Book Review: Where are the Women? A Guide to an Imagined Scotland

*Where are the Women? A Guide to an Imagined Scotland* by Sara Sheridan.

Sara Sheridan. Where are the Women? A Guide to an Imagined Scotland. Edinburgh: Historic Environment Scotland, 2019. RRP £9.99 paperback.

In Edinburgh, there are more statues of animals than there are of women. There are only 5 monuments to women in Glasgow. The underrepresentation of women in the built environment is not a uniquely Scottish problem, across the world men are memorialised by monuments, statues, street names, and buildings much more frequently than women. This gives the impression that women just haven’t achieved as much, which is, quite frankly, bullshit. In my Turbulent Londoners and Turbulent Scots blog posts, I recognise and attempt to publicise remarkable women and their achievements. So Where are the Women? A Guide to an Imagined Scotland immediately appealed to me as a creative, and probably more effective, attempt to do the same.

Where are the Women? A Guide to an Imagined Scotland is a guidebook for a hypothetical Scotland in which women are memorialised in the built environment to the same extent as men. Region by region, Sheridan traverses the country, renaming some features and creating others. In each case, she recounts the stories of the women who have contributed to so much, not just in Scotland but around the world. Sheridan also echoes recent calls to move away from statues as a primary form of memorialisation, instead suggesting more creative monuments such as events, benches, murals, fountains, and parks. Each chapter has a beautiful stylised map and sketches of some of the monuments by illustrator and designer Jenny Proudfoot.

The map of central Edinburgh in *Where are the Women?*

There were times that I found the structure of Where are the Women? a bit repetitive, but this is largely because a guidebook is not meant to be read cover to cover. I am confident that I will go back to this book time again, particularly when I travel in Scotland, and get more out of it each time. Each story does not go into much detail, but Sheridan explains that that this was a deliberate decision: “I wanted to cram this book with stories – making it dense and capturing a real sense of how limited our mainstream history is, in terms of gender” (Sheridan, 2019, p. 411). I found the chapter about Edinburgh easiest to connect too, as it is the only part of Scotland that I have spent any significant amount of time. It frustrated me that I couldn’t get my head around the geography of Scotland’s other regions. However, that is not Sheridan’s fault, and once I stopped trying to figure out how all the monuments related to each other in space (it’s not easy to take off that geographer’s hat!) and just let the stories and memorials wash over me, I enjoyed it much more.

If we want things to change, we need to ask difficult questions about the way our history has been represented and whether some of the things that history currently tells us are valid. We must celebrate our female stories alongside our male ones and make them just as visible.
Sheridan, 2019, p. 14.

Where are the Women? is a beautifully written and designed book that will interest anyone who is interested in histories that have previously been overlooked or ignored. But it is also a demand for history to be represented more equally in the spaces around us. The fact that this book is published by Historic Environment Scotland, the public body charged with protecting and promoting Scotland’s historic spaces, gives me some hope that the demand is being listened to.

Book Review: London Clay-Journeys in the Deep City

*London Clay: Journeys in the Deep City* by Tom Chivers.

Tom Chivers. London Clay: Journeys in the Deep City. London: Doubleday, 2021. RRP £20 hardback.

Finally, after 7 years of Turbulent London, I feel like I have made it as a blogger. This sense of achievement is because a few weeks ago, I received my first review copy of a book. Top tip: giving me a book is a pretty sure fire way to get on my good side! I really enjoyed reading London Clay: Journeys in the Deep City, which will be released on 9th September, and I would say this even if I had had to pay for it.

Back in 2013, writer, arts producer and Londoner Tom Chivers used the British Geological Survey website to modify a Collins Streetfinder map of London, tracing the city’s geology over the buildings, streets, and open spaces that we are familiar with today. Over the next decade, he used that map to follow the routes of London’s lost rivers in an attempt “to find the essence of this place; to understand the city as a living, breathing landscape” (Chivers, 2021; p.3). London Clay is the result, 8 essays which are not just an attempt to make sense of London, but also the author’s own life. In some timescales, those of urban development and an individual life, for example, 10 years is a long time. A London neighbourhood can change beyond recognition in a decade, transformed by the forces of gentrification and capitalism. Chivers gets marries, has 2 children, and lives through Brexit and the Covid-19 pandemic over the course of his explorations. In terms of geological time though, and even in relation to human history, 10 years is nothing at all, a blip that barely registers. In London Clay, Chivers blends these different conceptions of time well, shifting back and forth between the geological past, human history, and his own life story with apparent ease. Chivers’ love for London is palpable, and permeates the entire book.

