History's the Thing

For the wit and mind of man, if it work upon matter, worketh according to the stuff and is limited thereby; but if it work upon itself, as the spider worketh his web, then it is endless, and brings forth indeed cobwebs of learning.

—Sir Francis Bacon

Sir Francis Bacon meant something rather different, but he might have been referring to a recent cluster of books treating history through human artifacts — anchoring eras, ideas, and events in things we can see, touch, and, in the case of one book, ingest. 

The genre mostly began with Neil MacGregor’s A History of the World in 100 Objects. MacGregor, director of the British Museum, had a unique advantage: he could study his artifacts under a single vast roof. His plan was equally vast: the objects "had to range in date from the beginning of human history around two million years ago and come right up to the present day [and] had to cover the whole world, as far as possible equally… to address as many aspects of human experience as proved practicable, and to tell us about whole societies, not just the rich and powerful within them." Luckily for us, the opportunity was matched by the man: early on, MacGregor uses the phrase "The Necessary Poetry of Things," a perfect description of the way he treats his artifacts.

100 Objects’ sweep and balance are impeccable: every inhabited continent, at least 50 countries, only a slight British tilt (11 objects). The history of acquisition also provides surprises: two European conquerors, Alexander the Great and Augustus, are represented by portraits found in Turkey and Sudan, respectively. The objects are divided into 20 chronological sets — from earliest humans, through the growth of religions, cities, states, and empires, to commerce and exploration. MacGregor prefers aesthetic objects, whether their use was political, religious, commercial, or purely ornamental. 

100 Objects itself is a multivalent artifact of our century. The radio series predating the book is available on podcast, the objects are on the BBC website, and the text comes as hardcover, paperback, or ebook. Sadly, the least accessible is the paperback, almost precisely brick-shaped, whose tightly bound pages can barely be held wide enough to read. The ebook, on the other hand, allows readers to zoom in on the photos, which stand up well to magnification. 

Perhaps the best way to capture MacGregor’s objects, without slighting 90 or more of them, is to contrast this volume with its American epigone. Whether from emulation or envy, the U.S. has tried to one-up the Brits in The Smithsonian’s History of America in 101 Objects. Although interesting, this volume, written by Richard Kurin, the Smithsonian’s under secretary for history, art, and culture, is all the more intriguing when set beside MacGregor’s.

For one thing, the "America" in the title is a limited America — the book’s purpose being to "use the collections of the Smithsonian to tell the history of the United States." No objects reflect life in Central or South America, and there are only two pre-Columbian items. The centuries when Europeans lived here as imperial subjects are reduced to five objects. Only three made or used by native people are included — even though the Smithsonian has more than a quarter million objects in its Native American museums. African Americans fare better, with 11 chapters, divided among slavery, civil rights, and black achievements. Latinos, on the other hand, are represented only by Cesar Chavez’s jacket.

But enough of what isn’t here. What kind of history does this book tell?

It covers American ingenuity well, including more than 20 American inventions or technological achievements, from the cotton gin to the Magellan telescope. MacGregor, by contrast, almost ignores technology, except for coinage and other media of commerce. In fact, none of MacGregor’s 100 objects requires fossil fuels, while nearly a quarter of Kurin’s consume energy.

As mentioned before, the great majority of MacGregor’s objects have aesthetic value. Though Kurin covers art in the broadest sense, portraits dominate, including Gilbert Stuart’s George Washington (aka The Athenaeum), Shepard Fairey’s Obama (Hope), a poster of Bob Dylan, and a photograph of Frederick Douglass. MacGregor uses the word "beautiful" and "beauty" five times as often as does Kurin. Of Kurin’s 12 uses of "beauty," five refer to Marilyn Monroe. 

Along with invention, war is central to the Smithsonian’s America. No fewer than 15 war-related items are included in Kurin’s collection, from revolvers to gas masks to the Enola Gay, and America’s major wars are mentioned a somewhat staggering 178 times. By contrast, MacGregor includes only one weapon, and all the named wars of the last millennium, by my count, are cited only 26 times.

Conversely, religion merits hardly a mention in Kurin’s book: he chooses a Spanish mission painting, a Bible (Jefferson’s), a hymnal (Harriet Tubman’s), and a Mormon temple stone. More than 20 of MacGregor’s objects are connected to religion, and none of them are presented as private property of the famous.

