As a card-carrying member of the Hates the Term Renaissance club, a not uncommon position for late medievalists like myself who are inclined to resent the division of our time period into dark and golden ages, I was immediately intrigued by Ada Palmer’s reexamination of the term and its time. Inventing the Renaissance promised to deconstruct one of the most mythologized periods of European history, and one that I felt warranted some poking and prodding. Palmer’s book is not a hit piece against late medieval Italy, though. Instead, as all great deconstructions are, it is a combination love letter and deep analysis of a period whose complexities are often painted over by popular narratives that just want to talk about the pretty art and clever people. Further, Inventing the Renaissance performs the magisterial hat trick of being incredibly insightful while also remaining eminently approachable and casual as it dumps a mountain of scholarship on its reader – in the most loving way. It’s an incredibly impressive work, both of scholarship and popular history, and one absolutely worthy of the time its 700+ pages require.
In the immortal words of Inigo Montoya “… no there is too much. Let me sum up.” Inventing the Renaissance contains what could be several books worth of material. It is a history of ideas, ranging from Petrarch in the 14th century to Francis Bacon in the 17th (and sometimes even further) – explaining how we got from medieval frameworks to modern. It is also a history of culture, of art, philosophy, and how Italian art and architecture spread around the globe (often violently). It is also a book on politics, both political thought and the nitty gritty politics of war-torn Italy, and at times even a little bit about war. It is also the story of people who lived in a disrupted and violent time and struggled to live in a better one. It is a staggering work in terms of its scope, and it manages to cover all of this while rarely feeling shallow in its detail. I could nit pick a few sentences here and there on military history (my own little niche), but those complaints don’t really matter. They are far removed from the work’s core, and one must be reasonable about what is achievable and important to a work like this. It already achieves more than I could have expected.
Perhaps my favorite aspect of Inventing the Renaissance is how it is also about history as a process, and what it means to be a historian and to do historical work. Framed as the “History Lab”, Palmer does an excellent job at breaking down how research works and how historians build on the work of those who came before. She clearly elucidates why history isn’t static, it’s not just historians using the same collection of facts in a new pattern but rather a process which develops and grows over time thanks to the contributions of historians. She also explains how differing perspectives from different academic subjects interact, and how those views of the Renaissance can paint radically different pictures of the time. This is one of the best books I’ve read explaining what it is to be a historian, and it does that as almost a tertiary subject within its overall scope.
I am obsessed with structure, and I’m not sure I’ve ever read a book with a structure as interesting (or strange) as Inventing the Renaissance. It opens with a broad treatment of the Renaissance, in particular a fascinating discussion of historiography and historical memory of the Renaissance. That is approximately what I expected when I first heard about this book. It perhaps even persuaded me to be (slightly) less bitchy about the term Renaissance and made me consider ways in which it may have value as a periodization. I’m not saying I’m totally won over, but maybe I will complain with slightly less fervor next time the topic comes up in the pub.
The more interesting (structurally at least) section of the book is the core which is composed of more than a dozen mini biographies of major and minor figures from Renaissance Italy. People who made the time what it was, and whose lives offer significant (and different!) insights into that time. Each of these stories is fascinating, but through their steady repetition Palmer builds a greater understanding of Italy and the events that shaped it in the decades around the turn of the sixteenth century. By the end of these vignettes, you will be familiar with a wide cast of historical people who stretch far beyond those directly covered in this section. It’s a truly impressive feat that must have taken a staggering amount of research and time to put together. It manages to drip feed the wider context in a way that makes its complexities digestible, but it also cements the human element of the time, never letting the larger events leave behind the personal stories.
The final section concerns itself primarily with the notion of what humanism means, and what we mean when we discuss “Renaissance Humanism”. This topic comes up in the book’s opening sections, and throughout the biographies in its core, but here readers are fully submerged in an explanation of what the intellectual revolution of the Renaissance meant, what were its consequences, and (just as importantly) what it wasn’t. This was probably my least favorite section, but not due to any real failure on Palmer’s part. I’m not an intellectual historian type, and I didn’t enjoy the deep dive as much as some others probably will. Still, this section is impressively thorough and approachable and manages to range widely across centuries of history without ever feeling like it is taking short cuts or reaching for conclusions beyond what its theories can support.
Inventing the Renaissance is a work that is haunted by the ghost of Machiavelli. No figure looms half so large in the story as old Nick and his revolutionary philosophy. He is the subject of the final vignette in the book’s core, but he is also a prominent figure in the book’s opening and throughout other stories as well. Inventing the Renaissance doesn’t limit itself to just discussing Nick’s philosophy – although it does an excellent job of explaining why that was so important, what made it revolutionary, and how it is often misunderstood – rather we meet the whole person. Machiavelli’s life teaches us about him, but it also informs us of the time he lived with its highs and lows. Palmer’s sincere caring for Machiavelli shines through in her writing and it will be nearly impossible for readers to not leave the book more sympathetic to this sometimes-notorious figure than they started (I, for one, have always had a soft spot for him since we share a birthday). It wouldn’t be fair to say that this is a book primarily about Machiavelli, but at the same time one could argue that the core thesis of this work, the thing that holds all its disparate ideas together, is that it is a book that will make you begin to understand Machiavelli, the philosopher and the person.
Inventing the Renaissance is a daunting read. It’s over 700 pages long and covers one of the most complex periods in European history. There are so many people, events, and wild occurrences to remember. Thankfully, Palmer provides a steady hand as she leads you through many (but not all) of its vast corridors. You can see the legacy of years spent teaching this subject to students in this book, as it is delivered with the care and consideration of someone used to explaining this material to people for the first time. It also shows the skills of someone who knows how to make difficult facts stick, and when to remind people about key details, or even just how to make someone memorable in a sea of similarly named historical figures. I wouldn’t go so far as to say that this is a book for literally everyone, but I’m also not sure who wouldn’t enjoy Inventing the Renaissance. It is the kind of popular history that other books aspire to be, a stunning piece of writing and history.
(Hey, if you like what I do here, maybe consider making a donation on Ko-Fi or supporting me on Patreon so I can keep doing it.)