New Joy of Knowledge Encyclopaedia – British History to the Protectorate (1990)
History – 70 pages – my copy (hardback; 1990) read during September 2011
- 2 nods out of 5 -
Many years ago, gentle folk would seek out on their pursuit of knowledge by ordering large volumes of books – let us call them encyclopaedias – which in many cases were delivered direct to the front door. They promised new windows into the worlds of art, of history, of science, of geography, of all that humankind had to offer. One encyclopaedia a month, at ten pounds a turn, for fifty to one hundred months; bit by bit the collection and, not forgetting, the knowledge of the owner would grow…until one day (normally when the cash balance was significantly lowered) the owner would compete with Einstein-like intelligence.
Fast forward to the twenty-first century. Now all of this knowledge – art, history, science, geography – is condensed on one tiny website: Wikipedia. And what’s more, it is regularly updated. And what’s more and more: its articles range way beyond anything the previous encyclopaedias could ever dare dream about. And what’s more and more and more: this information is free. O, how strange the times are a-changing.
This book on British History to the Protectorate – from The New Joy of Knowledge Encyclopaedia – takes the reader on a journey from ‘Bronze and Iron Age Britain’ right through the chopping off of the head of Charles I in the 1600s. In-between are over twenty chapters on periods and events such as ‘Norman and Angevin England’, ‘The origins of Parliament’ and ‘Elizabeth and the Armada’. As expected with any history claiming to be “British”, the rest of the Isles are given scant coverage, with a couple of their own chapters thrown in for good measure (‘Wales to the Act of Union’, anyone?).
The text is succinct and to the point, covering the major topics and debate. The real surprising feature of this book is its great use of illustration: every chapter has portraits, diagrams, and maps set out in a wonderful and accessible style. Furthermore, the chapters are interspersed with ‘Panorama’ pages detailing the likes of the Bayeux tapestry and a painting on Chaucer’s The Canterbury Tales; with the larger A3 paper adding to the allure and detail.
But let us not get too carried away, dear reader. Despite its advantages this book cannot escape what it intrinsically is: an encyclopaedia. As such, it remains stunted in its form and time period; its future looks grim, but when placed alongside its fellow encyclopaedia siblings, the overall picture can be impressive. Wikipedia has expansiveness and elasticity; but even in this digital age nothing beats a colourful and triumphant book shelf.
