The stars seem to have aligned and I am all set for a fall full of reading. Salem’s Centuries is in production (and out on January 6), my new saffron project hasn’t taken flight yet, and I have a course release for the semester. I’ve written two books in five years and now is the time to ingest. Escaping into book worlds is another way of avoiding my least favorite season in Salem as well. So I have a long list, already about a quarter devoured. As usual with my book lists, it’s very light on fiction, heavy on history, and reflective of the odd ephemeral interest. So let’s go: it will be interesting to see how I group these rather disparate texts.
I think I’ll start out with broad, cultural histories as they might have the most general appeal: I’m always reading “commodity histories” and this year will be no exception, but I have to tell you that Robert Hellyer’s Green with Milk and Sugar has a bit more depth and dimension than most books about tea—and there are a lot of books about this particular commodity. I had the difference between black and green teas down, but did not discern between different types of the latter (and their impact) until I read this very interesting book. Another important global commodity, sugar, has also received quite a bit of attention from scholars (beginning with Sidney Mintz’s classic Sweetness and Power) but the latest effort, the Dutch economic historian Ulbe Bosma’s World of Sugar, is supposed to be particularly comprehensive. I bought it last year but haven’t delved into it yet. Super excited to read Catland: how can it not be amazing? I’m not sure where to put Chanterelle Dreams, Amanita Nightmares, a book I discovered in the gift shop of the Coastal Maine Botanical Garden a few weeks ago solely for its title (+ lore), in this post so I guess I’ll put it here: it is kind of a broad cultural history of human perceptions of muchrooms. It’s also very much a “pick up and read a bit” book.
I find that I am reading new books on the Atlantic Slave Trade regularly because we are in the midst of a golden age of research into the history of this terrible trade and provocative analyses of its cascading impacts are published every year. Traders in Men and Plantation Goods are on my fall list but I should have read them this summer, in advance of teaching my Introduction to European History course. Instead, I had a “Roman interlude” prompted by a re-reading of Suetonius’s Twelve Ceasars last spring. So two half-read Roman books are on my fall list too: a very accessible history by Anthony Barrett about Emperor Nero and the burning of Rome and a book by Roland Mayer about Roman ruins which is more about later perceptions of Rome than Rome itself. The Mayer book probably belongs with the broad cultural history books above. I have started Traders in Men and Plantation Goods (as you will discern by now, I read books in phases, concurrently with other books, a habit I’ve been trying to break but cannot) and my assessment so far would be: both very important and well-sourced studies, with Plantation Goods probably more accessible as it focuses on the basic. It is very much a “material history.”
There are several books which were recently published in my scholarly fields which now sit beside my bed in a stack: first up is Inventing the Renaissance and then we have two books on major late Tudor/Jacobean players: George Villiers, the Duke of Buckingham, and Robert Cecil. I’ll read these for myself, but also to discern whether or not I’ll assign them to students. Stephen Alford (author of All His Spies)’s previous book, London’s Triumph, was a big hit among my grad students this past summer. I suspect that Palmer’s Inventing the Renaissance will be great for historiographical discussions in both undergrad and grad courses. And because it was set in my period and in an interesting period in Mary, Queen of Scots’ life, I actually read a novel all the way through this summer: Flora Carr’s The Tower.
Finally, books on more topical interests which are preoccuping me constantly and/or currently. I’m always interested in architecture, and I read one book this summer which I loved: Thomas Heatherwick’s Humanise (it’s spelled Humanize in its American edition but I prefer the British one’s cover). I don’t think many architects like this book as it is quite critical of contemporary architecture not so much on the basis of design but of craftsmanship. Heatherwick has provoked a reaction among architects in the UK (I’m not sure about here) as he is not an architect himself and does not hold back on characterizing much present-day building as both soul-crushing and soulless (generally because it is so boring) and has launched a campaign to bring joy and craftsmanship back to construction. He’s a real crusader! I’ve been interested in the urban planning idea of the “15-minute city” for a while, so I picked up Shrink the City to learn more about it. The whole idea of meeting all your needs within a 15-minute radius could work for a city with the infrastructure of Salem, but not if we continue our comprehensive commitment to witchcraft tourism, which has resulted in a multitude of witch shops replacing those selling clothing and groceries. As this past year I seem to have become preoccupied with symbols and emblems, first because of the ongoing discussion over the Salem city seal and more recently by the dumbing-down of the Massachusetts state seal and flag, I’ve really been searching more insights into visual culture and graphic design. It’s like another language which I don’t understand. One book that has really helped me is the classic Megg’s History of Graphic Design, but I welcome suggestions. I have yet to find a thoughtful or even interesting book on vexillology.
Theodor de Bry’s famous 1594 engraving showing Amerindians pouring molten gold into the mouths of Spaniards driven by insatiable lust for the stuff.
Jan Steen, The Dissolute Household, 1663-64.
It’s all about connections at the British Museum (above) and the Rijksmuseum (below).
The incomparable Isabella D’Este and a site worthy of her.
