The Fall of the West: The Death of the Roman Superpower (2009)

"Rome's fate seems to act as a warning that strength and success will always prove transitory in the end, and that civilization will not automatically triumph. It was no coincidence that one of Winston Churchill's most famous speeches from 1940 foretold that Britain's defeat would result in 'a new Dark Age' - particularly apt since many believed that the Roman Empire had been destroyed by German barbarians in the fifth century."

Long after its fall from dominance, Rome continues to fascinate the imagination. It is the standard against which all great empires are measured and its fate is still not completely understood - at least not in a way that can be universally agreed upon by historians. Adrian Goldsworthy tackles the challenge of trying to explain why and how Rome fell, exploring four hundred years of history, of triumphs and reversals, of enemies from without and enemies from within. With an expert's eye he guides the reader from a united and powerful nation to one split apart, half strong, half falling away piece by piece.

The question of why Rome fell from power (or, at least from the overwhelming power it once enjoyed), is not simple to answer; it's more of a series of answers. First of all, there's the matter of size. Rome occupied a large part of the world - too large to maintain given both the technology available at the time (things like air travel and the internet have made the world a much smaller place now, but armies and information moved considerably slower in the time of Rome's empire), and the assertions of autonomy by natives of the occupied territories. There is also the deteriorization of Rome's social structure, a watering down, if you will, of the standards by which Emperors were selected. Where once Emperors were borne out of the highest spheres of Roman society, by the end of the Empire the man who who was best able to gain the support of the military took the title, regardless of his station in life. Although this isn't to suggest that someone not of the highest rank of society is somehow less "worthy" to rule, the fact that military support came to play such a dominant role in how rule of the Empire was decided meant that usurpation became easier and probably more frequently inevitable.

There were many other reasons for Rome's fall, reasons which Goldsworthy takes pains to explore, but those are the two that ultimately stand out, a cancer from without and a cancer from within working together in concert over the course of four centuries to eat away at Rome's power and influence. Goldsworthy's accounting of Rome's decline, and the various personalities and factions that led to it, is thorough, giving as detailed a picture as I imagine is possible. Though his prose is sometimes a bit dry, the story itself is so fascinating that it hardly matters. The Fall of the West is a must read for anyone with even a passing interest in Roman history.

George, Nicholas and Wilhelm: Three Royal Cousins and the Road to World War I (2009)

"It was not a good moment for monarchies. Within Germany, the kings of Bavaria and Wurttemberg had been deposed; the ruling grand dukes of Coburg, Hesse and Mecklenburg-Strelitz had all abdicated, and the latter had then shot himself. Emperor Karl of Austria-Hungary... had abdicated on Armistice Day. Ferdinand, self-styled 'tsar' of Bulgaria... also went that month. George's cousin 'Tino,' King of Greece, had abdicated in 1917... In Turkey, Sultan Mehmed V had died in May; his brother and successor, Mehmed VI, would be deposed in 1922. As Armistice Day crowds came to Buckingham Palace to cheer, George was the only emperor still standing on his balcony."

Miranda Carter's George, Nicholas and Wilhelm: Three Royal Cousins and the Road to World War I is a book of remarkable depth and breadth, examining one of the most volatile and violent periods in European history. Though the title may suggest that its focus is primarily on one generation of royals, it goes deeper than that, reaching back to George's father and grandmother - King Edward VII and Queen Victoria, respectively - to paint a picture of relationships in flux and political destinies in the process of being shaped.

Carter takes great care in drawing the characters in this book, charting their development as the modern world is born and revealing the sharp contrasts between the public figures and the real men who existed in the shadows. All three cousins, though particularly Nicholas and Wilhelm who ascended to their respective thrones and gained actual power rather than the ceremonial power enjoyed by George, attempt to cut impressive, dominating figures within their countries, though in reality each is wrecked with insecurity and an inability to focus on the actual issues involved in running a government. As the story progresses towards the outbreak of World War I, it becomes clear just how little power the three ultimately had as they find themselves swept up in the changing political tides, unable to do anything to prevent the destruction of the age of kings.

Three Cousins covers a lot of ground and explores the complexities of a lot of relationships, not just between members of the various royal families (which, in the grand scheme of things, are really just one large extended family, as demonstrated by the family trees Carter provides) but also between the royals and various politicans and courtiers. Although Carter can sometimes be a bit repetitive with respect to how she describes various figures, her writing style is engaging and she relates the story with a sly wit that makes the book immensely readable. Three Cousins should be considered an essential read for anyone with an interest in World War I and the evolution/meaning of monarchy in the modern age.

The Talented Miss Highsmith (2010)

"The 'truth' of Pat's life... is misrepresented by the long lines of dates and hours, the crisp lists of appointments and appearances, the solid sense of case histories completed, that make chronological biography such convential reading - and such conventional comfort, too. Except in her aspirations, Pat Highsmith was never a conventional woman - and was never, ever a conventional writer."

If there is one thing that Joan Schenkar's comprehensive biography of Patricia Highsmith isn't, it's "conventional." Schenkar unfolds the facts of Highsmith's life in a non-chronological fashion, organizing the facets of the writer's life into sections and jumping back and forth in time as it suits her (though there is also an appendix which reiterates the information in chronology order). This works not only to bring a tight focus to every aspect of Highsmith's life, it also somewhat unsettles the reader by making it difficult to find your footing, a feeling that puts you perfectly in the mood to read about Highsmith, whose fiction is rooted so deeply in the dark and the sinister.

