Augustus by John Williams

Augustus 

By John Williams

Originally published in 1972 by Viking

This edition published in 2014 by The New York Review of Books

I have no general interest in ancient Rome, the emperors, or their political intrigues. No, I learned a bit about those things over the years and have been happy to leave it at that, but this book pulls you into said world with such ease that I think you’ll enjoy the ride even if, like me, you don’t particularly care about the setting because this book is the work of a master, and it appears to be his masterpiece.

In broad strokes, this book is about Caesar Augustus and how he came to power and what his reign was like, especially for those closest to him. It is told in epistolary fragments, and this is something brilliant and dangerous. On one hand, it forces you to constantly shift perspectives and to place yourself in different settings and frames of reference, some of which you might be less invested in. On the other hand, it places you directly in the action, getting to see so many varying perspectives, acting as refractions for a central narrative. 

It could easily not work, but Williams makes it look like child's play. He is able to talk around the central character of the book, Augustus, and this is brilliant because it means that you get to form your own opinion about him based on his actions and interactions with those around him. It also brings you closer to his friends, family, and enemies, getting to see their inner motivations. There is no central statement or judgment about Augustus’ character, only that he was and that he did these things. You decide what to make of it. 

You also do get to hear from him directly, and, at the end of the book, at the end of his life, he ruminates on what it has all amounted to. This makes up the last thirty pages of the book, and it is such a satisfying end, with Williams throwing heater after heater, just laying in one incredible thought/sentence after another until you find yourself slightly in tearful wonder about how he was able to do it.

Williams is a master of subtlety. He doesn’t use big, sweeping metaphors or grand language. Rather, he hits you between the eyes with small details and phrases that slowly build until you find yourself reacting. Make no mistake, this is the work of someone who has refined each page over and over, and it is an absolute joy to read. I read this slowly, and I’m glad I did. It allowed me time to consider the narrative and its themes (of which, it covers most of the big ones) and how Williams put it all together. I couldn’t find fault with any part of it. I experienced a slightly lesser version of this same feeling while reading Stoner, and now I can’t wait to read Butcher’s Crossing.

I’m going to leave a few beautiful quotes to cap off the review and to let the book speak for itself: 

“I remember that I wept, knowing that my father would die, whom I had known only as a child, and I came to know that loss was the condition of our living. It is a knowledge that one cannot give to another.” (173)

“I have determined that this shall be a leisurely journey. We shall depend upon the wind to carry us; and if the wind refuses, we shall wait upon it, suspended by the vast buoyancy of the sea.” (266)

“After all these years, I cannot be angry at a body that fails, despite its weakness, it has served me well; and it is perhaps appropriate that I should attend its demise, as I might attend the death of an old friend, remembering as the soul slips away into whatever immortality it might find, the mortal soul which could not in life separate itself from the animal that was its guest.” (286)

Heavy Lit rating: Masterpiece 

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