Been working my way through a series of books about the struggle for empire in Central Asia, circa 1800-1918...

The Great Game by Peter Hopkirk, being an account of the struggle to conquer or at least influence Central Asia undertaken by the British and Russian empires during the 1800s. Absolutely fascinating history, and regardless of your opinion of empire building or the Russo-British opinion that their countries were entitled to rule the world, some of the agents and explorers both sides sent into the largely unmapped and incredibly violent and hostile Central Asian wilderness were incredibly ballsy. I mean, when you start every mission knowing full well there is an 85% chance you will end up dying of exposure in the desert or with your head hanging out front of some local potentate's palace entrance, that takes some nerve. Although it's largely a history of the struggle between Russia and England, the look at the geography, cultures, and wild diversity of the Central Asian countries is equally as fascinating. I'm still amazed by how it can go "desert, desert, murderous tribe, mountains, desert, mountains, murderous tribe, mountains, massive palace made of gold."

I have to say, at no point in my reading career have I so desperately wanted to reach into a book or back through history and soundly throttle someone. General Elphinstone has got to be one the most colossal idiots in the history of military endeavors. But I guess that's what you get when you put in charge a man whose name was apparently taken from someone's Hobbit fanfic. Seriously? Who falls for "No, this time I won't massacre your troops. Ha ha! Got you. OK, no, seriously, this time I won't do it. Oh man! You fell for it again. OK, OK, no, OK, this time I swear..." like nine times. Is there something in the water that makes military leaders completely lose their senses when they enter Afghanistan?

Like Hidden Fire: Peter Hopkirk's follow-up to The Great Game, this one detailing Germany's late but enthusiastic entry into Central Asiatic empire building, circa 1890-1914, with the focus being on Germany and Turkey's efforts to foment a Holy War against England and Russia throughout Central Asia and India. As with the last book, Hopkirk tells the story through the stories of the men on both sides who were involved in the various adventures and intrigues. What's most striking here -- as it was with the end of The Great Game is the vast alteration in the environment. When the Great Game started, it was one guy here or there struggling against impossible odds and certain death in territories that were practically impossible to reach. By the end, a mere hundred or so years later, the difference in the ability to travel and the familiarity with Europeans in these previously inaccessible regions is striking. By this second book, railroads and roads have transformed once romantic and foreboding names like Kashgar, Samarkand, and Bhokara into mere stops along the way.

But what's even more striking is the vast gulf between German diplomatic language and that of Russia and England. Whenever England or Russia annexed a piece of Asia for their own use, the move was accompanied by profuse bowing and syrupy diplomatic assurances that what was done was done in the best interest of the people, who were excited for British/Russian rule, and of course, we will be leaving the very second the region has stabilized, etc etc. By sharp contrast, when Germany takes over Tsingtao in China, their diplomatic announcement afterward went something like, "We have crushed them, and all of China will shake as they feel the iron grip of German awesomeness tighten around their puny necks."

As always, a fascinating subject, made even more fascinating on account of it now combines two of my favorite subjects -- 19th Century exploration, adventure, and intrigue; and World War I.