Schenkar spends a fair bit of time examining Highsmith's complicated romantic entanglements with many women and a few men, but The Talented Miss Highsmith never becomes a gossip book by virtue of the fact that Schenkar is constantly tying Highsmith's love life back to her work. Her relationships - often dramatic and inspiring violent thoughts - did not just feed her work, but were so essential to her ability to work that her writing sometimes suffered for lack of a relationship to help give shape to her life. The picture Schenkar paints is of a woman drawn to nastiness who has more than a little in common with her protagonists, most of whom have murder on their minds. It's a very dark portrait though, at its core, there is also a deep appreciation for the work that made Highsmith famous.

Schenkar does an excellent job at examining how Highsmith's works came into being and, without being overbearing in doing so, makes a solid case that European readers (who embraced Highsmith's work) recognized something that somehow escaped North American readers, who mostly relegated her to the arena of genre writers instead of literary talents. This is not to say that The Talented Miss Highsmith is blindly adoring of its subject - Schenkar maintains objectivity and is frank about the shortcomings of several of Highsmith's works, particularly the later ones - but simply that it belies the notion that so-called suspense writing is somehow a lesser form of fiction. I can't imagine someone finishing this biography without feeling inspired to seek out some of Highsmith's fiction, which is perhaps the highest compliment you can give to a biography of a writer. With its engaging style and fascinating subject, The Talented Miss Highsmith is a book you won't be able to put down and that you'll want to start reading again the moment you finish it.

Wolf: The Lives of Jack London (2010)

"After his death, memory of his politics was conveniently erased and he was refashioned as the quintessential author of boys' adventure stories. He thus became, and remains, perhaps the most misunderstood figure in the American literary canon."

Jack London wore a lot of hats. At various times he was a sailor, a rancher, a tramp, a manual labourer, a proselytizer, and a prospector, amongst other things. His one truly consistent occupation was that of writer, an occupation at which he laboured diligently for most of his life. In Wolf biographer James L. Haley traces how London's disparate experiences informed not only his writing, but also his very ardent socialism. From a young age London was exposed to the harshest realities of life and ever after he would gravitate towards those people most abused by the Capitalist system.

Haley goes to great lengths to show the development of London's political views as well as his eventual disillusionment and resignation from the Socialist party. This aspect of London's life is fascinating, particularly in terms of how he reconciled his beliefs with his own growing wealth, and Haley touches on how London moulded his Socialism to his own circumstances, arguing that the exploitation of the labouring poor is the enemy rather than Capitalism itself.

However, as much depth as Haley gives to London's political beliefs, he does take a rather soft approach to allegations of London's racism. His strategy of simple denial (so simple that it verges on dismissive) is also applied to the possibility that London had sexual experiences with men, and throughout the book he dangles these questions in front of the reader only to quickly deny their plausibility again and again, making some bizarre assertions in the process. Stating, for example:

"That [homosexuality] was practiced in dark corners of the Sophia Sutherland there can be little doubt, but whether London accepted this as a requisite of being a man among men in this womanless environment - his frank exposition of it to Michael Monahan suggests that he may have, but his full-bore heterosexuality in the company of women may suggest otherwise - we don't know."

Becoming an fervent ladies man and serial philanderer may be a sign of uncompromising heterosexuality but it may also be a sign of overcompensation for past same-sex indiscretions. London's sexuality and his feelings regarding race are likely more complicated than a simple "yes" or "no," but Haley's treatment of these questions illuminates very little.

Still, Wolf is a very readable and engaging book that actually focuses on the development of the subject as an artist rather than devolving into a laundry list of the subject's sexual partners, a trap into which a fair number of biographies fall. Wolf is a biography that clearly has a lot of respect for its subject as an artist and, whatever its flaws, I think that Haley does a good job in reminding us why London is essential to the American canon.

I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings (1969)

"If growing up is painful for the Southern Black girl, being aware of her displacement is the rust on the razor that threatens the throat. It is an unnecessary insult."

I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings, the first volume of Maya Angelou's six-part autobiography, charts the writer's life from childhood to parenthood. The book explores many very big themes, including racism and sexuality, as Angelou begins to develop a sense of identity, finding at several points that her conception of herself is at odds with the way that others see her and often dependent on where she is and with whom (through the course of the story she lives in Arkansas with her grandmother, St. Louis and later San Fransisco with her mother, and spends a brief period in southern California with her father).

At the age of eight she is raped by her mother's boyfriend, an event which shades the rest of the story. Aside from the obvious physical trauma, the violation also has continuing psychological effects which hinder her ability to relate to the world around her. After her rapist is murdered, Angelou is convinced that his death is a result of a lie she told during his trial (that the rape was the first sexual contact she'd had with him), that her words have the power to kill, and takes a vow of silence which lasts for several years. Importantly, her muteness is broken in part by her engagement with literature, by the encouragement she receives to read aloud. Literature specifically, and Angelou's love of learning generally, play a large role throughout the story as her identity shifts and is shaped as she grows from a girl to a woman.

Angelou writes with intense frankness and the images she creates are vivid. Her style is very engaging and though there is much pain throughout the story, there are also moments of humor and it ends on such a hopeful note that it cannot be considered a work of despair.

As a slight aside, it's interesting to read this book so soon after having read Jamie Ford's Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet, as part of Angelou's story deals with the World War II period in San Fransisco, including touching briefly on the Japanese internment. It makes for an interesting contrast of impressions of a city (and country) in the midst of sweeping changes.