Every time I get to work on a new book of the Iliad I find myself thinking, 'Wow, this is my favorite book of the whole poem". I may have never felt quite that way before about Book 10 — the night raid — but I'm feeling it now.
An update on Emily Wilson’s translation of the Iliad is always welcome news, and especially given that I have been reading through it again (well sort of!) in recent weeks and it still remains a mystery – which is okay only up to a point.
The above tweet relates to Book 10, and I do hope she is not working absolutely chronologically; should she be, there is an awful long way to go! Ever the optimist, this YouTube video clip is of a segment from Book 18 (recited by Wilson in Greek and her work in progress English translation) where Thetis and the nereids are singing their lament, suggests otherwise. Actually, I would be really interested in knowing a little about her work practice and methods.
No longer a favourite white tee for him and her (or me), but still it caught my eye; any wonder when it so cries: “Fruits of the loom: why Greek myths are relevant for all time!” And, it continues, and gets only better: “…Classicist Charlotte Higgins explores stories that weave together the fabric of our existence“. A must read, then, on The Guardian website.
Greek Myths: A New Retelling
And having done so – read the above said article I mean – I know this to be an introduction of sorts to coincide with the publication in the UK of Charlotte Higgins’ own new book Greek Myths: A New Retelling (Jonathon Cape, 2021), and which is to be published in the US in December. I haven’t read Higgins’ previous books, but she is known to me from her excellent and varied cultural journalism at The Guardian, and her declared rational behind her “retelling” is so compelling, that this too now a must read.
Interesting, also: drawings by Chris Ofili! What a coup by whoever, or whatever circumstance, initiated his involvement.
Next week sees the publication of The Women of Troy, Pat Barker’s sequel to her critically and popularly well-received retelling of Homer’s Iliad, The Silence of the Girls; told with a woman’s gaze and one firmly focused on Briseis. (Reviewed in 2018 here in The Guardian by Emily Wilson.)
Barker has whetted the appetite for a timely read in this short piece she has written for The Guardian; she returns to her motivations in writing the first book, and it seems a classic ‘what came next’ is to be expected of her follow-up.
More generally, it was interesting to read Barker’s comments relating to the richness of opportunities at an author’s disposal to explore mythological characters, as opposed to the constraints imposed on fictions with historical figures and situations in their midst; burdened as they are with facts and evidence. It is any wonder, then, that the mythical narratives are returned to again and again by new generations of artists and writers seeking creative freedom; re-worked and re-imagined, made fit for contemporary reception.
Here’s to a girls night out with Briseis and friends (again) – grown up and grown old – or not – our fates shared through the ages (of man!).
A short while ago I had my say on this, from afar and detached but nevertheless troubled. Now, I discover an article at the Antigone Journal by one very much attached, and much more troubled at the loss – the loss of an opportunity to participate, even lead, in reshaping the study of the ancient and classical world as one of the foundations of learning (for everyone).
Anika Prather’s piece is a very personal lament at the demise of the Classics Department at Howard University; until now the only such existing at a H.B.C.U., and one of the founding departments of the university in 1867. Prather, a Howard graduate (though not a Classics major), and more recently an adjunct professor there, records the profound influence her engagement with Classics at Howard had upon her (as it did Toni Morrison and Zora Neale Hurston before her), and the role it played in offering an alternative version of what a person, any person, could be; freeing her from the constraints of society and emboldening her to aspire to the best version of herself – into a confident, searching, questioning Black woman. Really a heck of an endorsement.
Dare I say, Prather’s loyalty to Howard is such that she may be more restrained than I; for I have mused unto myself in recent weeks, that the timing begs to suggest that cost cutting was probably in order to finance other personnel and departmental obligations that are, shall we say, more splashy. (Mentioned by me in this recent blog entry.) The University has stated that various Classics related courses will be incorporated over a range of departments, and though that sounds a bit wishy-washy to me, perhaps the powers that be will come up with an acceptable arrangement, and I hope they are held to their commitment.
Having dared say, now, may I say; I bet if there was still a Classics department at Howard, at least one of its new appointments would be stealing into lectures at every opportunity and doing a sly course of study. Ta-Nehisi Coates could not help but be enthralled by gods and goddesses and the games they play, and mortal man and woman and the dead languages they speak. And all their shared conceits and contrary whims and delusions of grandeur – and some with hearts and souls that really are grand. Coates placement in the English Department may offer some promise that ancient narratives and ideas will indeed find a way into other courses of study – albeit in an interdisciplinary fashion.
