Michael: Everything you think you know about the Aztecs is probably wrong. Starting with their name. The people we call 'Aztecs' never once called themselves that. Not a single time. It was a label invented centuries later. Kevin: Wait, seriously? Not even once? That feels like a pretty fundamental detail to get wrong. If they weren't the Aztecs, then who are we even talking about? Michael: That is the central question, isn't it? And it’s at the heart of the book we’re diving into today: Fifth Sun: A New History of the Aztecs by Camilla Townsend. Kevin: Okay, so this author is setting the record straight from the very first word. I like the ambition. Michael: It's more than ambition; it's a complete paradigm shift. What's incredible is that Townsend, the author, is a historian who actually learned Nahuatl, the language of the people we call Aztecs. She went back to the original texts they wrote after the conquest, using the Roman alphabet to preserve their own stories. Kevin: Whoa. So this isn't based on what the Spanish conquerors wrote down in their diaries. This is from the source. Michael: Exactly. It's why the book won the Cundill Prize, which is basically the Oscar for history writing. It’s a groundbreaking work because it lets us finally hear their voices, not just the European echo. Kevin: Okay, so this is like finding a hidden diary from a major historical event. It changes everything. Where do we even begin to unpack a history we've misunderstood so completely?

Michael: We start with that name. Townsend explains that the term "Aztec" was popularized in the 19th century by European scholars to group a bunch of people together. The actual powerhouse group, the people who built the great city of Tenochtitlan on the lake, called themselves the Mexica. Kevin: The Mexica. Okay, that has a ring to it. It sounds like Mexico, obviously. Michael: Precisely. And the broader cultural and linguistic family they belonged to, which included many other city-states in the valley, were the Nahuas. They all spoke Nahuatl. So, using "Aztec" is a bit like calling all Europeans "Romans" today. It’s a historical shorthand that erases a lot of important distinctions. Kevin: That is mind-blowing. It’s a total rebranding. So, if we got the name wrong, what other big myths does this book bust? I’m guessing it’s not just about terminology. Michael: Oh, it goes much deeper. The biggest myth is the why. The popular story is that the Mexica were a civilization driven by a dark, fatalistic religion, obsessed with human sacrifice to feed their gods and convinced that their world, the Fifth Sun, was always on the brink of collapse. Kevin: Right, that’s the version I know. Pyramids, obsidian knives, priests in bloody robes… it’s all very dramatic and, frankly, a little one-dimensional. Michael: Exactly. And Townsend argues that's the European interpretation, designed to make the Mexica seem alien and justify the conquest. When you read their own annals, a different picture emerges. Take their creation story, the myth of the Fifth Sun itself. It’s not about a bloodthirsty god demanding tribute. It’s the story of Nanahuatzin. Kevin: Nanahuatzin. I’m listening. Michael: In the darkness before our world, the gods gathered to decide who would become the new sun. A proud, wealthy god stepped forward, boasting he would do it. But the gods also asked if anyone else would volunteer. And a small, quiet, humble man named Nanahuatzin, who was covered in sores, said he would. When the moment came to leap into the sacrificial fire, the proud god froze, terrified. But Nanahuatzin, without hesitation, hardened his heart and threw himself into the flames. Kevin: Wow. Michael: He burned away and was reborn as the sun. The story the Mexica told themselves about their world’s creation wasn't about demanding blood; it was about courage, humility, and self-sacrifice for the greater good. Kevin: That’s a beautiful creation story. It’s about heroism, not horror. But let's be real, Michael, the sacrifices did happen. The book doesn't just ignore that, does it? Michael: Not at all. But it reframes it. The annals show that sacrifice was often a tool of realpolitik. It was political theater, a way to intimidate rivals and display power. The wars weren't fought for the purpose of capturing victims; the victims were a consequence of wars fought for territory, tribute, and political dominance—the same reasons European kings were fighting each other at the exact same time. Kevin: So it was more of a brutal political strategy than a religious obsession. Michael: Yes, and the book gives these incredible human stories to show it. There's the story of a young noblewoman named Chimalxochitl, or Shield Flower. Her people were conquered, and she was captured. Instead of weeping or begging, she demanded to be sacrificed in the manner of her ancestors. She faced her captors with such defiance that her final words became a legend, a prophecy that her people’s descendants would become great warriors. Her sacrifice was a political act of defiance, a way of seizing control of her own narrative even in death. Kevin: That’s a powerful story. She wasn't a passive victim waiting for the knife. She was an agent in her own story, right to the end. It makes them feel so much more… human. Michael: That’s the whole point of the book. It moves them from being exotic caricatures to being people with motivations we can actually understand: pride, fear, ambition, and a fierce will to survive.

