I, Claudius - Robert Graves

Wow, I'm not sure I've ever read a book that works so much on the level of incident as this Roman tale of power and debauchery. It is a constant, dizzying whirlwind of murder, suicide, incest, warfare, witchcraft and other such Good Stuff. Characters appear, ascend to prominence and then suffer a catastrophic switchback in their fortunes within a few pages. As such, it can be hard to keep up with events, especially given the insanely convoluted family connections, but the action is so relentless that it scarcely matters.

There are very few unimpeachable participants in this sordid story, but a special mention must go to the primary villains, Livia and Caligula. She is a scheming, malignant poisoner and he is a madly reckless, all-powerful egomaniac. Between them they crank up the novel's energy levels to still more delirious heights.

We know from the start that our narrator will eventually attain the unlikely status of emperor despite his many social failings, mainly because everybody else is dead by the end. My wife suggests that Claudius is a bit like Stalin, keeping a low profile until the perfect moment to seize power. In fact he reminded me a bit more of Steven Bradbury: