Book Reviews

The Astronomer and the Witch: Johannes Kepler’s Fight for his Mother is a book that chronicles the witchcraft trial of Katharina Kepler, Johannes Kepler’s mother, and the historical context of her trial. The background of the author of The Astronomer and the Witch, Dr. Ulinka Rublack, makes her a good fit for this type of historical writing. According to her faculty page at the University of Cambridge (https://www.hist.cam.ac.uk/people/professor-ulinka-rublack-fba), Dr. Rublack was educated in Hamburg and Cambridge and then became a research fellow at Cambridge in 1996. Her research focuses on the rise of consumerism and changes in material and religious cultures in the early modern era, which explains why a famous witchcraft trial would inspire her to write a book. Her other books include Dürer in the Age of Wonder: Art and Society at the Dawn of a Global World, and her current project is a new book entitled The Triumph of Fashion, which follows the rise of fashion around the world starting in 1300 CE. Dr. Rublack’s awards include the Deutsche Historikerpreis prize three years in a row for The Astronomer and the Witch and in 2018 she earned the Reimar-Lüst Prize, a lifetime achievement award from the Humboldt and Thyssen Foundations.

Before discussing Dr. Rublack’s book, it is worth highlighting her work outside of traditional academia. In www.materializedidentities.com, she explores the relationship between material objects, on the one hand, and religion and culture, on the other. As part of the project, she supervised the recreation of a Renaissance feather headdress, and the project’s blog documents interesting projects, including a workshop in which students experimented with recreating early modern perfumes and recipes. For a clip of her discussing the recreation of an outfit from 1530, follow this link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=91hysO_suRo. There is also an opera that The Astronomer and The Witch inspired. This is a performance of it at St. John’s College, Cambridge from 2016: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-Xg_ROgGj1U

There are two ways to approach The Astronomer and The Witch. First is to describe the main subject of the book, which is Katharina Kepler’s trial. Dr. Rublack discusses the trial in chronological order, starting with a short introduction to Katharina herself in chapter one. The next two chapters add historical context to her situation, including information about the politics of her time, disagreements between various religious groups, and the legal state of witchcraft during her lifetime. Chapter three also discusses the beginning of Katharina’s trial. The rest of the chapters discuss developments in the trial, Katharina’s son’s role in it, complications with her family, more political and cultural aspects of the time, and Mrs. Kepler’s death in 1622, six months after she had been released from prison. All-in-all, Dr. Rublack’s description of a complicated trial and its historical context is well written, engaging, and interesting.

The second way to approach The Astronomer and The Witch is to consider Rublack’s theoretical or general observations that reveal her perspective as a historian. One of these observations has to do with the type of history she is doing in her book. On page 258 in the epilogue, she writes, “[H]istorians have begun to reconstruct the lives or ordinary people like Katharina Kepler in communities across the world. Betrande Rols and Martin Guerre as well as Menocchio . . . remain the best known of these ‘micro-histories.’ The Astronomer and the Witch is designed to complement our sense of this period by taking us into a Lutheran world as the Reformation came of age.” Rublack adds that that type of history is done “from the ground up.” This means that The Astronomer and the Witch is primarily a micro-history, which makes sense since it focuses on the life and trial of one woman.

While Dr. Rublack’s book is a micro-history, she does not ignore the bigger picture. She addresses this on the last page of her epilogue, where she writes that exceptional individuals, like Katharina and Johannes Kepler, and trials reveal things of “’universal import’ about a ‘silent majority’.” By choosing a sufficiently broad context, she argues, individual, local events can reveal a bigger picture. She adds that her book attempts to understand both individuals, families, community, and an age. Thus, one of her goals in her book is to use the particulars of Katharina and Johannes Kepler’s lives to understand large-scale themes, like family and community life in early modern Europe.

An example of how Dr. Rublack relates the trial to macro-history is in her introduction, where makes a comment that world of The Astronomer and the Witch was a haunted world, where nearly everyone believed that witches and the devils exist. In such an atmosphere, population growth, bad weather, and scarce resources led to a surge in witchcraft trials and executions. Between 1500 and 1700, 73,000 men and women faced witchcraft trials and 40,000 to 50,000 were executed. This is important context to give readers a sense of why Katharina would have been put on trial and imprisoned for witchcraft.