Kevin: Okay, so if they were these politically savvy, resilient people, that completely changes the story of the Spanish arrival. The version we all learn in school is that Moctezuma thought Cortés was a returning god, Quetzalcoatl, and basically just handed over the keys to the kingdom. Michael: And Townsend absolutely demolishes that myth. She shows that the "Cortés as a god" story was a fabrication that appeared decades later, most likely started by Franciscan friars. It served two purposes: it made the conquest seem like a divine miracle, and it made the Mexica seem naive and easily duped. It was a colonial justification. Kevin: So what were Moctezuma's real motivations, according to the Nahua sources? Michael: He was acting like any pragmatic leader facing a strange and dangerous new threat. He sent spies and messengers to gather intelligence. He sent lavish gifts of gold, not as a sign of worship, but as a political maneuver—essentially trying to bribe them to go away. He was trying to manage a crisis, not welcome a deity. Kevin: He was playing politics, but he was up against something he couldn't possibly have understood—guns, horses, and European diseases. Michael: Exactly. And he was also dealing with a political landscape that was already a tinderbox. This is where another key figure comes in: the interpreter, Malintzin, often known as La Malinche. She's traditionally been painted as a traitor, the woman who sold out her people. Kevin: Right, the ultimate collaborator. Michael: But Townsend shows us a completely different person. Malintzin was not Mexica. She was from a rival group and had been sold into slavery. She was a brilliant, multilingual political operator who saw the arrival of the Spanish as an opportunity. She wasn't betraying "her people"—the Mexica were her people's enemies. She was forging a path to survive and gain power in a world that had crushed her. She was playing her own game, and she was incredibly good at it. Kevin: So she was a political player in her own right, not just a translator. That makes so much more sense. And what about the other indigenous groups, like the Tlaxcalans? They're always portrayed as the native allies who helped the Spanish win. Michael: They were much more than allies; they were the main military force. The book makes it clear that the Tlaxcalans were a major power who had been locked in a brutal, decades-long war with the Mexica empire. They were surrounded and slowly being strangled. For them, Cortés and his few hundred men weren't saviors; they were a strange but potent new weapon to be used against their mortal enemies. Kevin: So the conquest was less a story of "Spain versus the Aztecs" and more of a massive indigenous civil war that a small group of Spaniards managed to get in the middle of and exploit. Michael: That's a perfect way to put it. The Spanish were catalysts, not the sole actors. They tipped the balance of power. And of course, there was the silent, devastating ally they brought with them: smallpox. The epidemic that swept through Tenochtitlan before the final siege killed a huge portion of the population, including the new emperor. It was a biological catastrophe that no amount of political savvy or military courage could overcome.

Michael: So when you step back and look at the whole picture Townsend paints, it’s not a simple story of a technologically superior Europe crushing a superstitious, primitive culture. It’s a messy, complex, and deeply human story. Kevin: It’s a story of a thriving civilization full of politicians, poets, engineers, and historians who were caught in a perfect storm of political infighting, foreign invasion, and catastrophic disease. They weren't just doomed figures in a tragedy. They fought, they strategized, they adapted. Michael: And most importantly, they survived. That’s the biggest takeaway for me. The book doesn't end with the fall of Tenochtitlan in 1521. It follows their descendants for another century. It tells the story of men like Don Domingo Chimalpahin, a Nahua historian born decades after the conquest who dedicated his life to writing down the history of his people in their own language, using their own records, so it would never be lost. Kevin: That’s incredible. So the Fifth Sun, their world, didn't end. It was fractured and transformed, but the people endured. They found ways to carry their history forward. It’s a story of unbelievable resilience, not just defeat. Michael: Exactly. It’s a story of survival. Townsend's work is so important because it forces us to ask a fundamental question: who gets to write history? And whose voices have been silenced for centuries? Reading this book feels like an act of historical justice, finally letting the Mexica and the Nahuas tell their own story. Kevin: It really makes you think about the histories we all take for granted. What voices are missing from the stories we tell about our own past? It’s a question worth asking. We’d love to hear what you think. Find us on our socials and share one historical myth you've always questioned. Let's get a conversation started. Michael: This is Aibrary, signing off.