A Boswell of Baghdad

In Short

This book functions as a literary cabinet of curiosities. The title essay mines the vast, dusty volumes of Ibn Khallikan’s medieval Biographical Dictionary to extract colorful anecdotes about Arab poets, jurists, and viziers. The remainder of the work—the "Diversions"—is a collection of light, thoughtful sketches covering everything from the quirks of British social life to the solemnity of the Great War. It endures as a masterclass in the art of the essayist: curious, digressive, and deeply human, finding the universal in the obscure.

The Story

The book begins with an excavation. The author, having spent years browsing a heavy, four-volume set of medieval Arabic biographies, decides to share the "honey" he has gathered. He introduces the reader to a world of intellectual intensity where scholars wrote treatises on subjects ranging from the behavior of camels to the "witticisms of the desert Arabs." The narrative arc here is one of discovery; the author acts as a guide, pulling forth figures like the poet Marwan Ibn Abi Hafsa, whose family boasted generations of versifiers, or the jurist Yahya Ibn Aktham, whose dry, pragmatic wisdom on eating and weeping mirrors a very human sort of sagacity. The author does not simply catalog these men; he frames them through an ironic, modern lens, showing that human vanity, ambition, and humor were as present in 13th-century Baghdad as they are in 20th-century London.

As the book transitions into its "Diversions," the setting shifts to the author’s own era. The tone remains conversational, but the focus turns to the small, often absurd details of contemporary existence. We meet a talking pug lamenting the rise of the Pekingese, consider the strange history of the high-wheeled bicycle, and witness the quiet dignity of a deaf-mute conversation on the London Underground. The author uses these vignettes to explore the "battle of life," musing on the necessity—or lack thereof—of originality, and the quiet, often unacknowledged struggles of the people around him.

The final section, On Bellona's Hem, brings the reality of the First World War into the frame. The tone darkens slightly, moving from light observation to the poignant ironies of life in the war zone. We encounter a sergeant baffled by two "pretty boys" attempting to enlist, and the grim, competitive pride of wounded soldiers comparing their surgical scars. The book concludes with a vision of a soldier’s death, described through the lens of French popular piety, where the fallen poilu stands before God. It is a moment of "naïveté, emotion, and the best kind of theatricalism," bringing the collection to a close with a blend of reverence and hard-won perspective.

How It Unfolds

The Baghdad archive The author introduces Ibn Khallikan’s biographical dictionary as a massive, formidable work. He treats the volumes as a treasure map, selecting tales of poetical families and legendary wits to demonstrate the richness of the medieval Arab mind.

The patterns of antiquity The author highlights the parallels between ancient and modern life. He explores how the same human traits—the desire for patronage, the fear of death, and the penchant for sharp, sardonic retorts—transcend the centuries.

The domestic diversions The book shifts gears into contemporary sketches and social commentary. The author examines the "tribe of Magnus"—those who reject originality—and reflects on the quiet wisdom found in the simple, uncritical acceptance of life.

The mechanical and the mundane A series of brief reflections considers the rapid pace of invention, from bicycles to airplanes. The author muses on how the "Obsolete" often transforms into the "Novelty," grounding his observations in the physical landscape of London.

The shadow of war The final section addresses the ongoing conflict through anecdotes of soldiers and nurses. The tone becomes more somber, focusing on the human spirit’s capacity for both resilience and theatricality in the face of death.

The People

The book is populated by two distinct groups: the long-dead scholars of the East and the living citizens of the West. Among the former, the poet Marwan Ibn Abi Hafsa stands out as an emblem of human persistence; he is a man who relies on his wit to survive, even when his own famous elegy for a patron ironically ruins his future prospects. Yahya Ibn Aktham appears as a figure of "dry Persian sagacity," a man whose pragmatic advice to a questioner reveals a core of traditional, unshakeable orthodoxy.

In the modern sections, the author himself becomes a character—a man who sits on park benches and rides the Tube, observing the world with a keen, slightly melancholic eye. He is joined by "characters" of the London scene: the talking pug who represents the displacement of the old by the new, the deaf-mute pair whose silent conversation is a testament to the power of human connection, and the wounded soldiers who compete for social status through the severity of their operations. These figures are not "heroes" in a grand sense; they are everyday people—or animals—navigating a world that is constantly changing. They end up as they begin: striving, complaining, or finding small, fleeting joys, their individual lives serving as ripples in the larger, steady stream of history.

In Its Own Voice

"I shall relate to you my adventure, and adventures are of various kinds; I one night changed my bed and was abandoned by repose; tell me then how I shall be on the first night which I pass in the grave?"

The author quotes this poem by an Emir’s vizier to illustrate the universal, timeless anxiety regarding the afterlife.

"The wax-lights, showing their ends tipped with fire, seemed like the fingers of thy trembling foes, humbly stretched forth to implore thy mercy."

The author uses these lines, recited by a poet before a prince, to exemplify the courtly, metaphorical language of the Baghdad literati.

What It's Really About

At its heart, this is a study of continuity. The author is obsessed with the idea that the "battle of life" remains fundamentally unchanged, whether in a medieval court or a London park. He argues, implicitly, that history is not a series of disconnected eras, but a repository of human responses to the same recurring challenges: love, loss, ambition, and the inevitability of the end. He questions the value of "originality," suggesting that the most meaningful aspects of our lives are rooted in the ancient, common experiences we share with those who came before us. It is an argument for empathy and for the quiet dignity of the ordinary.

Why Read It Today

Readers who enjoy the slow, deliberate pace of a well-crafted essay will find much to admire here. This is not a book to be devoured; it is one to be "sipped, beelike," as the author himself suggests. If you appreciate writers who can pivot from a scholarly analysis of a medieval poem to a whimsical meditation on a pet dog, you will find a kindred spirit in these pages.

The book carries the specific atmosphere of 1917—a time of immense global anxiety—which adds a layer of poignancy to the author’s lighter diversions. While the period attitudes and the occasional references to long-forgotten figures require a bit of patience, the reward is a sense of companionship with an author who is deeply, consistently observant. The writing is warm and precise, lacking the urgent, shouting tone of modern commentary. It stays with you as a reminder that even when the world feels as though it is fracturing, there is an enduring, quiet comfort in the shared history of human thought, wit, and resilience. It is an ideal companion for a rainy afternoon when you wish to feel the presence of a thoughtful, older friend.