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Lotharingia: A Personal History of Europe's Lost Country Reviews

Lotharingia: A Personal History of Europe's Lost Country by Simon Winder

Lotharingia: A Personal History of Europe's Lost Country

Simon Winder

3.70 out of 5

6 reviews

Imprint: Picador
Publisher: Pan Macmillan
Publication date: 7 Mar 2019
ISBN: 9781509803255

Following on from Danubia and the bestselling Germania, Lotharingia is the final instalment in Simon Winder's hilarious and informative personal exploration of European history.

4 stars out of 5
15 Mar 2019

"A quirky history of a lost country and the final book in this historical European trilogy"

Winder is fascinated by the quirks of geography, the enclaves and exclaves and micro-kingdoms of Lotharingia. This is a quirky book. But it is also an intelligent treatment of the vanities of (mostly) men and a thousand years of often pointless bloodshed. Lotharingia’s postwar statesmen were the founding fathers of today’s European Union, its cities home to the EU’s institutions. Their aim was to make the region as uneventful as possible — another example of its lavish contribution to European history.

Reviews

4 stars out of 5
9 Mar 2019

"not just fun as history but indispensable as travelling companions"

I’m a sucker for everything Winder writes, and happy to be told whatever he wants to tell me, and that, as it turns out, is really just as well...It is hard to think, in fact, of another historian or travel writer — and neither term quite does justice to what he does — who is so intoxicated by absolutely everything and everywhere to do with the past in the way that Winder is...He can carry off the big narrative sweep when it is needed, but as with Germania and DanubiaLotharingia really comes alive when he can nail his argument to a specific place or moment...It is this which makes his books not just fun as history but indispensable as travelling companions for anyone interested in Germany.

3 stars out of 5
7 Mar 2019

"A slapstick history of the cockpit of Europe"

Winder knows much about Lorraine but is so keen to not let drop his guard of irreverent humour that we are rarely allowed to penetrate beyond slapstick. And yet, as some of his other writings show, and as his poignant description of Metz railway station in this volume underlines, he is far from incapable of rising above this.

4 stars out of 5
1 Mar 2019

"his knowledge is vast, convincing you all the more through its leaven of dedicated enthusiasm. "

Lotharingia draws no conclusions, enforces no moral and sedulously avoids mention of the B word, though we can assume that much of it was written after the 2016 referendum. If the book has less of an obvious bone structure than its two predecessors, this is due to the nature of the land Winder has sought to study, a place of fluid borders and changing national identities, dotted with microstates that come and go in Cheshire Cat fashion, according to history’s exigencies. We share in his enjoyment at making a narrative web from seemingly implausible connections. Who else would have lighted on the balcony of Basel’s Hotel Les Trois Rois as the link between Anthony Trollope’s Can You Forgive Her? and the First Zionist Congress of 1897? The work, like its predecessors, is that of a sturdily convinced European who can see no advantage in cutting adrift from his beloved continent.

4 stars out of 5
24 Feb 2019

"A journey round the land where France and Germany clash"

Winder is not the first British traveller to fall in love with “Dutchmen” (as British sailors once dubbed all Europeans). Yet no Briton has written better than Winder about Europe. At a time when we might be tempted to turn our backs on our neighbours in exasperation at the hostility that Brexit has provoked on the Continent, we could do worse than to read his three volumes to remind ourselves that we, too, are Europeans —not least in our love of horrible history.

3 stars out of 5
Gerard DeGroot
23 Feb 2019

"Because he’s having so much fun, his book is often funny"

Because he’s having so much fun, his book is often funny. There’s a great riff on the 17th-century scientist Antonie van Leeuwenhoek, who used his microscope to study sperm, research that was pleasurable at the beginning and rewarding at the end. After much study, he concluded that his testicles were full of minuscule men awaiting an opportunity to grow. “Despite his fame,” writes Winder, “I’m not sure I would particularly have wanted to shake his hand.”