I got this book in the lead up to the French presidential election, and although it sat on the “To Read” pile until after Macron’s victory, I was hoping to pick up a sense of the forces involved in that election. The French presidential election seems increasingly like a free for all with a baffling number of candidates; hardy perennials that turn up each time, and spin offs from the main parties. I have tried to get an understanding of France before, with Graham Robb, but was just even more lost in the number of regions, subcultures, personalities and quirks of history that make up the country. To misquote De Gaulle: how can you understand a country which has two hundred and forty-six varieties of cheese?
This history starts with a quick review of Napoleon and the Revolution before taking the reader chronologically through French history. Starting with the Restoration and July Monarchy (which I was vaguely familar with from histories of the 1848 revolutions), on to Napoleon III (similar), then the Third Republic between the Franco-Prussian and First World War (my prior knowledge began and ended with the Dreyfus Affair), then on to the Second World War and the Fourth Republic, before reaching the Fifth Republic that exists today. The tone of the book is straight faced and to the point, but the pacing is quick and it is remarkably accessible. Single page biographical asides are dotting throughout the book, adding some colour.
Some parts that were initially obscure to me before reading remain clouded (the presidents and prime ministers of the third republic for instance); but Fenby has helped me rationalise that. Lack of stability has often been a feature of France, as politics becomes fragmented and discontent with the system grows. Fenby finds this tension running throughout the history, not just between left and right, but between shades of the left or the right. Under exceptional leaders like De Gaulle or Mitterrand, these can be unified, but eventually the same tensions rise again.
Many of the candidates for the recent election feature in the book, but Macron possibly the least of them – relegated to a footnote on the PS picking an investment banker as an economic minister. The conclusion to the book does stress the need for some innovation in French politics, a move away from the entrenched party politics and old battles, but it is not clear that Macron is that move. With the elections for the French parliament coming up and Macron’s new party polling well, it will be interesting to see where things go from here.
I have previously enjoyed but been disappointed by Graham Robb‘s Discovery of France and Parisians. Discovery of France was more about the geography and identity of France than I had expected – in hindsight, it was inevitable for a country with such strong regional identity. Parisians told the history of Paris through a series of short stories. It was an interesting approach, but many of the stories weren’t that compelling in themselves.
With The Ancient Paths, I looked before I leaped and was a bit worried by what I found. A startling theory about the wisdom of the druids, discovered by Robb taking a map and drawing straight lines between Celtic sites? He insists it’s not like Ley Lines? One for the library then!
His theory is that the Celts located their cities and built roads along lines of meridian and solstice, often at significant intervals. He also looks at Celtic buildings and art and traces their shapes within solar inspired geometry. These feats would required more scientific knowledge than they are usually credited with, and Robb is eager to give them that credit (possibly too eager!). Robb shows his working throughout and has clearly put a lot of effort in, sometimes cycling long distances to visit sites of interest. Unfortunately, it doesn’t sit well for me. There are too many things that could easily be coincidence; too much complexity in drawing it together. It’s all a bit psuedo-science.
In presenting his theory, however, he tells the history of the Celts and their defeat and assimilation by Rome. There is a lot to like here, Robb is a good writer and the story of Caesar’s Gallic Wars and various Celtic migrations are told well. He also gives compelling descriptions of visiting these sites in the modern day. These do give a hint at a complex civilization that has perhaps been unfairly tarnished as “barbarians”, but perhaps Robb should have stopped there.
Again with the poor timing: I’ve just finished reading Agincourt by Juliet Barker and was considering whether I can be bothered holding on until Saint Crispin’s Day (25th October) before I post this – obviously not. And so this post is coming out exactly 599 years after some point in the middle of the Siege of Harfleur. This book covers that as well but it’s not quite as dramatic, is it? Anyway … I thought I’d write up a bit of a review of this book, and its follow up Conquest. These books come well recommended, with Bernard Cornwell quotes on the cover and much praise from other reviewers and historians.
I feel somewhat out of place to then say that I found these books disappointing. There’s so many positives in them – they are tightly written, cover the story with an expert eye from the grand scheme to the small details, contain some wonderful anecdotes*, characters and events, and are placed at a level that should be perfect with me (not too scholarly but assuming a certain level of background knowledge for their off hand references to Lollards or Richard II’s usurpation). However, I find these positives backfire and much of this detail is delivered flatly in a tone and pace that remains unswerving whether it is covering the peak of the battle of Agincourt or the production of cloth in the pre-war preparations. I know this is unfair, it’s a very well researched book and it never strays in irrelevancy, but it just doesn’t spark into life for me when it should.
Continue reading Post 36: Agincourt by Juliet Barker