Magowan blends his intriguing account of the turbulent history and unique architecture of the fabled cities of Samarkand, Bukhara, and Khiva--Mysterious oasis paradises deep in the deserts of Soviet Central Asia. 160 full-color illustrations.
What a fabulous book! I picked this book to meet armchair travel challenge. I heard about Samarkand when I saw the silk roads documentary. Samarkand was one point in the silk road where caravan serai rested. The documentary shows beautiful architecture of minarets and mosques with turquoise blue tiled decor. But the photographs in this book eclipsed this video documentary. That shows the talent of the photographer Vadim Gippenreiter.
This book is fabulous on two front - visually stunning photographs of this wonderful Persian architecture and a very good narration with explanation of the architecture of these buildings (I could appreciate the architecture even more), the history, geography, and the culture of these three cities both past and present. These buildings from 13th - 16th century withstood all the ravages of nature and war until now.
Also, I am currently reading the Taj Mahal trilogy by Indu Sunderasan. Babur come from Timurid dynasty. Timur actually ruled Samarkand.
A wonderful read. I become a fan of the famous photographer Vadim Gippenreiter :)
This book is worth taking a look at, however that my library indicated Gippenreiter, the photographer, instead of Magowan as the author already points to the fact, that the photographs are much more impressive than the text. The photographs depict the unique architecture of Bukhara, Samarkand and Khiva before the major renovations after Uzbekistan's independence, which often altered the appearance of the buildings a lot. The text contains some interesting explanations and descriptions, but rarely quotes sources and even rarer goes into detail. The author wrote, that he had a translator with him and it is a pity, that he did not make better use of this person as it seems that he basically never talked to anyone there, apart from the people at the Soviet travel agency, or at least does not mention it in his text. It is still worth reading, but it could have been an even more interesting and more useful account of an interesting place at an interesting time.
I am planning what my next trip will be, likely in some three or four years, and am converging on the idea of Uzbekistan in general and Samarkand in particular — the famous city at the heart of Central Asian Persianate culture, the Silk Road, and the Timurid Renaissance. After checking some other landmarks in the area (mostly via UNESCO’s World Heritage list), tendrils toward Khiva and Bukhara are also making themselves visible.
The area once called Russian Turkestan has remained strong in the exotic and orientalist imagination because it truly is far away from anything else, what Walter Scott called “the back of beyond.” Westerners first caught glimpses of it through classical accounts of Alexander’s campaigns, then (most importantly) through Tamerlane’s empire-building. A Spanish ambassador, Ruy González de Clavijo, brought back vivid accounts of its splendor in the early 15th century, and after three more centuries of hiatus, European curiosity revived with travelogues and, eventually, the Russian conquest. For the European imagination, Samarkand became the archetypal Silk Road dream-city, with turquoise domes, caravans, jeweled palaces, and a stage for imperial spectacle. By contrast, the Chinese — who encountered Samarkand before the Muslim conquest, when it was still a Sogdian merchant city-state — saw it as the land of heavenly horses, wine, golden peaches, and dancers: a veritable garden of marvels, where nature itself produced wonders beyond belief.
The Soviet Union once again cut these regions off from the Western gaze, but in 1990 writer Robin Magowan and photographer Vadim E. Gippenreiter collaborated on a coffee table book to display, in full color, the marvels of Samarkand, Khiva, and Bukhara.
*The book*
Fabled Cities gives a detailed photographic overview of the most important landmarks (and peoples) of the three cities. Most are color photographs, with some older black-and-white material added to suggest continuity of customs and buildings. As an album, it is satisfying. But in the 35 years since its publication much has changed: with tourism now a major source of income, large-scale restoration of mosques and madrasas means they look far better today than in the last years of Soviet hegemony. A newer volume may be preferable as a guide to contemporary Central Asian Islamic art — for instance, Yaffa Assouline’s Uzbekistan: The Road to Samarkand (though it comes at a steep price).
The weakest element of Fabled Cities is the text. Magowan’s commentary feels dull, predictable, and hackneyed: the voice of a cultivated but only superficially informed Orientalist tourist. Too many light anecdotes, too little cultural or historical depth. You can flip through the images without bothering much with the prose, and you won’t miss anything important.
There are certainly better introductions to the area, but if — like me — you borrow this book, it works as a decent first step, especially if what you want is an image-centered encounter with Samarkand, Khiva, and Bukhara.