Most of those who make it into 100 Objects are deities or world conquerors (Alexander the Great, Suleiman the Magnificent, Ashoka). The Smithsonian is more democratic, including items connected to Benjamin Franklin and Washington, Harriet Tubman, Jacqueline Kennedy, Louis Armstrong, Audie Murphy, and Julia Child. (Plus Mickey Mouse, Kermit the Frog, and R2D2 themselves.)

Only once do the books select a parallel artifact: a Clovis spear point is Kurin’s oldest human artifact, and MacGregor’s third oldest. The openings of each description capture the authors’ contrasting styles and intentions:

MacGregor: "Imagine. You’re in a green landscape studded with trees and bushes. You’re working in a team of hunters quietly stalking a herd of mammoths. One of the mammoths, you hope, is going to be your supper. You’re clutching a light spear with a sharp, pointed stone at the end of it."

Kurin: "The stone tools in the Smithsonian’s collection may at first glance look deceptively simple, but the stories they tell and the arguments they occasion are complex. Among the most interesting are those concerning the origins of the first Americans."

As a useful compendium of objects to illuminate American history, the Smithsonian volume serves well. But if you want to open a book again and again to consider the long trail leading from Olduvai Gorge to today, with an eloquent and thoughtful companion by your side, invite MacGregor.

But what if, having seen the world (and America), you’d like, as in an old New Yorker cartoon, "to go someplace else"? Several much briefer and more specific books may meet your interests.

If you enjoyed MacGregor’s approach, try his Shakespeare’s Restless World: A Portrait of an Era in Twenty Objects. Again, his choices of objects are far-reaching, as is the range of topics they open. From fencing and theater-going habits, exemplified by a dagger lost in the Thames and a fork excavated from the ruins of the Globe, MacGregor moves through the science and magic of the era, especially the politics of the Elizabethan and early Jacobean worlds. MacGregor shows us the age in all its complexity, from the exquisite (a musical clock) to the grotesque (the eyeball of a Catholic martyr). He also explains numerous scenes in Shakespeare’s plays as his first audiences would have understood them in their context, right up to the day’s political news.

But perhaps you’re tired of moving from cotton gins to rapiers, stone axes to satellites, and want to narrow your focus. Several choices are available. Do little packets of miscellaneous stamps, and binders with sticky corners, set your heart racing, bringing childhood vividly to mind? Then Chris West’s A History of Britain in Thirty-Six Postage Stamps may please you. This is, in every sense, the most parochial of the books: the shortest in pages and time span (a mere 160 years), and the most localized. Non-British readers may be surprised to learn, for example, that British coronations use a replica of St. Edward’s Crown because the "original was lost by King John in the Wash [a bay in eastern England] in 1216."

The British tradition of portraying the reigning monarch on most stamps renders discussion of the actual objects immaterial. Once West describes the development of a postal system, most of his stamps are merely time markers: what was happening while folk were licking this particular sovereign’s behind, as early wags put it? West depicts both the grimmest and the most routine topics. An Irish postmark recalls the Great Hunger, and a German stamp for two million marks exemplifies 1920s hyperinflation and Hitler’s rise. On the other hand, a 1956 stamp somehow leads to British ennui, Suez, antiwar demonstrations, Angry Young Men, skiffle, and rock ’n’ roll, ending triumphantly with the first meeting of John Lennon and Paul McCartney at a church fair in July 1957.

On a vaster scale, try Jerry Brotton’s A History of the World in 12 Maps. This most erudite of our books raises questions about our ability to represent the world accurately, whether with regard to perspective, projection, orientation, or inclusion. The book is a technical history of mapmaking, and a political and religious history of the motives behind mapmakers and their societies, beautifully illustrated with more than 50 maps, making a case that maps are among the most complex and ingenious of all humanity’s artifacts. From Ptolemy to Mercator to Google, Brotton covers the world in his own distinctive way, illustrating his contention that all maps are incomplete, but many are completely fascinating.

Finally, need a drink after all this? Pour it while reading Tom Standage’s A History of the World in 6 Glasses. Whether your tipple is beer, wine, or spirits; tea, coffee, or Coke; you’ll find an amusing story of how your drink took its place in history from Africa to Atlanta, intersecting on the way with the Enlightenment, slavery, and world commerce. As the server who pours your drink would say, "Enjoy."