are notable.
But are we any better off for his having completed it? At the most humdrum of levels, a 1267 page tome is very difficult to manage physically, and I frequently found myself wishing Montefiore had, at least, divided the work into four or five separate works. They might not have looked so impressive but there would be fewer readers now nursing their RSI. And probably more would have completed something, rather than surrendering without finishing anything. Beyond that, I would defy any reader to retain any of the book’s information beyond the next few chapters.
At heart, though, my objection to The World: A Family History is more substantial than these points. I would describe SSM’s approach to the work as being, essentially, salacious tabloid. It is a conglomeration of gory violence; sexual activity, particularly favouring slightly eccentric varieties, and rape; excessive alcohol and drug-usage; and general scatology. (It is something of a paradox, then, that he describes Martin Luther as “fixated on faeces and sex”, the “faecal fulminator”.) I should mention that Montefiore also enjoys describing the appearance of misshapen or disfigured individuals. And there are many times when trivial information is included amongst the omission of significant historical events. Thus a whole paragraph is dedicated to details of “Haroun’s wedding to his double first cousin Zubaida (which) was said to have been the greatest party of all time” in 1782.
My idea of history is much more focused on analysis and explanation, and identification of patterns. Montefiore does move into these areas, but only towards the end of the book, when it becomes, I think, a far more interesting work. Until then, his “history” is a rattling through of events: especially of wars, arguments, murders, alliances, sieges, capitulations, mass-deaths. Because it moves through time so quickly, and because it focuses so exclusively on leaders, there is a scrolling effect of people’s names: it is rather like the credit list at the end of a film, run too fast. After a while, the names disappear out the other end of the funnel. Montefiore often uses unusual spellings of ancient names, as well as vernacular translations of the name, making the memory exercise more exacting. And not all the names in the text appear in the name-index (which nevertheless runs to 37 pages) so subsequently following up on someone might be essentially impossible. The difficulty of retaining a feel for who people are is exacerbated by the structure which, in order to follow a temporal unity, swings from Place A to Place B, then Place C, all in one era, then returning to Place A a little later.
A sense of the breakneck speed and the breathless sensationalism can be conveyed with a typical extract: ““Most unusually for a Macedonian king, Amyntas died old and in his bed, leaving the throne to the eldest boy, Alexander II, who was defeated by the city of Thebes, then the leading Greek power, which forced him to surrender fifty hostages./The king sent his youngest brother, the thirteen-year-old Philip. Spending three years in Thebes, Philip was taught a lifestyle of vegetarianism, celibacy and pacifism (all of which he later ignored), but he stayed in the house of the Theban general who was his mentor, probably also his lover, and studied the tactics of the Sacred Band, the elite corps of 300 (supposedly 150 male couples) whose victories had won Thebes its supremacy.”
One of the issues with the whole book is that no information is cited. I can see why this is done: when I complain that the work is 1268 pages long, I omit to mention that around a third of the pages have small-font footnotes which, if integrated into the text at normal font size, would have it running well over 1300 pages. Citing sources of all the information which should be cited would take this well beyond that. However, without those citations, we are left entirely dependent upon Montefiore’s authority and accuracy. And his predilection for sensationalism might make the reader wish to check sources. Balzac he writes, “lived as he thought a Parisian writer should live, enjoying love affairs with duchesses and courtesans, writing all night, overweight, breathless, gradually poisoning himself on overdoses of coffee”. There are reports in other sources of the coffee claim but they are reckoned to be unreliable. Equally unreliable is the statement about “ruga-ruga militia men who wore shirts of flayed human skin, caps of human scalps, belts of human intestines and teeth necklaces.” This is, again, not footnoted, and a Google search does not substantiate it.
Another aspect of this is his custom of blithely suggesting he is the only historian to have recognised or understood some particular matter. “Western history writing often…” or “This is much neglected by historians” he laments, without naming the errant scholars.
I should mention, though, that Montefiore has provided an extensive reading list online, a resource which is vastly under-utilised by authors of history books; many would greatly benefit from the possibility of providing online many more photographs, illustrations and maps than are practicably available in a bound book.
