In The Economic Consequences of the Peace, John Maynard Keynes described the age of economic progress which ended abruptly in 1914:

The inhabitant of London could order by telephone, sipping his morning tea in bed, the various products of the whole Earth in such quantity as he might see fit, and reasonably expect their delivery on his doorstep… He regarded this state of affairs as normal, certain and permanent, except in the direction of further improvement, and any deviation from it as aberrant, scandalous and avoidable.

The first world war shattered this first iteration of globalisation, unleashing beggar-thy-neighbour currency devaluations and a wave of protectionism. Ed Conway, Sky’s economics editor, detects parallels with the economic nationalism of the 2020s – Donald Trump’s global tariff offensive; wars in Ukraine and the Persian Gulf, each threatening energy price shocks; and China and the US locked in a technology arms race which could reduce Europe’s nations to vassal states.

The geopolitical implications are immense. Except Conway is no Henry Kissinger. Rather than dealing with grand strategy or great men, Trade World focuses on three everyday objects: bread, clothes and cars. In each case, the means of production, the author argues, have indelibly shaped the global economy. Thus, Edward III, the ‘woolmonger’, weaponised English dominance of the wool trade to raise funds to fight the French in the Hundred Years’ War. Trade has also decided the fate of the once-mighty western car manufacturers who now find themselves outgunned by China’s vertically integrated industry, especially in electric vehicles.

Meanwhile, we learn a lot about the evolution of the British sandwich and French breadmaking. Who knew that the Greek shipping magnate Aristotle Onassis was once so desperate for some high-grade Poilane loaves that he ordered them to be ferried to New York on Concorde?

There are virtues in this approach. Conway wrote a bestseller, Material World (2024),which singled out six substances – sand, salt, iron, copper, oil and lithium – which he claimed ‘helped to build modern civilisation and will dictate its future’. Trade World follows the same script. In fairness, the author is a newshound. One day he’s observing luxury car smugglers on the Georgia-Russia border, the next he’s visiting a Levi Strauss plant in Gujarat, India. Business journalists who think a trip out of the office means a coffee and sandwich at Pret could learn a lesson or two.

The globetrotting and the chatty prose style are reminiscent of that old BBC television ham Alan Whicker. Sky’s man-on-the-spot is an enthusiast par excellence. That said, his basic thesis feels tame. No one disputes that globalisation has lifted billions out of poverty but created dependencies. After the Covid pandemic, we understand better that just-in-time supply chains are both super-efficient and brittle. It is also true, though no great secret, that outsourcing has gone so far that no one brand actually makes the product on the label.

It is no great secret that outsourcing has gone so far that no one brand actually makes the product on the label

Conway acts as if this were news. Trade World, he argues, is not just the story of bread, clothes and cars but of everything – ‘toys, phones, razors, confectionery, hygiene products, ballpoint pens, nappies, laundry detergent, drugs’. The glaring omission is services (especially if you happen to be British). Conway’s conclusions end up in a muddled middle: ‘It is madness to presume we can live without trade. But it is just as mad to run the world on the blinkered basis that price is all that matters.’

Other books – Chris Miller’s Chip War (2022) or last year’s Apple in China by Patrick McGee – have examined more thoroughly the risks of the new dependency in manufacturing, especially in the high technology space. Trade World is a useful reminder that trade can lessen the risks of conflicts, even wars. But Conway could have dug deeper into the tensions between free trade and mercantilism.

In an earlier age, American leaders, from the Secretary of State Cordell Hull in the 1930s to James A. Baker III in the 1980s, understood that the US could add to its influence and power by expanding American commerce. But this was a two-way exchange, built on the notion of reciprocity. Protectionism was viewed as a defensive withdrawal for societies that had lost their competitive spirit – and their appetite for leadership.

In the Trump era, the argument has been turned on its head. Rather than 1930s protectionism or Chinese-style mercantilism, trade policy is a means to ensure the US cannot be coerced economically and ‘gets paid’ for the superpower services it provides to the rest of the world, as Patrick Foulis, the author of a forthcoming book on globalisation, has observed. These services include access to America’s financial markets and currency, its tech networks and its weapons and security guarantees. Goods – bread, clothes and cars – are by comparison a drop in the Atlantic ocean. No wonder Trade World leaves the reader feeling a bit short-changed.