This book was all over the place, which made it hard to rate. There was a lot to love, but I'm mostly going to talk about the problems.
My initial experience with this book was in audiobook format. The narrator did a genuinely pleasant job for the most part, but his forced character accents, which he used for quoted passages, were awful. From literally yelling newspaper headlines about oysters in the accent of a cockney street urchin (causing me to crank down the volume in a rush of pain and confused panic during an otherwise peaceful dinner), to making every U.S. citizen sound like a resident of 1920s Little Italy by way of Hollywood, I hope this narrator continues to read history books to us in his normal voice but never, ever does another character accent in any of them ever again.
Nominally the book is broken into chapters about specific cities across the world, moving chronologically forward through history. For example, in the table of contents we see chapter four is titled Imperial Megacity: Rome, 30 BC-AD 537 while chapter five is Gastropolis: Baghdad, 537-1258. This structure is a big part of what drew me to the book in the first place but there are several issues with it.
The first problem is that upon reading the actual chapters we find the cutoff dates associated with each city to be somewhat randomly chosen, rather than representing any truly important dates in their relevant histories. The only logic I can conjure to explain why the very specific date 537 divides these two chapters, for example, is that the author wanted to create an illusion of linear narrative chronology where none exists. This is unfortunate because this artificial chronology did nothing for me except persistently confuse me.
Another, bigger problem is that any attempts at chronology don't work here anyway because the chapters never actually focus on their titular cities and timeframes. Instead the author uses each chapter setting as a starting point to discuss specific features of that city in that era, before leaping across continents and centuries to discuss related features in entirely different cities and eras (although usually the author's landing point just ends up being modern London). For example, if the chapter is talking about baths or sanitation in an ancient Mediterranean or Mesopotamian city, you can bet it's just a matter of time until the author starts talking about swimming in the Thames or shitting outside the London stock exchange, and he probably won't find his way back to the place and time the chapter is actually named after until said chapter is nearly over. Another example (and the first that really annoyed me, instead of only jarring and confusing me) was in the chapter on Babylon and Harappa, when the author took an interesting discussion of modern myths about ancient Babylonian sin and digressed it straight into a painfully patriarchal undergraduate thesis on sex and prostitution in modern London. At times it feels like the author would rather just be writing a book about London.
This is a serious structural problem. Can this actually be a chapter about ancient Rome, or ancient Babylon, if we just spent a quarter of it in modern London? And because the author does this so frequently, we end up with an entire chapter's worth of London content eating up space across half a dozen other chapters that are supposed to be about something else entirely. If the author wanted to write the book this way, he should have named the chapters according to their actual focus, like "Public baths: From Rome to now". But honestly this rearrangement wouldn't work either with the book's existing content, because the author never traces the development of these city features to a satisfactory degree. He needed to flesh things out much more completely if he wanted to take this route. Instead he starts at some ancient point in the past, and wherever or whenever that was, he jumps it straight to modern London in the next paragraph.
And that brings up the next issue with this book - its topical coverage and historical lens. I've already belabored that we have an entire chapter of London content scattered throughout unrelated chapters. So how is it that the author then also gives us an additional standalone chapter dedicated entirely to London? This book only has 14 chapters, so committing what is effectively two of them to London means 1/7 of a book about the global history of cities is about fucking London. At times it reads like he's trying to tie the entire history of the world together with Jolly Old Imperial Biscuits as the teleological lynchpin.
I don't know about you, but I prefer zero teleological leanings in my history books. On top of that, with my Western education and media environment I am 1000% oversaturated on the history and culture of NYC, modern London, ancient Rome, and ancient Athens, so when I pick up a book about the history of cities you can bet those are the exact four environments I specifically don't want to learn anything more about. Unfortunately for me, they all get chapters in this book, so from that angle I was always going to be disappointed. And sure, you could argue that London in particular deserves an outsized spot given its oversized role in human history as the political seat of half a millennium of British imperial crimes spanning the reaches of the globe - but if we're going by that metric, why not just make this a history of empires rather than a history of cities?
In any case, this book's overfocus on the Western Greatest Hits is worse even than what I've described, because we also get a chapter each on Paris and Los Angeles, and a third split between Manchester and Chicago. (These also happen to be, without contest, the worst chapters of the book, revolving primarily and respectively around: Enlightenment hipsters; the aesthetic preferences of wealthy white supremacists; a discussion of the emergence of industrial class consciousness that somehow only mentions Marx a single time; and a play-by-play on the development of U.S. sports that, naturally, does not shut up.) Coupled with the chapters on NYC, ancient Athens, and ancient Rome, plus the effective two chapters on London, we have a global history of cities in which more than half the content is somehow about England, the United States, and the two ancient cities that every white supremacist nerd is convinced invented everything good in the world. Now maybe my math is bad or maybe it's my history, but it seems like three empires plus one city-state don't actually account for more than half the content of the actual global history of cities?
My next critique of the book goes back to what I said earlier about the London sex thesis wedged right down the middle of the Babylon chapter. That's not the only time such a thing happens. Ben Wilson clumsily meanders through so many tangents on sex and prostitution in this book. Now, yes, sex and prostitution are important parts of the history of cities, but excepting the chapter on Baghdad, he talks about them more than he talks about food, which I'm pretty sure is even more important. And since he's essentially saying the same thing in each of these sex digressions, after a while I started to get the feeling that Ben Wilson was maybe just really horny while writing this book, and I was not disabused of that feeling by the time I finished reading the book.
