"All that mankind has done, thought, gained or been: it is lying as in magic preservation in the pages of books."
-Thomas Carlyle

by Daniel Morgan

Throughout high school, I had the good luck to have several friends of a somewhat literary bent recommend books for me to read. Having then read and hated all the books they loved, I resolved not to let others waste my time unless they could give some convincing proof to their prejudice. A few months ago, however, my old history professor recommended to me The Dream of Scipio as a novel that blended history and literature and philosophy. Having personally wanted to "break into" the historical fiction genre for a while, even though this was published in this decade and was on the idiot's gauge best-seller list, I relented for once.

Pears weaves together three of the darkest spots in history: The fifth-century fall of the Roman Empire, the Black Death of the fourteenth century, and the Nazi invasion of World War II. All of these scenes feature an unlikely hero, anti-Semitic hysteria, and the elusive Lady Wisdom in the hills of Provence around Avignon. The archetypes are not merely copied and pasted into each era, but filled with all too human fallibility and emotions. At the heart of this triptych is the Neo-platonic treatise The Dream of Scipio (named, of course, in homage to Cicero's famous work), containing some of the last remnants of Reason or true philosophy before the barbarians can raze the south of France. This document, inspired by a Greek-style peripatetic named Sophia and written by her admirer Manlius Hippomanes in the fifth-century, is carried onto the other two hero-lady types. The 14th-century poet Olivier de Noyen in his search for scattered ancient writings discovers the "Dream." As a poet, his work (and thus the "Dream") is then discovered and re-interpreted by Julien Barneuve, the 20th-century literary scholar.

A sense of the inevitable, the ominous tide of history pervades this work is a wonderful way. Without any moralizing or didactic philippics, Pears can sketch a Roman dinner scene that recalls how much larger Manlius' philosophical coterie was in previous years and how the lands around have been untended and uncultivated due to raids and desertion of workers. The feeling of how fragile civilization is, that any generation might see it slip away, is viscerally brought to the foreground.

Significantly, Pears compares the Nazi regime to a plague or a barbarian horde, which makes sense since the 1940s were arguably Europe's darkest hour. How would life have been had the Nazis won? It would certainly make for a dystopic novel, full of all the well-run machines of progress and death. The anti-Semitism is a constant theme from medieval to modern times as well. Rather than finding civilization in that hypothetical world of übermensch, Pears believes the result would be one of the greatest dark ages. Ironically, I believe we are in a dark age at present, all the more dark for believing ourselves free.

It is a bold course to steer down lanes of history with so narrow a narrative scope. But Pears wisely and realistically avoids scenes with Churchill or Wycliffe or Boethius, so that his three protagonists can have center stage. Each man finds himself in compromising situations. Julien is forced to work as a propagandist censor for the Vichy government, Olivier as an agent of conniving patrons, and Manlius as the reluctant salvager of antiquity through the political garb of Christianity.

Unfortunately, each time the hero goes astray from the wise woman's words, he has suffered for it. Eastern female-worship is in the distant background, but provides a sensible link to the philosophical center. The ambivalence of decisions and the divergence between Julien's friend's Bernand and Marcel were fascinating to see unfold. If the reader is used to plots with more action or fancy (Tom Clancy or Neil Gaiman), the slow start may seem taxing, but the weaved complexity of the work more than makes up for the lagging dramatic tension during the three peacetimes.

I look forward to checking out his other detective novels (though the "Dream" is only a quasi-detective piece), especially his other historical sketch, An Instance of the Fingerpost. So this is me, the stranger you aren't supposed to talk to, recommending you Iain Pears. If you do not like it, don't worry, you won't hurt my feelings. But don't expect to cheat off of me in study hall either.

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