There’s no better sign that historians have nothing to say than when they say a lot. Consider these snippets of thought from Blackbourn’s introduction: “A desire to show readers the contradictions of Germany’s passage to modernity gives this book its underlying rhythm, its point and counterpoint”; “The almost religious sense of a ‘fall’ in some writing about human relationships with the natural world is palpable”; “Readers can expect a book that takes them up to the heights, but also down to where the earth meets the water … They are different ways of saying that history occurs in space as well as time”; “Human beings are metaphorical creatures”. That futile casting about — in which all is hooked and nothing caught — betrays a desperation indicative of larger structural problems.
It’s not, though, that Blackbourn had bitten off more than he can chew; no, he chews this history up nice and good. He’s too talented an historian to do otherwise. It’s instead that he’s not quite come to grips with the fact that he’s written a popular history here, and thus no overarching thesis fits comfortably enough to extend beyond “well, a little bit of this and a little bit of that” or “you think it was this but it was really that,” both of which stand as fine thematic overviews for a survey, but do little work as a theoretical mechanism of causal power and explication. That grandiloquent reaching, then, that claim that “everywhere we look, German rivers, moors, and fens became markers for larger, more abstract things: conquest and loss, of course, the twin themes of the book, but many other qualities besides, both positive and negative — beauty and ugliness, abundance and scarcity, harmony and disharmony”, is the sign of a struggle to find a red thread, failing, and thus pointing to it all, for of course it’s true that understanding artificial hydrological manipulation shines a light on both Prussian power and postwar Vergangenheitsbewältigung, and nigh everything in between. It’s also true, however, for just about any theme you can track over the same period. Take your pick: architectural design? working-class diets? literary theory? Of course.
And all that effort, however, is more than understandable for someone like Blackbourn, though, because exactly what he’s trying in vain to do here, he has already successfully done elsewhere with MARPINGEN. Granted, that’s less a survey, but it is equally accessible and popularly positioned. Now for the caveat: to his mind, and to a large extent, Blackbourn is midwifing the birth of environmental history into the German historical mainstream. And, as such, he feels the need to justify its spotlight, which takes him into methodological sidestreams (pg 16: on the need to “restore the connection between the broad sweep of history and physical environment”) quite off that main stream. All the same, lightning doesn’t often strike twice.