Opening in a mouldering archive of the Portuguese empire, this initially feints towards replaying Wilson-Lee's previous Catalogue Of Shipwrecked Books, its fascination with the difficulty of assembling information in an age before modern technology, and of organising or deriving meaning from it even now. That's at most a subplot in what follows, though the territory proves familiar in other ways: this is another book about the deep strangeness of Renaissance Europe's intellectual world, thrown into relief by its blundering and/or devious forays into the rest of the world. But where Columbus went west, the Portuguese headed south and east, into an Africa and Asia already involved in their own complex networks of trade, enmity and imperialism. You know how the new Shogun adaptation has been at pains to round out the Japanese characters, make sure they're not just bit players in the English hero's journey, but has been content to leave the Portuguese characters as one-dimensional villains*? Well, turns out that was fairly accurate, except it didn't fully convey the sitcom side of a perfidious mercantile-imperial power whose schemes, 60% of the time, work every time.
If A History Of Water has a failing, it's that the evil side of the equation is left a little vague. We learn about the playbook whereby a trading post would be established, fortified, then used to subjugate the surrounding area - but never, for instance, whether there was a literal playbook, or how else the doctrine might have been propagated. Instead we follow two characters who, not least through their haplessness, can feel more sympathetic. Luis de Camoes was part of the colonial apparatus, though largely because he'd already got in too much trouble at home to do anything else. No matter how much he may at any point seem to be about to make his fortune, he will somehow contrive to end up maimed, gaoled and/or shipwrecked in short order. Somehow, he nonetheless contrives to end up writing Portugal's national epic, the Lusiads. This is probably no more of an outrageous tissue of lies than anyone else's national epic, but Camoes was unfortunate enough to be writing about events closer to the present, where there's more extensive documentation proving the discrepancies. Meanwhile, the scholar Damiao de Gois is attempting to stick up for the great humanist project of tolerance and intellectual enquiry at precisely the point when that's becoming a serious liability. At one stage he's part of a secret back-channel attempt to calm down the Reformation; it probably never had a chance anyway, but reading this it's hard not to wonder if it might have maybe just pulled through without the involvement of this bumptious clown. Still, at least his exasperated mentor Erasmus could go to his grave never knowing quite how badly things had gone, and convinced that even though the issue was becoming increasingly polarised and vehement, any attempt at compromise attacked from both sides, it was sure to calm down soon enough. Which, great mind though he undoubtedly was, may not have been his best prediction.
The modern parallels are obvious, and part of what I love about Wilson-Lee is that he knows that, doesn't feel obliged to put in some godawful trendy vicar pointer to the topical significance. See also the more general issue, where an age of increasing globalisation and cosmopolitanism leads to a reaction, an upsurge of zealotry, nationalism, suspicion of the foreign and even of the easygoing or just insufficiently furious. And not just in Europe, either; through the Middle East and Asia, there's the same sense of cultures extending feelers, making contact - and then withdrawing into themselves in shock. Frequently this involves a rewriting of history, whether it be China's memory holing of Zheng He's explorations, or Camoes rewriting the arrival of Portuguese voyagers in heathen temples so that instead of doing obeisance to what they initially saw as Mary by another name, they instead resist the apparent similarities as a devilish snare. And having finally found the Christian lands beyond Muslim territories for which Europe had been longing since the Crusaders dreamed of reinforcements from Prester John, the increasing tension between different sects back home meant they were no longer acceptable allies due to doctrinal differences; there's some particularly heartbreaking treatment of Abyssinian envoys whose genuine keenness to build bridges wasn't enough to overcome the underlying otherness - though, importantly, at this point that othering is still grounded much more in confessional than racial terms. Wilson-Lee is excellent at dodging the pitfalls where, even as Western history belatedly tries to decentre its own perspective, often it only ends up flipping the same narrative rather than fundamentally reconsidering it, noble explorers swapped for greedy brutes, but still swarming out into a world that was fundamentally just chilling until the white guys turned up. In reality, of course, Africa and especially Asia had their expansionist empires too, and Islam, just like Christianity, was always happy to expand in tandem with commerce. Various European powers were jockeying to be seen as heirs to Rome, but so were Russia and Turkey (the latter invigorated after intra-European bickering over the spice trade served to accelerate the shift in power from Mamluks to Ottomans, which of course then serves to create a whole new set of problems for European powers). Not that it's just about power in the obvious sense; as well as the kingdoms and empires Europeans were encountering, there were attitudes towards sex and food that unsettled what Christendom had assumed to be just how things naturally were, arts they couldn't understand or replicate, histories stretching back before the believed creation of the Earth (which I hadn't known had been calculated so precisely before Ussher that Russia used it for dating - but while nations and denominations in Europe varied by a century here and there, it was as nothing compared to the vast eras of Indian cosmology). Even the boundaries of humanity were sometimes set elsewhere (which pays off what had seemed like a gentle comic subplot about Damiao's fascination with mermen - although given some of the odd hybrids to be found in mediaeval bestiaries, this did leave me wanting a whole further book about precisely which legendary beasts Europe was prepared to countenance, and when that changed for each).
Gradually, then, it becomes clear why we've been following these two men in particular. Camoes shamelessly fiddles the facts to write the rah rah Eurocentric Lusiads, and while his inherent ability to fuck it all up means he doesn't see any benefit from it while alive, he gets to be remembered as Portugal's national poet (albeit with some embarrassment once his letters come to light and reveal what a rackety incel arse** he could be). Damiao, meanwhile, wilfully oblivious to the changing tenor of the times, has been writing a history which is obviously not understanding the assignment, and gets him denounced and quite possibly killed, but which still suggests the possible alternate vision of the world that Wilson-Lee's title promises, one that flows rather than being confined to its carefully fenced and separated areas. Something he attempts to reconstruct here, just to show how it can be done, even from the very specific and apparently trad starting point of two European traveller-writers.
*If I'd known how much this book covered the period and events feeding into Shogun, I would at least have waited until I'd finished the series before beginning to read it; it's from a different angle, certainly, but among other things it works as an oblique prequel, its direction as unexpected as The Phantom Menace, just much better.
**Not that there weren't already hints. I love that even in his own epic, his author stand-in is the one sailor who, upon reaching the island of lusty nymphs, still has to wheedle to get some.