To complicate the picture of attitudes towards witchcraft, in chapter twelve Dr. Rublack mentions moderating voices on the legal status of witchcraft in Katharina’s era. There was Johannes Kepler’s friend and godfather, Johann Georg Gödelmann, who wrote a treatise on magic, sorcery, and witches and was the great legal expert on witchcraft in Protestant Europe at the end of the 1500s. As witchcraft trials multiplied, Gödelmann insisted that legal procedures needed to be followed and that charges of witchcraft needed to be “well-established” and based on two reliable witnesses. There was also one of Kepler’s patrons, Johann Georg Herwart Hohenburg, who, as the Bavarian Supreme Chancellor in 1590, supported an anti-witch-hunting party in court. Both of these important individuals, who had close ties to Johannes Kepler, did not share in the mania over witches of the historical period in which they lived.

There are other general themes that Dr. Rublack brings up in her book, which one could discuss in a book review, such as the issue of historical memory in the discussion of the statue of Katharine Kepler in the epilogue of the book, ways that Rublack undermines accepted views of both Katharine and Johannes Kepler, and Rublack’s discussion of her sources. However, maybe the most fitting ending to this review would be to question what she means by “Kepler’s real voice.”

On page 253, Dr. Rublack writes, “entering into Johannes Kelpler’s real voice reveals aspects of human experience which are often not spoken about or seen in relation to men of science.” Then, she lists emotions and contradictory ideas about femininity as examples of these “aspects of human experience.” She adds that Kepler understood his time “in positive and hopeful terms,” and he was a man with a smile and a cheerful style. Without going back through her book again, my impression is that she complicated the image we have of Kepler in history, which, on its own, makes her book worth reading. However, I do not have the sense that I learned about the “true” Kepler. As a rule, I am skeptical about any claim that one can get to the heart of or the “real voice” of any famous historical figure. All I have to do is remind myself how difficult it is to know the “real voice” of someone I know very well in my personal life, and then my skepticism about truly knowing historical figures comes to mind. That is not to argue that The Astronomer and the Witch is not worth reading. It is an excellent book. If anything, it gives readers a more complex picture of Johannes Kepler, his mother, and the historical period in which they lived. 

Engineering the Eternal City: Infrastructure, Topography, and the Culture of Knowledge in Late-Sixteenth Century Rome by Pamela O. Long is an interesting and informative look at the politics and intellectual advancements during the redesign of Rome between the years 1557 and 1590. Pamela O. Long received her Ph.D. in Renaissance and Reformation History from the University of Maryland, College Park in 1979. She describes herself as an independent historian of late medieval and early modern Europe and the history of science and technology.  In addition to research, Long has been a visiting professor at institutions such as the Harvard University Center for Italian Renaissance Studies in Florence, Italy, Princeton University, and Harvard University. She has taught courses on the history of medieval and renaissance Europe, the “scientific revolution”, and technology in medieval and renaissance Europe. Engineering the Eternal City, published in 2018, is Long’s latest in a repertoire that includes authoring and co-authoring five other books on technology and science from the medieval to early modern periods. For example, her 2011 book, Artisan/Practitioners and the Rise of the New Sciences, 1400-1600 analyzes the influence of artisans and craftsmen on the “new sciences” of the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries (https://osupress.oregonstate.edu/book/artisanpractitioners-and-rise-of-new-sciences-1400-1600).

Engineering the Eternal City focuses on a thirty-year period of redesign and rebuilding of Rome between the aftermath of the great flood of 1557 and the death of pope Sixtus V in 1590. The author argues that despite Rome’s reputation as a “backwater for the sciences,” the reconstruction of the city forced technological innovation inspired by the study of Roman antiquity which promoted scientific development amidst the complex political and religious spheres of early modern Italy. Combining pictorial and written evidence such as maps, manuscripts, meeting minutes, and papal bulls with anecdotes about the challenges of archival research, Long compiles a structured look at the inner working of Rome’s bureaucratic processes and the completion of major infrastructure redesign and rebuilding.

Pamela Long noted that the purpose of her narrow focus on the years between 1557 and 1590 carve a new path in the historiography of early modern science because it allowed her to examine both the successes and the failures of the urban reconstruction projects in Rome. This differs from previous scholarly works which focus only on the successes or major innovations in this period. Since the book is focused on a narrow window of time, the author chose to organize her book topically instead of chronologically, beginning with the catalyst of the reconstruction efforts, the great flood of 1557. In chapter one, the author discussed the impacts of the severe flooding of the Tiber River and introduced the key themes of the book; the relationship between natural philosophy and the work of ancient Romans to explain and solve contemporary issues. These ideas caused the scientists and statesmen of early modern Rome to ask, what caused the river to flood? And how did the ancients explain such a phenomenon and solve it? The combination of natural philosophy and antiquarian studies are a key theme which carries throughout the book.

