What is a
good written history? Is it something dry and formal, laying out all
the potential facts in finite detail for the reader to make up their
own mind—an entire display of the known? Or is it an
interpretation and consolidation of potential facts into a likely
narrative? The former certainly more appealing to scholars and the
latter to casual readers, it rests in the hands of the writer at what
point in the spectrum they would like to approach the historical
material they are presenting. Let’s have a look at Buddy Levy’s
Conquistadores: Hernán
Cortés, King Montezuma, and the Last Stand of the Aztecs
(2008).
If
anything, Conquistadores
is a very focused work of history. More precisely, a tight look at a
major transitional moment for two cultures in one setting. Levy
begins the narrative just before Cortes arrives on modern day Mexican
soil, details the steps he took to subdue the Aztec nation, and ends
just after as New Spain is established. Levy fills in relevant
details as they affect the steps of this transition, but by and large
it’s a streamlined history of action-reaction, situation-decision,
and opening-outcome, like a story. Another way of putting this is:
one man’s dogged determination to take a nation for himself under
the name of god and king.
Like a lot
of A.D. Mexican history, the story of Cortes’ takeover of Mexico is
filled with blood and battles. Similar to modern day warfare in the
Middle East, it portrays a time when one side with significantly
fewer numbers but vastly superior technology is able to subdue a
larger nation in a relatively short amount of time. A very
polarizing figure throughout this takeover, Cortes makes a lot of
rules and breaks a lot of rules, pays homage to god and king but only
as they support his desires, and makes a number of shrewd military
and political decisions even as his humanitarian choices leave a lot
to be desired. They say tension makes for suspenseful reading, which
indeed Cortes’s story in Conquistador
is.
And
therein lies a (personal) issue with Conquistador.
Levy has constructed the book as a story. He selects the potential
facts and information as they fit the narrative he would like to give
the reader, rather than letting the subjectivity of what is known
speak for itself. For example, there is little to no doubt expressed
throughout the book. It’s a text that doesn’t question itself.
99% is stated as fact. You read direct statements like “His
plumage of quetzal feathers shimmered and shone as he leapt into
battle.” Really? Who
recorded that “fact”? Is this a novel, or history? On what
authority are we able to say with such certainty that such a thing
happened? And further questions arise. For example, when looking at
the clear megalomaniacal attitude of Cortes, it makes one wonder: are
his journals to be trusted? And when contradictions in recorded
history are present, isn’t it the historian’s duty to present
them to the reader to make up their own mind? It leads the reader
further to ask: where does fact begin, and subjective interpretation
end? At times, unfortunately, Conquistador
gives the feeling of modern day investigative journalism on Fox. It
uses dialogue, for example. Was Levy standing by with a tape
recorder?
In the
end, Conquistadores
does an entertaining job capturing the downfall of the Aztecs. It
does not make a hero of Cortes, nor does it vilify him (as many
post-colonial reactions would want to). It does a good job staging
the critical moments of Cortes’ advance, and indeed captures
several amazing moments of agreed history. From a cynical
perspective, however, Conquistadores
is a work of pop history. Levy plays fast and loose with facts,
picking and choosing events as they suit the narrative, highlighting
the details that generate drama as unblemished truth, rather than
taking a more realistic, tactful approach the historical material he
utilized. As such, it’s a book that needs a slightly more formal,
reserved approach to be taken beyond anything other than pop history.
Enjoyable, but questionable.
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