The World: A Family History contains in its coverage of the period up until, say, 1800, a substantial number of bald assertions which, unfootnoted, can not be checked. The text states, “at Cannae, the Carthaginians surrounded and slaughtered as many as 70,000 legionaries at a rate of a hundred a minute.” ChatGPT, when asked to deliberate on this, offers a cautious, historically sensible assessment: “The claim that the Carthaginians slaughtered Romans at a rate of 100 a minute at the Battle of Cannae is not attributed to any specific reputable writer or historian. As far as I know, this specific claim is not found in the accounts of ancient historians who wrote about the Battle of Cannae, such as Polybius or Livy. Additionally, modern historians who have studied the battle and its historical records have not made such a claim. The notion of killing 100 Romans per minute is likely an exaggeration or hyperbole that has circulated in popular culture or less scholarly sources. It’s crucial to be cautious with such claims and ensure that historical information is sourced from reputable and well-documented academic works and primary sources to avoid spreading misinformation.” Exactly so! Montefiore describes the English Gunpowder Plot as “now regarded as a Jape”, a remarkable assertion which I have never encountered before.
One of the more concerning aspects of Montefiore’s credulity is his readiness to take literally some ancient epigraphic texts which, in the style of the time, mix history (in our modern sense), fable, myth and outright propaganda. Thus, much of the early “history” is, at best, conjectural and reliant on unreliable sources. Montefiore, however, presents it with unequivocal factual certainty. Time after time, one encounters a “fact” which is disputed as conjectural by the specialists. It is, presumably, punchier and tidier to operate with this black and white approach, but it is also bad history and, inasmuch as this work might be seen as a reference authority in future (as it presumably aspires to be), it is irresponsible. (Oddly, on occasion, he makes the same point: “Livia was said to have poisoned Augustus with figs. She was also rumoured to have poisoned all his earlier prospective successors. There is no proof of any of this and much of it was pure chauvinism, as poison was supposedly feminine – secret, insidious, concealed in food consumed trustingly.”)
The book is written in a curious mixture of styles. There is the tabloid argot (“Philadelphos supposedly kept nine paramours, of whom the star was a badass chariot-racing Greek beauty Belistiche.”). And there is a prolific use of genital vocabulary which would never have seen light of day in tabloid publications. But there is also a slightly exhibitionist use of rare words. “Bertie, the twenty-five-year-old pinguid Prince of Wales”, for example. And the Arab world is “fissiparous”. At times, this becomes intrusive and obfuscatory. One chapter contains “frizelate” or various forms of it, in several instances. Neither my collection of dictionaries, nor ChatGPT, recognise this word, although it would seem, from the context, to have some sort of sexual connotation.
There are a number of instances in the book which display a mild bias of perspective. Every early appearance of a female in a position of power is ostentatiously pointed out. One of the dangers of attaching to fashionable causes is that the writer can appear patronising. The line is surely crossed here: “Carl Benz had developed a petrol engine in 1885 and designed the Benz motor car. These inventors were male, but in August 1886 Mrs Bertha Benz stole her husband’s contraption with her two sons on board, and drove sixty-five miles, buying gasoline from pharmacies, to visit her mother. It was the first road trip, but Bertha also made driving safer by using a garter to insulate a wire, wielding a hairpin to unblock a pipe and inventing brake pads.”
References to Jewish history seem to me to be out of proportion (and references to modern Israel are surely anodyne in contrast to the scathing critique applied to other nations.) On occasion, the references to the West display the contemporary predilection for showing the West it is not as smart, creative, powerful, etc as it is presumed to think it is. This is one of those tedious fashionable tropes which intend to show the author as a bit cleverer than hoi polloi. Montefiore also insists, despite all his examples of egregious slavery carried out in many countries at many times, that US slavery was the worst of them all. And he pontificates against incest, I think misrepresenting the likelihood of birth defects in offspring.
