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The Wall
The Wall concerns the fortunes of a Roman family in the third century. Rome is brilliantly revealed by Peter Vansittart as strange, yet familiar, with issues like unemployment, inflation, pollution, and political corruption occupying the lives of its characters.
- GenresHistorical Fiction
240 pages, Paperback
First published December 31, 1990
17 people want to read
About the author
Peter Vansittart
55 books10 followersPeter Vansittart was a master of the historical novel and a writer of outstanding talent. He wrote more than 40 books, which also encompassed anthologies, works on literature and social history.
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Displaying 1 - 3 of 3 reviews
March 7, 2013
The Wall is Peter Vansittart's third Roman novel. It follows Three Six Seven and Lancelot which are set mainly in Roman and post Roman Britain and at later chronological periods. The Wall centres on the physical wall around Rome built by the emperor Aurelian in AD 273 to defend the city in the more uncertain times of the Third Century. It also explores the defence of the empire in a more metaphysical sense, focusing on Aurelian himself and to a lesser extent the other soldier emperors of the period, as well as the Roman army itself. It portrays a world on the cusp of major change, Roman decline, the emergence of foreign cults, Mithraism, Christianity, the Unconquered Sun. Or is the wall a prison, rather than keeping the barbarian out, locking the people in? After all, Aurelian is a man who 'prefers injustice to disorder'.
The novel is a powerful and fiercely intelligent piece of work. It is filled with impressive set piece descriptive scenes, in particular the occasion of Aurelian's great triumph in Rome, where the conquered Zenobia of Palmyra paraded laden in chains. The building and purpose of the wall excite curiosity, disquiet and finally doomed revolt from the debased Roman populace. The second half of the novel is a long exploration of Aurelian himself, viewed from the points of view of others, principally slow, steady Constantius, son of an old but impoverished Roman family, as the army marches east against Rome's enemies. The ending is deeply ambiguous but immensely satisfying.
Aurelian, known as Restitor Orbis (Restorer of the World), managed to end the so-called crisis of the Third Century, never lost a battle against Rome's enemies from without, but was felled by enemies from within.
Vansittart's prose, as always, is allusive and evocative, examining the concurrency of belief, thought, history and myth. There is so much to admire here from an author who must have been one of the best historical novelists to put pen to paper. It is interesting that the professional scholar Harry Sidebottom has chosen the same period for a series of popular novels (Warrior of Rome), while the professional novelist Vansittart evokes the atmosphere of the period with such convincing intensity.
The novel is a powerful and fiercely intelligent piece of work. It is filled with impressive set piece descriptive scenes, in particular the occasion of Aurelian's great triumph in Rome, where the conquered Zenobia of Palmyra paraded laden in chains. The building and purpose of the wall excite curiosity, disquiet and finally doomed revolt from the debased Roman populace. The second half of the novel is a long exploration of Aurelian himself, viewed from the points of view of others, principally slow, steady Constantius, son of an old but impoverished Roman family, as the army marches east against Rome's enemies. The ending is deeply ambiguous but immensely satisfying.
Aurelian, known as Restitor Orbis (Restorer of the World), managed to end the so-called crisis of the Third Century, never lost a battle against Rome's enemies from without, but was felled by enemies from within.
Vansittart's prose, as always, is allusive and evocative, examining the concurrency of belief, thought, history and myth. There is so much to admire here from an author who must have been one of the best historical novelists to put pen to paper. It is interesting that the professional scholar Harry Sidebottom has chosen the same period for a series of popular novels (Warrior of Rome), while the professional novelist Vansittart evokes the atmosphere of the period with such convincing intensity.
January 29, 2014
I really enjoyed and highly recommend this novel, but am not sure of what words to write. It is another of the author's 'Roman' books and written in the author's own unique and inimitable style--long, lush descriptions and metaphor upon metaphor. The story concerns the Wall Emperor Aurelian ordered to be built around the city of Rome. Romans mutter secretly: is it to keep the barbarians out, or to keep Romans in? The novel gives us the fortunes of a fictional Senatorial family over the period of a number of years: Clodius Ammianus, his wife Domitia, daughter Clodia and sons Constantius, a high-ranking officer in the army, and the effete, irreverent Julian.
