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Skip to content Ideas Reinventing the Renaissance This high-spirited and highly personal approach to writing about the Renaissance is anything but ‘academic’. By Brian S Campbell • 1 June 2026 From Issue 161, Summer 2026 Inventing the Renaissance: Myths of a Golden Age , by Ada Palmer University of Chicago Press, 768 pp, £25, ISBN: ‎978-1035910120 Here’s something new! This looks like an academic history book: thick, weighty and with a subtitle. Plus occasional footnotes, copious endnotes, long index, uncommonly long acknowledgments and a sort of bibliography (‘Sources and Recommended Reading’). The latter consists almost exclusively of works in English and the reason is explained on page 717: the author’s chronic illness put an end to travel to archives and she is selecting for books at once ‘readable, affordable and enjoyable’. The reliable university press that issues the volume is that of the institution where the author is a professor, although there are traces of an earlier edition published by a more popular press. It was, she recounts, begun as a series of posts on her blog that grew so long they seemed to demand being turned into a book. The style is anything but ‘academic’. Ada Palmer, who also writes well-regarded science fiction, adopts a high-spirited, highly personal style throughout that is not unlike her exciting future history novels. ‘Public-facing history’, she calls it. The term ‘veduta’ comes to mind, from a later period of Italian history: those are Canaletto’s eighteenth century ‘views’ of Venice; this is Palmer’s view of Europe in what is now referred to as the Renaissance and that includes, for her, the history of the term. Bit by bit we learn of her studies and academic progress, of places she lived in Italy (and what’s good to see and eat there), what is discussed at history conferences, which scholars she most admires and the reason she rejects the invisible/omniscient scholarly-narrator pose and elects to write this way instead. The temperament and personal interests of historians, she points out, substantially determine the topics they examine, the questions they ask, the evidence they accept (or ignore, or bury deep in footnotes) and, accordingly, the conclusions they reach. Palmer is aware that she has a particular position in time and space (2020s United States) and holds particular culturally-contingent views (anticolonial, sexually tolerant), suffers a particular experience (autoimmune disability) and believes that a more defensible version of history can be written if one’s own viewpoint is acknowledged at the outset. ‘Inventing’ and ‘Myth’ (in the title) supply the clarifying key to the enterprise. The Renaissance is an idea, not a thing, and has changed over time and (Palmer predicts) will probably change again. So too will the idea of a bad ‘dark’ Middle Ages, at that not even a true idea. Petrarch, suffering through the Black Plague in 1348, believed he was marooned in an age of darkness and ashes. Looking back at the lost glories of ancient Rome he proposed that if we could only recover the books that had educated the Roman elite we could bring about a new golden age and escape the darkness. Historian Leonardo Bruni, a century later, took the idea one step further inventing the tripartite division of history we still mostly accept (wise ancients, ignorant dark ages, enlightened modernity). So the ‘invention’ started with people who lived back then! To our surprise: the golden age was what they hoped for in the not-too-distant future, not the era they were living through. Not unlike us, they considered their present virtually intolerable. Later writers eagerly adopted the conceit of a golden age Renaissance to serve as the foundation or legitimation of their own (much improved) era: the eighteenth, nineteenth or twentieth centuries. Different periods celebrated different traits they claimed to find there; a new and improved Renaissance issues from each pen (or plume or word processor) with different and frequently opposed impulses. Apart from the striking, fresh style of the writing, Palmer’s most unusual (and welcome) departure from standard history book procedure shows up in her extensive attention to historiography: the history of history writing. She offers deep dives into two influential ‘classics’: Jacob Burckhardt (nineteenth century Swiss-German) who treasured the ‘beginning of individualism and self-fashioning’; and Hans Baron (twentieth century German-American) who identified the first stirrings of modern liberal-democratic governance in the city state republics of Renaissance Italy. These republics were, she points out, extreme oligarchies, more plutocratic than democratic. And those Renaissance individualists were not obviously unlike their predecessors. Neither view is ludicrous but each is partial and limited. As are their successors’ histories; as is, no doubt, Palmer’s. All histories are replaceable. Palmer is exceptionally generous in her praise of recent scholars – her mentors, her colleagues near and far (‘friends’), and her ‘brilliant’ students, many of whom are footnoted for having contributed additional viewpoints. History writing is never over, settled, concluded … it moves on as times and tastes and interests do. Palmer considers biography writing to have been too long devalued as a singularly feminised undertaking. Female scholars, however wise and worldly, formerly had little access to prestige presses and had to produce ‘stuff that sells’ for the popular press. As if in revenge for past wrongs, her book is structured from many short biographies. The central section (Part III) is entitled ‘Let’s Meet Some People of this Golden Age’. Fifteen brief lives: princes, learned ladies, popes, poets, an artist (Leonardo), a mercenary, a musician, scholars, a wood carver, a female mystic and a political prophet (Savonarola). Biographies ballast the book with their sheer abundance. There is a peculiar, fairly sympathetic chapter on Lucrezia Borgia written in the second person recounting what ‘you’ (Lucrezia) saw and felt. There is also an excellent chapter on Lorenzo the Magnificent, his progenitors, heirs and mastery of the ever-changing nature of governance in turbulent Florence. The interplay of the detailed biographies with the movement of forces (papal, French, Spanish, mercenary, intellectual) across the Italian landscape clarifies our view of the horrible decade at the end of the 1490s when Machiavelli was an active young public servant striving to prevent his small, weak, wealthy city state of Florence from being overrun. Machiavelli’s career, political philosophy and later reputation and influence form the through-line of Palmer’s historical reflections, the ground bass of her polyphonic composition out of many lives and forces. However, this is an intellectual history not a work of political philosophy; there is no explicit discussion of the twentieth century reappraisals of Machiavelli by Berlin, Pocock, Skinner, et alia. Palmer loves Florence. She is a Florence specialist. She lived there, ate gelatos, gave stray American tourists better-than-tour-guide tips and looked out from her flat at the sad window of the office where Machiavelli worked when he was in town. The book (especially the capsule biographies) revolves around the city, although as she admits: ‘Florence was weird.’ In 1293, fearing a coup and a tyrant – the usual fate of the other Italian republics – Florence executed or exiled all their nobles. Thereafter the city was governed by ‘the Nine Dudes in the Tower’: wealthy non-noble guild members selected by lot and replaced every two months by another nine in a procedure that did not lead to stable policy until the Cosimo and the later Medicis discovered a way to gerrymander the system. Chiefs of police were hired annually from foreign nobles (after all, nobody would obey a commoner!), paid handsomely then escorted to the gate at the end of their term and banished for lif