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A review by drifterontherun
The Sleepwalkers: How Europe Went to War in 1914 by Christopher Clark
3.0
After all the hype, all the praise, all the critics who said this was the best book about the origins of the First World War that had ever been written, you'd forgive me for starting this book in something of an ecstatic tizzy. But ultimately, when you finally get to page 613 and a final sentence making justifying use of the title, you realize that you've been sitting through the previous 612 pages with a horrible case of blue balls. And believe me, I don't say that lightly.
For 100 pages or so, Clark's book is interesting enough. I'd never read a book on the First World War that delved with such depth into the political machinations of the Serbian government and all the plotting and assassinations happening behind the scenes and in the middle of the night is, almost, thrilling. However, as soon as the comparatively brisk first part ends we're on to greater European entanglements and a cast of characters so large it makes Game of Thrones look like a dress rehearsal for a middle school Christmas pageant. At the end of the book, my head was still swimming with names.
This wouldn't be such a bad thing, except that Clark's prose seems designed to send one into a catatonic state. Yes, spectacularly researched and packed full of a staggering amount of information, but it's all for naught when all that academia is packaged not in a smooth, easy to swallow pill but a mannequin's leg you're expected to put up your ass. Clark, why do you have to be so boring! For fuck's sake, who gives a damn what the French Ambassador in Russia cares about the Morocco or the first Balkan War when it is never clear what one has to do with the other or how they ultimately tie in with anything else that happens. It feels just like filler. To put a modern day spin on it, it would be as if the French Ambassador to Germany were discussing his hesitation over the British and American decision to go into Iraq in 2003. Sorry Mr. Ambassador, but as you don't call the shots or are seemingly tight with anyone who does, 1. What the fuck does it matter what you think and, 2. Why are we reading about your thoughts for so many damned pages?
Not to say that Clark doesn't have his moments, when he talks to us like we're people rather than computers. Noting how the rulers of many of the great powers at the time were, more often than not, connected in blood or marriage to one another, he writes:
“Viewed from this perspective, the outbreak of war in 1914 looks rather like the culmination of a family feud.”
I read Margaret MacMillan's "The War That Ended Peace" immediately before this one and I must say that on all fronts, MacMillan bests Clark. MacMillan contains all the political intrigue and diplomatic wrangling in her book but writes with such an urgency that we feel as if we are there in the room with the key players as they head towards the fateful decision. Not only is MacMillan far more readable while still being equally informative, but her characters just feel more real, or at least, more present than they do in "The Sleepwalkers."
In the end, the only satisfaction I feel upon finishing "The Sleepwalkers" is an immense sense of relief that it's finally over... Better books, and lovers, await.
For 100 pages or so, Clark's book is interesting enough. I'd never read a book on the First World War that delved with such depth into the political machinations of the Serbian government and all the plotting and assassinations happening behind the scenes and in the middle of the night is, almost, thrilling. However, as soon as the comparatively brisk first part ends we're on to greater European entanglements and a cast of characters so large it makes Game of Thrones look like a dress rehearsal for a middle school Christmas pageant. At the end of the book, my head was still swimming with names.
This wouldn't be such a bad thing, except that Clark's prose seems designed to send one into a catatonic state. Yes, spectacularly researched and packed full of a staggering amount of information, but it's all for naught when all that academia is packaged not in a smooth, easy to swallow pill but a mannequin's leg you're expected to put up your ass. Clark, why do you have to be so boring! For fuck's sake, who gives a damn what the French Ambassador in Russia cares about the Morocco or the first Balkan War when it is never clear what one has to do with the other or how they ultimately tie in with anything else that happens. It feels just like filler. To put a modern day spin on it, it would be as if the French Ambassador to Germany were discussing his hesitation over the British and American decision to go into Iraq in 2003. Sorry Mr. Ambassador, but as you don't call the shots or are seemingly tight with anyone who does, 1. What the fuck does it matter what you think and, 2. Why are we reading about your thoughts for so many damned pages?
Not to say that Clark doesn't have his moments, when he talks to us like we're people rather than computers. Noting how the rulers of many of the great powers at the time were, more often than not, connected in blood or marriage to one another, he writes:
“Viewed from this perspective, the outbreak of war in 1914 looks rather like the culmination of a family feud.”
I read Margaret MacMillan's "The War That Ended Peace" immediately before this one and I must say that on all fronts, MacMillan bests Clark. MacMillan contains all the political intrigue and diplomatic wrangling in her book but writes with such an urgency that we feel as if we are there in the room with the key players as they head towards the fateful decision. Not only is MacMillan far more readable while still being equally informative, but her characters just feel more real, or at least, more present than they do in "The Sleepwalkers."
In the end, the only satisfaction I feel upon finishing "The Sleepwalkers" is an immense sense of relief that it's finally over... Better books, and lovers, await.