There’s a story about a survey that set out to settle which was the UK’s second city. People in Birmingham voted Birmingham. In Manchester they said Manchester. In Glasgow they said Glasgow and in Liverpool they said London. Liverpool holds a high opinion of itself. But then everyone has an opinion about Liverpool. A few months ago I was about to do an event in a school in some home county or other. When I asked to use the toilet, the head waved me towards a pair of doors. I opened the wrong one. It was the lift. “Ha ha,” he bantered, “you can take the boy out of Liverpool. But you can’t take Liverpool out of the boy.” Daniel Defoe’s opinion was that Liverpool was “one of the wonders of Britain”. He visited several times and noted that the city was always changing – demolishing its past to build its future. He thought getting rid of the castle was a bit hasty. To this day, the most common observation about the city is how much it has changed and is changing.

I read David Swift’s Scouse Republic alongside Michael Heseltine’s breezily optimistic account of urban regeneration, From Acorns to Oaks. It’s impossible to deny that the city has brilliantly swerved the abyss of “managed decline”. It’s now a hen-night destination, a regular stop-off for luxury cruises, a seat of learning. The Georgian Quarter, with its cobbled streets shining under Narnian lamp-posts, is one of the most popular filming locations in the country. But Swift’s account of that voyage from chaotic sailor town to imperial port, from the Beatles to the Toxteth uprising, does not look away from the dark and stormy passages. If you ever feel tempted to flirt with trickle-down economics, remind yourself that in 1841, when the city was the premier port of the empire after London, life expectancy in Liverpool was 26. Seventy-five per cent of the lads who volunteered for army service were rejected for being unfit.

This is a highly personal book. Swift’s Israeli in-laws provide the story with a baffled chorus. He has a terrific eye for the telling detail. I will forever be quoting his story about how, in 1904, trumpet-tongued Jim Larkin – hero of the Belfast dock strike – buried a letter “to the future socialist society” in a biscuit tin underneath the foundation stone of the Anglican cathedral. There are chapters on the origin of the scouse accent, a short history of Eric’s nightclub, observations on the significance of Jürgen Klopp’s Christianity and a long overdue analysis of that weird cocktail of truth, disinformation and racism – the legend of Purple Aki, an intimidatingly large body builder of Nigerian origin whose possibly harmless but unnerving kink is asking young men if he can feel their muscles. A lot of people think he’s an urban myth.

On the downside, there’s not much here about the Chinese community – almost as much a part of Liverpool identity as the Irish. There’s no mention of the city’s greatest son – Jeremiah Horrocks – or of Constantine Cavafy, who lived on Balmoral Road, near Home Bargains on Prescot Road. I mention these things not as a criticism but as a goad to get Swift to write a sequel to this tastily cargoed clipper ship of a book.

The title – Scouse Republic – nods towards Liverpool exceptionalism of the “scouse not English” type. But if Liverpool is so exceptional, why should a non-scouser want to read this? For one thing, because scouse exceptionalism – the idea that the city is too different, too socialist – is a myth that Swift takes to pieces in a chapter called Good Rioters, Bad Socialists. Liverpool is different. It experienced large-scale immigration long before most of the country. It experienced the loss of empire more directly. In David Goodhart’s world of Somewheres v Anywheres, scousers – myself included – are definitely Somewheres.

But every city thinks it’s different. Manchester’s unofficial motto is “We do things differently here”, but then that was written by a Scouser (me). And Liverpool is not that different. Reform came second in several seats in the City Region. And if exceptionalism ever meant anything, it surely lost that meaning last summer when Farage’s rioters set fire to Spellow library. This is why you should read this book. Liverpool is a distorting mirror where the themes of our politics are expressed louder and more vividly. The downside of its solidarity is a politics which is as much about identity as idealism. If you dug up Jim Larkin’s biscuit tin, what might you find inside? A note that said: Don’t worry, even Liverpool – in spite of everything – will find a future.