Eve Macdonald's Carthage: A New History of an Ancient Empire is an electrifying reclamation of a civilisation long distorted by history's victors.
Macdonald gathers the scattered remnants of Carthaginian history fragments preserved almost entirely through the pens of hostile Roman writers-and confronts the propaganda, contradictions, and moral self-justifications within those accounts. She dismantles the simplistic narrative that Carthage was a threatening empire that "had to be destroyed," revealing instead a complex, multicultural, and technologically sophisticated civilisation that thrived along the North African coast.
She frames Carthage's story between two powerful female figures: its founding queen and the women who made the city's final, unthinkable sacrifices as Rome closed in.
Through Macdonald's lens, Carthage is no longer a shadow cast by Rome but a vibrant cultural force in its own right.
At the heart of the book lie the Punic Wars-three devastating conflicts that expose centuries of trauma, imperial aggression, and political manoeuvring. Macdonald's approach is strikingly balanced: the Carthaginians are not the villains of someone else's heroic epic, but human beings-ambitious, terrified, resilient, flawed.
Her treatment of Hannibal is the strongest example of this. Stripped of the monstrous mythology imposed by Roman historians, he emerges as a man: brilliant, burdened, propelled into a lifelong war to avenge a homeland he scarcely remembered. We witness the collapse of the Barcid legacy, the deaths of allies who followed him to the bitter end, and Hannibal's lonely exile, still fighting against corruption, still resisting Rome until he chooses suicide rather than surrender.
And yet, Macdonald does something rarer still: she extends the same humanity to Hannibal's enemies.
The Scipio lineage, Rome's celebrated military dynasty and Hannibal's generational adversaries, is treated with nuance and respect. They are not portrayed as caricatures of imperial cruelty, but as noble and complex figures locked in an unforgiving cycle of duty and destiny. The emotional crescendo arrives when Scipio Aemilianus, grandson of Hannibal's great rival, leads the final assault that will wipe Carthage from the earth. Macdonald's writing is devastating. The man who destroys Carthage weeps as it falls mourning the very enemy Rome demanded he annihilate.
In that moment, the tragedy of Carthage becomes universal: not a triumph of empire, but a requiem for everything lost when only the conqueror's story survives.
This is not merely a history book it is a resurrection.