I, Claudius

I really enjoyed this read, though I'll admit I wasn't sure where to put it at first. In contrast to novels where the protagonist is an active participant in the story, Claudius the historian is an observer and therefore the story is characterized with a distinct objectivity. His quiet narration of the turbulent political and familial events around him is almost ironic, and the juxtaposition is rather liberating. Free from being caught up in the passions and plots, the reader is able to better contemplate themes of free will, the truth of history, and the role of women in ancient Roman culture.

I am curious to see what the partner book will feel like, and how becoming a central figure in the action will change the tone of the story.

Something that I find so satisfying about I, Claudius is that Graves uses his mix of historical accuracy and dramatization to make the characters read much like the legendary figures that Claudius so often references. It is at once both a detailed Roman epic and a racy late-night soap opera. By all rights I should've struggled much harder to engage with a book this long-winded. Much of I, Claudius moves at a truly glacial pace, but quiet frankly upon finishing it I find I don't begrudge that because it suits the material so well. Graves has a razor sharp intelligent and wit, the prose so competent, that it hardly feels like it matters what he's writing about; I found myself pulled in immediately, from Claudius describing the lives of show more his grandparents, to his sudden and thrilling ascendancy to the throne, and the many self-indulgent tangents in-between. The novel really opened up for me about one hundred pages in, when Claudius has a conversation/argument with Livy and Pollio. Graves' is excellent at crafting dialogue, which often serves as much needed break between the walls of Claudius' descriptions. Similarly engaging are the written notes between Augustus and Livia.

Maybe it's just me, but I can't help but feel like Graves' characterization was a massive inspiration for George R.R. Martin in his A Song of Ice and Fire series, so much so that Martin's book is tarnished to some degree. Certainly I, Claudius must be inspiration for lots of fantasy and historical fiction writers, but that comparison specifically stuck out to me like a sore thumb.

Though the ending is an anticlimactic let down after all that build up, I personally do not feel compelled with a need to read the second book in the duology right away. I have a feeling that Graves will bring me back up to speed with the characters I need to know regardless of how long I take to read it. show less

There have been multiple periods of time in my life when I have developed a fascination for different historical families, usually of infamous repute. Elementary school was devoted to the Tudors, focusing heavily on the Princess Elizabeth, while middle through high school was preoccupied with the Borgias, an interest more balanced between its equally intriguing members. Every so often those fascinations will spark up again, and I'll find myself consuming relevant impressively rendered fiction and biographically accurate nonfiction with equal fervor. I wouldn't be able to tell you why these subjects had attracted me while I was young, but I do have a hypothesis as to why they continue to interest me today.

Both the Tudors and the Borgias show more were at the center of major confluences in their day, and both rested in the eyes of storms largely fueled by religion. While the Borgias clawed their way to the top of the papal throne amidst vicious rumors of debauched blasphemy, the Tudors with Henry VII as their figurehead rejected that system of belief completely in favor of one that would serve their own ends. And it is this intersection of human figures in places of immense power with religious forces, and what results, that makes for a truly spellbinding historical account.

I, Claudius is an example of this theological maelstrom, but is even more chaotic and striking when taken into consideration that the Emperors of Rome could be deified, whether by popular plea by the public or by the crazed hysterics of the ruler himself. Not a king in consultation with powerful people both religious and otherwise, nor a pope equipped with papal infallibility. A god.

The effects that this mentality must have on its believers are not fully explored, as Claudius is not one for psychological profiles or sociocultural analysis. His two interests throughout the story are largely restricted to the realms of historical recountal and simple survival, as his family discredits, banishes, poisons, and pushes to suicide any member they deem in their way. I don't blame him in the slightest, but I can't help wish that there was more to the story than the bare facts and occasional personal inputs that Claudius restricted himself to. Or I suppose the matter would have fallen to Graves, seeing as this for all its evidence of substantial research is a work of fiction.

For the potential of deification works its way into the heart of every major player, beginning with Augustus' boasts of his relations to the deified Julius Ceaser, and ending with Caligula's assumption of the role of any god or goddess, a decision dictated only by his increasingly errant and murderous behavior. Of special note is Livia Drusilla, the wife of Augustus, who of all the characters proved to be the most controversially engaging. Her first grand scale manipulation removes her from her first husband and places her at the side of Augustus, then Octavian, an enemy of her family that drove her father to suicide. From thereon out she is strongly present in the ruling of the Roman Empire, a time when women were banned from the senate and widowed mothers were placed under the guardianship of their own sons. She goes to any lengths without any seeming sentiment in order to ensure the health of the Empire, a health that she believes can be maintained only by her line. When considering her considerable prowess in ruling through Augustus, this wasn't a bad assumption to make at all. However, despite all her seemingly monstrous disregard for the members of her family, she calls the previously reviled and ignored Claudius to her deathbed and makes him promise that she, like her husband, will be deified upon her death. She spent nearly her entire life working to bring the Empire out of bloody civil war and into an age of Emperor ruled peace and prosperity, but she doesn't believe that this will save her from the fires of the underworld. The only thing that can save her from punishment for poisoning and banishing multitudes, many of them members of her own family, is to make her a god. In fact, I would've almost preferred reading the story from her point of view, if it weren't for that fact Claudius survived her and lived to see the tumultuous reigns of her son Tiberius and her grandson Caligula. It is through his eyes that one is able to see that, while Livia was a masterful player at the game of all-powerful leadership, she didn't give much thought to the psychological damage she was wreaking on those she expected to continue her rule, or how they would manage to cope without her complete control of the realm. If she had, it's hard to say how the history of Western Roman Empire would've evolved. My bets are on that it wouldn't have ended with Nero, and maybe would even have continued for far longer than it ended up doing.

