The Boundless Sea: A Human History of the Oceans by David Abulafia (Penguin, £16.99) and The Great Sea: A Human History of the Mediterranean by David Abulafia (Penguin, £16.99)

If  John Masefield is the poet laureate of the sea, the Cambridge academic David Abulafia is its history laureate. And his universally ranging 2020 Wolfson History Prize-winner, The Boundless Sea, A Human History of the Oceans, follows his earlier, more localised, The Great Sea: A Human History of the Mediterranean. 

Abulafia’s voyages, like the Greek-Egyptian poet Constantine Cavafy’s odysseys, ooze with adventure and discovery.

The best history helps us to understand the present better, both by explaining its roots and causes, and by providing stimulating comparisons. Abulafia does these vividly, in both books. 

In Great, originally published before the EU referendum, he writes: “My theme is the process by which the Mediterranean became a single commercial, cultural and (under the Romans) political zone, and how these periods of integration ended with sometimes violent disintegration, whether through warfare or plague.” A prophetic warning to us today, perhaps.

In Boundless, Abulafia explains: “I’ve not attempted to write what pretends to be a complete or comprehensive history of the oceans, which would take up many volumes, but a rounded history of the oceans that homes in on what I think are the best illustrations of long-distance maritime connections.” Which he does successfully.

Human individuals, of course, have their place in these histories, and Jews have played an important role in the development of maritime trade. Both books document it, from Mogador to Hong Kong, from Solomon to the Sassoons of Bombay — “the Rothschilds of the East” and close relatives of the British war poet, Siegfried Sassoon. 

Masefield knew his Bible; Abulafia also. In Masefield’s poem, Cargoes  (“Quinquireme of Nineveh from distant Ophir,/Rowing home to haven in sunny Palestine”), Ophir was a mysterious location, visited by King Solomon’s ships, and those of King Hiram of Tyre, who helped to supply Solomon with cedars of Lebanon for the Temple, and, according to Kings, 16 tons of gold. 

Abulafia also tells us of a joint naval enterprise between Jehosaphat, King of Judah, and Ahaziah son of Ahab, King of Israel, to get gold from Ophir: 

“All went well until Jehosaphat, who tended to have trouble with the very many prophets telling him what to do, became the target of a certain Eliezer, son of Dodavahu. Eliezer strongly disapproved of the alliance with the ruler of Israel, a king still tainted with the Canaanite beliefs that his father Ahab had willingly tolerated. ‘And the ships were wrecked, so they were unable to go.’”

Cairo Genizah documents show the precariousness of Jewish trade from Egypt to India and China. Fortunes could be made, but ships sank regularly. Maimonides’s brother died this way. Other traders were beset by bandits or murdered by tyrants. Both books sparkle with details of such events.

Great is a Sephardi sea history written, Marrano-like, with little hints of its origins, Its Spanish dedication is “a la memoria de mis antecesores” (to the memory of my ancestors). Its very title, The Great Sea, is a translation of the biblical Hebrew name for the Mediterranean: “HaYam HaGadol,” found in Bamidbar (Numbers), Joshua and Ezekiel. (David Abulafia himself is a scion of Castile, Smyrna, and Safed Sephardim.)

Abulafia writes briefly on climate change, pollution, fishing and the Chinese taking over from Western dominance of maritime trade. 

All useful insights. Personally, however, I would have also liked a more explicit mention of continuing maritime disputes threatening world peace.

Andrew M Rosemarine is a British-based barrister, specialising in international and immigration law