The topic of study in chapter two is the unsuccessful attempt at managing and cleaning the city via the streets and sewer systems. Here, Pamela Long’s expertise as an independent historian shines through with an emphasis on her archival research process using documents and archaeological reports to piece together information on late-sixteenth century drains and sewers. One of the strengths of this book is that the author concedes to the limitations of archival research where it is necessary before she makes her argument. This not only gives the reader a prompt from which to think about their own theories and interpretations of the evidence that she presents, but it adds credibility to the author’s argument through her acknowledgment of said limitations. Chapters three and four are devoted to the repair of the Acqua Vergine aqueduct and broken bridges, respectfully. The theme of the study of antiquities continued with an analysis of the While these two chapters are less interesting than the previous, they do provide an in depth look at the Roman bureaucratic system that buoyed between the people and the pope. In particular, these chapters highlighted the system of patronage which funded the artisans, engineers and architects that completed these public works projects.

Chapters five and six delve into the world of mapmaking. In chapter five, Pamela Long discusses the burgeoning mapmaking business of the sixteenth century and the topography of Rome. Innovations during this time “revolutionized” mapmaking, allowing maps to be drawn to a fixed scale. It is within the description of the fixed scale mapmaking system that the idea of the scientific revolution being a “revolution” is challenged. Long makes a point here to say that the idea and technology to create a fixed scale map had been used abundantly in ancient Mesopotamia, China, and even Rome, but they were not “continuous cartographical practices,” (114). Meaning, what may have seemed to be a “revolution” was not a revolution but a revival of older practices. Chapter six focused more on the artistic side of the mapmaking process, and on the act of printmaking itself. This chapter was a bit repetitive of chapter five but tied together the author’s argument that “reenvisioning Rome on paper and remaking Rome as a physical entity went hand in hand,” (162).

The two concluding chapters, seven and eight, felt slightly out of place compared to the rest of the book. Chapter seven discussed reforming the streets, meaning social reform and physically altering the width, scope and sometimes direction of the streets. However, this chapter felt less like it had to do with the reengineering of streets than it did with the people on them. And while this is an important aspect of any historical analysis, the two ideas felt disjointed. Chapter eight dealt with moving the Vatican Obelisk, a monolith that had been removed from Egypt in 41 CE by the emperor Caligula, and which in the sixteenth century was to be moved to a more prominent position at the Vatican. While the moving of the Obelisk was a task that required feats of engineering to accomplish, this event felt out of place among the chapters on aqueducts, bridges, sewers, and streets. Though both chapters seven and eight had moments that reflected the author’s thesis, they felt largely unnecessary.

Throughout her examination of the urban reconstruction of Rome, Long uses language that is structured for both academic audiences and the casual enthusiast of Roman history, without oversimplifying it for either. In addition, Long made a point of translating all of the Italian words and phrases she used into English for the ease of the reader, while still providing the original language in parentheses. Overall, Engineering the Eternal City: Infrastructure, Topography, and the Culture of Knowledge in Late Sixteenth-Century Rome was an informative, well organized, and well researched book that skillfully argued Rome’s importance in scientific and technological advancement which was inspired by a dialogue between sixteenth century contemporaries and Roman antiquity in the journey to redesign and rebuild the city.

Engineering the Eternal City: Infrastructure, Topography, and the Culture of Knowledge in Late Sixteenth-Century Rome by Pamela O. Long provides a view into the construction projects of Rome during the mid to late 16^th century, which represents a significant period of Roman reconstruction and improvement after many devastating floods. In addition, the sections of this book present the contested nature of Roman politics, specifically about the construction, especially as new Popes redefine the necessities for Rome. Pamela O. Long is an independent historian who focuses on the history of science and technology; she specifically focuses on the interactions between scholars during the early modern period. In the past, Dr. O. Long has published numerous books that deal with the interactions between science, technology, and culture within late medieval and early modern societies. Engineering the Eternal City fits well with O. Long’s previous work as it looks at the interaction between the construction projects during the late 16^th century as well as interactions between the self-described engineers, Capitoline Council, and the papacy to create large-scale construction projects.

This book focuses on a relatively narrow period of about 30 years to shed light on the inner workings of construction projects during this period, as well as show the contentious nature of construction and describe how far from modern construction during this period was. Within this period, O. Long shows how the changes in the papacy caused the rise and fall of different building projects; she also shows how patronage was as important as previous work for obtaining a contract. The numerous examples of attempts to improve Rome each individually show how it was not the strength of the proposing architect that determined the success of the project, but instead, it was the financial and political support from two governing bodies within Rome that decided both the architect and if a construction project would happen. This idea is used to show how construction within Rome in the late 16^th century was as much a cultural process as a process of technological improvement to revitalize the Eternal City. To make this argument, O. Long presents multiple examples of successful and failed projects and the culture surrounding architecture during this period in Rome. These examples can be separated into four main sections, the failures to prevent floods and sanitation, contests over aqueduct and road building, the culture surrounding architecture in Rome, and the remaking of Roman roads and obelisks.

