The study of the Eritrean liberation struggle, as well as its long-term implications for political culture in independent Eritrea, is still in its infancy. There are a number of reasons for this, not least – fairly obviously – the recentness of some of the key events, as well as the current situation in Eritrea which renders research into most aspects of the country's modern history extremely difficult, if not impossible. With this book, however, Gaim Kibreab has laid something of a foundation stone, particularly in his treatment of the civil war between the Eritrean Liberation Front and the Eritrean People's Liberation Front, and the response of various communities to that violence. It is a ‘dark place’ in nationalist history, and one that remains relatively untouched in the literature. Gaim's central point – that the current authoritarian leadership of Eritrea has emerged out of a self-interested struggle against a range of perceived enemies, dating to the late 1960s and early 1970s – will perhaps be familiar to many students of contemporary Eritrea; but the level of detail provided is extraordinary, based on a truly impressive range of documentary and oral research conducted over many years, while the focus on the concept of wasted social capital is an original framework within which to tell this complex and in many respects sorrowful story. At times there is more than a hint of romanticisation in the telling, although the sense that some former Eritrean social and cultural life has been lost is perhaps understandable, given current conditions. Nonetheless, this is a sophisticated and nuanced account, providing a host of invaluable insights, both into Eritrean social and political history more broadly, and in particular into the genesis of so many movements and personalities across the spectrum of the liberation struggle – not least the present head of state, Isaias Afeworki, who haunts Gaim's narrative throughout.

There are the usual problems associated with Red Sea Press, however: the editing, if any was done at all, is poor, and the text is littered with bizarre and irritating misspellings, as well as odd and unpolished prose. The author can also be extremely long-winded: again, while the degree of detail is at times wonderful, in truth this book is much too long (at over 400 pages of dense text), and contains a fair amount of repetition. This is a pity because interested non-specialists may struggle. But ultimately these are forgivable flaws, because this is an innovative and powerful book, and another sign that Eritrean historiography is developing – unlike the government that is increasingly the target of historicised critique. On a recent trip to Eritrea, I was informed in haughtily dismissive tones by a member of the government that there were too many ‘so-called historians’ appearing in print with ‘under-researched’ and ‘misleading’ accounts of various aspects of Eritrea's past. The scholars on whom such aspersions are being cast may be thus assured that they are doing something right. Certainly, there is nothing ‘so-called’ about Gaim Kibreab's scholarship, nor – by any stretch of the imagination – can this book be considered ‘under-researched’.