This time it was The Riddle Of The Compass, by Amir D. Aczel.
Have you ever read a popular history book where the author takes a simple object or idea, and weaves a thread through the course of civilization, drawing remarkable connections and weaving a web of thought, people, incidents and coincidence that leaves you marveling at human ingenuity and accomplishment, and awed by the vast scope of the author’s erudition and synthesis of vision?
Maybe it was something like Longitude, by Dava Sobel, or Cod, by Mark Kurlansky, you’re thinking of. It was definitely not this book.
I should have put this one down by page four, when he unnecessarily described his drive to the library where he did his research. “As soon as I left Salerno and drove west along the coast toward Amalfi, the road became extremely curvy. I had to downshift, but the Alfa Romeo 156 was made for such treacherous driving…”
This was a big clue that Dr. Aczel had gotten a nice little advance from Harcourt Inc. to take a nice little sabbatical and write a nice little book that might ride the wake behind Ms. Sobel’s success.
One problem is that the history of the compass was mostly anonymous. He was going to Amalfi, because they claim to be the birthplace of the compass. But the “inventor” turns out to have been a mostly fictional composite born of the misreading of a typo in a rehash of an old history, written for a Chamber of Commerce centennial event. We then hear a vague account of the development of trade in the Mediterranean, and how it was transformed when the compass arrived obscurely around 1300. Digging further back, he found the Chinese had been using a compass-like device for ritual purposes for centuries before, but the Portuguese missionaries in the 1600’s burned all the records. That was a shame, but at least it kept this book from being too long.
He ties these tenuous fibers together with a chapter on Marco Polo, who learned to navigate from Chinese mariners. Unfortunately, the compass was never mentioned in his Travels, presumably because by that time, it was so commonplace, he took it for granted.
This is all told in a "Tell ‘em what you’re gonna tell ‘em/Tell ‘em/Tell what you told ‘em” style that would be admirable in a high school term paper, but is embarrassing and repetitive in a book for grown ups. Toward the end of the book, he even resorts to the phrase “The list goes on and on,” as he hurries to wrap up his manuscript before he has to get back to Boston to dust off his notes for the Fall semester.
You may have noticed, I’m feeling very smug, and a little mean. It's not as though I could write a better book, or ever intend to. I’m just pleased that for once in my wishy-washy life, I didn’t like something, and I can put my finger on why. I take that as proof, however unconvincing to the rest of you, that my critical faculties haven’t completely left me, ...yet.