I’ve been to Barcelona once, when I was a teenager. It was interesting enough, but I certainly wouldn’t say I know it particularly well or (to be honest) really loved it. I found parts of it a little sleazy and I’ve been discouraged in going back by the rather aggressive over-tourism debate. Irish novelist Colm Toíbín lived in Barcelona in the late seventies, and moved back to write this book in the late eighties (then updated it a decade later). Parts of it encourage me to take another look at the city, but others fall flat.
I wasn’t fond of Toíbín’s personal memories (that sounds awful – I’m glad he had a good time!). Living in the city soon after Franco’s death and experiencing the revival of the Catalan language must have been quite an experience, but I didn’t feel I learned much by hearing about his clubbing hotspots and the places he picks as crime hot-spots are quite possible outdated. Some travel writing tends to a sort of generic blend of multiple eras through different visits and revisions of the book. Not so good for a guide book, but very atmospheric. This was very specific to location, time and the experience of the writer, leaving me with the question: why should I care about that specific time and location, and whether a Catalan writer (or longer term resident) would be a more illuminating guide.
For me, the bits that work are generic history – chapters on Gaudis, Dali, Picasso, Pau Casals and so many others that have lived, worked and been inspired by the city and the culture. The rise of Catalan nationalism and the resurgence of the language and culture doesn’t always make for a sympathetic read and Toíbín does feel balanced – showing the repression the city suffered (under Franco, and before) but remaining critical. There’s plenty of references for further reading and plenty of avenues to explore (quite literally for visitors to the city). Toíbín’s writing is good: clear, crisp and nice to read. It’s a decent, but perhaps dated, account of a city that obviously captured the author for a period.
Subtitled The Purging of Muslim Spain, journalist Matthew Carr tackles a grim subject with sympathy and subtlety. Spain under Muslim rule is legendary for its toleration of Jews and Christians – La Convivencia. Toleration may not be the whole story (particularly in later centuries under the Almohads and Almoravids), but after the fall of Granada in 1492 things would get a whole lot worse. While after previous reconquests an uneasy continuation had occurred, this time the Most Catholic monarchs of Spain had something to prove. How could Spain be a leading Christian country if so much of its population wasn’t?
First the Jews were expelled or converted, then province by province it was the turn of the moors. Over a few decades, first Granada, then Castile, Navarre, and finally Aragon ordered the forced conversion of the population. What then? Can you trust a forced conversion? The Spanish aristocracy did not, and the Moriscos (as they were known) were constantly under suspicion of being fake Christians. Some argued for education, for integration (and Carr describes successful cases), and patience; some even argued for allowing religion tolerance; but ultimately the hard line approach won out, fuelled by revolt and a fear of collusion with Barbary pirates.
In the early 17th century the moriscos, rich or poor, fake or real Christian, were ordered out of the country. Three hundred thousand of them, 4% of the Spanish population, were expelled. Some found their way back eventually (having no real connection to Islamic North Africa). Others did settle in Africa, but it was not an easy journey – with food and money quickly running out and bandits waiting at both ends to take what they could get. The book is often quite dry, I find Spanish history to sometimes be written in a very top heavy way – with only great aristocrats, generals and priests making it – but the descriptions of Morisco life are vibrant enough to make the reaction against it seem as extreme as it was.
As Carr tells it, at one extreme it brings to mind more recent atrocities – the treatment of the Jews in the 30’s, the Armenians. But in some ways it’s hard to see how our treatment of so called “stateless” people improved over the coming centuries. In a chapter called “A Warning From History” Carr ends by describing how many people (even in the mainstream – Melanie Philips is picked up on) argue that Muslims cannot integrate into western society, will never belong to the countries they live in, and even describe such an “agreeable” deportation. The book is from 2010, but it’s difficult to see how it has become less relevant in that time.
This is a very authoritative and extensive book on the Spanish empire in the Americas during the reign of Charles V. It is rich in detail and full of tales of the conquistadors. There is a lot of material to cover, but Thomas moves quickly enough without skimping on depth and even finds occasional moments of humour.
The book starts rather abruptly in 1520; it is officially the second part of a trilogy but does work as a stand alone if one can accept a few seemingly arbitrary starting or finishing points. This means that it begins after the rise of Hernan Cortes, instead centring itself on Pizarro’s conquest of Peru and the bloody infighting that followed.
The introduction of the book sets out a contrast between Charles’ possessions in America and in Europe; but the European side and Charles himself are covered less in this volume. We do see the transatlantic interactions within the empire, but generally with the focus on America. Charles is such an interesting figure that I might have liked to read more about him, but his stance on the colonies was always a somewhat standoffish one so the book doesn’t develop in that direction. European events like the Reformation barely raise their head in Thomas’ narrative.
I may also have liked a slightly less character-led approach in places – it would have been nice to get a better picture of the Spanish and native cultures in themselves, as opposed to a picture limited to where they interacted. The adventures, exploration and amoral scheming of Pizarro, Amalgro and others are interesting, shameful and occasionally impressive; and chapters on the church figures in the Spanish administration show the transition away from private fiefdoms.
The Golden Age is an enjoyable enough book, but at the same time it left me disappointed. I wanted more from this, and struggled to really build up much of a sense of the empire.
During the last days of Republican Rome, the battles in Spain between the rebel general Sertorius and the Roman legions of Pompey, Metellus and others are often relegated to a bit of a sideshow. This book by Philip Matyszak puts them centre stage.
I rather like these books by Pen & Sword, they can occasionally be a bit uneven but they often cover topics that others don’t. This is definitely on the better end of the scale. The writing is accessible, The maps are useful – with ones showing relief, rivers, settlements and ethnic groups – all relevant for the campaigns that follow.
The book begins with Sertorius as the focus, covering his earlier days as a Marian general and giving a sense of his character – loyal, honest and level headed. After the return of Sulla, we see Sertorius forced out to Spain where he allies with local tribes and drives off the forces sent to remove him.
Without really delving into the politics of Rome, Matyszak shows how Sertorius could initially hold hopes of a shift in domestic politics allowing him home. This was an interest thread, he was a Roman and presented himself as a legitimate Roman governor, but he fought alongside Spanish tribes and was linked with potential alliances to Mithradates and other enemies of Rome. It was a thin line to walk, made possible only by continued military success.
On the military side of things, the high point was a series of brilliant victories against the young general Pompey (later to be “the Great”). Rome however was able to resupply and replenish its armies, and Sertorius’ subordinates did not always perform as well as their leader. Decline inevitably set in. Matyszak sets this against the rise of Pompey, with his style marked by the memory of those defeats and his sons to later fight against Caesar in the Iberian peninsula.
This is a very readable account of Sertorius’ wars. This topic is often skimmed over in popular histories of the late Republic, but there are plenty of wonderful details and the easy, relaxed tone of the book reminds me of Tom Holland’s Rubicon. It probably doesn’t work as a stand alone book – too much about the politics and characters of Rome is left unsaid – but it is well worth reading if you have already enjoyed a more general history of this period.