This, the eleventh in the planned twenty-volume Histoire dessinée de la France, takes the reader on a quick tour of the French seventeenth century, with Alexandre Dumas père, Ernest Lavisse, and Pierre Goubert as guides. Each of them travels through a time-travel portal to access an aspect of the period that corresponds to his interests: Dumas explores war and the colonies, Lavisse observes royal grandeur, and Goubert encounters the difficult conditions of the common people. This premise allows the authors to foreground the role played by historians in establishing and contesting the French national narrative while complicating the commonly held view of the period as the Versailles-centred apogee of French glory; Lavisse, in particular, is disillusioned by what he finds. The unique, irreverent, and approachable format of the graphic novel suits this project of demythification well. The high rate of mortality during the period is underscored by the depiction, at the bottom of a series of pages, of the faces of a large fictional peasant family that Goubert visits; as drought and famine afflict their region, the faces are crossed off one by one. The wit of the genre also comes across in a section devoted to the hierarchy of genres endorsed by the Académie de peinture (p. 54), from best to worst. The graphic-novel section of the book closes with a brief account of slavery and the Code noir, related by a Black French sailor whose presence allows a Breton merchant to explain to Dumas that ‘même au xviie siècle, être français, ce n’est pas forcément être blanc!’ (p. 99). Lavisse and Goubert acknowledge the failure of historians to address the slave trade adequately, before moving on to a sober assessment of a century characterized by great cultural achievements but also by near-constant war; symbolically, one of the last panels depicts Versailles plunged into darkness, devoid of its solar inhabitant. The book ends with a series of densely written scholarly essays on various topics only glancingly treated in the graphic novel. A section on the Fronde partially remedies the striking lack of women in the rest of the work; a section on ‘le siècle saint’ complicates the earlier and frequent dismissal of religion as dogmatic, intolerant fantasy. Overall, the work conveys the authors’ efforts to problematize the French seventeenth century all without significantly challenging French pride and global importance. The aforementioned Breton merchant takes care to note that his wealth, unlike that of his counterparts in Nantes and Bordeaux, was not acquired from the slave trade; absolutism is described at times as a politically motivated invention of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, as a near-tyrannical thirst for order and control, and as a rational, much-needed response to the trauma of the religious wars. The result is a volume that serves as an interesting perspective on the period, accessible to a wide range of readers, but one that also invites reflection on our current historiographical moment.
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