Strange, for good and ill.
As the subtitle has it, Beckwith wants to present a story of Central Eurasia since the beginning of history. That's a lot to do in less than 400 pages (if you take out the appendices, back matter, and account for their being three different versions of introductions: preface, introduction, and prologue.) It's a very interesting way to take a bite out of history.
Central Eurasia, as he defines it, has shifting boundaries, but might be thought of as everything from Central Europe to China, Siberia to the Persian Gulf. In much historical writing, Beckwith notes, this area is either ignored or marked off as the home of barbarians--thieves and nomads that preyed on the more advanced civilizations as they tried to conduct trade over what came to be known as the Silk Road: really a ramifying series of arteries that ran through the region. Beckwith is not down with this idea of the region and sets out to turn our historical notions on their head.
Which is the way that this book is strange in a good way: it tells history from an unusual perspective and so we get a new way of looking at the world, and the past. In this story, Central Eurasia is not the periphery, but the center--the heart--while Europe and China and Rome--these are the peripheries. From this vantage, history looks different and evergreen historical questions have new answers.
Beckwith starts by defining what he calls the Central Eurasian Cultural Complex, which, he says, dominated the two continents for 4,000. Key to this complex is the idea of the comitatus: that around a strong warrior would coalesce a band of other warriors who pledged their allegiance, even unto killing themselves should their leader himself die. The comitatus valorized the throwing over of existing regimes and the conquering of all four directions. To afford these comitatuses, strong warriors needed goods--and so they valorized trade, too. The region, then, was not a hodge-podge of ethnolinguistic tribes, but solid social organizations that greased the wheel of trade. Large cities were build along the way, and there was a connection between these cities, the surrounding rural areas and the far-flung nomads who engaged in trade. This was an area of civilization and it survived best when trade moved easily--or as easily as possible given the rigors of the passage.
This cultural complex, Beckwith argues, spread through the region in three waves, the most important being from 2,000 to 1,000 BC. In each case, the origin was near the Caucuses and involved the proto-Indo European peoples. Beckwith is at pains to explain that languages developed as the people spread out and inner-mingled with natives, creating new creoles, not--as some scholars apparently have it--developing within central region and then spreading. Early on, these people also had a technological advantage, having developed the chariot. They often became mercenaries for groups on the periphery, eventually taking over those areas. Early on, Iranian peoples, as he calls them, controlled much of Central Eurasia. Later it was the Scythians, who came from a bit further north.
Under both the Iranians and the Scythians, trade flourished across the continent, though as a daisy chain, with middle men, rather than any one person making his or her way across the entire route. (And her is necessary, because early on, at least, there were female warriors.)
The book starts to become burdensome by about the third official chapter, with endless recountings of one empire defeating another, most of them with names you've never heard of. This problem recurs throughout the book, as Beckwith has a lot of trouble judging what is important to his narrative and what is not--which leads to some of the not so good strange aspects of the history.
With the Fall of China and Rome's high civilization occurring at about the same time, there was a vas movement of people from the north of Central Eurasia south. This included the Goths and the Huns. Beckwith is unconvinced that these migrations had anything to to do with the fall of the two classical civilizations--those collapsed due to internal reasons. And the northern people moved according to their own whims and battles--the Huns, for example, chasing the Goths, with whom they were at war. The proto-Japanese made their way to those islands via Korea, brining with them the same central eurasian cultural complex that was then dominant in Europe: Beckwith doesn't make the point, but he is explaining why both Japan and Europe developed feudalism--another way the strangeness of the book serves to make history look fresh.
A Turk empire then arose, from the Eastern Steppes, uniting Central Eurasia and bringing trade and riches to the region. On the periphery, the T'ang Dynasty in China tried to recreate classical civilization; meanwhile, Eastern Rome and Persia were at war, disrupting the balance of power--which brings up one of the good strangenesses of the book: Beckwith reads the rise of Islam as a response to this political situation. Mohammed's radical solution to the problem of Eastern Rome an Persia was to unite all of Arabia under a single religion. (This may be a standard interpretation, but it was the first time I heard it, and it fit really nicely with his thesis.)
A series of revolutions across the region in the 700s brought drastic changes: the new empires became associated with particular religions, Mannichaeism, Christinaity, Islam, Buddhism, and others. The religions, based on written texts, increased literacy. (Religion also put a stop to the comitatus committing suicide when their leaders died.) Buddhists started colleges, which the Muslims copied. Arabic Muslims, having moved to Baghdad from the north, began translating Greek (and to a lesser extent Indian) texts, sparking an interest in science, which was fed by the libraries that dotted the urban areas spread over Central Eurasia.
