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The Guardian
6 days ago
- Politics
- The Guardian
Otter pelts, Orthodox priests and a $7.2m bargain: how Russia sold Alaska to the US
Donald Trump appeared to confuse geography and history on Monday, saying on television that he planned to meet Vladimir Putin 'in Russia' on Friday for their much-anticipated, high-stakes summit. It was the latest in a series of verbal slip-ups by the US president – though had he made it a little over a century and a half earlier, it would have been true. Alaska, with Novo-Arkhangelsk as its regional capital, remained part of the Russian empire under Tsar Alexander II until its sale to the US in 1867. When Putin's jet touches down in Alaska, he will be greeted by traces of Russia's former presence. From the wild, rugged shores of Baranof Island to Anchorage, the state's largest city, Russian Orthodox churches with their distinctive onion-shaped domes still dot the landscape. Russia's foothold in Alaska began not with armies, but fur. In the mid-18th century, merchants and adventurers pushed east across Siberia, spurred by the promise of lucrative sea otter pelts. By the 1780s, Catherine the Great had authorised the creation of the Russian-American Company, granting it a monopoly over trade and governance in the territory. Alexander Baranov, a hard-driving merchant, consolidated Russia's hold on the region in the late 18th century, expanding settlements and ruthlessly suppressing resistance, most famously from the native Tlingit, who gave him the grim nickname 'No Heart'. Russian Orthodox priests soon followed, establishing missions and building churches. In New Archangel (now Sitka), they raised St Michael's Cathedral, its green dome rising against a backdrop of glaciers, still anchoring the town's view, on the same site more than 150 years later. But by the mid-19th century, the Russian empire had come to see Alaska as more of a liability than an asset, and began quietly seeking a buyer. In the wake of its humiliating defeat in the Crimean war, the territory had become a drain on St Petersburg's finances, compounded by mounting fears over Britain's expanding naval presence in the Pacific. In a letter to a friend in July 1867, Eduard de Stoeckl, the Russian envoy in Washington and chief negotiator of the sale, admitted: 'My treaty has met with strong opposition … but this stems from the fact that no one at home has any idea of the true condition of our colonies. It was simply a matter of selling them, or watching them being taken from.' The sale of Alaska emerged as a rare diplomatic win-win: for Russia, a way to recoup cash, gain a new, emerging ally across the Atlantic and sidestep a potential conflict with Britain; for the US, an opportunity to forestall European encroachment and assert its growing influence in the Pacific. Still, when the Russian empire agreed the sale in 1867, few on either side of the Pacific saw it at first as an outright triumph. In St Petersburg, it was viewed by some as the latest imperial humiliation. The colony, remote and costly to supply, had never been a jewel of the empire, yet the price – $7.2m – struck many as insultingly low. The liberal paper Golos dismissed the transaction as 'deeply angering all true Russians'. 'Is the nation's sense of pride truly so unworthy of attention that it can be sacrificed for a mere six or seven million dollar[s],' the paper wrote. Across the US, the secretary of state, William H Seward, who negotiated the treaty, was ridiculed for spending what critics saw as an unreasonable sum on a frozen wilderness. The New-York Daily Tribune dismissed the acquisition as 'the nominal possession of impassable deserts of snow'. 'We may make a treaty with Russia,' its editorial complained, 'but we cannot make a treaty with the North Wind or the Snow King.' Others wondered if the price was suspiciously low, and whether Russia had simply palmed off a worthless scrap of territory. 'Russia has sold us a sucked orange. Whatever may be the value of that territory and its outlying islands to us, it has ceased to be of any to Russia,' the New York World wrote on 1 April 1867. Yet that perception would soon be dramatically overturned. The gold rushes of the late 19th century, and the discovery of oilfields decades later, transformed what had once been mocked as folly into one of the US's most resource-rich territories – and one of history's great bargains. The cheap sale remained etched in Russian memory and has occasionally inspired fringe nationalist calls to reclaim Alaska. In 1974, when Americans protested against the low price the USSR paid for wheat, the Soviet trade official Vladimir Alkimov drily noted that Alaska had been sold for only $7m. In 1867, the mood was different. For a short time, the Alaska sale opened a fleeting chapter of warmth between Russia and the US. The New York Herald lauded in 1867 what looked like a potential new ally in Russia, writing: 'The cession of Russian Alaska becomes a matter of great importance. It indicates the extent to which Russia is ready to carry out her entente cordiale with the United States,' the paper continued. That warming of ties would culminate in 1871, when Grand Duke Alexei Alexandrovich led a naval squadron to New York, where he was greeted with military parades, gala receptions and civic honors. When Trump and Putin meet in Alaska this week, the backdrop will be the prospect of a historic renewal of ties. For Kyiv, the hope is that this time such warmth will not come at the expense of its territory – and that the era of trading land like currency in great power deals is in the past.
