Masterclasses in reviewing non-fiction books

This is the first of a couple of posts looking at the lessons we can learn from two great practitioners of the reviewing non-fiction books – UK historian Richard Evans and German sociologist Wolfgang Streeck. 

Back in Bucharest, I took the opportunity yesterday to walk down the famous Calea Victoriei Bvd to the Kretzulescu Humanitas bookshop for the first time in many months and browse in the generous selection of English books it has. One of the titles which caught my eye was the rather fat The Empire of Democracy – from the 1970s to the end of the Cold War.

This is almost exactly the period I have been trying to cover in the current draft of Dispatches to the Next Generation which I uploaded a few days ago.

This called for the test to which I now subject interesting titles – namely check

- its “user-friendliness” (which nowadays includes size of font)

- whether it bothers to explain why yet another book should be inflicted on us (which requires the author to gives us a brief survey of the relevant literature and identify what’s distinctive about his/hers)

- its list of recommended reading

- make a note of the title and return home to google the reviews

In this case, the book claimed to be the 

“the first full account of the way the political life of Western democracies have been going for most of the past half-century” 

– a rather questionable claim given the scale of books about the crisis in western liberalism pouring from the presses in the past few years – let alone such books as Contesting Democracy – political ideas in 20^th century Europe by Jan-Werner Mueller (2013) which warrants only an endnote on page 794).

Nor is there is a recommended list of reading and, although the text certainly looked highly readable, I returned home reasonably clear that this was a 900 page book which would add little to my understanding of this important period in my life. 

Google gave me the excellent news that not only had historian Richard Evans reviewed The Empire of Democracy (in “The Nation”) but that he had given us a masterclass in the art of reviewing.

I should make it clear that Richard Evans is well known as a caustic reviewer – who gets as good as he gives, particularly in the London Review of Books which gives him full scope for both critical reviews of his own work and his own reviews of others. His 1998 book “In Defence of History” was mauled by a reviewer in LRB – occasioning eventually his own strong reply. One review of his brought forth energetic responses – as did this one 

In this case, too, Evans does not pull his punches – although he gives credit where it’s due. The review covers so many important points that I am reproducing it more or less in full……. 

Empire of Democracy – the remaking of the west since the cold war tells us how we got to where we are today - tracking the rise and fall of an economic, social, and political order that now seems to be under fundamental and potentially lethal pressure.

Despite, however, the convincing nature of his overall diagnosis of the strengths and weaknesses of neoliberalism, however, there are many problems with how Reid-Henry tells this story, starting with the narrative style in which he has chosen to cast it.

To put it bluntly, he doesn’t seem to be aware of even the most basic rules of historical narrative.

 

- Individual actors in the story, from Mitterrand to Trump, are introduced with only scant background information; important dates are missing in dense chapters; and statements and observations are ventured without any attempt to ground them in evidence. For a more or less random example, near the end of the book we are told that

 

      “Dodd-Frank had belatedly been passed in 2011, along with its famous Volcker rule.”

 

You have to read back more than 60 pages for any explanation as to what these things are. At roughly that time, Reid-Henry tells us on the very same page, 

“amplified by the extended reach of new media, the culture wars…leapt back into life as never before, as tirades blared out across the raucous and indiscriminating airwaves of shock-jock radio and Fox television.”

 He makes no attempt to unpack this sentence, simply assuming that readers will understand the references. But it’s not a safe assumption to make, and terms such as “culture wars” and “shock-jock radio” really do need to be explained for the uninitiated.

There are more substantive problems as well. For quite long stretches of the book, I found it difficult to understand the sweeping generalizations that pepper the text. For instance, what was “the distinctive sense of ennui that had haunted the Western democracies during the 1990s”? Among whom? Bored with what?

“Americans in particular,” we read a couple of pages earlier, “found themselves in a confusing place.” All Americans, and what place? “They were concerned about growing inequity,” the text continues, but we aren’t told how or why or which Americans were concerned or in what way.

 

Similar generalizations occur about other peoples, such as “the French,” who apparently “felt that they were immune from the troubles that had struck the United States, because their banking system was more prudent.”

Actually, most likely the vast majority of “the French” neither knew nor cared very much about their banking system, prudent or not. Later, we are told that a “declining sense of trust within society” in the early 21st century meant that “left and right now converged upon a resolutely anti-state ethos.”

Leaving aside the question of precisely which countries this applies to, one can think of myriad issues where this is simply untrue, from the introduction of the Sure Start program in the UK in 1998 to the British left’s growing demand for the renationalization of private utilities, including the railways (now part of the official program of the Labour Party), to the pressure exerted in the US by the right for the expansion of the state security apparatus in the “war against terror” and the persistent advocacy by Republicans of more state expenditure on the military.

 

Often, Reid-Henry’s use of the passive voice disguises an almost complete absence of detail: 

“the balance between freedom and democracy that Western liberal democracies had struggled for forty years to maintain was now rejected altogether.”

 What is the evidence for this struggle? Why should freedom and democracy be treated as opposites between which a balance needed to be maintained? And was this balance actually rejected by everyone? Or if only partially rejected—or not rejected at all—then by whom and when and where? It’s not even true of Poland and Hungary, where substantial forces remain in opposition to the right-wing nationalists currently in power.

 

In many sections, the book reads more like a commentary on events than an analytical narrative. The description of the election that put Barack Obama in the White House is a good example. There are some interesting observations on Sarah Palin, but we’re not told what public office she held before becoming a candidate for the vice presidency; the Tea Party is brought into the narrative, but we’re apparently expected to know what it was, who helped launch it, and what policies it advocated; and no statistics are provided for the election to indicate how many people voted for Obama and who they were.

 

The nature of Obama’s appeal is also largely left unexplored (his powerful catchphrase “Yes, we can!” isn’t even mentioned), and running throughout the book is also the highly dubious assumption that street politics exercise a profound effect on political systems, from the anti–Vietnam War movement, which the author tells us inaugurated the remaking of the West in the early 1970s, to the Occupy movement, which flared up briefly in 2011 and is now almost completely forgotten. Yet the more than 1 million people who marched through the streets of London on February 15, 2003, to protest the impending invasion of Iraq achieved precisely nothing, nor did the similar number of people who marched through the same streets on March 23, 2019, to demand that Britain remain in the European Union.

 

There are still many passages in this book that can be read with considerable profit: The account of the 2008–09 financial crisis is particularly perceptive, and one could mention many other examples. But there is a more fundamental and perhaps more interesting respect in which the book rests on a highly questionable assumption. Chief among these is the concept of “the West” itself and its linkage with liberalism and democracy.

Empire of Democracy falls into a long tradition of historical writing centred on predictions of the downfall of the West. In the 19th century, the idea of the West became a foil against which political theorists developed their recipes for progress and change. Russian Slavophiles rejected what they saw as Western individualism and the Western advocacy of material progress based on industrial capitalism, for example, while Russian Westernizers saw their country’s future very much in embracing these things. In the early 20th century, right-wing nationalists in Germany and Central Europe offered similar warnings, excoriating what they saw as the decadent materialism, spiritual weakness, and moral corruption of a West that was no longer able to prevent its own decline.

Foremost among them was Oswald Spengler, whose book Der Untergang des Abendlandes, usually translated as The Decline of the West, became hugely popular in Germany during the 1920s, largely because it was read as a prophecy of Germany’s resurgence under a future nationalist dictatorship and then was taken, not entirely accurately, as a prediction of Hitler’s coming to power in 1933.