What did Adolf Hitler and Winston Churchill have in common? Most would probably point to the obvious: the fact that they both became iconic figures of the World War II showdown between the Axis and Allies. Some might also mention that they were both painters, (although the quality of their production in that respect may be questioned). Very few of us are probably aware of the point of comparison added by Lukasz Kamienski in his recent book, Shooting Up: Both the “Bohemian corporal” and the “British bulldog” made their impact on human history while being high on speed. The fact that this point only occurs as a side remark by the author is very telling of the book in general, both of its strengths and its weaknesses.

The strength of this work, and I say this with emphasis, is the impressive breadth of Kamienski’s knowledge. Shooting Up is indeed a great book. The author’s breathtaking description of the interaction of drugs and war—likely to precede any historical source—is truly fascinating. Kamienski takes the reader by the hand and carefully characterizes the “signature drug” of each of the major conflicts he describes: from hashish and amphetamine use in colonial wars to heroin addiction in Vietnam; from cocaine use in the trenches of World War I to leaders, soldiers, and civilians high on methamphetamine in World War II; from the wars for drugs in the nineteenth century to the wars on drugs in the twentieth. Of course, there are gaps, such as the lack of a description of drug use among Holocaust perpetrators, and of drug use in the Balkans in the 1990s. But these gaps are minor in comparison to what is actually covered.

Concurrently with this historical tour de force, Kamienski draws interesting and learned parallels to scientific, historical, and literary sources. He also explains how different drugs affect the human body and brain. He diligently describes both ordinary soldiers’ more or less innocent practices of self-medication, the atrocious drugging of child soldiers in the forgotten wars of Central Africa, and the horrifying experiments by the U.S. government in its search for a superdrug during the Cold War. Lastly, he describes how drugs, and perceptions of drugs , travel from the battlefield to popular culture—be it in the nineteenth-century art gallery or the twentieth-century blockbuster movie—and back again.

Kamienski’s broad knowledge and his eagerness to draw these interesting parallels, however, also seems to stand in the way of a more critical approach to some of his own arguments. The author’s research, and the number of sources he draws on, is truly awe-inspiring. But I, for one, miss critical reflections regarding the explanatory strength of these sources. An obvious example occurs when he draws parallels between U.S. soldiers fighting Iraqi insurgents a decade ago and British soldiers fighting the Zulus in Colonial Africa more than a century ago. In both cases, the Western soldiers resorted to “head shots” when facing opponents who were high on drugs and therefore unlikely to be neutralized simply by being wounded (p. 233). According to the book, this shows how the use of drugs that provide fighting men with seeming superpowers can affect the conduct of war. (By taking drugs, both the Zulus and the Iraqi insurgents allegedly became extraordinary opponents who could only be fought with extraordinary means.)

This might be so. But before jumping to any conclusion with respect to the truth value of such justifications, we might also consider other—more sinister reasons for killing instead of merely wounding one’s opponents: Dead insurgents require neither medical aid nor interrogation. Dead insurgents remain dead. They will not try to escape to fight again on another day. And—most worrisome—death itself will serve as sufficient proof that the person killed was actually an insurgent and not, for example, a victim of collateral damage. Thus seen, it is not the effect of the drugs themselves that is interesting but the perceived effect, and the fact that this perception is regarded as a sufficient reason for violating the ordinary rules of engagement.

In fact, the least convincing aspect of the book is the author’s repeated attempts to prove that drugs have a significant impact on war (see, e.g., pp. 8, 14, 33, and 81). This is problematic, first, because it is not really important. That may sound odd, given my previous high praise. My point is, however, that Kamienski’s descriptive claim—that drugs and war are interrelated phenomena—is strong in itself and serves as sufficient proof of the value of this book. Second, the broader claim is problematic because it is very difficult both to write “a short history” and to substantiate any causal claims convincingly. Kamiemski never provides a “smoking gun,” and this is not really a surprise. The taboos against the use of drugs in war—from the corridors of power to the foxhole—would suggest that this is an extremely difficult field to study, and that all sources should be regarded with great caution. The third reason why I would wish that he had refrained from making causal claims is that he very explicitly begins by stating that his work rests on interpretive and social constructivist approaches (p. xxv). Granted, drug perceptions seem to play a role throughout the book (from the Crusaders’ fear of the “(H)assassins” to the depiction of heroin-addicted Vietnam veterans). But the constructivist point—that such perceptions affect what can be meaningfully be regarded as drugs—is not articulated until the very last pages.

One of the true strengths of this book is Kamienski’s elegant oscillation between the macro and the micro levels of war. On the macro level, he describes the double standards of politicians when it comes to using drugs in war. Again, Hitler, the teetotaler high on methamphetamine, is an interesting case (for a more thorough—albeit somewhat disputed—study of drugs in the Third Reich, see Norman Ohler’s recent book Blitzed: Drugs in the Third Reich, 2017). Scarier, perhaps, is Kamienki’s description of the ways in which the U.S. government, the leaders of the free world, have fought narcotics in South and Central America with one hand, while trying to develop wonder drugs to defeat their adversaries with the other. On the micro level, his insightful review of drugs on “the ground”—how soldiers throughout history have resorted to “uppers” and “downers” to excel in and cope with the hardships of war—is very impressive. Yet the meso level is somehow missing.

Sociological classics in the study of drug abuse unequivocally emphasize the importance of “learning” to become a drug addict. While linking macro and micro, Kamienski may reveal how governments have always provided their soldiers with alcohol and narcotics. However, the mere access to drugs tells us little about the significance of their use at the group level. Granted, this would require a much more in-depth approach to the topic than is possible to cover in a sweeping historical assessment such as this one. Nevertheless, given that this actually seems to be Kamienski’s ambition—that is, a wish to interpret the meaning of the phenomena he has unearthed—I hope that he will pursue it in a later study. If he does so, I will certainly try to be the first one there when the bookstore opens.