Who Was Who: 5000 B. C. to Date: Biographical Dictionary of the Famous and Those Who Wanted to Be

In Short

This book is a satirical, alphabetical dictionary documenting the lives of historical figures, mythological beings, and literary characters, ranging from Aristotle and Cleopatra to Sherlock Holmes and Santa Claus. Written in the vein of early 20th-century American humor, it treats fame as a fickle, often ridiculous pursuit. By stripping these figures of their dignity and re-imagining them through a lens of mundane, tabloid-style scrutiny, the work serves as a witty, irreverent commentary on the human obsession with status, legacy, and the machinery of celebrity.

The Story

The narrative arc of this collection is not one of linear plot, but rather a cumulative descent from the pedestal of history. It begins by establishing the "rules" of the volume: only the dead may enter, no vanity entries are permitted, and all complaints are handled with dry, bureaucratic indifference. The editor positions the book as an essential, if potentially libelous, ledger of humanity’s most notable—or most notorious—individuals.

As the reader moves through the A-to-Z structure, the progression is one of consistent debunking. We encounter ancient deities and kings, only to find them described by their petty grievances and failed ambitions. Apollo is reduced to a "handsome ancient" who was merely the first to sing with an instrument; King Arthur is a "very dead" sovereign whose primary historical achievement was keeping his sword sharp. The "story" of the book is the systematic erosion of historical grandeur. Figures like Joan of Arc are characterized as "suffragettes" who traded milking cows for armor, while figures like Buffalo Bill are dismissed as showmen who simply played the market too long.

As the middle section unfolds, the satire shifts toward the modern, industrial, and literary worlds. Politicians, inventors, and authors are treated with the same irreverence as the ancients. We see Andrew Carnegie reduced to a man who scotched his three dollars a week to buy the steel trust, and the poet Robert Browning mocked as a "cryptogram writer" whose meaning is intentionally concealed. The focus remains on the absurdity of their public personas.

The arc concludes with a final, cynical look at the end of all things. The dictionary ends not with a grand summation of human achievement, but with a series of entries that highlight the inevitability of mortality and the persistence of human folly. Time itself is the final subject, described as an unpopular figure who robs the young of their beauty and the old of their dignity. The book closes with the figure of Zoroaster, who offers a final, tongue-in-cheek thanks to the reader, leaving us with the realization that even the greatest historical titans are ultimately reduced to mere entries in a dusty, forgotten ledger. The journey from the ancient myths of Greece to the late-Victorian industrialist is a circular trip back to the same fundamental human weaknesses: greed, vanity, and the desperate, often comical need to be remembered.

How It Unfolds

The editorial mandate The book opens with a stern note from the editor outlining the terms for inclusion, emphasizing that only those who can prove their death are eligible for entry. This establishes the cynical, bureaucratic tone that persists throughout the work.

The reduction of legends The early biographies focus on mythological and ancient historical figures, stripping them of their epic status. Each entry highlights a mundane ambition or a ridiculous habit, such as King Arthur’s inability to keep his queen at home.

The modern celebrity critique As the alphabet progresses, the book turns its gaze toward the titans of industry, politics, and literature. Inventors like Thomas Edison and philanthropists like Carnegie are portrayed as mere self-promoters who manipulated the public for gain.

The final tally of human folly The final entries move toward abstract concepts and the inevitable end of life. By concluding with figures like Father Time and Zoroaster, the text underscores the futility of the pursuit of fame that occupies the previous entries.

The People

The subjects within these pages are divided between the genuinely "famous" and those who simply "wanted to be." Theodore Roosevelt is presented as a master of self-promotion, a man who transformed himself into a brand—"I," "Me," and "Myself"—through calculated political theater and relentless press coverage. He represents the ultimate, modern fame-seeker. In stark contrast, we have figures like Joan of Arc, whose heroism is reframed as a series of social irritations, and Solomon, the ancient king reduced to an "old Mormon" struggling with his harem.

Then there are the literary characters, like Sherlock Holmes, who owes his existence entirely to the marketing of his creator, and Cinderella, who is noted only for her small foot and the fact that she had sisters in society. These figures serve as anchors for the book’s central argument: that fame is less a result of merit and more a consequence of having a good "press agent." Whether it is Caesar, a politician, or a simple "Chinaman" washing clothes, everyone is treated as a cog in a grand, often nonsensical machine of public perception.

In Its Own Voice

"The editor begs leave to inform the public that only persons who can produce proper evidence of their demise will be admitted to Who Was Who."

This note introduces the book’s primary conceit, establishing the editor as a gatekeeper of the afterlife.

"A handsome ancient who fell in love, posed for his statues, patronized music and poetry, and, finally, had a table water named in his honor."

This description of Apollo perfectly encapsulates the book’s tendency to minimize grand mythological figures into mere socialites.

What It's Really About

The book is a sharp argument against the cult of personality. It posits that history is not a collection of heroic deeds, but a series of accidents, publicity stunts, and personal flaws that have been polished by time or by clever writers. It challenges the reader to look past the veneer of the "great man" theory of history and recognize the common, often foolish humanity beneath. The core question is one of value: if fame can be manufactured as easily as a product, what is its actual worth?

Why Read It Today

Readers who enjoy the biting wit of Mark Twain or the cynical, rapid-fire humor of a newspaper columnist will find this work delightful. It is a precursor to the modern "roast," where no ego is too large to be punctured. The experience of reading it feels like flipping through a dusty, forgotten gossip column from a century ago, filled with references to forgotten politicians and once-famous actors.

However, the book presents challenges for a contemporary reader. The humor is deeply rooted in its period, relying on specific cultural and political references from the early 1900s—such as the Irish Home Rule debates or the specific, era-bound attitudes toward immigrants and suffragettes. These dated perspectives can feel jarring or, at times, insensitive. Despite these hurdles, the book remains a fascinating time capsule. It reminds us that our modern obsession with fame, branding, and the "public image" is not a new invention, but a recurring, ridiculous human habit. If you are interested in the evolution of satire or simply want a quick, sardonic look at the past, this dictionary offers a sharp, amusing perspective that refuses to take history—or its heroes—too seriously.