The structure of London Clay meanders through the city like the buried, forgotten rivers that Chivers’ searches for. It also meanders through Chivers’ own biography; starting with his young adulthood in Aldgate, then jumping to his childhood in Herne Hill and Norwood, then skipping forward to his current family home in Rotherhithe. The book is beautifully produced; as well as the striking cover, each section is accompanied by an illustration, and each chapter starts with a map. The maps, created by Clare Varney, are worthy of note; ignoring most modern roads and streets, they focus on geology, river courses, ancient roads, and a few key landmarks, showing London in a way I’ve never seen it before, both familiar and disconcerting at the same time.

Perhaps because of the nature of the book, the essays that I enjoyed the most are the ones that I have a personal connection with, for example Dead River, which traces the course of the Neckinger through Lambeth, Southwark and Bermondsey. I lived in Borough and Elephant and Castle for 2 and a half years, and I used to walk through the Rockingham Estate, which sits on the mysterious Rockingham Anomaly, twice a week to get to my Zumba class on Great Dover Street. At the time, I had no idea that I was walking over a peat-filled depression in the terrace of gravel which surrounds the Thames. Chivers’ hopes that the book will inspire readers to “think about what lies beneath your feet and by doing so reveal new ways of looking at the world” (Chivers, 2021; p.7). Edinburgh, where I live now, is certainly a city with some interesting geology going on, but London Clay left me thinking more about my past than my present. This is no bad thing – Chivers himself seems a bit surprised at where the book took him and what it became.

London Clay: Journeys in the Deep City is a well-written, well-presented, engaging book, in the same vein as Mudlarking by Lara Maiklem and Scarp by Nick Papadimitrou. If you enjoy books that combine history, travel, and memoir in ways that complicate otherwise familiar places, then you will enjoy London Clay.

Book Review: Sylvia Pankhurst-Suffragette, Socialist and Scourge of Empire

*Sylvia Pankhurst: Suffragette, Socialist and Scourge of Empire* by Katherine Connelly.

Katherine Connelly. Sylvia Pankhurst: Suffragette, Socialist and Scourge of Empire. London: Pluto Press, 2013. RRP £14.99 paperback.

Sylvia is my favourite Pankhurst. Her mother and older sister Emmeline and Christabel are the most famous Pankhursts, but their conservative and authoritarian tendencies are off putting. Adela is fascinating, but it is hard to like her because of her conversion to far-right nationalism in the 1940s. Sylvia, however, remained committed to her socialist principles throughout her life, and campaigned tirelessly to make like better for marginalised groups of all kinds. She has been one of my heroes for some time, so I was excited to read Sylvia Pankhurst: Suffragette, Socialist and Scourge of Empire and find out more about this fierce campaigner. The book is part of Pluto Press’ Revolutionary Lives series: short, critical biographies of prominent radical figures ranging from Gerard Winstanley to Leila Khaled.

Sylvia was above all profoundly committed to a radical, far-reaching conception of democracy for women, for workers and for people struggling to overthrow the dominance of Empire…For those in today’s social movements who want to change the world, Sylvia’s ideas, campaigns and the dilemmas she confronted with are more important that we have been led to believe.
Connelly, 2013; p.3.

Katherine Connelly has written an engaging, well-paced, and insightful biography. Sylvia’s life was so varied and eventful that it would be hard to write a boring biography, but Connelly’s style is clear and logical. The text is punctuated with quotes from Sylvia herself and those who knew and encountered her, which introduces a broad range of perspectives. There is no denying that Sylvia was pretty awesome. From her suffrage activity, to her rejection of stereotypical family values, to her defence of Ethiopia when it was invaded by Italy in 1935, to her rejection of all colonialism, there is lots about her to admire. It is tempting to put historical figures like Sylvia on a pedestal, portraying them as perfect visionaries who cannot be critiqued. Connelly does not fall into this trap, pointing out the moments when Sylvia could have made better strategic decisions, or when her beliefs held her back from building connections with other activists and groups.