The novel gave a marvellous word-picture of Rome: the corruption, depravity, and the desire of her people for instant gratification. Constantius felt it's a "city of death and despairing." Other outstanding extended vivid descriptions: Aurelian's Triumph and the parading of the defeated Queen Zenobia of Palmyra before the populace; consulting of the oracle with her mentioning the cryptic number 19; and the halt of the Army on its march east at the town of Forum Trajani. The latter half of the novel went into personality development: I got a good sense of Aurelian, his successors, and of the family members. There was a cynical discussion of many of the different religions in the Empire. The Wall seemed to reflect the attitude of the government; first of all, it reflected Aurelian's enthusiasm and reforms. After Aurelian's death it was neglected, much as the Empire itself was. The Wall was metaphor for many things during the novel, lastly, Constantius' thoughts: it "sagged into an image of division and futility."
The novel gave a marvellous word-picture of Rome: the corruption, depravity, and the desire of her people for instant gratification. Constantius felt it's a "city of death and despairing." Other outstanding extended vivid descriptions: Aurelian's Triumph and the parading of the defeated Queen Zenobia of Palmyra before the populace; consulting of the oracle with her mentioning the cryptic number 19; and the halt of the Army on its march east at the town of Forum Trajani. The latter half of the novel went into personality development: I got a good sense of Aurelian, his successors, and of the family members. There was a cynical discussion of many of the different religions in the Empire. The Wall seemed to reflect the attitude of the government; first of all, it reflected Aurelian's enthusiasm and reforms. After Aurelian's death it was neglected, much as the Empire itself was. The Wall was metaphor for many things during the novel, lastly, Constantius' thoughts: it "sagged into an image of division and futility."
December 7, 2017
Story: 5 (wit cannot compensate for the absence of plot)
Characters: 3 (distant and remote with few distinct traits)
Accuracy: 7 (generally reliable if prone to flights of fancy with religion)
I’m not sure I really enjoy Vansittart’s style. Sentences flow like a river, constantly meandering backwards and forwards around the various shoals and boulders impeding them, never paying heed to brevity, or to the usual tradition in English writing, toyed with by Shakespeare but firmly entrenched in modern speech, of finishing one thought before starting on another, or indeed of not interrupting a main clause with a vast splurge of tangential subclauses, before finally reaching their destination. The whole thing is elegant and artificial. It’s also highly reminiscent of high class Latin speech, although if that was intentional it’s a shame that dialogue is so sparse and all the characters bar Julian so curt.
It has to be said that Vansittart is excellent at turning a phrase. The description of the senator Ammianus for example: “He loved his Name and sometimes [his son] Constantius.” Precise, measured, and cutting. Or on the proliferation of rumors: “Romans, like temple fanatics, believe all stories simultaneously; contradictions make them feel at home in the world.” It takes a very droll approach to people’s foibles and enjoys the contradictions in human nature. I did appreciate the wit involved. However, the flip side of this is that we are always kept at a distance from the action, never truly feeling a connection to it. It reminds me a bit of Jeeves and Wooster, although those novels make up for their detachment with absurd farces and frequent shifts in plot. This novel only offers some biting observations about human nature in return, and many of those examples are of ancient behaviors that we’ve since gotten rid of.
The book is essentially a collection of vignettes with no sort of progression within them. Essentially each chapter is an independent entity within which a single event can be described or a single subject considered. Chapter one, for example, starts us off with a mysterious, moody reflection on a failing country town, an evocative account of decayed glory which avoids dealing with stereotyped symbols such as collapsed buildings and ill-repaired roads. Chapter three is a stream of consciousness reminiscence about life in the villa. Chapter four is a description of the city of Rome, full of life and color. Chapter eight is just a conversation with the younger son Julian. I say conversation, but Julian’s the only one participating (Vansittart doesn’t seem good at mixing multiple perspectives at once). Chapter nine is thirteen pages describing the triumphal procession… You get the idea. Any plot developments either occur between chapters or are rushed through in the opening paragraphs of the chapter. I gather the idea is to make everything feel immediate and vivid. To me it feels like the narrative is moving in jerks and spits and skipping all the important bits.
