Book review: A Short History of Drunkenness

Every now and again, I get surprised by a book that wasn't quite what I was expecting. This was definitely the case with A Short History of Drunkenness, by Mark Forsyth. Actually, I'm not quite sure what I was expecting now that I'm writing this review, and given the title of the book. It is definitely a fun read and not to be taken too seriously, as this bit from the introduction nicely illustrates:

Anyway, some of alcohol's effects are not caused by alcohol. It's terribly easy to hand out nonalcoholic beer without telling people that it contains no alcohol. You then watch them drink and take notes. Sociologists do this all the time, and the results are consistent and conclusive. First, you can't trust a sociologist at the bar; they must be watched like hawks.

As if we needed another reason not to trust sociologists, in a bar or anywhere else for that matter. Or this bit:

...if you turned up in eighth-century Baghdad you could easily obtain wine, so long as you went to the Jewish Quarter, or the Armenian Quarter, or the Greek Quarter. There were enough quarters to make a strict mathematician blush.

Anyway, Forsyth takes us on a journey through humanity's history of drinking and drunkenness, from prehistory to prohibition, and across a wide geographical scope from Britain to Australia. The bibliography suggests that there is a research foundation to the book, but I suspect there is more than a little artistic licence being taken. For instance, I doubt that Australians would appreciate their country being accused of being "filled with grapes and Foster's". I don't know any Australians who actually drink Foster's - it's made in Manchester.

Despite the odd hiccup, the content is genuinely interesting and Forsyth's lively writing style keeps it entertaining. I even learned a few things, like:

New Zealand held a referendum on prohibition in 1919 and the Drys won, until the votes were counted from the army who were overseas at the time. Still, it was a damned close-run thing.

It turns out that story is true. Forsyth's background is in etymology, so it is no surprise that he is able to tell us the difference in Medieval times between an inn (a rather expensive hotel), a tavern (the equivalent of a modern-day cocktail bar), and an alehouse (a woman's house, open to the common folk, to whom the 'alewife' would sell her excess ale). We use those terms mostly interchangeably now, but in Medieval Britain they meant quite different things.

If you want to read a summary of serious research on alcohol, this book is not for you. However, if you're looking for an excuse to buy something frivolous, this might be a good choice. After all, it's coming close to the time of year where many people over-indulge, and if you need an excuse for your over-indulgence you could do worse than appealing to a long human tradition of drunkenness.