In 1932, the laconic and reticent aesthete Robert Byron came by chance across a photograph of a Ziyarid tomb-tower standing alone upon the Caspian steppe. Then and there he resolved to embark upon a journey across the navel of the world — from Venice to the Levant, through Mesopotamia and up onto the Persian plateau, where he traversed Iran and Afghanistan with the aim of discovering the origins of Islamic architecture, which he believed lay upon the storied plains of Central Asia. His account, a masterpiece of the genre, reads less like a traditional travelogue and more like a detective thriller; he navigates the perils of labyrinthine mountain passes, the dust of the open deserts, and the oppressive bureaucracy of the Shahist regime, all in search of long-decayed architectural wonders. The reader is dragged along on this adventure, captivated by an enthralling premise: here are the hulking skeletons of long-lost civilisations; we need only follow their trail to unlock the secrets of the ancients.

Given the current state of the world, it may be some time before any of us can follow Byron onto the plateau. Indeed, we can do little more than hope against hope that none of those precious and irreplaceable treasures are struck by the projectiles currently raining down upon that antique land. But we can at least distract ourselves with their heritage from afar; we can pay homage to their artistry by attempting to finish what Byron started.

Can we trace through time the history of Iranian architecture? Let us try.