Scholars have long privileged the intentional actions of humanity in explaining and writing history. And yet, are death and destruction any less significant when their cause is the movement of a tectonic plate as opposed to a bomb? Is the loss of life any less significant when it is the result of unintentional consequences? These are the sorts of high-level questions Spencer Segalla makes his readers consider as he challenges the historical profession’s penchant to neglect the impact of inanimate objects, natural disasters, or even unintentional human choices in his book, Empire and Catastrophe.Segalla makes this larger historical argument within his field of decolonization in French North Africa. Specifically, he presents us with four significant mid-twentieth-century environmental disasters that occurred in France, Algeria, and Morocco as French colonial rule was collapsing on the other side of the Mediterranean. These are (1) the 1954 earthquake in Algeria’s Chélif Valley; (2) the 1959 flood in Fréjus, France; (3) the paralysis of thousands of Moroccans unintentionally poisoned by a merchant mixing jet fuel from an American airbase into his for-sale cooking oil in 1959; and (4) the 1960 earthquake in Agadir, Morocco.Segalla addresses the first of these four disasters—the Chélif Valley’s earthquake—in chapter 2. Here, we see how the movement of tectonic plates brought to the surface not only fresh earth but the difference in the quality of life enjoyed by Algeria’s European and Muslim populations; over 90 percent of the twelve thousand or more killed by this 6.2 magnitude quake and its aftershocks were Muslim. It is worth noting that, while the area’s population was predominately Muslim, the loss of life still proved disproportionate. Amid these losses, the French regime’s reassurances that Algeria was France, and that the whole of the trans-Mediterranean nation mourned the loss of all its citizens, fell flat for independence-minded Algerian nationalists. For them, the earthquake showed yet again that Muslims, while technically citizens of the republic, were indeed second-class citizens, living in inferior homes, and often in rural communities, far removed from the urban centers enjoying more aid.As the book moves to each successive event, we see how they are related and build on one another. In chapter 3, as we read of the Malpasset Dam collapsing and causing the watery death of hundreds in Fréjus, France, we learn that this southern town on the French coast was home to some 300 to 350 inhabitants from the Chélif, including migrant Muslim workers forced to flee their former homes due to the earthquake. As was the case after the Chélif Valley earthquake, the politics of empire quickly came into play after this flood. Some French wondered if the dam’s failure was actually an attack carried out by the same Algerian nationalists now fighting the French state for independence (it wasn’t). Assistance to the region’s suffering Muslims—approximately 1,100, including the 300-plus from the Chélif Valley—and Europeans were not on equal footing.These disparities in disaster relief are an ongoing theme in the book. As the following chapter takes us to Morocco, we learn that this nation, so newly independent from France, sent aid to its former colonizer after the Fréjus flood without any strings attached. Conversely, when thousands of its citizens unknowingly consumed jet fuel and suffered from paralysis later that same year, and when another devastating earthquake subsequently struck Algeria, French aid would come, but with neocolonial expectations.Segalla’s work as a historian of French decolonization is excellent. Above all, I appreciate his use of primary sources. These include Kabyle (Berber) and Arab accounts, which at times provide takes on events that are very different from official French reports. Yet, amid these divergences, Segalla does not give into a temptation to play sides. Rather, he gives careful analysis for each of these divergences, pointing out when and where one source has a greater but not definite claim to the truth. His thoughtful dissection of a rich array of archival material and memoires makes this history a true mélange of perspectives. His extensive endnotes and rich biography of primary and secondary sources are also much appreciated.Geographically, Segalla situates his work as being focused “on localities rather than nation-states.” Nonetheless, he takes us on an excellent transnational voyage through history, effectively showing how Morocco, Algeria, and France were and are tied together by empire, economy, and migration. It is tempting, of course, to want a fifth environmental event in neighboring Tunisia, as this would bring in the third and final nation that comes to mind when thinking of “French North Africa.” But I would suggest that, first, Segalla has dismissed any perceived obligation to do so by centering his book on “localities” rather than nation-states; second, his selected examples of environmental events (or disasters, rather) not only support his thesis—that such events matter—but also are so well tied to one another that introducing yet a third example for the sake of shoehorning Tunisia into this book would only detract.In brief, Segalla’s exploration of “the role of the inanimate-in-motion in human history” is well argued and makes it hard to disagree with his ultimate conclusion: “decolonization was not, therefore, a purely human story.”