All of this would be a relatively minor critique except that sex and prostitution aren't just overrepresented here, their presentation is also thoroughly patriarchal. Throughout the book, when sex and prostitution are discussed it is nearly always from a very clear cis-heterosexual man's perspective, which is nevertheless treated in nearly every instance as a neutral default perspective. The author doesn't explicitly address this until quite late in the book (my memory is that he first discussed sex from the perspective of women in the chapter on Paris, which is near the end of the book) and he never gives an explanation for why he was ignoring it beforehand. As a result, we get a book that is not only overwhelmingly biased toward the capitals of white supremacy, but also overwhelmingly biased toward men as both the primary readers and the primary shapers of history. For a history book written in 2020, this archaic assumption is honestly inexcusable, not simply for ethical reasons but for didactic and epistemic ones too. The man-centric perspective of history is factually wrong and has been known as such for decades among all serious researchers of history and all its related disciplines, from sociology to anthropology. To quote every progressive liberal ever (something I normally avoid): Do better.
On a related note I have to mention a distasteful trend the author picks up as the book progresses, in which he moves from critiquing early mercantile capitalism to praising modern neoliberalism (though he does not use the latter phrase explicitly). The transition is relatively subtle, which makes me think the author is trying to pin the ills of capitalism on its earlier, more superficially warlike forms. (For an antidote to this naive framework I recommend the books Washington bullets by Vijay Prashad and What is antiracism and why it means anticapitalism by Arun Kundnani, which detail extensively the many forms of violence inherent to modern neoliberalism.) However, what really gave me the ick was the author treating slums in the last few chapters as a kind of nobly savage realm of innovation and community where, when you think about it, people are lucky to live in the forced squalor that is the inevitable result of capitalism, because it means they get to invent things and rely on social networks!
It's a disgusting viewpoint that reminded me, more than anything, of white supremacist Hollywood movies. You know the ones, where the Black American slaves and the Indian slaves are all smiling jovially all the time cuz golly darn, they're just so happy to serve their White U.S. and British masters, respectively! After all, what is a colonial slaveowner if not the rightful father of a righteous extended family? That's the image that flashed into my head every time Ben Wilson went off on another rapturous reverie about the secretly transcendent lives of megaslum residents (or whatever drier but functionally equivalent phrasing he used): The beaten and murdered smiling happily at those who beat and murder them. (Read Liberalism by Domenico Losurdo to learn more about how this attitude has played out ad nauseam over the centuries.)
My final major critique is reserved for the final chapter, which is titled Megacity: Lagos, 1999-2020. Shamefully, it is the only African city to get a chapter to itself in an entire book on the global history of cities (even Alexandria shares a chapter with Athens) - but that's still better than the standard nothing, so even before starting the book proper I was excited for this chapter simply from having looked at the table of contents. Then, after the nearly unbroken, excruciatingly boring late-book slog of London, Manchester, Chicago, Paris, New York, and Los Angeles, I wasn't just excited for this chapter anymore, I was craving it. To add even more anticipation, in a history of cities this is the only chapter about one whose surge to prominence is happening now, so I was extremely curious how the author would handle it.
Imagine, then, my growing confusion, frustration, and eventually anger when Lagos was not even mentioned until roughly half an hour into the chapter. Proper discussion of the city didn't begin until several minutes after that. In a chapter 1.5 hours long, the first third did not even mention the topic of the chapter. What, then, took up all this space? Thankfully, it wasn't another digression into the sex life of London. It was actually interesting content, weaving together conceptual threads from the rest of the book into a discussion primarily about climate change and population dynamics and how these will impact the future of cities. However, just like the endless London interludes, my issue with this material is that it's in the wrong fucking spot.
In short, the first third of the final chapter is, in both content and tone, quite obviously a short conclusion chapter that, for some unknown but regardless terrible reason, was artificially crammed into the start of the final proper numbered chapter. Was this decision on the part of the author, editor, or publisher? Did they think a chapter on an African city couldn't hold its own, so they merged it with the conclusion chapter? Did they think readers would skip the conclusion chapter, so they hid it at the start of what should have been the book's most interesting chapter? Most bafflingly of all, did they think readers wouldn't notice? I don't know the answers to any of these questions but I guess it doesn't really matter, because every answer I can think of is insulting in some way.
Yet after all that critique I'm still giving this book three stars, because pretty much everything I didn't already mention was enjoyable and informative, sometimes deeply so. I was fascinated by (and learned an enormous amount from) the chapters on Uruk, Harappa, Babylon, Baghdad, Lubeck, Lisbon, Malacca, Tenochtitlan, Amsterdam, Warsaw, and even the part of the Lagos chapter that was actually about Lagos (after the book's conclusion had concluded). I'm not going to articulate what I loved about these chapters, because there was a lot and this review is already enormous. But if after all my criticisms you're still curious to see the good side of this book, these are the chapters I recommend.
These cities each deserved more space, and so did many other cities from Africa, Asia, and South America - including many that have played much greater roles in global history than, say, Chicago. Many of them are crammed together unjustly (Harappa and Babylon shared one chapter; Lisbon, Malacca, Tenochtitlan, and Amsterdam shared another). Yet within them I found some of my favorite reading experiences of the past few years. Thus we are left with a solid third of this book that I loved, a third that I hated, and a third that lay somewhere in between. So, it looks like we're landing on three stars.
After all, even the book's conclusion was mostly enjoyable, despite being placed where a conclusion isn't supposed to go, and that kind of sums up this book as well as anything can.