The Guardian
12-08-2025
- Politics
- The Guardian
Otter pelts, Orthodox priests and a $7.2m bargain: how Russia sold Alaska to the US
Donald Trump appeared to confuse geography and history on Monday, saying on television that he planned to meet Vladimir Putin 'in Russia' on Friday for their much-anticipated, high-stakes summit. It was the latest in a series of verbal slip-ups by the US president – though had he made it a century and a half earlier, it would have been true. Alaska, with Novo-Arkhangelsk as its regional capital, remained part of the Russian empire under Tsar Alexander II until its sale to the United States in 1867. When Putin's jet touches down in Alaska, he will be greeted by traces of Russia's former presence. From the wild, rugged shores of Baranof Island to Anchorage, the state's largest city, Russian Orthodox churches with their distinctive onion-shaped domes still dot the landscape. Russia's foothold in Alaska began not with armies, but with fur. In the mid-18th century, merchants and adventurers pushed east across Siberia, spurred by the promise of lucrative sea otter pelts. By the 1780s, Catherine the Great had authorised the creation of the Russian-American Company, granting it a monopoly over trade and governance in the territory. Alexander Baranov, a hard-driving merchant, consolidated Russia's hold on the region in the late 18th century, expanding settlements and ruthlessly suppressing resistance, most famously from the native Tlingit, who gave him the grim nickname 'No Heart'. Russian Orthodox priests soon followed, establishing missions and building churches. In New Archangel (now Sitka), they raised St Michael's Cathedral, its green dome rising against a backdrop of glaciers, still anchoring the town's view more than 150 years later. But by the mid-19th century, the Russian empire had come to see Alaska as more of a liability than an asset, and began quietly seeking a buyer. In the wake of its humiliating defeat in the Crimean war, the territory had become a drain on St Petersburg's finances, compounded by mounting fears over Britain's expanding naval presence in the Pacific. In a letter to a friend in July 1867, Eduard de Stoeckl, the Russian envoy in Washington and chief negotiator of the sale, admitted: 'My treaty has met with strong opposition … but this stems from the fact that no one at home has any idea of the true condition of our colonies. It was simply a matter of selling them, or watching them being taken from.' The sale of Alaska emerged as a rare diplomatic win-win: for Russia, a way to recoup cash, gain a new, emerging ally across the Atlantic and sidestep a potential conflict with Britain; for the United States, an opportunity to forestall European encroachment and assert its growing influence in the Pacific. Still, when the Russian empire agreed the sale in 1867, few on either side of the Pacific saw it at first as an outright triumph. In St Petersburg, it was viewed by some as the latest imperial humiliation. The colony, remote and costly to supply, had never been a jewel of the empire, yet the price – $7.2m – struck many as insultingly low. The liberal paper Golos dismissed the transaction as 'deeply angering all true Russians'. 'Is the nation's sense of pride truly so unworthy of attention that it can be sacrificed for a mere six or seven million dollar[s],' the paper wrote. Across the United States, the secretary of state, William H Seward, who negotiated the treaty, was ridiculed for spending what critics saw as an unreasonable sum on a frozen wilderness. The New-York Daily Tribune dismissed the acquisition as 'the nominal possession of impassable deserts of snow'. 'We may make a treaty with Russia,' its editorial complained, 'but we cannot make a treaty with the North Wind or the Snow King.' Others wondered if the price was suspiciously low, and whether Russia had simply palmed off a worthless scrap of territory. 'Russia has sold us a sucked orange. Whatever may be the value of that territory and its outlying islands to us, it has ceased to be of any to Russia,' the New York World wrote on 1 April 1867. Yet that perception would soon be dramatically overturned. The gold rushes of the late 19th century, and the discovery of oil fields decades later, transformed what had once been mocked as folly into one of the United States' most resource-rich territories – and one of history's great bargains. The cheap sale remained etched in Russian memory and has occasionally inspired fringe nationalist calls to reclaim Alaska. In 1974, when Americans protested the low price the USSR paid for wheat, the Soviet trade official Vladimir Alkimov dryly noted that Alaska had been sold for just $7m. But in 1867, the mood was different. For a short time, the Alaska sale opened a fleeting chapter of warmth between Russia and the United States. The New York Herald lauded in 1867 what looked like a potential new ally in Russia, writing: 'The cession of Russian Alaska becomes a matter of great importance. 'It indicates the extent to which Russia is ready to carry out her entente cordiale with the United States,' the paper continued. That warming of ties would culminate in 1871, when Grand Duke Alexei Alexandrovich led a naval squadron to New York, where he was greeted with military parades, gala receptions and civic honors. When Trump and Putin meet in Alaska this week, the backdrop will be the prospect of a historic renewal of ties. For Kyiv, the hope is that this time such warmth will not come at the expense of its territory – and that the era of trading land like currency in great power deals is in the past.
