One would not expect a collection of book reviews by a Classics professor at a prominent university in Britain to make for a pleasurable read. Typically, book reviews—especially those written by classicists and published in heady academic journals—fail to capture a sense of wonder or excitement. Somehow, Mary Beard pulls this off with her brilliantly witty and subversive Confronting the Classics, a compendium of thirty-one reviews written by her for the London Review of Books, the New York Review of Books, and the Times Literary Supplement and adapted for the sake of this remarkable volume. Let the record show, Confronting the Classics is a collection of reviews, many of which are not necessarily related to each other than the fact that they all deal with some aspect of the classical world. Beard makes this very clear in her Preface, so that none should be surprised at the book’s content or composition. And, in any event, book reviews are fun to read, as they often do much more than merely summarize what an author has to say about her particular subject. As Beard notes early on, “reviews have long been one of the most important places where classical debates take place” (x). At the end of the book, Beard explains how reviews “have a vital job to do as a basic quality-control mechanism . . . If the Latin is all wrong, or the mythology and dates all mixed up, then someone has got to say so” (284). True to her word, Beard never shies away from dismantling a fellow classicist’s dubious claims, even if she knows the author herself. “I never put something in a review that I would not be prepared to say to the author’s face,” she says. One has to admire her critical eye and principled skepticism. Both make for an extraordinarily enjoyable read.
Beard’s reviews cover many different aspects of the ancient world, from the political theory found in Thucydides’ History of the Peloponnesian War, to the machinations of the imperial Roman court, to the daily lives of Roman freedmen. The final section, titled “Arts & Culture; Tourists & Scholars,” deals with the post-classical history of Classics itself, with a excellent chapter on what has made (and still makes) the adventures of Astérix and his Gallic compatriots so popular for millions of Europeans. Nearly all of Beard’s essays tackle important questions in Classics, save for a few less than stellar chapters that discuss the lives of British academics and antiquarians. Her best include “Which Thucydides Can You Trust?” (Pericles’ plan in the Peloponnesian War, “far from being a stroke of cautious genius, as Thucydides thought . . . was leading Athens to almost certain defeat”), “Alexander: How Great?” (Alexander is as much a product of Roman invention as of accounts of “what really happened” between 334 and 323 BCE), “Roman Art Thieves” (“Repatriation never restores the status quo ante: it is always another stage in the moving history of the art object”), “Bit-part Emperors” (“Expecting a student with two or three years’ Latin to take on the Annals is in some ways like offering Finnegans Wake to a non-Anglophone equipped only with a Basic Proficiency Certificate in English”), and “Fortune-telling, Bad Breath and Stress” (“It is almost impossible to identify clearly divergent strands of elite and popular taste,” as “cultural and aesthetic choices at Rome were broadly the same right across the spectrum of wealth and privilege”).
Throughout the book, Beard also makes her disdain for modern biographies of prominent ancient characters known and consequently takes aim at classical historiography itself. “Historians start their books with a ritual lament about ‘the sources’ and their inadequacy,” she explains. “But that is part of the ancient historical game: first pick your question, then demonstrate the appalling difficulty of finding an answer given the paucity of the evidence, finally triumph over that difficulty by scholarly ‘skill.’ Prestige in this business goes to those who outwit their sources . . . and who play the clever detective against an apparent conspiracy of ancient silence” (173). What are we to take from all this? As a reader, tread with caution. When an author starts to talk about what an ancient character “would have” seen or experienced, note that this is probably the stuff of sheer fantasy.
While Confronting the Classics is not aimed at specialists, it nevertheless upends many conclusions drawn by some of the most prominent experts in Classics. I therefore suspect that even the most committed students of antiquity will find pleasure in this book. Perhaps most importantly, Beard’s reviews call attention to a number of hotly debated issues in the field today, many of which remain unsolved. Most of the books she critiques are well worth any classicist’s time, especially if one wants to decide whether Beard is correct in her appraisals. In fact, I plan to pick up a copy of T. P. Wiseman’s Remus: A Roman Myth—discussed in Beard’s chapter titled “Who Wanted Remus Dead?”—to see for myself if his conclusions are as conjectural as Beard claims. In the end, Confronting the Classics was one of the most fun books I have ever read about the ancient Mediterranean world. That Classics can boast a celebrity professor of Beard’s acumen should be a source of pride for those in the field. It certainly is for me.