Adopted by Mao as a symbol of his country's glory, it was proclaimed to be the only feature on Earth that could be seen from the Moon.
As Julia Lovell demonstrates, the myth is as full of holes as the ruined parts of the structure. The most visited section of the wall is far more recent and the construction was never continuous or impregnable.
Raiders simply rode to the end of a stretch and poured down on northern China. In a final blow, a Chinese astronaut returned from space in 2003 to report that he had been unable to see it.
But, as Lovell observes, its "antiquity and efficacy are not
historical hypotheses to be tested and investigated, but rather truths to be accepted and venerated."
Skewering the myths, the book provides an excellent, fluent history of northern China and the dilemma of successive dynasties as to how to handle the rampaging raiders from its northern frontier.
But Lovell has a wider purpose. She presents the edifice of brick, stone and earth as a symbol of oppression as well as a source of patriotic pride. It comes to stand for China's uncertain relationship with the outside world and the determination of its rulers to exert authoritarian control over their people.
It is both a defense and a prison.
Behind both books lies an intriguing set of questions. Can a nation that depends for its growth and stability on engaging with the rest of the world continue to deny the truths of its past?
This raises the question: Does history matter, or does that very question say something about the mindset bred by centuries of official thought control?
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