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The incomparable Mary Beard is back, and she’s talking all things classics.

Why the ongoing fascination with the ancient world? This witty, approachable book asks why—for better or (sometimes) worse—antiquity continues to exert such a powerful hold on the contemporary imagination. Recalling a formative childhood encounter with a four-thousand-year-old piece of bread in a museum, Beard introduces the idea of thauma, or wonder, that kick-started a lifetime engaging with classics. It was not the canonical “greats” of ancient literature and art that initially drew her in, she confesses, but rather the more intimate, messy, and humdrum evidence of daily life in the remote past.

Confronting the uses and abuses of symbols of the ancient world, Beard reminds us that the traditions and “masterpieces” of Greece and Rome have certainly been politicized, but they belong to neither the left nor the right. Happily, no one owns the past. She warns us not to let a sense of reverence or overfamiliarity dampen the “shock of the old,” arguing that one of the most important things that classics teach us is how to grapple with complicated and controversial things. “The Greeks and Romans are long dead, they cannot answer back, and you can say what you like about them,” she reminds readers. “The simple fact that classics belong to none of us can offer a safe space to argue about the most difficult debates we face now.”

Beard welcomes everyone into classics. “It is not compulsory to be excited by the ancient world,” she writes. “But it can be a shame not to be.” This charming, sharp, and readable book from one of the world’s most entertaining classicists offers something for both new and established fans of classics, bringing new wonder and curiosity to even the most ancient of ideas.
 

The incomparable Mary Beard is back, and she’s talking all things classics.

Why the ongoing fascination with the ancient world? This witty, approachable book asks why—for better or (sometimes) worse—antiquity continues to exert such a powerful hold on the contemporary imagination. Recalling a formative childhood encounter with a four-thousand-year-old piece of bread in a museum, Beard introduces the idea of thauma, or wonder, that kick-started a lifetime engaging with classics. It was not the canonical “greats” of ancient literature and art that initially drew her in, she confesses, but rather the more intimate, messy, and humdrum evidence of daily life in the remote past.

Confronting the uses and abuses of symbols of the ancient world, Beard reminds us that the traditions and “masterpieces” of Greece and Rome have certainly been politicized, but they belong to neither the left nor the right. Happily, no one owns the past. She warns us not to let a sense of reverence or overfamiliarity dampen the “shock of the old,” arguing that one of the most important things that classics teach us is how to grapple with complicated and controversial things. “The Greeks and Romans are long dead, they cannot answer back, and you can say what you like about them,” she reminds readers. “The simple fact that classics belong to none of us can offer a safe space to argue about the most difficult debates we face now.”

Beard welcomes everyone into classics. “It is not compulsory to be excited by the ancient world,” she writes. “But it can be a shame not to be.” This charming, sharp, and readable book from one of the world’s most entertaining classicists offers something for both new and established fans of classics, bringing new wonder and curiosity to even the most ancient of ideas.
 

The Victorians, perhaps more than any Britons before them, were diggers and sifters of the past. Though they were not the first to be fascinated by history, the intensity and range of their preoccupations with the past were unprecedented and of lasting importance. The Victorians paved the way for our modern disciplines, discovered the primeval monsters we now call the dinosaurs, and built many of Britain’s most important national museums and galleries. To a large degree, they created the perceptual frameworks through which we continue to understand the past.
 
Out of their discoveries, new histories emerged, giving rise to fresh debates, while seemingly well-known histories were thrown into confusion by novel tools and methods of scrutiny. If in the eighteenth century the study of the past had been the province of a handful of elites, new technologies and economic development in the nineteenth century meant that the past, in all its brilliant detail, was for the first time the property of the many, not the few. Time Travelers is a book about the myriad ways in which Victorians approached the past, offering a vivid picture of the Victorian world and its historical obsessions.