How Countries Go Broke: The Big Cycle presents itself less as a narrative exploration and more as a dense economist’s report, heavy with data and driven by the formidable reputation of the famous investor behind it. The text tackles one of the most defining issues of the modern era: the excessive accumulation of debt, particularly government borrowing across the world's largest economies. The writing style is dry, methodical, and utilitarian, clearly targeting a data-hungry, financial-world readership that is likely already conversant with the nuances of sovereign credit and macroeconomic levers. For the uninitiated, the book’s stark conclusions regarding the trajectory of empires and currencies might hold a certain morbid appeal. The author’s track record of market success brings credibility that a university professor writing on the same topic with similar examples would never have. However, lay readers may feel adrift in the granular details as the book prioritizes a rigorous framework over accessibility. In some ways, this is a high-level briefing document for those who view the world through spreadsheets and yield curves.
For this reviewer, the book serves primarily as a springboard to examine the prevailing consensus on public sector debt. It is a subject where the alarming reality has been visible for over a decade. Public sector debt in most developed countries has reached record levels that, by any traditional metric, are worryingly unsustainable. One does not need a deep historical compendium to understand the basic arithmetic: a debt series cannot rise indefinitely faster than the income supporting it without eventually triggering a painful reversal. A desk analyst can recite any number of historical defaults or currency crises to flag the risk, but the points of unsustainability are better articulated through simple logic rather than historical analogy. The vicious cycle of ever-rising interest burdens is obvious. As debt piles up, the cost of servicing that debt consumes a larger share of the budget, necessitating further borrowing just to keep the lights on, which in turn raises the risk premium and the interest rate, accelerating the spiral. This mechanical inevitability is clear to anyone willing to look at the issue without the rose-tinted glasses of modern monetary theory. A system may fudge and buy time, but one can easily show how this cannot continue forever, and the more one kicks the can down the road, the worse it will be for the future generations that run out of trickery.
However, the more critical discussion—and one that is often glossed over in purely economic analyses—centers on the political realities of reversal. The book, like many others in this genre, offers solutions and prescriptions for fiscal sanity. Yet, these solutions are, for all intents and purposes, politically infeasible. To believe that policymakers will proactively implement the austerity measures necessary to reverse these debt trends is to fundamentally misunderstand the incentives of power. A reversal requires inflicting significant pain: social (through reduced services), economic (through higher taxes or reduced spending), and, most importantly, political (for leaders attempting to enforce these measures). There is no incentive for a sitting government to volunteer for a recession or a decline in living standards to secure a stable balance sheet for a successor ten years down the line. This reviewer would love to be proven wrong by a brave Volker-like personality who is able to implement the strictest of measures while being able to retain the job long enough, but it is abundantly clear that proactive reversals—so often desired by theoreticians, commentators, and those not currently holding office—are simply not in sight. The political capital required to tell a population that the party is over does not exist in modern political economies.
If we accept that a managed, proactive solution is a fantasy, the central question shifts from "how do we fix this?" to "what causes the uncontrollable unravelling?" This is where the reliance on historical cycles, a core tenet of the book, becomes problematic. While the author and many contemporaries attempt to draw robust lessons from history to predict the timing and nature of this unravelling, the reality is that history is worse than a poor guide. The past offers almost no reliable pattern for the type of pain that will emerge, regardless of the terminology used to describe these "cycles." The book posits an 80-year "Big Cycle," suggesting a rhythmic rise and fall of powers and credit systems. But one must ask: why 80 years? Why not a 250-year cycle, or a 10,000-year cycle? The specificity of the duration implies a precision that simply does not exist in the chaotic data of human civilization.
To proclaim the existence of an 80-year cycle with any statistical validity—even granting a generous 25-year leeway for error—one would need a dataset containing at least 20 to 30 distinct data points. In the context of modern financial systems, we barely have 160 years of reliable data, covering perhaps two of these alleged cycles. Furthermore, these 160 years have been characterized by such profound secular changes that they render cyclical comparisons largely moot. The world of the gold standard, the world of Bretton Woods, and the world of globalized fiat currency are effectively different planets. Drawing a straight line of "cyclicality" through the Industrial Revolution, the advent of nuclear weapons, the internet age, and the rise of artificial intelligence ignores that secular forces of change are far more dominant than any underlying cyclical rhythm. The variables have changed so drastically that the equation cannot be solved with the old constants.
The limitations of these historical models are nowhere more evident than in the case of Japan. For over three decades, Japan has been the poster child for unsustainable debt levels. By every model present in the 1990s, the Japanese sovereign debt market should have collapsed, the yen should have evaporated, or hyperinflation should have taken hold. Yet, despite the constant hand-wringing and the "widow-maker" trade of shorting Japanese government bonds (JGBs), the unsustainable levels have not reversed. The collapse has not arrived. If one argues that Japan is paying the price through stagnant growth, one can easily counter with the example of the United States. In the US, debt continues to rise unabated to eye-watering levels, yet economic growth remains robust, defying the correlation that high debt must equal low growth. Conversely, numerous nations with relatively low debt levels remain trapped in economic and bond market funks, unable to generate growth despite their balance sheets that worry their bondholders but would appear nothing but liveable by the standards of what some other economies with higher debt levels are allowed to live easily with.
The failure of these predictions points to a fundamental issue in macroeconomic modeling: the problem of overfitting. One can add a countless number of parameters to explain why Japan has stagnated and not exploded or why the US thrives: the status of the reserve currency, the domestic ownership of debt, the confidence in the legal system, the specific financial architecture, or mere happenstance. However, the number of historical episodes available to explain is far smaller than the number of parameters one can model. In other words, with the benefit of hindsight, almost everything that has happened appears to be exactly how it should have been. The "why" is always clear after the fact. But ex-ante, looking forward, whatever one forecasts based on these models has as much chance of being right as any other forecast based on the same data. The "Big Cycle" is a narrative imposed on chaos, not a roadmap found within it. The author can rightfully claim the returns he has generated from his models, but this does not mean his models can forecast the timing or the path of the reversal.
This does not make the debt problem any less valid. The mathematics of leverage is unforgiving. When the bubble finally bursts, everyone who warned about it, including the author of this book, will appear prophetic. They will be lauded for their foresight, and their models will be cited as proof of the inevitable. But this is a survivor bias of predictions. The more honest and important admission should be that no amount of historical analysis can actually help us navigate the immediate future. History cannot tell us what to do over the next two quarters, the next two years, or even the next two political cycles. The triggers for the unraveling will likely be novel, specific to the technological and geopolitical realities of the moment, and entirely invisible to a model calibrated on the rise and fall of the Bretton Woods, 1997 Asian crisis, or any other collapse of any other time or place.
Ultimately, How Countries Go Broke serves as a significant, albeit dense, contribution to the library of financial warnings. It correctly identifies the tectonic stresses in the global economy, even if its predictive utility is hampered by the very historical framework it champions. For sure, the book is a valid testament to the author’s worldview and offers a coherent, if debatable, theory of everything for the long term.