She begins the book with examples of the failure of a project to solve the Tiber River flooding issue and continued failures at attempting to improve the perceived sanitation of the city. These two examples show that during this period, there was no system in place for projects that were widely seen as in the public good to be undertaken. Although there were numerous writings on flooding, “a solution to Tiber River flooding was not found in the sixteenth century” (p. 41), but the common discourse on flooding by the Roman elite helped move engineering into “learned culture.” (p. 41) Sanitation within Rome suffered from significant issues for urban construction during this period; first, sanitation suffered from a lack of continued funding sources, and second, the continued evidence of new sanitation efforts into the eighteenth century shows the failures of these efforts. Together these projects describe a distinctly pre-modern attempt at improving a city, but they do show the growing cultural significance of architecture in scholarly Rome.

The following chapters of Engineering the Eternal City show a more successful view of Roman construction. Still, the process by which the architect was selected for these projects represents a lack of modern professionalism within construction. Chapters three and four present both successes and failures in construction, but their true value is presenting how a designer was contracted. In the reconstruction of the Acqua Vergine, O. Long shows how the pope’s selection decided the person who would design the aqueduct. However, the primary sources used were unclear regarding how this architect was selected. Overall, these two chapters show how all major project members “were chosen in a process that was sometimes conflicted and often influenced by patronage considerations” (p. 112) and not based on the plan of the hired person.

The only place the book falters is in chapters 5 and 6, where O. Long shows the connection between printing, antiquarianism, and architecture within Rome. In these chapters, the book moves from describing architectural projects to detailing how architectural printing is an important part of Roman culture. These chapters use the example images of the city and the creation of maps of Rome to show the link between architecture, both past and present, to the culture of Rome. Although these chapters provide a clear connection between engineering and culture, they felt out of place when placed between chapters on creating major infrastructure projects and a detailed account of reforming the roads within the Eternal City. This is because these chapters did not detail the architecture but the perception of the architecture. This created a feeling that these chapters had a change in topic from the others, although they helped support the argument that building became part of Roman culture.

In the last two chapters, O. Long focuses on the reconstruction of roads and the importance of obelisks in rebuilding Rome. These chapters present the failure of the pope’s influence because although the pope wishes to clean the streets thoroughly, he cannot achieve his goals and must settle for a less extensive recreation of Rome. But these chapters present the full influence that reconstruction had since the movement of obelisks was a point of pride for Pope Paul III and became one of the most impressive engineering feats. Together these two chapters show the contentious nature of the politics of construction and the perceived benefits of these projects.

As a whole, Engineering the Eternal City provides a nuanced account of the factional nature of construction during the late 16^th century in Rome. It supports the main argument that when looked at closely, the construction projects within Rome do not yet resemble modern architectural projects, while these projects do engrain within Rome a culture of construction. Because of its quality and level of detail, Engineering the Eternal City is a book well-suited for historians, but because of its technicality, it may be a challenge for a more popular audience.

In Pamela O. Long’s book Engineering the Eternal City: Infrastructure, Topography, and the Culture of Knowledge in Late Sixteenth-Century Rome (Engineering the Eternal City), the focus is on the engineering projects that changed Rome from a medieval city into a Renaissance city. Dr. Long got her PhD in Renaissance and Reformation history from the University of Maryland at College Park, with a dissertation that focused on architecture and Vitruvian commentaries. Engineering the Eternal City, published in 2018, was awarded the Sidney M. Edelstein Prize by the Society for the History of Technology, among other honors. Long’s previous works include Openness, Secrecy, Authorship: Technical Arts and the Culture of Knowledge from Antiquity to the Renaissance¸ published in 2001, and Technology, Society, and Culture in Late Medieval and Renaissance Europe, published in 2000.

