A thorough account of the Great Fire, but with a bit too much dramatization and license taken with the known facts for my liking. Hanson speculates wildly at certain points, which bugs me. ( )

Beautifully evocative descriptions of the city of London and the lives of its inhabitants; very well written account of one of the most famous tragedies of London history ( )

A strong work of history.

This book strengthens my view that the best contemporary writers are working in nonfiction. The descriptions of the spreading fire are as exciting and frightening as any fictional account.

At times he leaves the action of the story to use today’s science to decipher what probably happened. We can tell just how hot the fire at St. Paul’s Cathedral was by the color of the flames noted by numerous observers. He applies modern psychology to confessed arsonist Robert Hubert, but is correctly cautious in stating evidence is inconclusive. This is refrehing since many mass market histories jump to revise histroy with application of 21st century ideas, rather than simply raise questions.

The book seems to rush to a conclusion though. There was significant time spent on the ideas for rebuilding the city, but it is covered in little detail. Perhaps that is another book. ( )

Great book. Although the subject is historical, the book is written in novel-like prose, which is necessary to understand the sequence of events that led to this catastrophe. It is highly recommended, since the influence of such an event can be seen in primary source materials, like the diary of Samuel Pepys, and other figures of the time (referenced in the book's notes and bibliography). ( )

This read fairly quickly, but then the fire was a fast worker, too, going through almost 400 acres of the walled city of London and nearly 60 acres outside the walls in about five days. Hanson reports on the course of the fire, the hanging of the man tried for setting it, and, briefly, on the rebuilding of London, with digressions into what modern fire science can tell us about the course of the fire and why the reported death toll was probably inaccurate.
Here are two quotes:

'The easterly gale was blowing harder than ever, carrying the smuts and soot and charred fragments for miles downwind. The walks and gardens of Kensington were almost buried beneath the ashes of linen, papers, and pieces of burnt plaster thrown there by the gale. "Had your Lordship been at Kensington you would have thought...it had been Doomsday, and that the heavens themselves had ben on fire; and the fearful cries and howlings of undone people did much increase the resemblance. The loss is inestimable. I believe there was never any such desolation by fire since the destruction of Jerusalem, nor will be till the last and general conflagration."

Richard Baxter "saw the half-burnt leaves of books near my dwelling" at Acton, five miles west of the city, and scraps of burned paper were driven by the wind as far as Eton and Windsor Great Park. Lady Carteret picked up one on the grounds of her house on which the only words visible were "Time is; it is done."'

The fire at St. Paul's:
'The gale from the east was indistinguishable in strength from the winds dragged in from every other direction by the ferocious appetite of the flames. Dust, dung, hay and straw, rags, laths and lumps of wood, pigeons and jackdaws still clinging to their roosts in the tower, all were sucked into the vortex and then spewed out, blackened and burned, from the fiery pillar of smoke and sparks rising miles into the sky.

A strange hissing sound, like rain sweeping across the roofs, made itself heard among the tumult of the fires. the lead of the cathedral roof, six acres in extent, was melting. Terrible in its beauty, bright silver in color and sparkling, hissing, and flashing as it fell, the molten lead tumbled in lava streams into the body of the church and cascaded from the spouts projecting from the outside walls. Everything it touched erupted in flame and fury. A tide of molten metal swept outward over the cobbles, "the very pavements glowing with fiery redness, so as no horse nor man was able to tread on them." The molten lead ran down the kennels in floods, sweeping down the hill in a boiling, bubbling torrent toward the Thames, and suffocating, poisonous fumes filled the air.'