The best books for getting to grips with Roman imperial history

Although I had become interested in Roman history at a very early age, this was the first full ancient text that, at about fourteen years old, I read about the Roman emperors. I was immediately taken by Tacitus’ serious tone and the immediacy of his narrative.

His near-contemporary account of (at least part of) the reigns of Tiberius, Claudius, and Nero sounded, for all that it was written almost two thousand years before, very modern. After reading it, I bought as many of the (purple) Latin and (brown) Greek Penguin translations of classical literature–history, poetry, and drama–as were available.

As the Annals opened my eyes to Roman history, Highet’s book opened them to Latin poetry and the Italian countryside. Still at school, still doing only basic Latin, not Classics, and still to travel outside the U.K., but very interested in English poetry, Highet’s introduction to Catullus, Virgil, Propertius, Horace, Tibullus, Ovid, and Juvenal revealed a whole new world to me.

Highet’s autobiographical interpretation of their works is now very much out of date, but profusely illustrated with fine photographs, his book presented them to me as real people living in and influenced by real landscapes. I was also taken by Highet’s efforts to catch the feel of Latin verses in his translations. Horace’s ‘Hail, Bandusian spring, clearer than crystal pure’ is still fixed in my memory.

Because I was not a Classicist when I went to university, I spent the first two years of my three-year BA course reading Medieval and Modern, not Ancient, History when I went to university. One part of the syllabus was Tudor England, and a key personality was Thomas Cromwell, chief minister of Henry VIII.

Elton’s book was the main recommended modern study. I was wholly convinced by his revisionist interpretation of Cromwell: not a villain but the honest servant of a tyrannical monarch. The book made me see that to be interesting pre-modern history depends very much on a readiness to be imaginative in the interpretation of the usually scanty sources.

In this respect, significantly, Elton’s book became the (not always appreciated) basis of Hilary Mantel’s Wolf Hall trilogy.

Laslett’s book taught me the value of comparative material in studying Ancient History. Another part of the Medieval and Modern History syllabus was seventeenth-century England. Teaching was dominated by the Civil War, emphasizing its socio-economic aspects.

This book had just appeared, and I drew on it enthusiastically for my essays. It dealt with the only period of English pre-industrial history for which original documentation allows some meaningful, detailed study of ordinary life. This is not possible for Roman history, even through archaeology, but the experience of later times can be considered in studying Roman society.

For example, Laslett explored precisely how upper-class and merchant families were not nuclear but made up of a large number of near and distant relatives, servants, employees and apprentices: not unlike the traditional Roman familia, except that the latter included slaves.

When I was finally allowed to specialize in Ancient History in the third year of my BA degree, this included a survey of Ancient Greece, supervised by no less a figure than Professor (later Sir) Moses Finley.

One of his recommendations for reading was Adkins' book, listed here, a key point of which is that virtue is not absolute but depends on a society's socio-economic development level. In Archaic Greece, the "good" man was not the one whom later Greeks, and ourselves, would call "good" by virtue of moral rectitude but the one who could, by brute force if necessary, protect his family and community in troubled times: a telling corrective to historical "presentism."