Sylvia was involved in a dazzling array of organisations during her lifetime, and left-wing groups are not particularly known for having catchy, easy to remember names. Even Sylvia’s own organisation in the East End of London changed it’s name multiple times to reflect Sylvia’s evolving beliefs. Starting as the East London Federation of the WSPU, it became the East London Federation of Suffragettes in 1914, then the Worker’s Suffrage Foundation in 1916, the Worker’s Socialist Federation in 1918, the the Communist Party (British Section of the Third International) – not to be confused with the Communist Party of Great Britain – and finally the Communist Worker’s Party before it dissolved itself in 1924. In other books I have read about this period I have got confused by the huge range of radical groups and their different perspectives, but this wasn’t the case as I read Sylvia Pankhurst. Perhaps because the focus is on how Sylvia’s changing political sensibilities were manifested through the organisations she led and worked with rather than the groups themselves, I found it easy to keep everything straight in my head.

Sylvia Pankhurst was a truly fascinating and inspiring woman, and Connelly has done an excellent job of telling her life story. I enjoyed learning more not just about what Sylvia did, but why she did it, how her political beliefs drove and shaped her. If you know Sylvia’s story well then you will still get a lot out of this book, and if you don’t know much about her then you should definitely read it – Sylvia deserves to be better known, and there is much that modern activists could learn from her.

Book Review: Mudlarking- Lost and Found on the river Thames

*Mudlarking: Lost and Found on the River Thames* by Lara Maiklem

Lara Maiklem. Mudlarking: Lost and Found on the River Thames. London: Bloomsbury, 2019. RRP £9.99 paperback.

I have always been curious about Mudlarks. Once a way of scraping together a living for some of London’s poorest residents, modern Mudlarks are more likely to be hobbyists and amateur archaeologists. They search the Thames foreshore at low tide, searching for historical objects revealed or washed up by the river. So when Mudlarking: Lost and Found on the River Thames was published, I was keen to give it a read. I was not disappointed; Mudlarking is a fascinating book, and a joy to read.

For just a few hours each day, the river gives us access to its contents, which shift and change as the water ebbs and flows, to reveal the story of a city, its people, and their relationship with a natural force…As I have discovered, it is often the tiniest of objects that tell the greatest stories.
Maiklem, 2019; p. 5.

Mudlarking is not easy to categorise. It’s not a history book, a memoir, or a travel book, but it has elements of all 3. Lara describes the process and experience of mudlarking; explores what mudlarking, and the Thames more generally, means to her; and investigates and speculates on the origins and history of a huge range of objects that she has found over the years, from the mundane to the extraordinary.

The book is structured geographically, beginning at Teddington, where the tidal Thames begins, and finishing in the Estuary. The narrative winds and curves however, much like the river itself. Sometimes it jumps back Lara’s childhood, pauses on a particularly memorable trip to the river, or stops to reflect on a different types of object such as pins, buttons, or clay pipes. Mudlarking always comes back to the river however, and its relationship to London.

Lara Maiklem on the foreshore of the Thames, with Battersea power station in the background (Source: NPR/Lara Maiklem).

London is a city where the past is never far from the surface; simply turning a corner can catapult you back hundreds of years. There is just so much history there, so many lives and stories, most of which are irrevocably lost to us. The objects Lara finds on the Thames foreshore are a way for her to connect with those lost stories, to imagine Londoners long gone and conjure the city as it used to be in her mind. This struck a chord with me; I also find myself daydreaming about past people and places when presented with an archival document or running my hand along the walls of an ancient church.

Not only is Mudlarking well written, it is also well put together. It is full of special touches, from the illustrations on the inside cover, lovingly drawn by one of Lara’s fellow mudlarkers, to the font used for the front cover and chapter epigraphs, the type of which was consigned to the river by its’ creator in the early twentieth century. There are also two lovely maps of the river (there are few books that couldn’t be improved without the inclusion of a map or two, in my opinion!), and images of many of the finds Lara discusses.

