Emperor of Rome Review

Introduction (to Book Reviews on This Site)

Emperor of Rome is the first book I’ve finished since getting my bachelor’s degree in ancient studies. This is a brag about my graduating (I’m still proud of myself months later, as I hope is expected) and also the reason I feel compelled to write something at all. Until now, when I’ve read something like this I’ve been able to use it as reference in writing for classes. By doing so I’ve also been able to better process and commit what I’ve read to memory.

Unfortunately for my memory of Emperor of Rome I’ve been reading it sporadically, not taking notes, and while doing a lot of other things in the mean time (mostly gaming, which feels strange to admit in writing like this because I’m pretending this is an academic setting. But, the “other things” were playing various Final Fantasy games). So when I decided I wanted to write a review half-way through the book, I’d already forgotten some things I'd probably have liked to mention.

And, as I’m hosting this on my own website, I hope this intro can also set the tone for how I want these reviews to read. Far more academic (in the writing at least, I hope. I fear I might be misusing that word, but this is about how I would write my papers for classes) than what else I’ve put on here. Most obviously, the tone of this piece doesn't match the site's themeing at all. I don't feel inspired to change this page's layout, though.

This long-winded introduction is my way of saying, fancily, “Sorry, this might be bad. It’s something new for me, and I’m scared (and stalling).”

Review

Emperor of Rome isn’t a book dependent on my praise. The reason I picked it up in the first place is because I’d heard good things about Mary Beard’s other works (in one of my classes, Beard’s book on Pompeii was required reading that I skipped, but in the bits the professor would recount it sounded great. Perhaps I picked this book up out of delayed and misplaced obligation). The back of the book boasts six separate positive reviews from renowned outlets¹, including the bizarre review from The New Yorker that simply says “Troll slayer.” The only context for which is the immediately following review snippet from New York Times, “Battling back her antagonists [Beard has become] something of a folk hero.” I’m starting here because it’s the second thing you see after the cover, and because I’ve kept the book face down on my nightstand for 3 weeks now and am still confused what’s happened leading up to the publishing of this.

Other reviews aside, it’s in my best interest to finally get on with my own.

I personally do not care for the emperors of Rome (the historical figures, not this book). I find too many traditions of the western world trace back to these men, and as such have had a great and too easy time blaming them for the start of everything. It is, frankly, fun to mock these men, and those who cling to their shadows. The United States is the gaudiest example of this, in my opinion². But being annoyed with the ancient influential dead from a vague understanding is bad practice. To properly dislike the emperors, it’s in my best interest to understand them.

All of this to say Beard’s work now had to fight against me to get me intrigued. And it won, easily. The prologue to the book Dinner with Elagabalus is a genius introduction to the imagined world of the Roman Emperor and the framing of Beard’s book. Sure, none of this is real, but what can we glean about reality from these fantasies? Was this how everyone saw the emperor or just the elite authors? Why would they write this in the first place, and who are the targets of these fantastically cruel details? It reminds me of the framework of some of Robert Knapp’s deductions of the ancient roman world in his book, Invisible Romans. He takes into account fiction and Artemidorus’ dream interpretation handbook (as Beard also does in chapter 10, Face to Face, in the section Images of Power). The truth may not survive, but fiction is still shaped by reality. I find this way of studying history extremely compelling, to summarize my feelings briefly for once.

My one complaint throughout the book was some vague thought like, “who cares how stressed the emperor must have been? He was still the emperor!” which still lingered in my mind until the epilogue. Of course Beard wasn’t approaching this from my angle, but she certainly never seemed to buy into the idea of such a thing as a “good emperor” either. This is the balancing act of historians, because contempt for the subjects of your writing will stop you from examining history properly. If you can’t trust the tales of the good emperors, why trust the stories of the bad ones?

Because I wasn’t taking notes, I don’t have much to say about the specifics of the book. Broadly I enjoyed the framework of how Beard came to her conclusions, and I appreciated the ways in which she wrote for an audience of more than just other historians – namely, in how she referred to ancient works with translated names so anyone unfamiliar with Res Gestae or familiar with a different context for the word Meditations wouldn’t have to flip to an index or the introduction to remember what she meant. If you’ve ever wondered what it was like to be emperor of Rome, this book’s a good and interesting read. If you’ve ever wondered what it was like to think about the emperor of Rome, in the ancient world, when an emperor of Rome still ruled, you should really read this book.

I’d like to finish the review with a quote from the epilogue which made me say out loud, “oh, right, yeah.³” and I believe it’s compelling enough to have gotten me to read the book had they printed that on the back cover instead of review snippets out of context.

After talking about how to write about the emperors of Rome, the stars of her book, Beard writes, “[The Roman emperors] present an extreme case of the historian’s dilemma. How do we understand the Roman emperor on his own terms, and yet not lose sight of our own moral compass, and our obligation to evaluate, as well as to describe, the past?⁴”