A recession of unknown causes in the 800 slowed this work; when the recovery came, there was more focus on religion, less on philosophy and science. Because the states were mostly small, however, scholars persecuted in one area could move elsewhere to continue their work, and there started to be the movement of Arabic learning into Europe: Arabic numerals, algebra, algorithms, and rediscovered Greek writings.
These trends were consolidated with the coming of the Mongols and Genghis Khan, who unified Central Eurasia, assuring continental trade again, and becoming rich on taxes. There was a Renaissance across the region, not just in Europe, but in Buddhist and Islamic lands, too. Beckwith, whose main speciality is Tibet, argues that Tibetan became the lingua Franca of Asia--the Latin equivalent. This was an important moment, but not pivotal: more of a restoration of what Central Eurasia could be: indeed, the best it could be. It's clear that Beckwith's sympathies are with this age.
The pivot comes in the fifteenth century, when Spain and Portugal pioneer trade routes along the sea, challenging the powers that controlled the continental rut (and the merchants, too). Russia, too, becomes an empire in this period, because of its connections to the open ocean. Over the next several centuries, the inland empires die and become backwards, as trade dries up and, finally, as Russia and China divide the region between themselves, closing the road completely.
This story--so far--connects to some other bits of history I have read. There's the obvious alliance with Guns Germs and Steel, for instance, the structure of the Eurasian continent allowing for trade from east to west and west to east--even if the movement of goods was never as easy or straightforward as Jared Diamond seemed to suggest. The book also provides something of an answer to the question of why the scientific revolution didn't happen in china: in large part, it did. It occurred across the entire continent. But China did not get the resources necessary for a technological jump forward because it did not discover (and plunder) the New World. That was the historical accident that allowed Europe to take the lead.
All that is good strangeness. But there's bad strangeness, too.
The book starts out with Beckwith blasting at postmodernism, which seems odd this late in the game. He affirms a universal human nature built around alpha-males. (blech!). (He also calls for more research into this history, which is reasonable, but, given the lack of sources and diversity of languages, really, really hard.)
That attack on postmodernism becomes more relevant as he winds up the book--because he doesn't just hate postmodernism. He really, really hates modernism in general, and the world that was built in the twentieth century (on European foundations dating back to the 18th). His view of modernism is not very developed--and is largely based on Adorno, which seems dated, too, but there it is. Modernism, he says, means permanent revolution, and it is the modernist ideology that is responsible for World War I and II, the Cold War, communism, fundamentalism, totalitarianism, and capitalism, all of which are predicated on valuing the new over the old and destroying traditions. Modernism killed Central Eurasia with its Soviet system, and continues to reek havoc even after many of the states have become independent, either through fundamentalist governments, or democratic ones that are really just covers for sociopathic greedheads.
All of which, up to a point, I guess I get. I even agree with him that fundamentalism is mostly a product of modernity. And that there's really no such thing as postmodernism--its just more modernism. (So when he was hating on postmodernism int he intro, he was really tipping his hand that he hates modernism altogether.) The 20th century was a bloody and horrific one in many ways.
But the argument seems very personal. (Incidentally, I'll note that in my experience it seems that Princeton University Press gives its authors more range for personal arguments than other academic presses. This is a feeling--I don't have numbers and wouldn't say it officially, but since no one is reading this far down, I might as well.) Beckwith spends an inordinate amount of time berating modern art--a big part of a chapter attacks Ezra Pound and T.S. Elliott as artistic dead-enders. He chirps about the death of classical music, and wonders why there is no more high art, even with so many more people producing art, just popular dross. This is a weird digression in a book that is already trying to explain 8,000 years of Asian history in 400 pages. The endnotes are weirder still, as he devotes one to speculating on how rock and roll music could become a high art by following in the tradition of Frank Zappa but sidestepping his atonal period. What this has to do with the Mongols is anybody's guess.
The book ends up in a comfortable enough place, though--a more standard historical argument. Where have all the barbarians gone?, is a historical question that Beckwith answers two ways, straightforwardly and implicitly. The straightforward answer is that they never existed: they were a creation of the imaginations of the peripheral peoples. And the Central Eurasia could become great again by unifying, a la the European Union, and promoting trade along its paths. The implicit answer is that we are the barbarians--we moderns with our lust for the new and our destruction of a once flourishing cultural area.
Probably, Beckwith had it right at the beginning. In his preface, he said he first planned to write a French-style essay, only lightly annotated. And the skeleton of that book is here, and is the best part. He never really argues for the existence of the central eurasian cultural context, nor does he explicitly argue the people of this region weren't raiders: he asserts those and goes on with the tale. If he just kept with the assertions and trimmed down all the various back and forths of the various empires, he could have had a trenchant little essay (well, 200 pages instead of 400) that unified his love of Central Eurasia with his hatred of modernism in a more stylistically integrated way. Oh well. You can still skim the book and find that argument.