I Used to Suck at History.

I have never been good at history. I can’t remember dates, or who lead important battles. In life I have succeeded by memorizing everything date and place-related the night before the exam. My short-term memory is a powerhouse.

Which is why I’m delighted that I found EH Golmbrich’s A Little History of the World lying around in an architecture store last week. So far, I’ve remembered my way through pre-history, ancient civilization, Greek & Roman domination, the birth of Christianity, Buddhism, and Islam, and the Migrations.

I’m halfway through the Middle Ages, and still retaining facts like it’s my job. I remember who Charlemagne was, how Constantine changed the course of religion forever, how we named the days of the week (ancient understanding of planets lead to “Saturn”-day. Doi.), and when Hammurabi wrote his Babylonian “eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth” code (1790 BC).

Why I Am Now a Historian.

Why is this happening? One possible answer is, Golmbrich’s book is a children’s story. A very sophisticated, advanced children’s story—but a children’s story nonetheless. But I suspect the real reason behind my sudden genius is that Golmbrich makes history seem magical and amazing. He believes the story is beautiful, and writes accordingly. You read kind of wide-eyed, and absorb the details automatically.

This is a book for people who crave wonder and context. For people who can remember their boyfriend’s friend’s uncle’s entire life history (which you only heard once, over beers!), but not when the Battle of the Bulge took place.

I C-A-N R-E-A-D.

Here’s a (long-ish) summary of one of my very favorite passages, about how we got the 26-letter alphabet. Read it if you have a few minutes. It’s from a chapter called “I C-A-N R-E-A-D”:

“How do you do it?” Why, every schoolchild knows the answer: “You spell out the words.” “Yes, all right, but what exactly do you mean?” “Well, there’s an I, and then a C, and an A and an N, which spells CAN—with twenty-six letters you can write anything down.” “Anything?” “Yes, anything.” “In any language?” “Just about.”

Isn’t that amazing? With twenty-six simple signs, each no more than a couple of squiggles, you can write down anything you like, be it wise or silly, angelic or wicked.

The idea that each sign might represent one sound, and that just twenty-six of those signs were all you needed to write every conceivable word, was a wholly new invention in the ancient world, one that could only have been made by people who did a lot of writing. And not just sacred texts and songs, but all sorts of letters, contracts, and receipts.

Those inventors were merchants: The Phoenicians. They travelled far and wide across the seas, bartering and trading in every land, on unknown shores. They lived quite near the Jews, in cities much larger and more powerful than Jerusalem, and quite as noisy and bustling as Babylon.

Never did they feel cut off from home, because they could write letters to their friends, using the wonderfully simple script they had invented, which we still use today. Take this ‘B’, for example: it is almost identical to the one used by the ancient Phoenicians, three thousand years ago.