Thanks to the Coronavirus lockdown, I haven’t been to London in five months. Reading Mudlarking: Lost and Found on the River Thames was a wonderful way for me to reconnect with a city that I miss. There are so many books about London, it isn’t easy to find a fresh angle. In Mudlarking, Lara Maiklem has done this, and then some.

Book Review: Bad Girls- The Rebels and Renegades of Holloway Prison

Bad Girls Book Cover — *Bad Girls* by Caitlin Davies.

Caitlin Davies. Bad Girls: The Rebels and Renegades of Holloway Prison. London: John Murray, 2018. RRP £10.99 paperback.

For 9 years, I studied at Royal Holloway, a college of the University of London in Egham, Surrey. For 9 years, when I told people I went to Royal Holloway, I had to put up with jokes about Holloway Prison, the infamous women’s penitentiary in London. Beyond that, I didn’t know much about Holloway apart from the fact that a lot of suffragettes were imprisoned there. So when I heard about Bad Girls: The Rebels and Renegades of Holloway Prison, it seemed like a good opportunity to find out more about why Holloway is so well known.

First opened in 1852, HMP Holloway was made female-only in 1902, rebuilt in 1971-85, and closed for good in 2016. In that time, it has witnessed dramatic changes in society, including seismic shifts in the treatment of both women and prisoners. In Bad Girls, Caitlin Davies recounts how life in the prison changed over more than 150 years, telling the stories of governors and staff as well as the women incarcerated there. Some of the women described in Bad Girls are well known, either for the severity of their crimes, such as Myra Hindley, or because they took a stand for what they believed in, like the suffragettes and the women of Greenham Common. The vast majority of the women who spent time in Holloway, however, are unlikely to remembered by anyone but their families. That does not, however, make their stories any less fascinating.

the history of women in Holloway is a bleak one and stories of triumph are few and far between. It’s impossible not to feel depressed at a century and a half of women betrayed and coerced, condemned and mistreated, wrongly imprisoned, punished and executed. But this is why its story has to be told, because women have for too long been kept out of sight and out of mind behind the walls of Holloway.

Davies, 2018; p.316.

The women imprisoned in Holloway did not just break the law, they also undermined society’s perceptions of gender; crime is simply not feminine. Caitlin Davies doesn’t just tell a good story, she also explores how dominant narratives around gender and femininity are tied up with understandings of criminality and punishment. She questions what prisons are for and highlights how their dual purposes of punishment and rehabilitation rarely complement each other. This book has as much to say to the present as it does to the past.

Although many of Caitlin Davies’ books are clearly based on extensive historical research, she describes herself as a writer rather than a historian, and this is reflected in Bad Girls. Unlike most history books, Davies herself is very much a part of the narrative; she details her visits to prisons and cemeteries, and describes the London cafes in which she interviews former inmates of Holloway and their descendants. I enjoyed this approach; it felt as though Davies is taking the reader with her on her journey to uncover the stories of women who’s lives have often been swept under the carpet.

Bad Girls is an excellent book. Not only is it a great read, it is also an ideal example of how an understanding of the past can illuminate significant issues in the present-day. In the acknowledgements, Davies mentions that she had to cut out a lot of material, and that a lot of stories have been left untold. My response to that is: when can we expect the sequel?

Book Review: Power Games- A Political History of the Olympics

Power Games front cover — *Power Games* by Jules Boykoff.

Jules Boykoff. Power Games: A Political History of the Olympics. London: Verso, 2016. RRP £11.99 paperback.

I have had Power Games: A Political History of the Olympics sitting on my bookshelf for a while, but with the postponement of the Tokyo Olympics until 2021 – the Games have only been cancelled three times since they started in 1896 – it felt like an appropriate time to actually read it. Power Games is an engaging and insightful history of the modern Olympics, from their conception by Baron Pierre de Coubertin in the late 1800s, to their current incarnation. Jules Boykoff, an Olympic athlete turned academic, brings a unique perspective to the topic as someone who has both participated in and studied the Olympics.

