Book Review: "Nero"
Conn Iggulden's newest historical novel gives Nero's mother Agrippina her due, and in doing so shows the amount of agency ancient Roman women did (and didn't) possess.
Hello, dear reader! Do you like what you read here at Omnivorous? Do you like reading fun but insightful takes on all things pop culture? Do you like supporting indie writers? If so, then please consider becoming a subscriber and get the newsletter delivered straight to your inbox. There are a number of paid options, but you can also sign up for free! Every little bit helps. Thanks for reading and now, on with the show!
Warning: Spoilers for the book follow.
The works of Conn Iggulden have long been on my to-be-read list, and when I saw that he had a new series out that focused on the rise of Nero, arguably Rome’s most infamous emperor, I knew that I had to read it. As regular readers of this newsletter know by now, I always have at least one foot in antiquity, and I’m always on the hunt for something new and exciting. The first book, which bears the name of its subject, more than fits the bill.
Strictly speaking, however, Nero himself is something of a secondary character in this book. Indeed, when the novel begins he hasn’t been born yet, so instead the action focuses a great deal on his mother, Agrippina the Younger and his tormented and very troubled father, Gnaeus Domitius Ahenobarbus. Other characters include Messalina (wife of Claudius), the tyrannical Tiberius, and even the broken and quite mad Caligula, as well as a Praetorian named Italus. All of them find themselves caught up in the dark and terrible plots and counterplots that were key to the Julio-Claudians and their reign.
Though at first Caligula’s reign seems to offer a reprieve from the tyranny and depredations of the ailing and malignant Tiberius, it’s not long before it all goes to hell as he descends completely into madness and debauchery, his mind, soul, and body damaged beyond repair by first his time with the old emperor and then by his own grievous loss of his wife. He ultimately turns against Agrippina, banishing her just as their mother was. Even though she is sent into exile, Agrippina never loses sight of the fact that she is determined to survive, no matter what happens and no matter what she has to do. This includes poisoning her second husband, the Praetorian Italus, all because she will never bend her neck to another man, no matter how well-intentioned or kind he might be. This is one of those moments that reveals just how much like her brother she is and how far down the road to damnation she has already gone.
Again and again, Agrippina emerges from this novel as a remarkable woman. Like many of the other younger Julio-Claudians she lived through absolute terror and instability, first under the reign of Tiberius–who had her mother beaten nearly to death and then starved–and then her own brother Caligula. As the novel progresses, Agrippina becomes more like her brother than she would like to admit. This is particularly true once she is called back from exile when she clearly decides–wisely, as it turns out–that true power can only come through the hands of her uncle, Claudius.
In this, she is clearly opposed by Messalina, and I give Iggulden a lot of credit for transforming Claudius’ infamous wife into something more than the man-hungry she-wolf she is usually understood to be. She emerges from these pages as a young woman who is as scarred by her years living under the tyranny of Caligula as her husband and any other member of the court. Yes, she does have an affair with a commoner, but she isn’t having contests with prostitutes to determine who had the more insatiable sex drive. At the same time, we’re left in no doubt as to her intentions for Agrippina, for she is canny enough to see the emperor’s niece as the threat that she is to Messalina’s own children and their claim to the imperial throne. There’s even something a little tragic about her, and she holds onto at least a little bit of her nobility by taking her own life rather than letting herself be butchered by Claudius’ hired assassins. It’s a bit of agency that the real Messalina never had, since she found herself unable to end her life even when it was clear that there was no other option for her. Thus are the wages of those who dare to oppose the will of Agrippina.
Though Iggulden, as per usual, takes some liberties with history–among other things, his Ahenobarbus dies as a result of a confrontation with several charioteers as opposed to edema and Messalina cuts her own throat after Claudius sends men to kill her –for the most part the contours are largely as they are related in the works of historians like Tacitus and Seutonius. Besides, we all know that a little fudging of the historical record is par for the course when it comes to the writing of historical fiction. And, say what you will, but Iggulden has a keen command of storytelling. He keeps the story telling at a breakneck pace, while also giving us remarkable insight into the various kinds of plots and counterplots that were always being hatched on the Palatine, as the various players sought to solidify their power and influence while also staying alive (always a very delicate balancing act and one that not everyone was equipped to accomplish).
There’s something apposite about the novel’s tagline, which asserts that tyrants are made rather than born. Given the dangerous, poisonous atmosphere of the Julio-Claudian court under the reign of Tiberius, Caligula, and even Claudius, is it any wonder that both Agrippina and her son became the sort of monstrous figures they eventually did? This was a world and a milieu in which one had to do whatever was necessary just to survive. Seen in this light , their actions seem not only justified but necessary. There was simply no other way to survive in this world other than through violence and scheming and poison.
Overall, I quite liked Nero. It has everything I could have wanted from a historical novel set in ancient Rome, with much more of an emphasis on politics and family drama than on military action and the battlefield (there’s nothing wrong with the latter, obviously, but I far prefer the former). What’s more, it also gives women agency, showing the extent to which the female members of the Julio-Claudian dynasty were more than ready and willing to shape their own destinies, whatever the men in their lives might have to say about the matter. Though Agrippina ends up the victor, Messalina still gives as good as she gets. These are the badass women of antiquity, and I can’t wait to see what Iggulden has in store for us in future volumes.