Two books, one era. Sun Tzu could not have imagined the civilizations Herodotus explored. They never walked this Earth together, but Herodotus' parents shared the same sun and moon with Master Sun.
Both of these men weigh heavy on my mind right now. I'm actively editing a digital copy of The Art of War for my website while simultaneously reading Herodotus in a digital book club. The Father of History was born just thirteen years after the death of the Master of War. Herodotus tells us he is writing his histories (his "inquiries") to preserve the memory of the great deeds of men. And the very first deed he tackles? The ancient conflict between the regions of modern-day Iran (Persia) and modern-day Lebanon and Israel (Phoenicia).
I have a long personal history with Herodotus' Histories. I first bought a Barnes & Noble leatherbound edition back in 2009. I never got past Book One; frankly, that edition did not do the text justice. The translation was dry, and the experience was so agonizing that it turned me off from classic literature altogether for years—I even avoided Penguin Classics just by association.
Then came the turning point. In 2015, I started listening to the classics via Audible, and by 2018, I discovered the Landmark Publications. I first read Caesar’s Gallic War commentaries, and when I found out they had a Landmark edition for Herodotus, I was hooked. I devoured it. I would listen to the audiobook version 24/7 because the narrator, Charlton Griffin, sounds exactly how you would imagine Herodotus sounding in your mind's eye. After that, I ran headfirst into history and never looked back.
Now, in 2026, I'm right back where I belong, but this time I have a reading group. A group of people who truly love reading—which, in this day and age, feels like a minor miracle. I've known some of these people digitally since 2008. We met through a wonderful online "Hotel" you can visit, but that's a long story for another day.
Right now, we are reading Herodotus line by line, slowly absorbing all the subtext and nuance hidden between the words. We are pushing past the strict boundaries of the text so that we can glimpse the waves crashing along the shores of Argos. We want to feel the sand between the toes of Persian soldiers as they cross the Hellespont, and taste the sweat of Leonidas as he calmly combs his hair before the approaching Persian army at Thermopylae.
We aren't just consumers of text; we're active readers. And a truly dedicated reader is likely to become a roleplayer when given a medium of expression as vast as the Internet. To bridge that gap, our group is doing something unique: we are using the mechanics of text-based roleplaying to inhabit the historical narrative. By stepping into the shoes of the figures, diplomats, and soldiers of the ancient world, we aren't just analyzing the history—we are living it, deepening our knowledge of the text through the very medium that brought us together.