Book Review: The Black Death by Thomas Asbridge

Thomas Asbridge's The Black Death, an account of the plague which spread across the known mediaeval world and probably well beyond it in a series of pulses from the mid fourteenth century onwards is, quite simply, the most informative, accessible and comprehensive history book I think I have ever read. It's by no means the first book about this apocalyptic event that I've read, though it is the first since our current century's own experience of a much lower level pandemic. 

At 560 pages it's a chunky offering, to say the least, but every one of those pages is packed with information and insight. The book is split into three sections. The first, which reads like a thriller, covers the progress of the disease from its first appearance in the shores of the Black Sea as it spread through an initially unaware and later terrified western hemisphere. The second considers how the world responded to this unprecedented disaster: how cities dealt with the loss of trade and the collapse of their economies, how they tackled the problems of feeding the living and burying the dead. The third looks at how the mystery of the plague's origins and nature was unravelled and the impacts it had upon the world not just in the immediate aftermath but for centuries to come.  

I was utterly enthralled by it, largely because Asbridge quotes extensively from contemporary accounts and the words of those who suffered -- their pain, their bewilderment, their sense of utter terror -- prove both poignant and (I felt a little guilty about this) compelling. Some stayed, some fled. Some accepted it as their punishment from God, some railed against religion. And many of them -- possibly half the population -- did not survive. 

In my experience it's rare that a historian takes in such a well-known topic and covers it with such a fresh eye. I admired this book for many things, including its comprehensive coverage of a huge topic and the quality of its writing, but most of all I commend the author for making such a complex event so easily understandable. I thoroughly enjoyed this book and learned a vast amount from it. 

Book Review: The Book Lover’s Guide to Edinburgh by Kate Stephenson

 

I thought this was a fun but rather limited guide to literary places in the wonderful (sorry, I’m biased) city of Edinburgh. The author splits it into three parts — some short walking itineraries on the city based around the works of famous authors, then a section on the city’s wider literary associations, and finally a section about museums and other sites with literary connections. 

It’s a quick read, and I did find it a little haphazard in places. The opening section has a lot of potential given the city’s literary connections, and I thought it rather sold itself short. Of the five authors considered the first three — Burns, Scott and Stephenson — can be strongly anchored to the city and there are plenty of associated sites. Diana Gabbaldon used the city as a setting but never lived there for a period and JK Rowling has often denied drawing inspiration from particular places. 

The walks associated with these latter two were very flimsy. The inclusion of the unglamorous Waverley Station, for example, on the grounds that “in all likelihood the Hogwarts Express would have passed through” felt a little fraudulent for someone expecting something interesting and different. 

The rest of the book was okay and interesting at the margins, though I felt there was a lot of information withh limited organisation and so found it a little confusing. 

I very much liked the concept of the book, but felt a little let down at the end, as there were plenty of places included which, frankly, are either inaccessible to the public or not worth the effort if visiting (in my opinion). 

Book Review: Mary of Modena by Justine Brown

 

Though I would consider myself somewhat of a history nerd there are inevitably large parts of British history about which I know very little. The short reign of James VII and II, along with its preceding period as heir to the throne and the subsequent years in exile, fall into that category. Even more shadowy is the role of his wife, Mary Beatrice of Modena, of whom I previously knew little but her name and the fact that there was controversy about the birth of her son, James, the future Old Pretender and father of Bonnie Prince Charlie. (At the time the lie was put about the he had been smuggled into her bedchamber in a warming pan, in order to undermine his legitimacy in terms of the future succession.)

This book is not, of course, a biography of James VII and II but of his consort, though he inevitably plays a major role in it. Through Mary Beatrice, Justine Brown sheds fascinating light not only on the Queen herself but on the goings-on around her and the role she was later to play in sustaining and supporting the Jacobite cause abroad — up to and including the first, ill-fated, Jacobite rebellion in 1715. 

With so much intrigue surrounding the succession, in which religion was a crucial determining factor, Mary Beatrice was inevitably at the centre of it; as with her husband, her stalwart Catholicism was perceived as problematic by many in a largely Protestant country. With the alternative candidates for the throne being James’s daughters by his first marriage, Mary’s relationship with her stepdaughters (and their own various entanglements with the friends who sought to influence them) becomes increasingly fascinating.

Without knowing more of the period its difficult to say how balanced this book is; its emphasis of Mary Beatrice’s qualities and focus on the the undoubted but possibly understandable shortcomings of ‘the other side’ made a little wary. It’s very unusual that ne side in history is all good and the other all bad and my sketchy knowledge of the period included the impression that James was perhaps rather weaker, and perhaps not as good a monarch, as the author portrays him. 

This triviality aside, I found the book fascinating in both its breadth and in its detail, and would thoroughly recommend it. 

Thank you to Netgalley and Pen & Sword Books for an advance copy in return for this honest review. 

Book Review: The Oldest Rocks on Earth by Simon Lamb

 

Okay, I admit it. I thought this book might be a bit niche, even for a rock enthusiast like myself, but I was wrong. Instead of being a dry trail through a lot of specialisms it was entertaining and engaging, as well as very informative. 

There seems to be a trend for popular science books to be as much about the people doing the fieldwork as it is about the work itself, and I really like this. The rocks in this book may be billions of years old but the discovery of them is entirely down to human beings. 

Simon Lamb focuses mainly on his fieldwork in the greenstones of Eswatini and elsewhere, and in doing so he not only enlivens a potential dull story not only through the stories of his many adventures, but also through his entertaining and accessible descriptions. 

He covers a lot of ground and some large-scale and very complex geological, geophysical and astronomical concepts — everything from the Milankovic cycles to plate tectonics via fractional crystallisation and the formation of the Earth’s core, and finishing up with the little matter of the origins of life on Earth. A lot of it is by nature technical but the juxtaposition of science and humanity makes it easier to understand than it otherwise might have been. I was particularly taken by his descriptions of the mining industry in souther Africa, and absolutely gripped by his account of his visit to the giant De Beers diamond mine at Swakopmund in Namibia.

It’s an excellent book, and one that I think can be read by those with a high level of knowledge of the subject but also enjoyed by those who do not.