Not so much "A History of the Caucasus," as the title suggests, as a survey of its interactions with the empires of Tsarist Russia and the Soviet Union. The two or three thousand years of history that happened before Catherine the Great are glossed over, and as the bibliography indicates, most of it is really a Russian history of the Caucasus, told from the perspective of Russia. King lets actual Caucasians speak when possible, but like most colonized zones in modern history, it's the invaders who did most of the talking.
Bad for the Caucasians, then, but not necessarily the book, which makes that Russian gaze its greatest subject. Much like the American West, the history of the Caucasus is really three histories: the history of its indigenous people, their cultures, and their lives; the history of the empire and the imperials who colonized it; and the history of those histories, the fantasies and misunderstandings projected onto that place and what they meant. Any complete history of the American West would have to cover not just western expansion, native Americans, and cowboys, but Manifest Destiny and Cowboys & Indians, too. The Caucasus is the same: the Circassian genocide matters, but so does the myth of the sexy Circassian.
So, three histories. The history of the Caucasian peoples is slight in this book, for the perfectly understandable reason that no satisfying explanation of the Caucasus, with its dozens of ethnic groups and languages, could be crammed into a book under three thousand pages, let alone three hundred. I doubt many readers will leave this book knowing the difference between an Avar and an Adyghe. Neither did most Russians, but they conquered the place anyway, and King can give a perfunctory gloss on the movement of their troops, general Ermolov's schemes, and Russia's long history of keeping up with the Kartvelians. The Caucasian and Russian threads are tied up at the end with a bluffer's guide to post-Soviet history in southern Russia, devoting a few scant pages each to what happened when the Armenian, Azeri, and Georgian SSR's dropped the Soviet Socialist part. The Russian side of the Caucasus, with the agonizing wars of Chechnya and the emergence of Putin's brutal fiefdoms, gets a few pages and a nod to the fact that King may have overstepped his bounds trying to cram all of this stuff in.
But Ghost of Freedom really gets going on that third thread, when it's talking about the Russian Romantics gallivanting around the mountains or the invention of the Sexy Circassian or Tolstoy making fun of the Russian Romantics gallivanting around the mountains. You can sense King's relief, shuffling through his sources, when he gets here: Russian governments have written a lot of boring and bland things about the Caucasus, but Russian writers have written a lot of thrilling, artsy, sexy things about it, and even when they're wrong--especially when they're wrong--they're fascinating. A lot of the Russian soul is bound up in these mountains: Lermontov, Tolstoy, and Mandelstam were here; Andrei Bitov found his voice wandering through the Caucasian SSR's; Lev Grossman rekindled his love for humanity in Armenia. Pushkin was here of course, but, interestingly enough, only after he published "A Captive of the Caucasus." That poem was a fantasy gleaned from the distant mountains visible from the resort he visited. His real trip through those mountains got the suitably realistic, hard-nosed reportage of "Journey to Erzurum."All of this is good stuff, and Russophiles are encouraged to pick it up if they can stomach another study of the Wild South in the Russian Imagination.
I know I can: speaking as an American, is it really possible to have too many Westerns?
(I should also add that I had the good fortune of reading this book about the shadows of the Caucasus while sitting under the shadow of actual Caucasian mountains. I wouldn't mind hiking some of them, but many are still seeded with landmines from the 1990s. It's a very modern spin on the old "beautiful/brutal" trope of these mountains.)