Daily Mail
10-08-2025
- Politics
- Daily Mail
MAIL ON SUNDAY COMMENT: We wish Trump well in his valiant bid for a just and lasting peace
Borders can change. When Presidents Trump and Putin meet in Alaska on Friday, they will be on territory which was once part of the Russian Empire. Moscow sold it to Washington in 1867 for a bargain price, partly because they were afraid that either Britain or the USA would grab it anyway if they did not. But since the aggressive horrors of the Second World War, there has been a general agreement that we should leave borders – above all in Europe – where they are. Most especially, we should not reward the illegal seizure of ground by armed force. This is a good principle, though it has been bent, if not actually broken, since the founding of the UN in San Francisco 80 years ago. Now it is being tested very severely. Vladimir Putin's criminal invasion of Ukraine was, and remains, a bloody and destructive action which should live in infamy. Thanks to wartime secrecy on both sides, we do not know the true scale of the horror, only that it is great. War deaths and other casualties are state secrets, and we can only guess at their size by looking at satellite pictures of the vast graveyards on either side of the frontline. Civilians, too, have suffered appallingly. Multitudes have become destitute refugees. Ukraine's economic sinews have been mangled and maimed by cynical Russian bombing, clearly intended to drive a once-prosperous country back into the pre-industrial age. Donald Trump, very reasonably, wants to stop these miseries and he has made it plain to Putin that he will hit the Russian economy where it hurts if he carries on with his aggression. But the lonely despot in the Kremlin is demanding a heavy price in return, especially the surrender of large slices of territory and the end of Ukraine's Nato ambitions. Mr Trump has spoken rather bafflingly of 'some swapping of territories to the betterment of both'. But Ukraine does not hold any significant Russian territory, while Russia has seized large portions of Ukraine and continues to eat away at its land each week. Even now, no more than 38 per cent of Ukraine's population would even consider ceding some of that land for peace. This is a big softening since 2023, but many of the remaining 62 per cent will always remain resolutely opposed to any such thing, and Ukraine's President Zelensky is among them. He is rightly suspicious of any talks which exclude him from the table. It is rumoured that Putin has offered a ceasefire in return for Ukraine handing over the eastern territories of Donetsk and Luhansk. But this is plainly not the end of his demands. Any such armistice would trigger more talks on the rest of the land Russia has grabbed – talks which Zelensky would rightly fear. Ukraine cannot easily fight off new Russian gains without the support of the USA and Europe's Nato powers. But America and Europe alike are worried that they must choose between a shabby deal or a much more intensive and dangerous war with Russia. It is a nasty mess. Credit must go to Donald Trump for continuing to try to resolve it. We must all wish and hope for a just and lasting peace. But with the current balance of forces, it is very hard to see how such a compromise can be reached.
