Robert Harris’ “Imperium” is subtitled “A Novel of Ancient Rome.” And while Harris has created a fascinating novel based on Cicero’s rise to political power, what makes the book resonate is the realization that, in 2,000 years, neither people nor politics have much changed.
Cicero’s secretary, Tiro, says that he is nearly 100 when he sets out to put down the recollections of his time with the great orator and politician. And as the former slave spent 36 years as Cicero’s confidential secretary, he has quite a story to share.
“During those years I believe he spent more hours with me than with any other person, including his own family. I witnessed his private meetings and carried his secret messages. I took down his speeches, his letters, and his literary works, even his poetry-such an outpouring of words that I had to invent what is commonly called shorthand to cope with the flow.”
But this proto-Boswell is no sycophant. He writes, “Cicero’s final words to me were a request to tell the truth about him, and this I shall endeavor to do. If he does not always emerge as a paragon of virtue, well, so be it. Power brings a man many luxuries, but a clean pair of hands is seldom among them.”
The narrative that unfolds is straightforward and linear, and the unadorned telling reveals the life of an uncommon man. Cicero was remarkably unlike his peers who pursued imperium, a formal measure of power, in ancient Rome. He did not come from great wealth or the aristocracy. He had no political ancestors and lacked powerful political backers. Yet through a combination of great insight and a talent for stirring oratory, he rose to the apex of power.
“Imperium” is divided into two sections. The first, “Senator,” describes Cicero’s rise to power between 79 B.C. and 70 B.C. “Praetorian” (68 B.C-64 B.C.) chronicles the years directly preceding Cicero’s election to consul in 63 B.C.
As Harris tells us in an author’s note, most events described in his novel “did actually happen; the remainder, at least could have happened.” So it is unclear whether Sthenius of Thermae actually arrived at Cicero’s door a broken man, seeking redress for the crimes perpetrated on him by Gaius Verres, the Roman governor of Sicily.
But the events that follow – Cicero’s indictment of Verres, his gathering of evidence and subsequent prosecution – are all rooted in historical fact. Harris’ novel succeeds because he breathes life into the history by revealing the game’s high stakes and holding the outcome close until the final moments of revelation.
This is a novel of politics, of the thrust and parry of power. As Tiro implies in his opening words, it is anything but a clean game. And while Cicero is largely set up as the man on the side of angels, it’s a desperate game where power, not justice, is the ultimate goal.
“Imperium” is a living work, one in which historic events twine through daily life. Tiro’s role as constant observer, not just in the public forums but as witness to the back-room deals and the often uncomfortable moments of domestic life, gives the reader an intimate and fully rounded view. He is, until the closing pages, a selfless narrator who, as a slave, does not give voice to a longing for freedom or self-direction.
It is enough, it seems, to be in the audience as history unfolds. It is a rewarding role for Tiro, and one equally so for readers.
Robin Vidimos is a freelance writer who reviews books for The Denver Post and Buzz in the ‘Burbs.
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Imperium
By Robert Harris
Simon & Schuster, 305 pages, $26.00