Not unexpectedly, there are periodic lapses in the text, some of them the responsibility of editors (imagine being given this to edit!). It is irritating that “palace” is typeset as “palac-es” to justify a line. We are told that Fabias Maximus Verrucosus was elected dictator, but while we are told that “verrucosus” translates as “warty”, there is no explanation, as surely there ought to be, that “dictator” in the 3rd century BCE had a different meaning from ours. The editor perhaps had nodded off when the text states “The fleet is be exaggerated”; or asks “why should not African Kings crave exploration any less than Genoese”. “Disraeli, son of a bookish Jewish immigrant from Morocco, was the first outsider to rule Britain since the Romans” What about William the Conqueror? Instead of Mandela’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission, we are told of his “peace and conciliation committee”. These are relatively minor and, in 1268 pages, few, but if, as author, you are asking a reader to stay with you for such a marathon, it is wise to keep irritations to a minimum.
One element of this study which I think is very valuable is its concomitant examination of many regions, showing the apposition of events in North and South America, Europe, East and West Asia and, at times, the Pacific. Conventional histories generally tend to be based around a nation or region, and it is useful to remember that, at any one time, life was progressing in many different places on the earth. This work attempts to avoid that oversight, although, of course, some regions are overlooked as we dart about the globe. It would simply not be possible to be completely comprehensive. And at times, one theatre and set of actors is dismissed rather abruptly, to be replaced by another. But it is a valuable development at least to show major concurrent Asian, European and North and South American events. This, however, is a separate issue from doing that for the whole span of history.
Montefiore explains that he has sought to apply a family focus to the enterprise. “In this book I have written of the fall of noble cities, the vanishing of kingdoms, the rise and fall of dynasties, cruelty upon cruelty, folly upon folly, eruptions, massacres, famines, pandemics and pollutions, yet again and again in these pages the high spirits and elevated thoughts, the capacity for joy and kindness, the variety and eccentricity of humanity, the faces of love and the devotion of family run through it all, and remind me why I started to write.”
Unsurprisingly, power has often adhered to families as megalomaniacs who are stunned by their mortality seek to evade it by resort to dynasty. So a family focus is logical in those instances; however, there are as many, or more, instances where power passes outside the family. So it is questionable whether there really is a family-focus. One interesting aspect to the family-focus, however, comes in his extending biographical details to notable individuals’ childhood and their un-notable forebears. This is the sort of thing that one finds in a biography, but not so often in a wide-ranging history. I must say, though, that, having read the whole book, I gained little sense of “the capacity for joy and kindness” or “ the faces of love and the devotion of family.” Somewhat off-putting was the number of times Montefiore’s own family popped unexpectedly into view. As part of this trend, we are told of his own schoolboy interview of Margaret Thatcher, and her apparent reaction to his cheek by determining never again to be subjected to such an interview. There is a little vain self-aggrandisement to this.
Nevertheless, there is some very good stuff in Montefiore’s concluding thoughts, making me wish again that he had limited his scope and written three or four more finely targeted studies.
“even the poorest countries today have higher life expectancies than the richest empires of a century ago. Sierra Leone now has a life expectancy of 50.1 years, which is the same as France in 1910. In 1945, Indians lived until thirty-five; now their life expectancy is seventy.” 1258. “In the next eighty years, the population of Europe and East Asia will plummet, that of Nigeria will quadruple to 800 million, making it larger than the entire EU, the second biggest country after India; Congo will triple to 250 million, Egypt will double, Russia will shrink and its Muslims will form a majority. China will halve, its power and economy possibly challenged by the drawbacks of its own autocracy; the US will remain much the same, its ingenious power, however flawed and fragile, likely to endure longer than doomsayers predict. The African giants, Nigeria, Egypt and Congo, could thrive, but it seems more likely that the rulers will be unable to manage or feed their peoples.”
“‘ The real problem of humanity,’ said Edward O Wilson, ‘is we have Palaeolithic emotions, mediaeval institutions and Godlike technology.’ Just because we are the smartest ape ever created, just because we have solved many problems so far, it does not mean we will solve everything. Human history is like one of those investment warning clauses: is no guarantee of future results.
And I found very interesting his contention that, at the time of Boris Yeltsin’s demise, the US would have been better served in the long term by offering a sort of Marshall Plan to Russia instead of seeking to buy off the satellite Soviet states.
Simon Sebag Montefiore finally scaled the building, but there were several fatalities amongst the spectators, and those who watched him clamber over the top parapet do not seem much wiser for having observed the spectacle.