I agree with some of it. There are definitely too many books. (Disclaimer: I used to sell them).
I have just recently read Inventing Medieval Czechoslovakia 1918-1968: Between Slavs, Germans, and Totalitarian Regimes, a collection of essays. It is not quite targeted at laypeople. Highly recommended.
Perhaps it is more interesting if you already know something about the place and time. I personally was lured in by unspecific positive feelings from reading fiction about Medieval Europe in general; think The Legend of Thyl Ulenspiegel and Lamme Goedzak (of which I have only the vaguest impression left, 20+ years after reading), Notre-Dame des Paris, Shakespeare, Walter Scott, Thomas Mallory, Serbian folk songs, that sort of thing. Of Czechoslovakia proper I’d had only some memory of Jan Hus. (Because they burned him at a stake.) Sure, I had read nonfiction about “Medieval” “Europe”, but it was way more narrow and random: something about science, something about commerce, etc. Pieces of a puzzle that are not supposed to give you the whole picture. I prefer it that way; for a deeper understanding, there are scientific papers anyway.
(I am sure that I don’t have a good idea of where the Middle Ages ended and the Renaissance began. It is too jumbled together in one myth.)
But back to the book. The thing it describes is how different scholars interpreted the same pieces of culture. Some of them were Germans and wanted to stress “the Germanic influence” or lack of it, or something. Some were Czech, some were Polish, some were Soviet, some were Russians-but-not-Soviet. (The story of Institutum Kondakovianum reads like a black comedy—for me personally, blacker than black, but all the funnier for it.) Everyone wanted something for their own agendas and some were in correspondence. It was like they all had one claw to reconstruct the dinosaur, only it happened to be a political animal. (Kidding. It’s way more complex than that.) They wanted to find the meaning of the art… and they were also prepared to read the meaning into the art.
So on the one hand, my expectations were wrong. The book did not have a “let’s invent the Middle Ages!” motif. But I am glad I was wrong. Because I used to value my nonfictional “pieces of a puzzle” simply for being nonfictional. I would never have thought in any depth about the history of historiography. I just kinda thought that yes, some people lied, but surely everyone knew what was propaganda and what was honest science. It was an expectation I had never questioned.
I still have my fictional Europe. I would be glad to rid myself of an old myth, but it seems easier, in terms of time and money, to add a new one as a counterbalance.
So—what I mean to say: read everything and digest what you can. It’s too late to get picky.
I agree with some of it. There are definitely too many books. (Disclaimer: I used to sell them).
I have just recently read Inventing Medieval Czechoslovakia 1918-1968: Between Slavs, Germans, and Totalitarian Regimes, a collection of essays. It is not quite targeted at laypeople. Highly recommended.
Perhaps it is more interesting if you already know something about the place and time. I personally was lured in by unspecific positive feelings from reading fiction about Medieval Europe in general; think The Legend of Thyl Ulenspiegel and Lamme Goedzak (of which I have only the vaguest impression left, 20+ years after reading), Notre-Dame des Paris, Shakespeare, Walter Scott, Thomas Mallory, Serbian folk songs, that sort of thing. Of Czechoslovakia proper I’d had only some memory of Jan Hus. (Because they burned him at a stake.) Sure, I had read nonfiction about “Medieval” “Europe”, but it was way more narrow and random: something about science, something about commerce, etc. Pieces of a puzzle that are not supposed to give you the whole picture. I prefer it that way; for a deeper understanding, there are scientific papers anyway.
(I am sure that I don’t have a good idea of where the Middle Ages ended and the Renaissance began. It is too jumbled together in one myth.)
But back to the book. The thing it describes is how different scholars interpreted the same pieces of culture. Some of them were Germans and wanted to stress “the Germanic influence” or lack of it, or something. Some were Czech, some were Polish, some were Soviet, some were Russians-but-not-Soviet. (The story of Institutum Kondakovianum reads like a black comedy—for me personally, blacker than black, but all the funnier for it.) Everyone wanted something for their own agendas and some were in correspondence. It was like they all had one claw to reconstruct the dinosaur, only it happened to be a political animal. (Kidding. It’s way more complex than that.) They wanted to find the meaning of the art… and they were also prepared to read the meaning into the art.
So on the one hand, my expectations were wrong. The book did not have a “let’s invent the Middle Ages!” motif. But I am glad I was wrong. Because I used to value my nonfictional “pieces of a puzzle” simply for being nonfictional. I would never have thought in any depth about the history of historiography. I just kinda thought that yes, some people lied, but surely everyone knew what was propaganda and what was honest science. It was an expectation I had never questioned.
I still have my fictional Europe. I would be glad to rid myself of an old myth, but it seems easier, in terms of time and money, to add a new one as a counterbalance.
So—what I mean to say: read everything and digest what you can. It’s too late to get picky.