Russia Today
24-07-2025
- Entertainment
- Russia Today
Why South Africa keeps picking up Russia's call
Thirty years ago, in July 1995, Russia and South Africa signed a military-technical cooperation agreement. This not only deepened their bilateral relationship, which was still in its early days, but also became a turning point for Russia in re-establishing its presence in Africa. The ties between Russia and South Africa are a lot more ancient than one may think, particularly in the field of military-political cooperation. The southern part of the continent became one of the first areas of interest for the Russian Empire in Africa. This happened in the late 19th century and the circumstances around it are closely tied to the history of African colonization and the Anglo-Boer Wars. By the end of the 19th century, Britain controlled the territory around Cape Town, which is now the western tip of modern-day South Africa, significantly increasing pressure on the Transvaal Republic and the Orange Free State. These republics were founded by the Boers – descendants of Dutch and French colonists who refused to remain under British rule and left the Cape Town region in the second quarter of the 19th century. Most of Europe, including Russia, sympathized with the Boer states. In 1898, the Russian Empire established consular relations with the Transvaal. During the Second Anglo-Boer War (1899–1902), around 200 Russian volunteers – officers, doctors, engineers, and journalists – fought alongside the Boers, in solidarity with the people of the Transvaal and the Orange Free State. The song 'Transvaal, Transvaal, My Country, You Are All Aflame' is featured in the Russian historical drama film 'Once Upon a Time There Lived a Simple Woman', directed by Andrei Smirnov The song 'Transvaal, My Country' based on Galina Galina's poem from 1899, 'The Boer and His Sons' became widely popular in Russia. Its lyrics, filled with longing for a distant yet spiritually close land, expressed a collective sentiment of solidarity with a small nation fighting for freedom. The simple melody and emotional resonance made the song very popular. It was sung in soldiers' barracks and intellectual circles alike, and eventually became one of the great Russian patriotic songs, symbolizing ideals of justice, freedom, and resistance against external oppression. Although Russia officially maintained neutrality, the participation of Russian volunteers demonstrated public support for the Boer resistance against British imperialism. Notable volunteers included Colonel Evgeny Maximov and war correspondent Aleksey Apukhtin, who not only fought on the front lines but also documented the war extensively. Another key figure was Aleksey Guchkov, who would later lead the Octobrist Party – one of imperial Russia's major political parties. Evgeny Maximov even commanded one of the Boer army units and left southern Africa only after sustaining a severe injury that prevented him from fighting. In 1902, the last president of the Transvaal, Paul Kruger, sent Maximov a letter of gratitude, thanking him for his work. 'Your services to my Fatherland were extraordinarily important and deserve great respect. Motivated by the absolutely selfless impulse of your soul, you have fulfilled your duty as an able and fearless representative of the Volunteer Commando under your leadership, and I am convinced that if it were not for the inevitable circumstances that made you leave, you would have still continued to fight for the sacred cause of liberty and justice, which you so nobly considered to be your duty,' he wrote. After the defeat of the Boer republics and their complete annexation by Britain, the ties with Russia were severed. Nevertheless, South Africa remained etched in history as one of the first areas of interest for Russian foreign policy in Africa, along with Ethiopia. A new phase in bilateral relations emerged during the 1920s-1930s. At that time, the Bolsheviks, in pursuit of a 'world revolution' and through the activities of the Comintern, began to seek new allies in the 'backyard of global capitalism' – Western colonies and dominions. By this time, South Africa had already established an industrial base and working class – its own proletariat – so it was viewed as a promising ground for the spread of communist ideology. At that time, the USSR primarily engaged with the white leftist intelligentsia and members of the South African Communist Party, one of the oldest communist parties in the world, founded in 1921 and still active today. Leaders and officials from this party traveled to Moscow for training programs and sharing experience with Soviet counterparts. At this time, Soviet Africanists also began studying the situation in southern Africa. Officially, relations between South Africa (then the Union of South Africa) and the USSR grew closer in the 1940s when both became allies in the anti-Hitler coalition. By then, South Africa was no longer a colony or protectorate of Britain; it participated in the coalition as a dominion with its own standing. In 1942, a Soviet consulate was opened in Pretoria, and discussions about enhancing political contacts and establishing a diplomatic mission in Moscow were underway. Cultural and public ties flourished