The Fool who would be Emperor
Review of Robert Graves's "I, Claudius" (1934)
Step into the gossipy, murderous world of ancient Rome's first family, where having breakfast with your relatives might be the last thing you ever do.
Robert Graves's I, Claudius (1934) presents itself as the secret autobiography of Emperor Claudius - the overlooked, underestimated, physically challenged historian of the family, who survived the snake pit of Rome’s Julio-Claudian dynasty by pretending to be an idiot.
You thought your family was dysfunctional
Claudius, born into Rome’s ruling family, is seen as weak and useless. His grandmother calls him a monster. His mother is mortified by his very existence.
But his physical frailties save him—In that world of murderous power struggles no one took him seriously as a rival, no one thought him worth killing.
And murder is the family business.
Livia, the first Roman emperor Augustus’s wife, is a Machiavellian nightmare, quietly poisoning her way to absolute control.
Tiberius, her son, would rather be anywhere but Rome—preferably on an island filled with terrified boys.
Caligula, the heir to the empire, treats Rome as his personal playground of sadism, debauchery, and the occasional declaration of godhood.
Through it all, Claudius watches, learns, and, most importantly, survives.
"I have survived to this day, because I have always known when to play the fool."
Graves gives him a voice that’s part historian, part gossip columnist, and part weary survivor.
When he says, “Let all the poisons that lurk in the mud hatch out,” you know exactly what kind of family dinner he grew up with.
But how reliable is this narrator?
Graves draws primarily from Suetonius's The Twelve Caesars, Tacitus's Annals, and Cassius Dio's histories.
But unlike sanitised histories, Graves's Claudius gives you Rome in all its magnificent squalor.
Poison is the preferred dinner condiment, incest is a political strategy, and murder is just another way to climb the career ladder.
Claudius claims to be writing "a true and frank account":
“There are two different ways of writing history: one is to persuade men to virtue and the other is to compel men to truth.”
Yet, you'll find yourself wondering how much to trust this self-proclaimed fool, who often offers sharp psychological insights:
"Do you know what it means to be a child whom nobody ever dares to punish or threaten with punishment? It means that nobody loves him enough to care what he does."
And later:
“He was always boasting of his ancestors, as stupid people do who are aware that they have done nothing themselves to boast about.”
Not to mention his parable about imperial successions:
"There was once a badly wounded man lying on the battle-field waiting for the surgeon to dress his wound, which was covered with flies. A lightly wounded comrade saw the flies and was going to drive them away.
‘Oh, no,’ cried the wounded man, ‘don’t do that! These flies are almost gorged with my blood now and aren’t hurting me nearly so much as they did at first: if you drive them away their place will be taken at once by hungrier ones, and that will be the end of me.”
Or his insistence on being a Republican at heart, despite the obvious contradiction of being a monarch:
“To recommend a monarchy on account of the prosperity it gives the provinces seems to me like recommending that a man should have liberty to treat his children as slaves, if at the same time he treats his slaves with reasonable consideration.”
Like in the memoirs of today’s politicians, you will find well-meaning justifications for blatantly criminality:
“I have done many impious things--no great ruler can do otherwise. I have put the good of the Empire before all human considerations. To keep the Empire free from factions I have had to commit many crimes.”
And occasionally, Claudius can’t resist some humble-brag:
“I was thinking, "So, I’m Emperor, am I? What nonsense! But at least I'll be able to make people read my books now.”
What the book gets right
Historical fiction can drown you in research from multiple angles, but Graves is too smart for that.
He understands that history is written by the survivors, and this account of Claudius is literally his story.
“For my experience as a historian is that more documents survive by chance than by intention.”
The pacing is ruthless. You never sit through a dull political debate when you could be watching a poisoning instead.
The dialogue crackles with wit, dripping with irony and gallows humour.
The characters may have lived 2,000 years ago, but Graves's portrayal of their ambitions, insecurities, and treacheries are as fresh as today’s headlines.
Graves's Livia steals the show.
Claudius's grandmother and the first Roman emperor Augustus's wife, she has become one of literature’s great villains.
A mastermind who manipulates emperors and clears the path for her own dynasty with terrifying precision. You hate her, but you can’t stop admiring her.
Again Claudius shows astute observation, commenting on her methods:
“The best way to rule men is through their vices.”
And then there’s Caligula.
When he turns Rome into his personal circus of depravity, you feel the city’s horror.
He’s unhinged in the most spectacular way, and yet Graves makes him strangely compelling.
His descent into madness is one of the most gripping parts of the book.
Where It Stumbles
For all its brilliance, I, Claudius isn’t the easiest read.
Graves throws names, titles, and tangled family relations at you with little mercy.
If you don’t have at least a basic grasp of Roman history, you might spend half the book flipping back to remind yourself who’s who.
And because it’s structured as Claudius’s memoir, you’re often told about major events rather than seeing them unfold.
That’s part of the charm of Claudius's historian voice, but it can also make some sections feel more like a lecture than a traditional novel.
The women, outside of Livia, are also a bit one-note.
Julia is reckless, Messalina is a nymphomaniac, and Agrippina is ambitious but not much else.
Compared to the complexity of the men, they sometimes feel reduced to their reputations.
Finally, the decision to end the narrative before Claudius's own reign feels like a missed opportunity. Perhaps Graves wanted to save it for his sequel, Claudius the God.
Did the Hype Hold Up?
Without question. I, Claudius was a sensation when it was published in 1934. It won the James Tait Black Memorial Prize and the Hawthornden Prize.
It was adapted into one of the greatest BBC TV series of all time (seriously, Derek Jacobi is Claudius), whose influence you see in everything from The Crown to Rome to House of Cards.
Historians have debated how accurate the novel is—Graves leans heavily into Suetonius, who was more tabloid journalist than reliable chronicler—but that’s part of the fun.
This book never lets the truth get in the way of a good story.
The Final Verdict
The book is like a Roman feast – rich, complex, occasionally overwhelming, but ultimately deeply satisfying.
Graves understood that the best way to tell history isn't to simplify it, but to complicate it with human psychology, personal motivations, and the eternal truths of power and survival.
The book packs enough for history buffs, political junkies, and lovers of prestige television.
I, Claudius feels more relevant than ever, reminding us that human nature – in all its ambition, cruelty, and occasional wisdom – remains remarkably consistent across the millennia.
Read Next:
Marguerite Yourcenar's Memoirs of Hadrian echoes Graves's approach of fictionalised first person account by a Roman emperor.
John Williams's Augustus does the same for the first Roman Emperor.
For medieval Britain's power struggles wrapped in gorgeous prose, Hilary Mantel’s Wolf Hall is a must-read. Like I, Claudius, it turns a shadowy historical figure into a gripping protagonist.
For non-fiction Roman history, try Mary Beard's SPQR and Emperor of Rome, and Tom Holland's Rubicon.
But honestly? You’ll probably want to jump straight into Graves’s sequel, Claudius the God, to see how our unlikely emperor fares once he actually has the power. Spoiler: it’s not as fun as it looks.