Per Hansen’s new book, There Will Be the Devil to Pay, explores one of the most fascinating and pivotal moments in twentieth-century history: the European financial crisis of 1931. This book’s success lies primarily in the new analytical focus used by the author. Challenging some dominant narratives of the crisis, Hansen’s study shines a spotlight on central bankers as flesh-and-blood actors grappling with an unprecedented crisis. It employs a novel and interdisciplinary methodology that successfully blends economic, political, and cultural history. In doing so, it provides a new perspective on an episode long scrutinized by historians and offers a valuable addition to the literature.

In over 400 pages, Hansen reconstructs with remarkable precision the critical 4-month period from the collapse of Austria’s Credit Anstalt in May 1931 to the UK’s departure from the gold standard in September. The book’s innovative structure alternates between meticulous chronological narratives and thematic chapters; the latter probe deeper questions about central bankers as an epistemic community and explore how emotions, such as fear, anxiety, and uncertainty, shaped their perceptions and decisions. The book is divided into seventeen chapters and a conclusion. Chapters 1 and 2 introduce the central characters and their world, allowing readers to understand the environment in which these central bankers lived and worked. Chapters 3–10 provide a detailed narrative of how central bankers responded to the crisis that began in Austria. Chapter 11 shifts the focus from crisis events to the perceptions and narratives developed by key central bankers, thus illuminating how the crisis reshaped their collective understanding and their role as an “epistemic community.” Chapters 12–14 analyze central bankers’ actions during the German crisis of June–July 1931, while chapters 15–17 examine desperate attempts by central bankers to defend the pound sterling and save the gold standard in September 1931.

Hansen’s archival work is extensive, and its richness shines throughout the book. Despite its length and depth, the work is highly readable, and several chapters are worth re-reading, as they contain complex material and rich insight. Two key features make this book an extremely timely and valuable resource for business, economic, and political historians, as well as for contemporary policymakers. The first, which is relatively straightforward, lies in the book’s significant contribution to the historiography of the 1931 crisis. Hansen resists the tendency toward retrospective interpretation, choosing instead to analyze events as they unfolded, with a forward-looking approach. This shift allows readers to go back in time and understand how practices, emotions, hopes, fears, and anxieties shaped central bankers’ sensemaking and crisis responses. Thus, the book offers a more precise and realistic account of the 1931 crisis than other analyses. Hansen introduces new actors, highlights pivotal events, and uncovers new networks, thereby enriching our understanding of the crisis and opening fresh avenues for future research.

Through extensive archival research, the significant role of Francis Rodd, whom Hansen describes as the “sensemaker-in-chief” (p. 18), is duly recognized. Rodd, the Director of the BIS’s Central Banking Department, was dispatched to Vienna at the onset of the Austrian crisis in May 1931. His correspondence, notes, and memoranda, which have been meticulously revived and examined by the author, offer profound insights into how contemporary observers perceived and interpreted the crisis. Moreover, the book’s focus on private bankers, such as Rothschild and Sons and the House of Morgan, highlights the intricate connections and networks between leading private and central bankers. Through this lens, Hansen clarifies the complex interplay between private and public interests involved in the BIS’s credits to Austria and Germany in 1931.

The second contribution is that Hansen’s historical narrative shows us the different facets and complexity that accompanied the decision-making process during this period of radical uncertainty. Hansen draws on interpretive anthropology, especially the work of Clifford Geertz, to produce a “thick description” of central bankers’ behavior. By embedding their decisions within layers of social, political, cultural, and symbolic meaning, the book captures the dynamics of sensemaking under crisis. This approach allows readers to understand how central bankers acted within a complex cultural framework, making decisions that often diverged from abstract economic theory. Hence, There Will Be the Devil to Pay reminds us that the decision-making process is shaped not only by economic theories and models but also by the perceptions, emotions, and imperfect judgements of those in positions of authority. In short, the lesson for both historians and contemporary policymakers is vital: rule-based knowledge can never stand alone but must be supplemented by context-dependent understanding, lived experience, and narratives that link perception, decision, and action.

Of course, similar to any scholarly work, it has certain limitations. The role of private bankers—often working in tandem with central bankers—is one of the book’s most intriguing revelations. As Hansen observes, “private bankers had surprisingly close relations with central banks,” and sometimes this relationship was so close as to create a sort of “unholy alliance” (pp. 350, 79). This relation not only complicates the idea of an “epistemic community” composed only of central bankers but could also give a new perspective on one of the most important crisis management innovations introduced in 1931: the standstill agreements. Without doubt, the connections between central and private bankers before and during the Credit Anstalt Standstill of June 16 are described in rich detail. Nevertheless, the German, Hungarian, and second Austrian standstill agreements that soon followed are treated more cursorily. Including these cases would have clarified how thin and nebulous the boundaries between private and public interests often were, while also strengthening the book’s argument about how central bankers reshaped and rethought their roles and decision-making processes during the crisis.

There Will Be the Devil to Pay’s framing of central bankers as an epistemic community is undoubtedly one of its greatest strengths, but the focus is sometimes overwhelmingly on the central bankers of “core” countries (a term he does not use), such as the Bank of England, the Bank of France, and the Federal Reserve Bank. The Bank for International Settlements (BIS) was an innovative institution, precisely because it gave a broader range of central bankers a platform to express their ideas and contribute to this evolving epistemic community. The assumptions, practices, and beliefs of central bankers in the so-called peripheral countries (a term he also does not use) often diverged sharply from those at the core, and discussing these differences would have offered an even more nuanced picture of how this transnational community was contested, shaped, and reshaped.

Notwithstanding these minor limitations, There Will Be the Devil to Pay is a major achievement and will soon become a must-read book. Its nuanced, forward-looking, and interdisciplinary approach reshapes our understanding of the 1931 financial crisis and crisis decision-making more broadly. The book will be essential reading for historians of international finance, and an invaluable resource for scholars and policymakers grappling with the complexities of radical economic uncertainty.