The major themes of Engineering the Eternal City are infrastructure and the culture of knowledge in late sixteenth-century Rome. In Rome, most of the inhabited areas of the city were within the confines of the Tiber River’s floodplain. When floods struck the city, such as in 1557, the devastation was widespread and deadly. Long states that the floodwaters reached up to 60 feet in height, which caused the deaths of about one thousand people and damaged an unknown amount of property. Other infrastructure-related problems included the aqueducts, which had fallen into disrepair when the Western Roman Empire ceased to exist, and the sewers, which were no longer connected to one another and adversely impacted public health as a result. The ancient Romans had laid the groundwork for this system of sewers and aqueducts, but their system was repaired regularly. In sixteenth-century Rome, people regarded bad air as a cause of disease, following the Galenic tradition. Thus, drinking water from a fountain was not considered dangerous, even if the pipes were broken and the water had been standing for a few weeks. Long cites a case study of when water was linked to disease: after someone drank from a fountain and died, the physicians did not link the man’s death to bad air (mal aria in Latin), but instead to contaminated water. Whether the physicians knew that the man’s death was linked to what we would define as contaminated water or not is a moot point: what matters is that they linked the cause (people dumping household waste into a public water fountain used for drinking) to the effect (the man dying from drinking the water).

The culture of knowledge is an important secondary theme in Long’s book. Topography played a critical role in determining what engineering projects went forward and which ones did not. The very fact that most of Rome’s inhabited districts lay within the Tiber floodplain provided the impetus for ambitious engineering projects designed to limit the extent of the damage, such as digging a moat around the Castel Sant’Angelo, which would absorb some of the floodwaters. However, the problem of flooding was not resolved until 1910, when engineers built a floodwall to contain the Tiber. This solution required the technological innovation of the Industrial Revolution in order to work, and the people of the sixteenth century had insufficient technology to achieve this ultimate goal. Maps and guidebooks were a way in which the outside world saw Rome promoted as a beautiful Renaissance city. Urban planners also used ancient maps of Rome, such as the Forma Urbis Romae, to plan their engineering projects. The streets were seen not just as structures, but as places for people to congregate. Long goes into detail about the types of people one would find on a typical Roman street in the late sixteenth century, mentioning Jews, prostitutes, and beggars among them. Attempts to reform the city through engineering went hand-in-hand with social reforms intended to aid its people. The reforms affected these groups differently, as the Jews were confined to a ghetto, while the Colosseum was almost converted into accommodations for Rome’s beggars. The plan never came to fruition due to the high cost and how much in taxes it would have required from the Roman people. Long takes care to remind the modern reader that in the sixteenth century, the pope controlled more than the Vatican, as he controlled much of the area surrounding Rome, as well as the city itself. The popes also spent money on repairing ancient structures, which led to higher taxes for the Roman populace and made the popes who spent money on the ancient structures unpopular, especially in times of need. Rome suffered a famine in the 1580s and a flood in 1589, which made any attempt to divert funds from the people’s needs unpopular.

Long’s account of the rebuilding of Rome is well-written and enjoyable. The only criticism I would have is that there is too much of a focus on the social side of things in Chapter Seven. It is interesting to hear about the papal processions and the treatment of non-elite people, as well as non-Christians. The connection between the social reforms and the engineering projects felt tenuous at best. In one moment, I was reading about these remarkably forward-thinking flood prevention projects and the book suddenly changed course to talking about how the Jews were treated in Rome after 1555. It felt disjointed, and I felt that the author could have spent more time on questions of public health, such as what motivated the Pope to order that the Pontine Marshes be drained. If the other chapters had expanded upon the social aspect of this time period, then Chapter Seven would not feel nearly as disjointed. When one places it within the greater context of the book as it is, the chapter’s shift in focus feels jarring.

Overall, Engineering the Eternal City is well-written, enjoyable, and organized. If one’s knowledge of Roman history begins with the ancient Romans but has a large gap between the fall of Rome and the present, this book serves as an excellent introduction to how Rome eventually became a modern city. Engineering the Eternal City is an interesting book that would appeal to specialists in historical architecture and engineering, as well as the interested general reader.

This week’s reading, The Poison Trials: Wonder Drugs, Experiment, and the Battle for Authority in Renaissance Science, is a history of poison trials, which focuses on the Renaissance and addresses wider issues relating to authority, ethics, and experimentation. Its author is Professor Alisha Rankin, who teaches courses at Tufts University on Renaissance and Reformation Europe, gender, the history of science and medicine, and the history of books (https://facultyprofiles.tufts.edu/alisha-rankin). Dr. Rankin’s first book, Panacea’s Daughters: Noblewomen as Healers in Early Modern Germany, published in 2013, examines sixteenth century German noblewomen who were famous for their medical knowledge and talent for creating medical cures. The Poison Trials is her second book, which was published in 2021. In 2014 and 2016, Dr. Rankin also spent time at the Max Planck Institute in Berlin, where her research focused on the history of medicine in early modern Europe.