That's pure conjecture, though. What isn't is that the book ends with Claudius becoming Emperor, and is continued in [book:Claudius the God and His Wife Messalina|52251]. Based on the brief insights into his character that he chose to insert into his historical account, within the academically inclined soul of his there lies some small worms of grandeur, lofty views of himself that so far his career of pandering and pretending have not substantiated. It will be interesting to see whether these worms grow any, and how they express themselves his hands grasp the reins of the Empire and they are let loose on a much wider field of play. He's the newest member of this train of deified royalty, and how he chooses to cope with this remains to be seen. show less

Claudius, fourth Emperor of Rome, is said to have composed an autobiography now lost to history. In the 1930s a cash-strapped Robert Graves decided to try filling in this blank with a two-volume fictional work. In this first volume, he has Claudius describe the rule of the first three Emperors, all of whom he knew during his lifetime. It is as wonderful a companion to Tacitus' Annals as I had hoped. It fills in the story of Augustus which Tacitus spent little time on, and clarifies the crimes of Tiberias (whom I'd found at least somewhat sympathetic, but not at all now). Tacitus' coverage of Caligula has been lost but it's all here. I doubt whether Graves selected Claudius as his narrator so much for the purpose of redeeming his image show more (although in this first volume at least he certainly does that), as much as because he could tell the story of the early Roman Empire from an ideal point of view.

This fictional memoir approach makes it comparable to Yourcenar's account of Hadrian. This is not as dense, but both heavily rely on telling more than showing, and feature an enormous amount of detailed family relationships, military maneuvers and political machinations. They differ in two significant respects. For one, Robert Graves waxes more poetic than Yourcenar - literally, in his recounting of invented prophecies, quoting from Homer, etc. Secondly, Graves in particular is a wizard at completing our knowledge of events beyond what's recorded. I was too often forgetting that I was reading fiction, wondering in surprise about some astonishing fact before I had to remember that it wasn't (necessarily) how events actually occurred. Graves writes a very plausible and often exciting story, one that makes an enormous villain out of Livia and a victim out of Julia, swaps Postumus with his impersonator, attributes definitive blame for various deaths, and does various other tricks. I picked up on a few of these thanks to other reading (e.g. Tacitus) and by referring to the internet, but I'm sure I missed a few gems. An annotated edition of this novel would be brilliant, if it could cite through endnotes which parts of the narrative can be found in contemporary sources and which appear to be invented.

I would suggest that nothing Graves speculated is entirely implausible. He adheres to the known history, and what makes this so fascinating is that quite possibly he's guessed right on all counts. Who can say now? show less

Engrossing, fascinating, disturbing, with deadpan humour shining through at times. I really liked Claudius as a narrator and character (especially Claudius' conversation with Caligula when the latter decided that he was a god - priceless).
It was very impressive how Robert Graves made me believe that I was reading a real autobiography of Claudius. I had to remind myself that it's historical FICTION...

I found it a bit challenging to keep track of who was who and the (dysfunctional) imperial family relationships - somebody should have included a family tree/a chart in the book. But I am not complaining...

P.S. I remember being very interested in Suetonius' The Twelve Caesars when I was small, while digging through my grandparents' show more bookshelves. Obviously, it was something about Ancient Rome, and the author had a cool name. But I never got around to reading it, there were so many other books... Since my book club had chosen "I, Claudius", could it be a sign that it's time for me to read "The Twelve Caesars"? show less

I, Claudius is an utterly unputdownable historical fiction about Imperial Ancient Rome in all its political gore and glory. Packed with political machinations and scheming straight from the (fictional) autobiography written by Roman Emperor Claudius, the famed The Idiot/Roman mythology's Vulcan, this novel is engrossingly twisty and sneaky. More than a telling of his life and his absurdly incidental nomination to power—with a feign of stupidity used as one of his advantages—this also covers Augustus, Tiberius, and Caligula's reign. To say the manipulations and betrayals are driven by personal interests alone is only dust on the surface. The insistence of these plots necessary for the good of the Roman Empire reexamines the show more characters' actions and decisions. Graves' I, Claudius has no pause for any dry or dull moment either; everything is written in exact humour and wit. And due to the superb quality of the novel, there are times when its historical inaccuracies become incontestable and difficult to separate from the historical truths of one of the most sweeping and influential civilisations of humankind. Sumptuously controversial and pleasurably conniving, how there is brutality, horror, and greed in such an advance culture also absolutely magnifies society's glaring regressions and stagnancies. And by god, it's not in any way shocking at all but still a note to take: the senators then haven't got a hair's width of difference with the senators of today. You kind of wish we still have the Stairs of Mourning. show less

One of the giants in the field, Robert Graves' artful stitching of Tacitus and Suetonius' accounts of the life of the Fourth Roman emperor, reads well, and holds up today. Lacking some of the more immediate details of domestic life, and the remarkable numbers of suicides and outright assassinations, this is a clear portrait of the narrator, and most especially of his remarkably vicious grandmother, Livia the wife of Augustus. The choice of the life of the studious Julio-Claudian, allowed Graves to avoid going into the details which may appeal to the modern taste for bedroom scenes and gritty sword fights. Read it to discover the "high road" of historical imagination, and, because it is a hard book to stop once you start.