Power Games is arranged chronologically. Some games are discussed in depth, whilst others are barely mentioned. Boykoff focuses on several themes throughout however, particularly the downsides of the games. The issues he discusses include a lack of accountability, greenwashing, extensive and long-term public debt, profit going to private companies, displacement of residents, and increased policing powers. Boykoff discusses the resistance movements that have grown up in host cities including Vancouver, London, and Rio de Janeiro. In some cases, activists have even managed to prevent cities bidding to host the games, including Boston, Hamburg, Rome, and Budapest.

The Olympic movement has descended into a slow-motion crisis. Fewer and fewer cities are game for the Games. For too long host cities have worked in service of the Olympics. It’s time for the Olympics to start working in service of host cities. A serious rethink is long overdue.
Boykoff, 2016; p.241

Power Games is an excellent example of how powerful the appearance of being apolitical can be. The International Olympic Committee (IOC) has worked hard to portray the Olympic Games as above politics; they refuse to take a public stance on conflicts or disputes, and athletes who use the Games to make a political statement have been punished harshly. I am a strong believer in the argument that there is no such thing as apolitical however; even refusing to take a side has an impact. If you can convince people that something is apolitical however, then it becomes much harder to critique. In Power Games, Boykoff explores how this process works, and just how effective it can be.

I really enjoyed reading Power Games, it is well-paced and well-written. I knew a little bit about the mounting critiques of the Olympic Games before reading it, but my understanding is much better now. Boykoff also references quite a few geographers in his analysis, which is pretty much a guaranteed way to make me like an author! There are a few things that I think would have made the narrative easier to follow, such as a list of host cities and IOC Presidents, and maps of host cities and Olympic sites. I think pretty much every book would be better with more maps though, so perhaps I’m being overly critical.

As a former athlete, Boykoff clearly has a strong affection for the Olympic Games, and he would like to see them reformed rather than abolished; he provides a clear and comprehensive list of the changes he believes need to be made in order for the Games to survive in a more sustainable and ethical way. If I was the IOC, I would pay attention.

Book Review: Alone in Berlin

Alone in Berlin front cover — *Alone in Berlin* by Hans Fallada.

Hans Fallada. Alone in Berlin. Translated by Michael Hoffman. London: Penguin Modern Classics, 2009. RRP £9.99 paperback.

I got Alone in Berlin as a Christmas present. My parents saw the 2016 film adaptation starring Emma Thompson and Brendan Gleeson, and thought I would like the book. I did, and not just because it is about resistance. First published in 1947 under the title Every Man Dies Alone, the novel tells the story of the Quangels and their doomed attempt to resist the Nazi regime.

Otto and Anna Quangel are a middle-aged, working-class couple in Berlin during World War 2 who are just trying to keep their heads down and survive Nazi rule. Until they receive news that their only son has been killed fighting, and they can no longer accept the injustice and hypocrisy of the Nazi regime. They begin to carefully transcribe postcards with anti-Nazi slogans and distribute them in buildings around Berlin. Unable to tolerate even this limited resistance, the SS give Gestapo Inspector Escherich the job of hunting down the Quangels. For several years, the Quangels managed to evade capture, but it is clear to all involved that they would be caught eventually. The other residents in the Quangel’s block of flats also feature in the story, including the elderly Jewish woman on the top floor, the ardent party members on the floor below the Quangels, the mysterious retired Judge on the ground floor, and the opportunistic criminal in the basement.

Hans Fallada was an interesting character in himself, who struggled with addiction and mental illness throughout his life. A popular author in Germany before the Nazis came to power, he was no fan of Hitler’s, but decided to remain in Germany during Nazi rule. During this period he toed the line, doing just enough to satisfy the Nazis without giving in to to full scale fascism and xenophobia. After the war he was recruited by the Soviets to write an anti-fascist novel, and he apparently wrote Every Man Dies Alone in 24 days. He died soon after.

The novel is based on the true story of Otto and Elise Hampel; this edition of the book contains photocopies of some of their postcards and other historical documents related to their case. Fallada himself found their story quite uninspiring, but he managed to turn the source material into a touching and thought-provoking narrative. The reader is encouraged to feel sympathy for some characters, and disdain, if not repulsion, for others, but they are all well-rounded characters, most of whom are just trying to survive in a violent and volatile society. In Britain, we are used to viewing World War 2 from particular angles, such as the fighting on the Western Front, the horror of the Holocaust, or the hardship and determination of the Home Front. Alone in Berlin looks at Nazi Germany and the War from a less common perspective, the German civilian. I found this alternative angle refreshing.

