A sequel of sorts, or maybe more a parallel, to Herrin's previous book on Byzantium. Which I recall more fondly than my review suggests I felt at the time, so bear in mind I may likewise soften on this one as memory smooths its edges. But it really doesn't get off to a good start with the attempt to rebrand 'late antiquity' as 'early Christendom', an effort to get us thinking in terms of a new beginning rather than a drawn-out ending, which to me of course feels defeatist as even the last faint sputtering of antiquity is much to be preferred – it's a bit like trying to rebrand 'old age' as 'young corpsehood'. Anyway, the focus of attention this time is the disappointing follow-up capital of the Western Roman Empire as it ebbs and flows over the years 390-813, and against the more thematic approach taken in Byzantium, here it's strictly chronological. At times it reads like a textbook, which is not in itself a complaint – I was that weird kid who wouldn't just read the assigned chapters of the history textbook but the whole thing, so I knew how it all connected. But it does feel a lot less lively and three-dimensional than one has come to expect after 20 years reading either contemporary history or slightly idiosyncratic older takes. There are only occasional attempts to evoke how it felt to live through the times; for the most part it's heavy on those old mainstays of kings, emperors, popes and bishops. Dear gods the bishops. They trudge through the pages, some worse than others but few of them sticking in the memory bar maybe Archbishop Damianus, Abbot John, and their shit miracles. Sometimes a name helps – Bishop Neon, who as it turns out did indeed decorate the Baptistery of the Orthodox with bright colours; Bishop Ursus, who sadly wasn't a bear in a mitre, but that was still absolutely how I pictured him. These pedestrian prelates playing such prominent parts because this was the period when Christianity, having gained official tolerance, almost immediately turned around and began showing the pagans how intolerance should be done. Starting on the pagans, obviously - there are quotes from some sermons by Peter Chrysologus in which they make an early start on the long-term policy of being even better than COVID at shutting down anything which makes life worth living. But then showing quite what amateurs of animosity the pagans had been by really going for it once they turn on each other. Arianism at least makes a certain sort of sense – and also, of course, ultimately, sneakily won (almost anyone picturing the two less nebulous persons of Jehovah nowadays, I'd contend, would have the father older than the son). Thereafter, though, it's a parade of pettifogging quibbles about the number and nature of divine essences, natures, wills, energies...the sort of stuff which feels like painful fanwank even when it's happening about a show you're really into, and which is simply obscene when people are getting killed over it. These aren't even heresies with a germ of sense like the Cathars, or an interesting intellectual hook like Calvin – they're just dull arguments about stuff which even the faithful would mostly now consider unworthy of attention, fractious obsessiveness for the sake of it, the sort of thing which makes one positively long for big, important questions like how many angels can dance on the head of a pin. Eventually, with the Three Chapters, even Herrin's patience is exhausted. "To modern sensibilities there is something incomprehensible in the way the Three Chapters continued to envenom ecclestiastical relations". No, really? There's a particular nastiness about some of the measures that come in as toleration for different creeds is reduced, like banning anyone but the orthodox (ie Catholic) from making wills - the sort of horrific not-quite-extirpation measure which recalls the expropriation of Jews in the 20th century (and, of course, the intervening centuries). In the conclusion, Herrin says "I have attempted to show that creation and innovation accompanied the conflicts and immiseration, that what had been the western Roman empire experienced the birth pangs of a new social order as much as the death throes of the old one". Which to me can't help but recall those Pollyannas suggesting that our vile new world of Zoom socialising and 'virtual gigs' is anything other than a horrible shadow of what went before. These little details serve instead to remind the reader that yes, sometimes things get worse for a very long time; Honorius, who moved the capital to Ravenna, was also the emperor who abandoned Britain, so to a British reader in particular can only seem like a manager of decline. Indeed, his reign is as good a point as any to say, that wasn't even a good time really, but it was better than things would be for the next millennium. A verdict I find it all too easy to imagine people will one day apply to 2019 too, although I realise I'm likely being unduly optimistic in assuming not only that there will still be humans that far in the future, but that they'll have the civilisation, records, inclination and liberty to study history.