during this time. The end of the Second World War led to a deterioration in relations between the USSR and Western nations, including Britain, coupled with the onset of apartheid policies in South Africa in the late 1940s and early 1950s. This resulted in a sharp decline in contacts. For almost 40 years, the Soviet Union and other Eastern Bloc countries distanced themselves from South Africa, finding themselves on opposing sides in civil conflicts across southern Africa – in Angola, Zimbabwe, Namibia, and Mozambique. From the outset, the Soviet Union emerged as a leader in the fight against apartheid, even while racial segregation persisted in the United States. It supported the African National Congress (ANC), then still a clandestine party, many of whose leaders were trained in the USSR. Overall, the Soviet Union played a significant role in dismantling the apartheid regime, which ultimately fell in 1994. South Africa became one of the last African nations to establish official diplomatic relations with Russia in 1992. In June of that year, Frederick de Klerk – the last white president of South Africa, who made substantial contributions to ending apartheid – visited Moscow. In 1999, Nelson Mandela also traveled to Moscow, where he met with Russian President Boris Yeltsin. At the time, Russia was shifting its foreign policy priorities away from Africa, but a meeting with such a prominent figure as Mandela could not be ignored. Bilateral relations saw significant growth in the 2000s. In 2006, Russian President Vladimir Putin visited South Africa, making a stop at the Cape of Good Hope; this marked the first visit by a Russian president to sub-Saharan Africa. To this day, South Africa remains the only sub-Saharan nation where Putin has traveled; his second visit took place in 2013, when he attended the BRICS summit. During the 2000s, trade and economic relations flourished. Unlike many other Russian efforts in Africa, these relationships were mutually beneficial, as South Africa's advanced industrial base allowed its companies to enter the Russian market, thanks to the similar economic structures of both nations. Among the South African companies that invested in Russia are paper manufacturer Mondi, media giant Naspers, the continent's largest bank, Standard Bank, and beer producer SABMiller. As for Russian companies, they primarily invested in mineral extraction. Notable projects include manganese mining and processing in the Kalahari by Renova, along with various projects and initiatives by companies like FosAgro, Norilsk Nickel, Evraz, Gazprombank, Rosatom, Rosgeo, and others. South Africa also exports goods to Russia, with bilateral trade reaching around $1 billion – a substantial figure in the context of Russia-Africa relations. Nearly half of this trade consists of South African exports: fruits and berries from South Africa can be found on the shelves of nearly every Russian supermarket. In recent years, the presence of South African wines in Russia has also been increasing. However, political understanding still outpaces economic ties. Political connections intensified following South Africa's entry into BRICS in 2010 under then-President of South Africa Jacob Zuma, which was strongly supported by Russia. Subsequently, a strategic partnership agreement was signed between the two countries – making South Africa the only sub-Saharan nation with which Russia has established such cooperation. Despite a change in administration in South Africa in 2018, its relations with Russia remain constructive and the presidents regularly discuss a broad range of issues. South Africa has taken a balanced stance on the Ukraine conflict, critiquing NATO and even leading an African peace initiative regarding Ukraine. As one of Africa's strongest regional powers, South Africa is adept at maintaining a balanced foreign policy, nurturing relationships with both BRICS nations and the West without adopting extreme positions on international crises. This approach contributes to the stability and predictability of its relations with Russia. The role of Russia in the fight against apartheid in South Africa and in the formation of the ANC is still remembered today. Moreover, South Africa has long been woven into the cultural fabric of Russia – whether through tales of Russian sailors passing the Cape of Good Hope on their way to the Battle of Tsushima or the song about the Transvaal and the old Boer. At the close of our discussion on bilateral relations between Russia and South Africa, it would be fitting to reflect on a rhetorical question posed by Ivan Goncharov, one of Russia's greatest writers, back in 1856. Sailing past the shores of South Africa aboard the frigate Pallada, he wrote,'The present moment is the most intriguing one for the colony. At this time, the fundamental questions shaping its existence are being addressed. What will its future look like? Will it merely remain a European colony – much like it was under the Dutch, who did nothing for the black tribes – and become another unremarkable corner inhabited by Europeans? Or will the black people, the legitimate children of one father, share equally with the whites the inheritance of freedom, religion, and civilization that is rightfully theirs?'