If you like your novels to have a happy ending, then Alone in Berlin is not a book for you. There is a small sliver of hope at the end, but from the very beginning there is a sense that the story is not going to end well, and that atmosphere of inevitable tragedy hangs over the novel like a guillotine. It’s clear Fallada was a skilled writer, who did an excellent job of exploring the actions of people who have been pushed to the very edge of their humanity.

Book Review: Queer City-Gay London from the Romans to the Present Day

Queer City Front Cover — *Queer City* by Peter Ackroyd.

Peter Ackroyd. Queer City: Gay London from the Romans to the Present Day. London: Vintage, 2017. RRP £9.99 paperback.

Peter Ackroyd is a prolific writer of books about London, both fiction and non-fiction. I have read, and enjoyed, his books before (My review of London: The Biography (2001) can be found here), so when I saw Queer City: Gay London from the Romans to the Present Day, I was fairly sure it would be worth a read. It did not disappoint; like Ackroyd’s other non-fiction books, Queer City is well-written and engaging.

The book pretty much does what it says on the tin; it is a chronological history of queerness in London. It is difficult to research any section of society that has been traditionally overlooked, particularly one that was by necessity so secretive for large parts of history. A lot of the sources Queer City draws on were written about London’s queer population, rather than by them, and Ackroyd himself acknowledges that it can be impossible to tell whether these accounts are accurate, exaggerated, or even entirely fictional. Nevertheless, the book recounts an impressive number of examples, and just because researching an element history is difficult, doesn’t mean it shouldn’t be done.

This book is a celebration, as well as a history, of the continual and various human world maintained in its diversity despite persecution, condemnation and affliction. It represents the ultimate triumph of London.
Ackroyd, 2017; p. 232.

Queer City is descriptive rather than reflective or analytical. Ackroyd briefly engages with the question of whether or not London is particularly conducive to queer culture, but I would have liked to see more of this kind of discussion. At times the book can get a bit list-y, with example after and example, and limited analysis. But that is the kind of feedback I would give when marking an undergraduate essay, so maybe I’m being unreasonable.

Most history books that cover significant periods of history tend to get more detailed the closer the narrative gets to the present. This is understandable, because of the relative availability of historical sources, but it can be frustrating. Queer City bucks this trend, with far-flung historical periods getting significantly more coverage than the recent past. This is a refreshing change, but I actually would have liked more detail about the last 50 or so years, when there has been so much dramatic change for LGBT+ people. Significant events like the Wolfenden Report, the legalisation of gay sex, Section 28, the Civil Partnership Act, and the Gender Recognition Act are all covered only briefly.

In-depth, critical historical research is important because it can challenge our perceptions of continuity and normality in society. By helping to publicise London’s queer history, Ackroyd is helping to deconstruct the argument that being queer is abnormal. As well as being a good book, Queer City is an important one.

Book Review: Of the People, For the People- A New History of Democracy

Osborne, Roger (2011) Of the People, For the People: A New History of Democracy. London: The Bodley Head. RRP £14.99 paperback.

With everything that’s been going on around the world over the last few years, you would be forgiven for feeling a little disillusioned with democracy. Trump’s election in the US and Brexit in the UK are just two of the most prominent examples of a world that feels increasingly divided, antagonist, and extreme. But democracy has always been flawed. As Winston Churchill is famously quoted as saying “No one pretends that democracy is perfect or all-wise. Indeed it has been said that democracy is the worst form of Government except for all those other forms that have been tried from time to time.” So what feels to me like impending disaster might just be the normal state in a flawed system. In this context, I found Of the People, By the People: A New History of Democracy by Roger Osborne to be an engaging and illuminating read.