Madeline Miller’s 2018 novel re-telling of the mythical and minor goddess Circe came to hand, and was duly read and quickly so, and was enjoyed and deserves, therefore, a few words. And, and, and…
pub. Little Brown and Company, 2018
It had occurred to me that I was perhaps not amongst the intended readership of this book, but I was not deterred, after all, as an “Old Adult” I have read Pullman and Rowling in the interests of a younger generation (near and dear), but that is not quite the same as that peculiar hybrid mix of YA and fantasy fiction to which I discovered Miller’s Circe tended. I don’t say that dismissively, rather with some regret at my own mounting years.
Written in the first person from the point of view of Circe herself, I did succumb to the spell cast by her voice – irritable to the gods, feisty to a mere mortal as I – but found myself to be at the same time mildly irritated by the substance behind it. Miller gives her goddess a cadence that is both intimate and distanced, worldly and naive, ancient and very young; too much duality can blur the edges and obscure the essence of a character. But maybe so it must be; for this Circe has a mortal core centered within an immortal world – or the other way around. The narrative that the author spins around Circe’s far flung familial connections, that has her turning up all over the place in Greek mythology, has its attractions; for my acquaintanceship with her had been previously limited to The Odyssey and Odysseus’ sojourn on her island of exile, Aiaia. Tempting the reader with her interpretation of those ancient fragmentary tales, Miller conjures for her idiosyncratic enchantress a ‘what came before’ and ‘what came next’ that has a sort of magic, and is not without appeal. Her book may lack the complexity demanded of (and by!) the gods (and the greater myth system that has them at its foundation), but it is, nevertheless, a spirited work of imaginative fiction.
This Circe deserves her release from the incessant mobbing in the mythical playground of the gods, from the abusive father, Helios – the Sun, the Son – and from all the nasties – mother, siblings, relos however many times removed, and marauding mortal men. Circe’s tribulations are a godly version of the veritable tick box of the abuse and belittlement faced by women at home and abroad – misogyny, humiliation, violence, dependency. Miller’s Circe, though, defies victim-hood and her presumed fate, proves herself to be more than a song and a refrain in The Odyssey, more than a supporting character in the myths of god and man. Cast out as a failed daughter, as a rejected and vengeful nymph, she re-invents herself, explores her talents, builds a home of her own. Seeking the company of man, she is maltreated again – understated! to say it plainly: she is raped. Be assured they got their just rewards – and not they alone, generations will pay for the sins of the fathers. But she never gives up on them; they, who she sees (unlike her Olympian tormentors!), as more than foolish mortals with foolish ways, easy fodder for the next divertissement. This Circe is a searcher, a survivor, a self-made woman. She is a lover and a mother and a forgiver – for those few who pass muster, she will risk all.
As Penelope once weaved and deceived, so Circe concocts and conceives – with purpose and with patience. In the end – can it be? – the gods! they misread the Fates, got it wrong! They underestimated, made presumptions, and a troublesome witch blew them off course. Having dared to turn a man into a god and coming to grief, they thought her fate sealed, now what will they have to say about a goddess craving mortality?
The novel, Circe, is not quite a cauldron full, not a potent witch’s brew reeking of entrails and god knows what, rather one with just a tantalizing whiff of the dark; a refreshing light draught, its ingredients drawn from fields, ancient and fertile. To extend the metaphor: an airy romp for the young and young of heart. Maybe, at least, I still retain a little of the latter; because I did appreciate this read.
A very niche blog post here on Greek accents (and why there are some things that, if you dont learn them as a child, you never will!) https://t.co/uJMvk32bIz
…unfortunately, not only niche, but abbreviated. I thought I would be granted one admittance to the TLS this month – but no such luck! But, as far as I could read, the gist is; when Professor Beard was at school, girls were taught Ancient Greek without accents – pondering the rationale (!) behind that is really interesting indeed! Mind you, it didn’t do Mary’s brilliant career much harm; or maybe it did force the direction – after all, her specialisation did become that of the Romans and Latin does not have (at least not in written text) those pesky diacritical marks of Greek. And she does say, that to this very day, she feels somehow deprived, and is adamant it is a technique that must be learnt from the git go.
Where I am concerned, the truth of course is – with or without (accents) – it remains all Greek to me!
