Queen of the Sea

A History of Lisbon

Barry Hatton

This delightful history of Lisbon is worth reading, even if you never make it to the sun-drenched city yourself. Full of dramatic turns and vivid characters, it’s infused with love for the city and its stories.

Barry Hatton is a British foreign correspondent who’s been living in Lisbon for over three decades. You can feel his affection for the city in every sentence. Reading these pages feels like sitting next to someone at a bar, lingering over a drink, and hearing the stories of someone who’s thrilled to finally tell somebody about his home. It’s enthusiastic in the best way, like, ‘Hey, I love this place, and I think you’re going to love it, too.’

The structure is mostly chronological, but Hatton’s more interested in following the thread of a story than sticking to a timeline. He deftly pulls the past into the present. Right from the beginning — when he explains the geology of the area, details about what the Phoenicians would have found when they arrived, a 13th-century painting, or a dusty manuscript — he’s also pointing out current sights. He’ll tell you exactly where to find these sights and treasures today: ‘It’s tucked behind this building, here’s the address, and let me introduce you to the janitor who watches over it.’

His story begins with the physical layout of the city — why Lisbon is where it is — and moves through the ancient past. But that chapter might detour into a description of a current neighborhood or a moment in modern Lisbon life. Then we’re back with the Romans and then the Moors. (Another nice bit: ‘A saying still used in Portugal is Anda Mouro na costa (literally, there are Moors off the coast). It indicates that trouble is afoot…’)

That historical narrative about the conquest of the Moors in 1147 meanders into an exploration of fado, the guitar-based, Portuguese version of the blues, which celebrates heartbreak and yearning — and is deeply woven into Lisbon’s identity.

And then there’s the Age of Exploration: colonialism, empire, the rise and fall of Portuguese power. And here, Hatton doesn’t gloss over the dark parts. He writes about slavery, the Inquisition, and the forced conversion (and eventual massacre) of Lisbon’s Jewish population. He’s honest about the contradictions in Portugal’s history — its ambitions, its prejudices, its beauty, and its brutality.

One of the most powerful sections in the book is about the All Saints’ Day Earthquake in 1755. It was a massive quake — buildings leveled, followed by a 20-foot tsunami and a fire that burned for six days. Tens of thousands of people died. Many thought it was the apocalypse. And because Lisbon was such a hub of culture and science at the time, the loss wasn’t just human — it was artistic, intellectual. Tens of thousands of books and paintings, maps, murals, and tapestries… gone. Hatton uses firsthand accounts to help us understand what those dark days were like.

Throughout, the interplay of history and the present is conversational, digressive in a good way, and rich with stories well told. Hatton makes the facts legible and vivid — and perhaps, making you fall in love with Lisbon just as he has.

The castle overlooking Alfama and the rest of the city is perhaps Lisbon’s most emblematic landmark, and the view it offers is staggering. As the sun sets over the Atlantic—if you sailed that way, the first land mass you would come to is North America—the electric blue sky shifts through a kaleidoscope of colors. The sun fades to apricot, followed by more delicate hues: candy-pink and lilac, before a triumphant dying blast of violet, magenta and crimson. — Barry Hatton

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