Let’s be clear from the beginning: democracy is humanity’s finest achievement. Championed, idealised, misused, abused, distorted, parodied and ridiculed it may be…but democracy as a way of living and a system of government is the avenue by which modern humans can fulfil their need to construct lives of real meaning.
Osborne, 2011; p.1

Of the People, By the People traces democracy from its origins in Ancient Athens right up to when the book was published in 2011. One of the first points that Roger Osborne makes is that democracy is actually a relatively unusual form of government. Durimg the Roman period it disappeared for hundreds of years, and has only really become of the dominant form of government around the world in the last century or so. With this in mind, Osborne considers historical societies that we wouldn’t consider to be democratic, but which exhibited elements of democracy, in order to try and understand why and how democracy develops. The book considers what the conditions are that are conducive to the development of democracy. By extension, it also asks ‘What is democracy?’ What are its defining characteristics? Where are the boundaries between democracy, and other forms of government? Osborne doesn’t offer clear answers – these are massive questions, and I would be very sceptical of any simple answer anyone put forward, but he encourages the reader to reflect, and come to your own opinions.

Many books that claim to offer a global history have a tendency to actually focus on Western history, with perhaps a cursory glance towards the rest of the world. In Of the People, By the People, Osborne actually takes non-Western democracy seriously, devoting entire chapters to South America in the 1800s, post-Independence India, and post-Independence Africa. This genuinely global focus is refreshing.

Osborne also considers how and why democracy has been lost throughout history. On some occasions, such as in Nazi Germany, democracy was even voluntarily given up by the people’s elected representatives. Combined with the realisation that democracy is actually a very unusual form of government, rather than the permanent factor that I think many in the West believe it to be, Of the People, For the People is a powerful reminder that democracy has to be protected and defended. If we take it for granted, we may well lose it.

Of the People, By the People, is a well-written book and informative book that I genuinely enjoyed reading. If you are feeling slightly dazed and confused by everything that’s going on in modern politics, then it may well put things into context. It probably won’t restore your faith in democracy entirely, but it might help a bit.

Book Review: The Autonomous City- A History of Urban Squatting by Alexander Vasudevan

VERSO_Autonomous City_Mechanical_FINAL.indd — *The Autonomous City: A History of Urban Squatting* by Alexander Vasudevan.

Alexander Vasudevan. The Autonomous City: A History of Urban Squatting. London: Verso, 2017. RRP £16.99 paperback.

Squatting has been a feature of Western urban protest since the mid-twentieth century, although it has enjoyed varying levels of popularity. Alexander Vasudevan is an Associate Professor of Human Geography at the University of Oxford who has written extensively on the geographies of squatting in academic publications. The Autonomous City: A History of Urban Squatting brings Vasudevan’s research to a popular audience. The book details the history of squatting in an impressive number of Western cities: New York, London, Amsterdam, Copenhagen, Berlin, and Vancouver are all covered, as well as some Italian cities.

The Autonomous City is detailed and well-researched. The broad geographical range of the book is made even more impressive when you think about how many languages the research required a working knowledge of. Anglophone geographers are beginning to acknowledge the importance of researching other places, and acknowledging research from other cultures, but many of us lack the linguistic skills to put this into practice. As such, The Autonomous City‘s international outlook is a refreshing change.

Vasudevan convincingly argues that the history of squatting is about more than standing up to excessive rents and poor quality housing. It is also about creating an alternative city. Squatters imagine a way of life drastically different from how we live now, and bring it in to being by actually living it. In this way, they demonstrate that the way things are is not the only way that they can be, that an alternative way of life is possible.

Squatting is “a form of direct action that remained first and foremost a struggle over the right to be in the city and against the commodification of land and housing.”
Vasudevan, 2017: p.232

The Autonomous City is structured by city, which makes the narrative clear and easy to follow, but can get repetitive. In each case, Vasudevan traces the history of squatting in that city, highlighting key moments and individual squats. He dedicates two chapters to New York City, the first and the last, which brings a pleasing circularity to the book’s structure. There are clear links, similarities, and points of difference between the various cities that Vasudevan discusses, but he doesn’t make those links or draw comparisons, which feels like a bit of a missed opportunity. Another omission that I find odd is the lack of images–there are no pictures. I understand that this may have been the publisher’s decision rather than the author’s, but they are noticeable by their absence, particularly in a book that is aimed at a more popular audience.

The Autonomous City is a well-researched, well-written book that will appeal to anyone with an interest in squatting, urban resistance, or radicalism. It will also appeal to those with an interest in urban history more generally, as it looks at one way in which urban form is negotiated and contested.