"You have to be careful, doing business here in Rome. It's not like a growing town. Now, if this were Constantinople--" he sighed. "You can really make money in the East. But I don't care to live there, with Justinian making life exciting for the heretics, as he calls them. What's your religion, by the way?"
"What's yours? Not that it makes any difference to me."
"Nestorian."
"Well," said Padway carefully, "I'm what we call a Congregationalist." (It was not really true, but he guessed an agnostic would hardly be popular in this theology-mad world. "That's the nearest thing we have to Nestorianism in my country."
Lest Darkness Fall is, for about its first half, pleasantly readable and funny competence porn about a historian named Martin Padway who winds up in Rome on the brink of the Dark Ages. Padway is a low-key hero, which is charming, and he's at his best when he's working at something of a disadvantage: trying to hobble through this period's Latin-Italian hybrid speech and getting a loan by teaching double-entry bookkeeping and the concept of the zero to a local financier. His first big ambition is trying to make a newspaper, and he runs into interesting problems involving paper supply. It's all sort of early tech-geek crunchy and delightful, and the novel is straightforward about the fact that all of this is meant to be fun.
As Padway gains his footing, he becomes most invested in keeping away the chaos and disorder that will lead to the Dark Ages, because he doesn't personally want to live through them. For the duration of the novel, he's trying to fend them off through better communication methods and the occasional "prophecy," all of which is fine until he moves thoroughly onto a larger stage, whereupon the book becomes less interesting to anyone not already invested in the political and military machinations of the later Roman Empire. de Camp's matter-of-fact, no-nonsense style works great when he's talking about actual objects and works less well when he's trying to juggle a big cast and talk about huge political ideas like who should rule an empire.
Then there's also the uncomfortable fact that the novel occasionally dips into off-the-cuff racism and sexism. There's a throwaway line here about a black man being "all eyeballs and teeth" that feels straight out of Gone With the Wind, for one thing, and the novel ends with Padway trying to prevent the spread of Islam and Arabic power because it would be personally inconvenient. The sexism is more pronounced because women are slightly more present--though only slightly, because they appear mostly to elicit a "bitches be crazy" response. Padway has casual sex with a servant before awaking to the grossness of her unbathed body and getting horrified by it, and she later attempts to have him executed for sorcery in revenge; he briefly falls into a passion for a princess and then backpedals frantically when she turns out to have a strong Lady Macbeth streak. The woman he likes most, ultimately, is an educated, sweet girl from a higher-class family, and he considers marrying her only to face resistance and rebound with this gem:
Dorothea was a nice girl, yes, pretty, and reasonably bright. But she was not extraordinary in those respects; there were plenty of others equally attractive. To be frank, Dorothea was a pretty average young woman. And being Italian, she'd probably be fat at thirty-five.
Cool story, bro. He follows this with the conclusion that women are fun but probably more trouble than they're worth while he has important things to do, like saving civilization, and it's just mildly gross. Yes, it's an older book, but this is a kind of girls-have-cooties approach no grown man should have been taking regardless of the time period.
So three to four stars for the fun of the first half and two stars for the slog of the second, with a bonus bad taste in the mouth from the fact that the sexism appears significantly more towards the end than the beginning. It's worth reading, but for me it's only worth reading once.