Characters are, as might be expected from that, distant and unapproachable. Their personalities can be summed up by the roles they fill. The father Ammianus is a pompous old aristocrat. The daughter Clodia is a girl coming of age. The eldest son Constantius is a weak but honorable soldier. The youngest, Julian, is an effete wastrel. Curiously, despite sharing the same cognomen, age, basic career, and even having a family member called Julian, Constantius is not the emperor Constantius Chlorus. It’s a needlessly confusing coincidence. We do get brief character sketches of other emperors though: Aurelian (called here Armpit Orry in an attempt at soldierly slang that will probably haunt my dreams), Tacitus, Probus, Carus, and Diocletian (here called by his first names Gaius Valerius, which he may or may not have had pre-accession, instead of his known name of Diocles). Most of these are silent characters, devoid of any personality apart from that ascribed to them by others. Young Diocletian is the key exception. “I don’t want things perfect, I want things better.” That sounds pure Diocletian. None of these characters ore overly compelling, although none are utterly unbelievable either. What they are is irreconcilably isolated and unable to connect with each other. Or us.
Plotwise, inasmuch as there is one, the novel is nominally about the building of the Aurelian Wall around the city of Rome. Despite that, we meet nobody involved in the muralification nor do we get much of a rationale for its construction. The book’s more interested in the psychological meaning of the wall. Rome is now afraid and on the defensive. Instead of being confident of its ability to fend off an attack, Romans now need to hide behind walls and be trapped within them. It’s as a symbol rather than an edifice that the wall keeps getting mentioned. Which is a bit of an awkward balance since it means that the characters have to keep bringing up the wall even after they leave Rome behind. Rather than being about the building of the wall, the intent of the book is to capture the attitudes and tone of life at the time. I’d say it’s broadly successful in this, but I wanted more from the novel. Specifically, I wanted something to happen and I wanted to see it happen.
The book is generally well researched. The most egregious mistakes are probably found in the account of the geography of Rome, which, whether through confusion of phrasing or memory, is not very reliable. The Mausoleum of Augustus should be located on the Campus Martius not just beneath the Palatine Hill (itself seemingly still occupied by senatorial houses rather than imperial palaces) and the Pantheon is confused with the Athenian Parthenon. The other odd error is that he chooses to, apparently intentionally, misrepresent names. So we get Docles instead of Diocles, Maesia instead of Moesia, Galileans for Christians (ala Emperor Julian), and Chrestus instead of Christ(us). The latter is taken from Suetonius, who, alone among authors, chooses that spelling. I think the odd names are part of his efforts to make the world seem strange, non-rational, and rather intimidating. But then some of them are likely genuine mistakes. Odd. Still, this is nitpicking. In general, it captures the feel of the world very well.
Overall, I don’t know what to make of this book. It certainly does some things superbly, and it has an elegant and refined prose style that some may enjoy. On the other hand, it does some things poorly, and I found myself really missing the actual narrative I’m accustomed to finding in literature. The book felt very experimental, which isn’t my favorite word. Certainly I wasn’t left indifferent about it, though my average rating may suggest otherwise. Others may find virtues in it that I do not.
Characters: 3 (distant and remote with few distinct traits)
Accuracy: 7 (generally reliable if prone to flights of fancy with religion)
I’m not sure I really enjoy Vansittart’s style. Sentences flow like a river, constantly meandering backwards and forwards around the various shoals and boulders impeding them, never paying heed to brevity, or to the usual tradition in English writing, toyed with by Shakespeare but firmly entrenched in modern speech, of finishing one thought before starting on another, or indeed of not interrupting a main clause with a vast splurge of tangential subclauses, before finally reaching their destination. The whole thing is elegant and artificial. It’s also highly reminiscent of high class Latin speech, although if that was intentional it’s a shame that dialogue is so sparse and all the characters bar Julian so curt.
It has to be said that Vansittart is excellent at turning a phrase. The description of the senator Ammianus for example: “He loved his Name and sometimes [his son] Constantius.” Precise, measured, and cutting. Or on the proliferation of rumors: “Romans, like temple fanatics, believe all stories simultaneously; contradictions make them feel at home in the world.” It takes a very droll approach to people’s foibles and enjoys the contradictions in human nature. I did appreciate the wit involved. However, the flip side of this is that we are always kept at a distance from the action, never truly feeling a connection to it. It reminds me a bit of Jeeves and Wooster, although those novels make up for their detachment with absurd farces and frequent shifts in plot. This novel only offers some biting observations about human nature in return, and many of those examples are of ancient behaviors that we’ve since gotten rid of.
