Dalrymple travels in Moschos's footsteps, from Mount Athos in Greece, to the Great Oasis at Kharga in Upper Egypt. The journey takes Dalrymple across Turkey, Lebanon, Syria and Israel before reaching his conclusion on the edge of the Sahara, surrounded by Egyptian army guards bristling with automatic weapons protecting him from Muslim fundamentalists.

The historical theme he brings to life is the way that Christianity began as a religion of the Middle East, centred on Alexandria and Constantinople, long before it became the established faith of Western Europe. But his travels take him through a series of conflicts: the Orthodox Church of Southern Turkey caught in the cross fire of civil war between Kurd nationalists and the Turkish state. In Lebanon, he walks through the remains of the Maronite Christian community who have propelled their country into a disastrous civil war. In Israel, the Orthodox monks and the Palestinian Christians are trying to cope with the growth of Jewish settlements across the Holy Land. And in Egypt, the Coptic Church is menaced by the growth of Muslim fundamentalism.

What makes the book special is the way Dalrymple can sink into Moschos's world. His eye for art and architecture brings the Byzantine world to life, and his ear captures conversations with monks who regard miracles and saints hovering above their monasteries as everyday events. The bizarre hallucinations and beliefs of the early Christian church become matter of fact occurrences as Dalrymple talks to Christians whose prayers, music and way of life have changed little over 1500 years. His outlook remains admirably compassionate. He brings off a journey through history that is intertwined with some of the nastiest conflicts of the 20th century. It's a lament to the disappearing world of Eastern Christianity, but it's also informative and spiritually very moving.


Great travelogue, sometimes a bit weak on facts   January 13, 2004
 32 out of 41 found this review helpful

This book is depressing, consicence-alerting, yet great fun at the same time. Travelling from Mount Athos, via Istanbul to Turkish Kurdistan, then to Syria, Lebanon, Israel/Palestine and finally Egypt, Dalrymple surveys the condition of Near Eastern Christianity on the verge of the third Christian millennium. For the most part, this is a depressing story of a community in terminal decline, facing pressure from extremists and economic chaos. While there is no doubt that his sympathies lie with the Christians, he can be deeply critical of them where he feels it is deserved - for example there is no doubt that the holds the Maronites of Lebanon almost entirely responsible for the Lebanese Civil War.

As a travelogue, it generally makes good reading, with an excellent balance between keeping the pace moving and covering people and places in enough depth. His ability to conjure images of places is remarkable - really feel like I'm on the plains of the Tür Abdin, or winding down the mountain road from Damascus to Beirut with him. Sometimes, it has to be said, he lays on the 'gee-whiz I'm an Englishman abroad in scary countries with bombs and tanks and things' attitude a bit too much. While he occasionally has a factual lapse or three, he more than makes up for it in atmosphere.

Perhaps the most interesting and amusing sections deal with the various wacky heretical Christian sects which inhabited the shatterzone between the Greek and Persian worlds before the arrival of Islam.

This book annoyed a lot of extreme American fundamentalists (of both the Christian and the Jewish varieties) for being rather critical of Israel's decades-long campaign of cultural and economic pressure on the Palestinian Christians. What better recommendation to buy the book to you need!

One minor gripe, I never do trust fellow Celts who think of themselves as merely North- or West-Britons. Dalrymple regards English football hooligans rampaging through Istanbul as his 'fellow countrymen' stuck me as bizarre. Are you really a Scot, William?

And I have one big question if Dalrymple ever reads this... he seems not to speak a word of Turkish or Kurdish yet he seems to have these interesting conversations with Kurdish builders about the Armenians... Are all these guys fluent in English or something? 'Coz that's a part of the world I know very well, and in my experience, they don't English any more than your average Dunfermline brickie speaks Kurdish. If you can really do that without the lingo, William, could you give me a masterclass in sign language?

It also seems to fair to point out that the situation for Christians in some parts of the Middle East, notably Turkey and Egypt, has improved considerably in the 10 years since this book was researched.