Hal Brands’s The Eurasian Century is a sweeping, ambitious study of power, space, and struggle. It sets out to show that Eurasia—the vast landmass stretching from Europe across the steppes and deserts to the Pacific—has always been and remains the gravitational centre of global politics.
To Brands, the modern world as we know it was forged in a series of “hot wars” and “cold wars” for control of this supercontinent. In his telling, the twentieth century was a single long contest over Eurasia, beginning with the cataclysms of the First World War and continuing through the Second, the Cold War, and into our own age of renewed rivalry. The twenty-first century, he argues, is not the beginning of something new but the continuation of that long Eurasian century, reshaped by technology and ideology but governed by the same geographic imperatives.
The book succeeds first and foremost in its ability to marry grand theory with narrative. Brands draws on the classic geopolitical thinkers—Halford Mackinder’s “heartland” and Nicholas Spykman’s “rimlands”—but he does not leave them as abstract concepts. He walks the reader through how Eurasia’s geography, its sea and land interfaces, its resource basins, its transport corridors, and its shifting technological infrastructures shape the very possibilities of power. It is one thing to invoke “geopolitics” as a buzzword; it is another to make the reader feel, almost physically, how the shape of the land constrains and enables empires.
That is the book’s strongest suit. He then links these patterns to a set of historical episodes: pre-1914 imperial rivalries, the world wars, the Cold War’s partition of Europe and containment of the Soviet Union, the rise of China, Russia’s revisionism, and the contemporary dilemmas of American strategy.
In each case, the same forces of space, resources, ideology and technology are shown in play, though never in exactly the same configuration.
There is a moral seriousness running through the book. Brands does not romanticise power politics. He acknowledges that democracies have often blundered, compromised their ideals, or committed outrages of their own.
Yet he insists that the alternative—allowing authoritarian and revisionist powers to reshape the rules of Eurasia unilaterally—carries its own, greater risks. That stance shapes the tone of the book: sober rather than triumphalist, alarmed but not apocalyptic. It is very much a call for democratic societies to relearn hard lessons about strategy, alliance building, deterrence, and the costs of complacency.
For readers who have already absorbed a lot of international relations and grand strategy literature, the book’s framework may feel familiar. The heartland, the rimlands, the tension between land power and sea power, and the strategic importance of chokepoints—these are not new ideas. Brands packages them well, draws fresh connections, and updates them for the age of AI, cyberwarfare, and Belt and Road, but he is not breaking radically new theoretical ground. There is also a subtle tendency towards determinism.
Geography, in his telling, looms very large. While he acknowledges the role of agency—leaders, ideologies, technology—there are stretches of the narrative where Eurasia seems condemned to be a chessboard of endless rivalry, as though no other futures are imaginable. This can underplay the unpredictability of politics, the power of domestic upheaval, or the influence of actors outside the great powers.
Another limitation is the book’s normative tilt. Brands writes from within the American strategic community, and the vantage point shows. Democracies are framed as worth defending; autocracies are treated as inherently more dangerous. Many readers will share that assumption, but it shapes which threats are emphasised, which trade-offs are judged acceptable, and how the moral record of the West is treated.
The forecasts about the future, meanwhile, depend on assumptions that may not hold: that China will continue its trajectory of ambition, that Russia will remain revisionist but relatively weak, that democratic coalitions will cohere, and that internal dysfunctions in autocracies will limit them more than they embolden them. History, as the last century shows, has a way of surprising even the best-laid theories.
Still, the book matters because of the questions it forces onto the table. We are in a moment when many old assumptions are up for debate:
Will the United States remain the guarantor of a rules-based order, or will it retreat?
Can democratic societies sustain the strategic, military, and economic burdens of rivalry?
Will China succeed in establishing regional dominance?
Will Russia, Iran and other powers forge deeper alliances, or fracture?
Brands makes the case that these are not peripheral issues but the heart of world politics, because the balance of Eurasia shapes the global commons. If Eurasia is relatively open and balanced in favour of liberal norms, trade and cooperation, then the seas and offshore states benefit. If it is dominated by hostile autocracies, then sea lanes become containment zones, crises proliferate, and smaller states lose agency.
Brands’s use of historical analogy is one of his most powerful tools. He argues that the Cold War’s containment strategies, alliances and balancing acts were not just ideological contests but geographic necessities shaped by technology and ideology alike.
Those lessons, he says, must be relearnt if the world wants to avoid another era of catastrophic war. He does not sugarcoat how hard that is: it means long-term thinking, coalition maintenance, credible deterrence in multiple domains, and resisting the temptation to drift back into isolationism or wishful thinking.
For all its focus on the great powers, the book leaves certain questions open. How much can internal pressures—demographic decline, economic crisis, social unrest—reshape the trajectories of China, Russia or other Eurasian actors? How will non-state actors, transnational movements, climate change, or disruptive technologies alter the balance of power in ways that traditional state-on-state models miss? How can alliances among democracies function when domestic politics are fractured and publics are sceptical? And what about the smaller states of Eurasia—how can they exercise agency rather than being mere pawns? Brands touches on these issues, but they could have been more central.
Even with those caveats, The Eurasian Century is a bracing, timely read. It is not a repository of startling new facts or radical new theories, but it is a lucid, tightly argued synthesis that forces readers to see the stakes of the current moment. It will be especially useful to teachers, policymakers, students of international relations and curious citizens who want a big-picture view of where the world has been and where it might be going.
The book reminds us that strategy is not optional, that ideas of geography and power still matter, and that forgetting hard-won lessons is a luxury the twenty-first century does not permit. Its forecasts should be taken with humility, but its warning—that the Eurasian contest is not over—is persuasive.
In an age of fragmenting attention and short time horizons, Brands is urging us to think in longer arcs and larger spaces, and that is a valuable provocation.
Most recommended.