The book is essentially a collection of vignettes with no sort of progression within them. Essentially each chapter is an independent entity within which a single event can be described or a single subject considered. Chapter one, for example, starts us off with a mysterious, moody reflection on a failing country town, an evocative account of decayed glory which avoids dealing with stereotyped symbols such as collapsed buildings and ill-repaired roads. Chapter three is a stream of consciousness reminiscence about life in the villa. Chapter four is a description of the city of Rome, full of life and color. Chapter eight is just a conversation with the younger son Julian. I say conversation, but Julian’s the only one participating (Vansittart doesn’t seem good at mixing multiple perspectives at once). Chapter nine is thirteen pages describing the triumphal procession… You get the idea. Any plot developments either occur between chapters or are rushed through in the opening paragraphs of the chapter. I gather the idea is to make everything feel immediate and vivid. To me it feels like the narrative is moving in jerks and spits and skipping all the important bits.
Characters are, as might be expected from that, distant and unapproachable. Their personalities can be summed up by the roles they fill. The father Ammianus is a pompous old aristocrat. The daughter Clodia is a girl coming of age. The eldest son Constantius is a weak but honorable soldier. The youngest, Julian, is an effete wastrel. Curiously, despite sharing the same cognomen, age, basic career, and even having a family member called Julian, Constantius is not the emperor Constantius Chlorus. It’s a needlessly confusing coincidence. We do get brief character sketches of other emperors though: Aurelian (called here Armpit Orry in an attempt at soldierly slang that will probably haunt my dreams), Tacitus, Probus, Carus, and Diocletian (here called by his first names Gaius Valerius, which he may or may not have had pre-accession, instead of his known name of Diocles). Most of these are silent characters, devoid of any personality apart from that ascribed to them by others. Young Diocletian is the key exception. “I don’t want things perfect, I want things better.” That sounds pure Diocletian. None of these characters ore overly compelling, although none are utterly unbelievable either. What they are is irreconcilably isolated and unable to connect with each other. Or us.
Plotwise, inasmuch as there is one, the novel is nominally about the building of the Aurelian Wall around the city of Rome. Despite that, we meet nobody involved in the muralification nor do we get much of a rationale for its construction. The book’s more interested in the psychological meaning of the wall. Rome is now afraid and on the defensive. Instead of being confident of its ability to fend off an attack, Romans now need to hide behind walls and be trapped within them. It’s as a symbol rather than an edifice that the wall keeps getting mentioned. Which is a bit of an awkward balance since it means that the characters have to keep bringing up the wall even after they leave Rome behind. Rather than being about the building of the wall, the intent of the book is to capture the attitudes and tone of life at the time. I’d say it’s broadly successful in this, but I wanted more from the novel. Specifically, I wanted something to happen and I wanted to see it happen.
The book is generally well researched. The most egregious mistakes are probably found in the account of the geography of Rome, which, whether through confusion of phrasing or memory, is not very reliable. The Mausoleum of Augustus should be located on the Campus Martius not just beneath the Palatine Hill (itself seemingly still occupied by senatorial houses rather than imperial palaces) and the Pantheon is confused with the Athenian Parthenon. The other odd error is that he chooses to, apparently intentionally, misrepresent names. So we get Docles instead of Diocles, Maesia instead of Moesia, Galileans for Christians (ala Emperor Julian), and Chrestus instead of Christ(us). The latter is taken from Suetonius, who, alone among authors, chooses that spelling. I think the odd names are part of his efforts to make the world seem strange, non-rational, and rather intimidating. But then some of them are likely genuine mistakes. Odd. Still, this is nitpicking. In general, it captures the feel of the world very well.
Overall, I don’t know what to make of this book. It certainly does some things superbly, and it has an elegant and refined prose style that some may enjoy. On the other hand, it does some things poorly, and I found myself really missing the actual narrative I’m accustomed to finding in literature. The book felt very experimental, which isn’t my favorite word. Certainly I wasn’t left indifferent about it, though my average rating may suggest otherwise. Others may find virtues in it that I do not.
Displaying 1 - 3 of 3 reviews