Dr. Rankin’s impressive background and her talent as a writer shines through in The Poison Trials. In each chapter, she uses memorable anecdotes to highlight important moments in the history of poison, ranging from antiquity to the Renaissance. For instance, chapter one begins with an introduction to King Mithridates VI of Pontus, who purportedly used criminals sentenced to death and himself as test subjects for antidotes to poison. According to an apocryphal story, after his forces lost against the Romans, the king ordered his servant to kill him with a sword, after the king discovered that he had developed a tolerance for poison. Rankin explains to her audience that this story is highly unreliable, but it still serves as an effective way to grab readers’ attention.

The Poison Trials is more than a collection of intriguing anecdotes. Rankin uses her anecdotes to develop themes that she summarizes in her introduction. As a result, The Poison Trials is book that keeps readers engaged with a clear and thought-provoking analysis. An example of Rankin’s analysis is in her introduction, where she presents three “overarching arguments” of her book. Argument one is about experimentation: while conducting poison trials, physicians engaged with what she refers to as “experimental thinking,” which involves paying attention to methodology, writing experimental reports, and a consideration of the issues related to using human beings as test subjects. Thus, she shows the connection between between medicine in early modern Europe with experimentation. As she puts it, Renaissance medicine went beyond conflicts about Aristotelian natural philosophy; scholarly research was part of a drive to develop conventions regarding experimentation.

Argument two is about authority: there was a blurring of the distinction between medical practitioners Rankin describes as “physicians,” who used poison trials for scholarly purposes and relied on “book learning,” and practitioners she describes as “empirics,” who focused on experiential knowledge and had a prominent voice in print media. Contrary to what one might expect, physicians were open to ideas practiced by empirics. Historical evidence, she explains, shows that physicians, who were developing scientific theories and practices, paid attention to alchemists, artisans, charlatans, craftsmen, and women working in domestic roles.

Argument three is about medical ethics: Rankin argues that people experimenting with poison trials had to struggle with issues of using human beings as test subjects. Renaissance physicians were well aware of the ethical problems related to human experimentation.

With such broad theoretical concerns in the context of a historical analysis that ranges from the ancients to the Renaissance, one might ask how clear The Poison Trials is about its theoretical analysis. For example, one wonders how Professor Rankin defines her basic terms and if her discussion of them is clear and thorough.

This review is nowhere near long enough to discuss thoroughly Rankin’s treatment of the theoretical concepts that organize her book. However, her comments about the term “experiment” in chapter three are a good example of how she addresses theory and makes sure her readers understand how their conception of “experiment” differs from seventeenth century Europeans’ perspective. Historical scholarship, she argues, demonstrates that seventeenth century Europeans understood terms like experiment, experience, proof, and history relatively interchangeably.

In chapter four, Rankin makes sure her readers understand how modern ideas about medical ethics do not fit ethical views of Europeans who conducted poison trials. She writes that modern medical ethics first appeared in 1803, when a British physician published a professional code entitled Medical Ethics. In its subsequent modern context, medical ethics embraced concepts of human dignity and autonomy; in poison trials, on the other hand, Rankin found that criminals, on whom medical experiments were performed, received rewards in the form of reduced punishment or freedom.

To summarize this review, The Poison Trials is a readable history of a fascinating subject. Alisha Rankin analyzes her subject with clarity and is careful to address ways that her audience’s understanding of key concepts differs from the ways her historical subjects understood them. There is one criticism that is worth keeping in mind having to do with the scope of Rankin’s book. In her introduction, she writes that her book traces poison trials from ancient Greece to the seventieth century and takes a “pan-European approach.” She also explains that most of her evidence comes from the Holy Roman Empire and Renaissance Italy. Readers should make note of this and pay attention to how Rankin moves from individual anecdotes, for instance, the case of King Mithridates’ experiments and death, into the wider view of the history of medicine and poison trials in a European context. To her credit in chapter one, she follows her discussion of Mithridates with a discussion of Galen and medicine in the Islamic and medieval European worlds. Still, readers should pay attention in every chapter how the author moves from anecdote to wider historical context.

Alisha Rankin’s book Poison Trials: Wonder Drugs, Experiment, and the Battle for Authority in Renaissance Science (Poison Trials) is a fascinating journey through the evolution of Renaissance medicine and science focusing on the testing of poison antidotes by the ecclesiastical and secular nobility of Western Europe and the discovery and development of cure-all’s.  Rankin earned her Ph.D. from Harvard in the History of Science and studied at Trinity College in Cambridge before joining the history department at Tufts University. Rankin’s research interests include the History of Science and Medicine, Early Modern Europe, Women’s History, and the History of the Body and sexuality.    In Poison Trials, Rankin explains how medical experimentation was shaped by the contest for authority and rank among the nobility in sixteenth-century Europe. She does this by presenting three sub-arguments and supporting them with relevant and detailed case studies on poison trials (chapters 1-4) and the creation of cure-alls and panacea (chapters 5 and 6).  Overall, Poison Trials is an informative, enjoyable read that should be a welcome addition to any Historian of science or medicine’s collection.   