The Guardian
01-06-2025
- General
- The Guardian
‘It's thrilling': almost three centuries of the Belfast News Letter go online
There was a packed news agenda on 3 October 1738. The father of the notorious highwayman Dick Turpin had been arrested after being found with a stolen horse. Cannon fire rang out in St Petersburg to mark a Russian victory over the Ottoman Empire. In America, four families had been killed in Virginia in clashes with Native Americans. Meanwhile, a horse fell in the Thames at Westminster, nearly causing a drowning. Welcome to the pages of the Belfast News Letter, where updates on the French Revolution run alongside adverts for brandy and the American Declaration of Independence was reported as a contemporary event. The 3 October copy has a special place in newspaper history – it stakes a claim as the oldest surviving edition of the world's longest continuously published English language daily newspaper. In fact, the paper is so old that it predates the UK's switch to the Gregorian calendar. The edition would have been published on 14 October according to modern dating. For the first time, the News Letter's coverage of the most momentous events of the past three centuries can now be accessed free by anyone with a library pass or an online subscription, after the completion of a project to digitise its surviving editions. Everything from the Crimean war to the Troubles in Northern Ireland are covered, thanks to the joint project between the Northern Ireland Office, the British Library and online platform, Findmypast. While the earliest editions are austere in appearance, Ben Lowry, the Belfast News Letter's current editor, said they had many of the ingredients of the modern-day newspaper. 'They look so severe that they're like a reminder of an almost ancient age of poverty and hangings,' he said. 'But actually, you see the genesis of newspapers in them. They're full of fun. They have gossip. They have salacious stories.' The first edition was probably published in 1737, some 60 years before the Act of Union and 175 years before the sinking of the Titanic, a major news event for a paper published in the city where the doomed liner was built. The American Declaration of Independence, reproduced in its 27 August 1776 edition, featured alongside adverts for books, an appeal for a lost watch and a reward for finding a stolen horse – one guinea for finding it, or three for delivering the horse and thief. Adverts were the only items featuring illustrations at the time. Theft was denoted by woodcut prints of the devil. It was once thought that its publication of the declaration was a Europe-wide scoop. The editor sneaked a peek at the document as it travelled to London via Northern Ireland – or so the story goes. Like other journalistic stories of triumph, it appears the tale may have grown in the telling. In truth, two London papers, the St James Chronicle and the General Evening Post, had already printed the historic text a week earlier. While the paper was dominated by world events, even the oldest editions have examples of unusual yarns too good to leave out. The 20 April 1739 edition carried a lengthy piece about a marriage near Dunluce, County Antrim, at which the bride was so drunk she demanded to go to bed the moment the ceremony had been completed, only to fall and break her nose. She was later spotted in bed with a man who was not the groom. The oldest surviving edition recounts the dramatic tale of an Italian woman who stabbed and killed a man who had been harassing her for 18 months. The earliest copies ran across just two pages and were largely made up of letters from around the world, or material relayed from other sources. 'There was a lot more censorship during this early period,' said Beth Gaskell, lead curator of news and moving image at the British Library. 'There's a bigger focus on international news and a lot of verbatim reporting of events. There's less opinion because it was dangerous. But that doesn't mean that you don't get these kinds of really interesting stories.' From 1789, the paper was dominated by the French Revolution, but the news could be a little on the slow side. In the days that followed the storming of the Bastille, an edition stated: 'The French mails, which arrived this morning, brought little of consequence.' However, accounts of the tumultuous events in Paris appeared later that month, including how 'armed burghers paraded the city, attended by drums, beating to arms', before giving accounts of the storming itself. It described the Bastille's governor 'holding out a white flag and opening one of the gates' before a party entered and were fired upon. It states the governor was later beheaded. On Thursday 11 April 1912, the paper ran an enthusiastic if lowkey piece on the Titanic's maiden voyage. 'The departure yesterday from Southampton of the newest ocean giant, the Titanic, of the White Star Line, was an event that marks the last note of progress in modern shipbuilding,' it stated. 'A large concourse of people had gathered to speed the vessel on her maiden voyage and she made an impressive picture as she quietly glided in brilliant sunshine.' Just five days later, it ran what looked like a modern-day headline, albeit on page seven. 'The Titanic sunk. Collision with iceberg,' it declared. '1,500 lives lost.' In a sign of the printing timeframes, the front page of the same edition ran an advert for White Star Line and its 'triple screw' steamers, including the Titanic. The Belfast News Letter was founded by Francis Joy, a lawyer and notary. His death was recorded in the paper in 1790, but he had the misfortune to die just as the paper carried a lengthy obituary of Benjamin Franklin, one of America's founding fathers. Joy's passing was given a single sentence. Lowry said he had not 'given up hope' that more of the oldest editions would be located, but said the new digital archive would open up the existing back catalogue to anyone wanting a glimpse into the past over their morning coffee. 'It is thrilling,' he said. 'It's very important history, but above all, it's very readable and enjoyable history.'
