The best books about the strangeness of money

I love the way this book makes the very old story of the French Revolution new and exciting by telling the parallel story of how so much of the turmoil of that period was etched onto the money that a succession of governments issued.

I learned so much, both from the shifting set of images on French money and the wonderful stories about how a confused populace used this money to the best of their ability, as their paper currency lost both the crowned heads that once adorned it and, in the process, much of its value. Spang ingeniously recounts the revolutionaries’ efforts to paper over a failing revolution with vacuous promises to pay. 

I remember traveling in Europe as a teenager in the early 1980s, before ATMs and euros, when American Express traveler’s checks allowed me to pay for room and board across a succession of sovereign states.

Booker ends his book where I started my personal monetary journey, telling the fascinating history of how (mostly British) tourists paid their way across Europe and North America, using such strange devices as circular notes and early incarnations of the traveler’s check. The book includes numerous color plates of these pieces of paper, issued by Thomas Cook, Lloyds Bank, and even American Express! I also learned about how far the pound sterling counted as a coin of the world and not just a coin of the realm (answer: not as far as I thought!).

Before Valenze published this book, she had mostly written about people—religious visionaries, working-class women, and the like. Since this book appeared in 2006, she has focused on things—specifically milk and, as seen through the eyes of Thomas Malthus, the food that sustains populations.

This book is where these two foci meet, and the book has deeply informed my own work on money and the way I teach British history to my students. My main takeaway from the book is Valenze’s claim that Britain “detoxified” money toward the end of the eighteenth century. Around this time, moralists found cause to focus on its redemptive capacity and shifted their chagrin from money itself to its abuse. Money, she argues, became a measure of status, a judicial incentive (in the form of rewards for wanted criminals), and a vehicle of philanthropy–emerging, alongside the Enlightenment, as “a universal instrument of personal agency.”

When I got wind of this book, I had just finished writing a book about gold and money in Britain from the 1750s to the 1850s. Although I knew about the long history of British money prior to the 1750s and also about its complicated history down to the present, I jumped at the chance to read the whole story laid out between two covers. Blaazer deftly accomplishes this task, with a special focus on the strikingly different paths that money took in Britain’s three corners of Ireland, Scotland, and England (not so much on Wales, as is so often the case in such histories!).

How a country manages its money, it turns out, says much about how it governs its people—ranging from willful indifference in Ireland to consistent policies in England and Scotland that favored the wealthy (and especially the bankers) over the middling classes. A final advantage of the book is its useful primer in the introduction on how money works—which is just as useful to seasoned historians (like me) who think they know all this as it will be to the vast majority who use money (and their mobile devices) every day without fully grasping how they function.

Although this book is ostensibly about risk, none of Levy’s fascinating case studies stray far from money. Indeed, one of his central claims is that modern capitalism transforms risk into a financial calculation, whereby money’s fluid nature can be employed to divert uncertainty in different directions. Although the goal in such transactions is always to contain risk, the reality (as brilliantly recounted by Levy) is far less certain.

I read this book immediately after writing about the history of British life insurance, and most of these cases (about insuring slave ships, African-American savings, farm mortgages, and the stock market, among others) reinforced the lessons I had learned about the Quixotic and hubristic nature of risk management. The upshot of the book is that, over the course of America’s long nineteenth century, the rich got richer, and the poor got empty promises. Its brilliance lies in the relish with which Levy tracks the progress, in each case, from hopeful contingency to bitter disappointment.