 In Poison Trials, Rankin explores how panaceas, experimentation, and notions of medical authority were affected by poison and antidote testing in sixteenth-century Europe.  Following this idea, Poison Trials delved deeper into the subject by splitting the book into three sections, each exploring two case studies focusing on that section’s argument.  The first part, “Authorities,” sheds light on the history of poison trials and explores the social and political reasons for holding them.  Part two, “Experiments,” looks at the peak of poison trials in the sixteenth century, including the careful procedural dance done by political advisors to make the trials acceptable to the public, and part three, “Wonder Drugs,” is a fascinating look into how poison antidotes made way for the discovery and production of cure-alls and panaceas.  These arguments, arranged chronologically, highlight each of the sections of her thesis and go in-depth into them.  Each section analyzes a relevant case study using the historical analysis from the previous section in a stepping-stone fashion.   In her conclusion, Rankin demonstrates how the procedures developed for poison trials continued to influence scientific experimentation in the late seventeenth century.

Poison Trials examines the influence of sixteenth-century antidote trials and panaceas over scientific and cultural medical experimentation.  The antidote trials performed on human and animal subjects and the observations made by the physicians who ran them contrast the testimonials hawkers of “empirics” used as proof their cures worked.  Physicians who took part in these trials viewed their methods as far superior to the uneducated practitioners who went from town to town selling these untested remedies.   Rankin posits that the evolution of documenting these trials and the moral questions surrounding the trials were crucial in setting the course for medical experimentation in the seventeenth century.  Rankin discussed the difficulty in testing drugs since everyone’s humoral balance was different physicians had to formulate drugs for each person. These difficulties did not exist when dealing with poisons as they affected everyone the same way, bypassing the humors.  This difference allowed poison trials to take place with concrete results.

The records of these poison trials contained excruciating detail of the experience of those who were ingesting the poison and the antidote.  Physicians believed that these records legitimized the tests.   Chapter four of Poison Trials details the 1580 poison trial undertaken by condemned thief Wendel Tumler.   Count Wolfgang II of Hohenlohe, known for his interest in the natural world and alchemy, called the trial. Wolfgang’s counselors took great pains to ensure that everything above the trial appeared above board so as not to agitate the public. Rankin’s analysis of the situation gives the reader a view into beliefs about death, what constitutes a good death, and the public’s role in executions.  This inclusion of societal norms and the concern nobles had concerning keeping the general public happy may seem out of place, but those concerns influenced how physicians tested these antidotes and drugs.

Poison Trials is a strong entry into the academic literature of the History of Science. The book uses primary sources to demonstrate how poison trials influenced the course of medical and scientific experimentation. Rankin’s case studies strengthen her thesis and are engaging and well-written.  The personal and background details Rankin included about her subjects make the book engaging, and the images are on point and add to the book’s value. However, if it has one, Poison Trial’s weak point is Rankin’s attempt to connect sixteenth-century poison trials with the COVID pandemic.  When Rankin was writing the book in the spring of 2020, things were very uncertain, but today, that feeling of uncertainty does not connect anymore.  Rankin’s extensive research on sixteenth-century poison trials, a subject she states has been overlooked in the history of science, adds depth to the field of medical history and gives a window into the moral and social pressures physicians faced when running poison trials.   Although Poison Trials takes place in the sixteenth century, its argument and the way the book shows the progression of experimentation throughout the Renaissance means it fits perfectly with the material for a class on the scientific revolution.  Rankin intended her monograph for a specialist audience, but a knowledgeable general reader would also find it enjoyable.

Poison Trials is an enjoyable, informative read that proves its argument but also makes the reader want to know more about the cure-alls of sixteenth-century Europe.  Rankin also briefly discusses the role of women in medicine in the medieval and Renaissance. While this section does not add to the book’s overall evidence, it piques the reader’s interest.  The explanation of ancient poison trials and their influence on Renaissance physicians added context and background to her argument.  Rankin’s section on wonder drugs and those practitioners who sold them fit well into the book and inspired this review to dig into the subject deeper.  The Poison Trials:  Wonder Drugs, Experiment and the Battle for Authority in Renaissance Science by Alisha Rankin is well researched, well written, informative, and enjoyable to read and is recommended for historians of science and medicine as well as the informed general reader.

