David Abulafia (1949–2026)

Covers a lot of ground temporally, tracing the development of human settlement, trade, culture and warfare around the Mediterranean Sea. End up weaving together a lot of stuff that seem to wandered in from other histories - the British Empire, the Russians, World Wars, not to mention technological developments in sea travel and swimwear. Very good, but there is a lot of it, and even then there's bits I'd liked the book to have dug in to a bit deeper. Barbary Corsairs, for example, being show more uniquely central to the Med could maybe have been explored in more detail? I dunno. Good stuff, though. show less

Tough read on a hyper-specific topic. I feel like books like these make sense only for expert historians who are already very familiar with the mise-en-scène and are looking to dig deeper on a specific area. For instance, the battles of Zama and Cannae merit literally one mention each because they are land battles while Lepanto gets a much more extensive treatment because it is a naval battle fought in the Mediterranean. If one doesn't already know a great deal about the Punic wars to begin show more with, there is no way to gain any larger historical perspective on what the book is discussing.

Still, this is not the book's fault. It set out to discuss a hyper-specific topic and it does so with great erudition and moves along at a reasonable pace. Just take heed of the author's unambiguous declaration in the preface - you are getting into a history of the Mediterranean as a sea and not as a region. show less

Oh, Braudel, Braudel! What trend you started. While a common "Club Med" lifestyle around the mare nostrum can be quite easily identified (and witnessed by any tourist), establishing a common history is a much more difficult task. Similar to Ravel's Boléro, the start in the eastern corner of the sea is deceptively easy (Abulafia in contrast to Norwich's attempt even excludes the non-sea orientied Egyptians), transfers to the Greeks to Carthage and culminates with Rome. Alas. then it breaks show more down - the different parts of the Mediterranean act quite independently and forces from beyond the sea interfere heavily (especially the vile French and Germans). Abulafia's book can be read as his view of a different Europe, a non-German Europe where also the French have limited influence. A Europe of merchant cities and trading houses. He somehow ignores that the wealth of Venice, Alexandria, Smyrna, Beirut etc. was based on exclusion and exploitation of the Hinterland. The predominance of these cities was swept away in violence and nationalism.

Abulafia divides his book into five periods. The second period (1000 BC to 600 AD) is the age of the Greeks and Romans, the third period (600 - 1350) sees the rise of Venice, the fourth (1350-1830) is the rise and fall of the Ottoman Empire. The fifth period (1830- ) sees the importance of the Mediterranean disappear - the Great Sea turning into a local backwater whose only value is its access to both the Atlantic and the Indian ocean. The book, thus, is nostalgic - and revisionist in neglecting the extremely powerful influence of the non-Mediterranean powers. From the Romans to the Ottomans to the Germans and Americans, it was the people of the land, not the sea that dominated Mediterranean history. Reading only Abulafia will not give you a full picture of this sea's history. His elitist diatribe against mass tourism at the end of the book is unnecessary, but it included a wonderful Freudian expression that illustrates his anti-German stance based on ignorance: "naturist resorts ...would appeal specially to the eager adherents of German and Scandinavian Frei-Korps-Kultur seeking an all-over tan." In German, the terminus is Frei-Körper-Kultur (enjoying one's naked body in mother nature). Freikorps exist too - these were the post WWI German right-wing militias, ancestor of the SA and SS. Mixing the two up requires both linguistic and cultural ignorance whose undertone detracts from an otherwise highly readable book. show less

David Abulafia's Frederick II: A Medieval Emperor is a well-written, if somewhat iconoclastic, biography. The book's subtitle is meant as more than just a chronological identifier; Abulafia sets out to show that Frederick's reputation as a Renaissance man avant la lettre, a secular-leaning genius renowned for his moderate treatment of Jews and Muslims, is an undeserved one. Frederick was as firmly grounded in a medieval mindset as his contemporaries, the age of Sicilian convivencia came to show more its end under his rule, and his moderate political abilities were not up to the task of ruling an enormous, fragmented empire in the face of papal ambitions. The groundwork for many of his "achievements" were laid by others.

Abulafia's argument is in some measure convincing, particularly the early chapters in which he places Frederick within the context of his often neglected Norman heritage. But at times, as is common with revisionist works, Abulafia seems to swing too far in the other direction and does not always convince—in particular when it comes to his characterisation of the imperial-papal conflict.

The absence of any kind of footnotes, endnotes or other annotation was highly frustrating. show less