When I wrote my review of Alfred Thayer Mahan’s The Life of Nelson earlier this year, I commented that the author’s habit of outlining even the most granular of details could get fairly tedious at times. After reading this book, I wish I could revive Mahan and personally apologize to him; at least he was a good writer. The same cannot be said of today’s subject.
This review will be fairly brief, because I plan to read Schom’s door-stopper of a biography of Napoleon soon, and I anticipate having quite a bit to say about it. In the meantime, I’ll start with some praise: Alan Schom is clearly a talented researcher; he draws from a wide variety of sources, and his knowledge of the material is apparent from the earliest parts of the book. That’s where the praise ends, because the massive amount of information in this book is also a problem: Schom just isn’t a strong enough writer to make endless lists of budget items or members of parliament particularly interesting. Every now and then, he’ll focus on one or two figures in a specific story, and then the reader is treated to a coin flip that makes Anton Chigurh look merciful: sometimes, he offers an interesting, candid insight into the behavior of historical figures from this time period. More often, however, he makes bizarrely personal and judgmental comments, editorializing beyond all sense of good taste or reliability. Historical figures are hit with drive-by adjectives like “greedy,” “selfish,” “cruel,” and any number of other casually dismissive terms, without much justification provided for the author’s seeming dislike of them. Schom’s anti-Napoleon position is made fairly clear by the fact that Bonaparte receives the worst of this treatment, but most of the French are on the receiving end of it, and many of the English are notably spared. His treatment of Napoleon, which falls just short of accusing him of tying women to railroad tracks and twirling his mustache while laughing evilly, feels especially bad when it is compared to the cloying hagiography that he provides for Lord Admiral Nelson—I admire Nelson’s military brilliance as much as anyone, but to hear Schom talking, you’d think that touching the hem of the guy’s garment could cure ailments of the blood. Not even Nelson’s death managed to put an end to Schom’s laudatory descriptions of the Lord Admiral’s power and legacy, with the final chapter of the book serving as an interminable description of his funeral proceedings.
The problem isn’t that Schom criticizes Napoleon and praises Nelson. It isn’t even that he clearly hates Napoleon and loves Nelson. The problem is that he has taken some of the most interesting years of European history and sucked the life out of their retelling with his turgid prose, and managed to flatten some of the most complicated and compelling leaders in military history into cartoon characters. I’m sure that this all bodes well for the biography! Stay tuned, everyone—maybe he’ll surprise me, and write a halfway decent history book, but I’ll be honest: I have a feeling I’ll be writing a truly mean review soon.
(Also, if Alan Schom can baselessly accuse Napoleon of murdering Villeneuve, then I can make this accusation without providing any evidence, either: he definitely wrote his own Wikipedia page, and his writing in the article pulls off the same magic trick that this book does—it is at once lifeless and obviously biased. Who knew it was possible to pull off both flaws at the same time?)