Poison Trials: Wonder Drugs, Experiment, and the Battle for Authority in Renaissance Science by Alisha Rankin documents the role that poison, antidotes, and trials that demonstrated their efficacy had on the political, social, and cultural dynamics in certain societies. This book presents a clear depiction of how the poison trials within a specific context of cultural and social values created the room for later experimental methods. Rankin holds a PhD in the history of science from Harvard University and currently teaches at Tufts University. In 2014 she received the Gerald Strauss Prize for her book Panaceia’s Daughters: Noblewomen as Healers in Early Modern Germany. She is also the co-editor of the book Secrets and Knowledge in Medicine and Science, 1500-1800 and her research interests include the history of early modern Europe, science, sexuality, and women.

The organization and subjects of the book shows a targeted interest to historians already interested in subjects such as hierarchies within the fields of social and cultural history, while the use of anecdotes can give an appeal to a lay audience interested in the time period. While the author primarily focuses her story on European men in the book, she also acknowledges that women and minorities were adversely affected by being closely associated with poison/poisoning, while there was little evidence that they were disproportionately involved. She mostly focuses her attention on western Europe and Europeans.

The author attempts to make several arguments in the book about the role of poison in the eventual development of experimentation in early modern Europe. She argues that scientists needed to necessarily refine their methods in the process of these trials and tackle the symbolic question of what it means to engage in human experimentation. They did this in contrast to the open marketplace poison demonstrations being performed by the less qualified empirical practitioners. Although she points out in Chapter 3 that even though scientists such as Mattioli warned of the practice of charlatans, many of those in power thought their self-administering of poison as being worthy enough to warrant a license to further their practices. As long as they could take poison and their antidote and live they could keep working. Further, these comparisons show that the eventual development of experimentation was interwoven with cultural elements. This is why this book should be targeted to cultural historians primarily. Prominent cultural historian Sidney Mintz put in his Sweetness and Power that “Culture must be understood ‘not simply as a product but also as production, not simply as socially constituted but also socially constituting.” It was not just the testing of antidotes but also the development of methods.

A strength for this monograph is that all arguments are addressed in detail using reliable methods. In one instance the author points out that in the book Theriac to Piso Galen shows that the focus was not necessarily on developing an antidote per se, but how to refine methods. He offers the use of animals in experimentation as an imperfect alternative. “At the same time, Theriac to Piso emphasized that theriac had been created not by blindly observing these sorts of tests, but through physicians’ careful reasoning.” (Page 28) Scientists following the legacy of Theriac to Piso refined their methods by offering different instructions to readers and testing on everything from cheese to pheasents.

For Rankin, justification for the poison trials were largely along social and cultural lines. She states, “The various attempts to make poison trials appear more acceptable, I argue, derive from two main problems: the interruption to the ingrained cultural and religious ritual of public execution, and the fear that princes and physicians might be viewed as poisoners.” (Page 115) It is repeated throughout the book that justification for the trials relied on them being perceived as consensual on the part of the prisoner and for the public good. Towards the end of Chapter 4 she shows how the German bureaucracy had to directly confront the question of using human subjects in the Tumler case and all the problems that lay in potentially violating their religious and cultural values. Also, in Chapter 3 Rankin highlights the comparison between those who tried to portray themselves as doing legitimate science in contrast to the empirical practitioners. They did this by developing models of procedures that made their practices legitimate in the eyes of potential critics.

This work also shows elements of influence from philosopher, Michel Foucault, with Rankin’s examination and emphasis on the Pope Clements’ reference to the convicted criminal test subjects as “bodies”, rather than human beings. Foucault does something similar in his Discipline and Punish as he examines the history of the prison. Edward Baptist also does this in his The Half Has Never Been Told when he tells the story of American slavery. He and Rankin cite Foucault directly.

This monograph is also careful to point out the gaps in historical evidence and is unafraid to point to where her research is not entirely confirmed. For instance, towards the end of Chapter 2 in the section “Oleum Clementis” it is written that there is serious doubt as to whether some of the products being tested were the same in different trials, or just similar, or entirely different. It is important for social scientists to point out what is not confirmed in order to take caveats into consideration and possibly open the door for further research. Another potential gap in this book that is not pointed out is the point of view of average citizens and their thoughts on these poison trials. Rankin outlines the points of view of aristocrats and popes, and even of a prisoner in Chapter 4, but we never see the perspective of the average citizen. This seems important because of Rankins claim that those in power needed these trials to be seen as legitimate by the public.

Overall, Poison Trials presents as a careful and thorough account of the role that experimenting with poison played in the development of experimenting methodology itself. Rankin has clear arguments that she addresses throughout the book, and does a good job pointing out where there are gaps in research. One can see how this project can lead to further scholarly endeavors.

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