Still, there are little bits of fun along the way, even if it's as basic as the Goths turning up and picturing them as the modern sort. For me it's even funnier when it's incursions by the Goths and the Alans, simply because in my teens there was a goth-adjacent kid called Alan. But the real star of the section headed "Living with the Goths", and a figure who comes across as a favourite of Herrin's, is not Andrew Eldritch but Galla Placidia, the Imperial daughter who married a Gothic king. And yes, there is something impressive about any woman who could end up as de facto ruler of the Roman Empire, even in this diminished form, though alas she seems to have made the classic regent's mistake of failing to prepare the next generation, not letting her son learn the reins of government even once he was nominally emperor, and being such an all-round nightmare that her daughter appealed to Attila the Hun - who, apart from everything else which might make him proverbially other than the ideal husband, already had a number of wives - to come rescue her from her own family. But, whatever her failings as a parent, Galla P does at least stick in the memory, which too few of her successors over the following centuries manage. As with Bishop Neon, some linger simply for their names, like Exarch Smaragdus, who sounds like a refugee from a D-list fantasy novel, or Bonus the bracarius, or trouser-maker – doesn't Bonus the Breeker sound like he should be in a Frankie Howerd film? There is an interesting story in here – the way the city pulls closer to and further from Byzantium, the contested legacy of Rome, the qualified assimilation of barbarians – but too often it's buried in an endless procession of thinly characterised arseholes murdering and mutilating each other for power they don't then do anything much with, beyond see a little more of it slip away as they try to amass their own heap. And frankly I've seen enough Tory leadership contests lately that I don't need more of that. There's lots of corruption among the civil and religious authorities, but all of it grubby financial stuff or doctrinal shenanigans, none of it the interestingly fruity Roman decadence of a Caligula, Heliogabalus, even the tackier bad emperors like Nero or Commodus. At times Herrin seems almost deliberately to be avoiding colourful detail - I think this may be the only book I've ever read where the Avars crop up without their penchant for anal impaling meriting a mention. And in general there's still that lack of a sense of what wider life in Ravenna was like, beyond the theological bickering and the wars of attrition. Occasionally we get a short chapter on someone like Agnellus the doctor, or the anonymous Cosmographer, but never ones which make a very compelling case for their significance. Most glaring, to the 2020 reader, is that there's more space devoted to the redecoration, after the clampdown on Arianism, of a single church, than to Justinian's plague, a pandemic which made COVID look like a summer sniffle but here gets a passing mention.
There's more modern resonance in the way in which barbarians took over Rome and kept a lot of the appearance of it going, even if the whole thing was clearly a sham – the way that the Goths, even while recognising that they were in fact barbarians (as with 'heretics', a word I used to think people only ever applied to other people) also tried to get endorsed as successors rather than invaders. Theoderic serving as a sort of overture prefiguring Charlemagne, who pulled the trick off a little more successfully at the end of the book. Livening it up quite considerably, too. Even having studied him there was a whole angle here I'd never considered, his relations with the East - his daughter Rotrud engaged to the Byzantine emperor, nixed by Carolingian inheritance worries; a later plan for him to marry Empress Irene, nixed by her overthrow. But with him also making surprisingly friendly overtures to the Caliphate, receiving the present of an elephant from Harun al-Rashid. Also, his sons Louis and Pippin were subordinate kings and leading campaigns together at ages 14 and 15! Can you imagine the #ladsontour state of that?
(Although while we might see the current crop of supposedly democratic supposed leaders as barbarians desecrating the thrones on which they squat, perhaps they're more like the vainglorious, bullying Emperor Phokas, celebrated with the tallest column in the Forum. It was reused; it was also the last, and he was soon ingloriously removed from office. If only one could be sure that his modern ilk would go the same way)
The conclusion talks about how many of the sources are lost, what a tattered thing the historical record is where Ravenna is concerned – and also pulled the thematic strands together in a way the rest of the book too seldom managed. But it also reinforced a nagging sense that this book was trying to be too many things at once. For large swathes it feels like Herrin more wanted to do a book specifically about church, state and schism as reflected in Ravenna, in which case fair enough, but that's not what the subtitle 'Capital of Empire, Crucible of Europe' advertises. Equally, the conclusion suggests this is a story about the birth of the mediaeval city, but in that case it needed bringing to the fore more. Maybe there are two shorter books here, or something more like Byzantium, where a general spine is given but then used to hang essays on individual topics. Hell, sometimes whole sections aren't even about Ravenna so much as the Eastern empire's treatment of the West in general, the West's faltering attempts to find its own new directions. Which is where Herrin ends, mercifully sparing us the interminable squabbles of Charlemagne's successors. As the book closes, Ravenna has finally fallen victim to an excess of capitals: Constantinople has the power and the lineage, Rome is the original, Aachen the new heart of a new empire, and Ravenna is finally just another city again. One with a load of fancy architecture, granted, but even some of that has been nabbed to pimp Aachen. This book has certainly made me more interested to see Ravenna one day, if we ever get the world back, but for the general reader I'm not sure I could recommend it.
(Netgalley ARC)