Has anybody ever struggled for Europe? They might have struggled for British Ulster or Free France or the village green in Moreton-in-Marsh. But Europe? There are supposed to be some people around who, when they’re asked where they’re from, trumpet, ‘I’m European!’; if they really exist, they’re doing a good job of keeping themselves to themselves.
Europe is such a bulky ragbag of countries with such wildly different histories, languages and customs, that to say you’re European is about as precise as saying you’re a world citizen or a sentient being or a member of the mammal family.
And to try to write a history of Europe as an organic whole, throughout most of its existence, is ludicrous – its different bits have been at each other’s throats pretty much non-stop. The American don, William Hitchcock, is in a position to make a slightly better fist of the enterprise, writing about Europe from 1945 to the present day – its longest period of peace ever, some little local difficulties notwithstanding.
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