The nineteenth century was the era of travel and travel writing. Traversing the continents became so popular that it spawned guidebooks giving advice on everything from how to pack, make a fire, and survive on carrion and insects. Yet, noticeably absent was direction on how to write about the travel experience for the folks back home, in part because these literary models were still being developed. In Mexico and Central America, seasoned writers established a genre of travel writing heavily steeped in romanticism, social Darwinism, and positivist ideals that arguably continues to influence our view of this region's ancient roots and even our current understanding of indigenous peoples. For this reason alone, nineteenth-century travelogues are important antecedents for those interested in ancient America and its historiography.

Opportunely, Katia Sainson presents three texts from Charles Étienne de Brasseur de Bourbourg, a French abbot who, in the prime of his life, traversed Mexico and Central America in the mid-nineteenth century. The travel notes, translated from the original French to English for the first time, document the abbot's trips through Nicaragua (1854), his route from Guatemala City to the mountain town of Rabinal (1855–1856), and across the Isthmus of Tehuantepec (1859). They read very much like those of other travelers of the period, and in particular the American John Lloyd Stephens, who steeped his texts in rich anecdotal detail. Similarly, the graceful and erudite style of Brasseur de Bourbourg's writing—with a profound knowledge of history, keen attention to natural surroundings, and a gentle consideration of those he encountered on the way—invites the reader to share in his epic adventure: swaying back and forth on his horse along precarious mountain paths, contemplating breathtaking views, or being eaten alive by mosquitos.

While it is tempting to compare Brasseur de Bourbourg with many of his contemporaries, we also have to understand him on his own terms. Fascinated with prehispanic history and the origins of America's indigenous cultures, he knew that the source to understanding their past could be found in fragments of ancient texts that languished in archives both in Europe and the New World. A Lockean traveler, he embarked on empirical trips of collecting and documenting. In this sense, he reminds one of Poggio Bracciolini, papal secretary and medieval bibliophile who scoured European monasteries in search of old manuscripts that would shed light on ancient Rome, described aptly by Stephan Greenblatt as “the book hunter.” Certainly, scholars of Mesoamerica will recognize the Frenchman for his greatest find in a Spanish archive in 1861, the manuscript known as Relación de las cosas de Yucatán, ascribed to Fray Diego de Landa, which provided the key to deciphering the ancient Maya script and a veritable trove of information on indigenous society at the time of conquest. The list of his other discoveries, such as the Codex Chimalpopoca or the Rabinal Achí (the dance drama of the Tun), is equally impressive. Through his travel notes, we learn the backstory of some of these foundational texts. One of the most revealing regards his acquisition of the Rabinal Achí—he describes his attempt to learn the K'iche’ language in order to comprehend the writings, and his move to the town of Rabinal, where he became its much-loved pastor. Rather than unearthing ancient monuments, as many of his contemporaries did, he was busy mining the depths of the intangible and recording the language, myth, and song of past civilizations.

Brasseur de Bourbourg had close contact with many indigenous communities in his travels, and from his writings we can appreciate his desire to not only comprehend their plight but also present an honest critique of his own misconceptions about their culture. A well-read traveler who was unwilling to accept at face value the sixteenth- and seventeenth-century accounts written by Spanish priests, he used these sources to guide him in his travels, seeking the “truth” about the cultural practices of the indigenous peoples he encountered. While his commentary is often colored by his religious training and beliefs, Sainson argues convincingly that he used his clerical investiture merely as a passport to travel, collect, and investigate. Perhaps had he been born in the twentieth century, Brasseur de Bourbourg would have traded his priestly attire for that of an anthropologist.

From an historical perspective, his writings are an invaluable window onto the social-political context of a diverse amalgam of fortune seekers, many backed by interests in the United States and Europe, who sought to colonize Mexico and Central America. Although he was always measured in his criticism, it was clear to Brasseur de Bourbourg that the French would make the best masters. His writings represent a fateful prelude to that great misadventure: the French intervention in Mexico, a short-lived disaster that culminated with Emperor Maximillian's execution in 1867 and that seriously disrupted the political and cultural ties between the two countries for over a decade.

Unfortunately, as Sainson points out in her succinct and well-crafted introduction, Brasseur de Bourbourg was not taken seriously by his contemporaries, and at the end of his life, he was considered a “crack-pot” for having espoused the theory, among others, that the origin of Mesoamerica could be found in the mythical city of Atlantis. To be fair, here he was in good company with a few of his compatriots—Désiré Charnay and Eugène-Emmanuel Viollet-le-Duc, in particular—who were absorbed by the possibility of a lost Atlantic land mass and advocated a diffusionist theory of Toltec culture that accounted for all the major monuments of Mesoamerica. While pointing out some of Brasseur de Bourbourg's intellectual failures, Sainson does well to remind us that one bad idea should not cast a dark cloud over one's entire career, and her introduction invites us to reevaluate a man we all thought we knew.

Meticulously translated and with close attention paid to maps and notes (both his original notes and Sainson's clarifications to the text), this latest version of Brasseur de Bourbourg's work is an excellent addition to one's library. Beyond its significant scholarly contribution, the book is simply a delight to read.