The EU - An Obituary

Ah, The EU – An Obituary. Not so much a book as a politely sharpened dagger slipped between the pages of modern history, wrapped in academic footnotes and served with a side of dry, knowing wit.

John R. Gillingham—clearly not one for timid tea-and-biscuit commentary—sets out to write the European Union’s farewell speech while the patient is still very much sitting upright, adjusting its tie, and insisting everything is fine. This is not your standard “how Brussels works” primer. No, this is a post-mortem conducted mid-conversation, where the author calmly examines the organs of integration, bureaucracy, and ambition, and wonders aloud whether the whole grand project quietly expired somewhere between treaty revisions and technocratic optimism.

What makes this particularly delicious is the tone: not wild-eyed ranting, but the sort of composed, almost affectionate scepticism that suggests Gillingham once believed in the dream—perhaps even toasted it—before noticing the plumbing didn’t quite connect. It’s history, economics, and political critique, all delivered with the air of a professor who has seen too many committees and lived to tell the tale.

For the reader, it becomes a strangely compelling experience. You begin expecting a polemic and instead find a measured dismantling, piece by piece, like someone taking apart an elaborate clock to show you exactly where it stopped ticking—and why no one wanted to admit it. Whether you agree or not is almost beside the point; the pleasure is in watching the argument unfold with quiet precision.

This particular copy, offered in As New condition by Crappy Old Books (a name that continues to defy reality with alarming consistency), arrives looking far more alive than the institution it describes. Crisp, clean, and entirely untroubled by existential decline, it sits on your shelf as both a conversation starter and a subtle provocation—ideal for those moments when you want your reading material to raise an eyebrow rather than a flag.

In short: a eulogy, a critique, and perhaps a slightly mischievous act of intellectual vandalism—all bound neatly in Verso’s dependable covers. Whether you see it as prophecy, heresy, or just very well-informed grumbling, it’s a book that invites you to reconsider a very large idea… preferably with a cup of something strong and a willingness to be quietly unsettled.

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