Of plagues and lice and chamberpots; 'nasty and beastly' sanitation through the ages; 'corporphilia' (the love of filth) and the persistent curious belief that 'honest dirt' is a part of manliness and worth. The author has exhumed the more ororiferous details of life in medieval and early modern Europe and traced the slow -- very slow -- recognition that dirt and disease traveled together down the polluted waterways: only an imagination as powerful as Spenser's could celebrate the Thames as ""sweet."" Drawing on graphic contemporary accounts -- Pepys, Swift, and Defoe -- this is not for squeamish noses; in fact you'll be hard put to idealize pre-industrial pastoral idylls or the charms of Jacobean London after a whiff or two. Among the enlightened was Leonardo Da Vinci, who planned rational sewer systems which, like his planes, took a few hundred years to catch on. The privies of the rich were exquisite -- James I had one ""covered in black velvet and garnished with ribbons, fringes and quilting involving the use of 2,000 gilt nails"" but typhoid and cholera bacilli were unimpressed; dirt, like disease and death remained the great equalizers between rich and poor until well into the 19th century. This is a fascinating excursion into social history wherein the author demonstrates that ""dirt is an entirely relative concept,"" whatever well-scrubbed, deodorized moderns think of such scentiments.