Not wasted though was this return visit to Twitter, for I picked up mention of a very new site, called Antigone, dedicated to making Classics accessible to a greater audience. A quick browse through suggests lots of good reading, and they are even able to offer help for those (like Mary!) struggling with accents.
Tricky, niche, beset by questions of gender in education? There's lots one might say about ancient Greek accents. We at @AntigoneJournal recently shared an article summarising the main rules governing their use. Here it is! https://t.co/EAUiHOvnGG
— Antigone Journal (@AntigoneJournal) July 3, 2021
I’m surprised that it wasn’t until very recently, and in respect to her pending retirement, that I first mentioned Mary Beard here; for she really does rank up there amongst my most favorite people. In my Twitter life – now forsaken – I followed her avidly (and even went into bat for her when necessary!).
For those unacquainted, this annotated “talk” piece in The New York Times Magazine (subscription) is as good an introduction as any to the person and particularly to the very special art of delving into the ancient world and learning the lessons it can teach, even be they about how not to be. Also, I take this opportunity to make mention of her new book, entitled Twelve Caesars: Images of Power from the Ancient World to the Modern, due out later this year.
[…]In this book—against a background of today’s “sculpture wars”—Mary Beard tells the story of how for more than two millennia portraits of the rich, powerful, and famous in the western world have been shaped by the image of Roman emperors, especially the “Twelve Caesars,” from the ruthless Julius Caesar to the fly-torturing Domitian. Twelve Caesars asks why these murderous autocrats have loomed so large in art from antiquity and the Renaissance to today, when hapless leaders are still caricatured as Neros fiddling while Rome burns. […]
Princeton University Press (2021)
Published in the UK on September 28th, 2021, and in the US on October 12th.
Videos of The Sixtieth A. W. Mellon Lectures in Fine Arts at the National Gallery of Fine Arts, Washington D.C. held in 2011, and on which Mary’s book is based may be found here (scroll down to the 60th lecture series). A decade old, but resonating in a new light considering the ongoing – and global – controversies surrounding statues and memorials of historical figures with – mildly put – tainted images. And, not to mention, a growing gallery of populist autocratic figures running amok from one end of the world to the next – until recently even in the US capital. To think, as Mary speaks, a much finer figure of a man was in power, and one could almost believe the promises of an ever-evolving democracy. These videos, a great find on my behalf, I must say! And just a taster before the (belated) publication in extended book form.
Unlike in the digital world, where an update comes from out of nowhere, or perhaps from the clouds above – overnight and undercover, or intruding unannounced in the light of day, there remain great collections of human thought and knowledge, remnants from times passed, that demand meticulous review; and under the auspices of the human brain that understands memory as more than a machine, that pays little regard to bits and bytes, and timeouts, rather dedicates its own finely wired synapses to the higher arts of scholarship – perseverance, selection, reflection, accuracy.
Such may be said of the just published Cambridge Greek Lexicon (Cambridge University Press). [On the website is a trove of information, including the history and methodology of the project, an extended video introduction and reference material and links.] Over twenty years in compilation; what was originally conceived as a revision of HG Liddell and Robert Scott’s legendary 1889 Intermediate Greek-English Lexicon, after due consideration and because of its antiquated form, had morphed into a completely new project.
Classics at Cambridge: Introducing the “The Cambridge Greek Lexicon”
This Guardian piece informs of what is in and what is not, and delights in giving us the down and dirty – or “earthy” as they call it. Some may say, well … and with a blush! To rejoin: Shame on those who go digging in ancient ground and shun at getting hands dirty! And though blushing, I quote:
…The verb χέζω (chezo), translated by Liddell and Scott as “ease oneself, do one’s need”, is defined in the new dictionary as “to defecate” and translated as “to shit”; βινέω (bineo) is no longer “inire, coire, of illicit intercourse”, but “fuck”; λαικάζω (laikazo), in the 19th-century dictionary translated as “to wench”, is now defined as “perform fellatio” and translated as “suck cocks”.
The Guardian, 27th May 2021
Whatever would the Messrs. Liddell and Scott think! Whether these new volumes will endure as long as their predecessor only time will tell but it is interesting to contemplate how language and custom may develop in the next hundred years or so (hopefully, it will still be determined by the living, breathing not an artificial intelligence!) – and in which direction! As the Guardianeditorial ends:
…Easy as it is to gently mock the sensibilities of a former age, perhaps future generations will decry early-21st-century comfort with sexually aggressive terms; when, perhaps, it will be time for another dictionary of a “dead” language.
