The Odyssey (10): Books 17 – 18

A Beggar’s Banquet

A mask may easily enough be dropped - 
oft by design, and sometimes not.
When the former; that revealed 
just that which was intended.
And, when the latter; a face is shown,
alas that better left unknown.

- Anne Dromache, October 3rd 2020

Oh, what a thing would it be
should every Beggar's Banquet be
every bit fit enough for a king -
(or better still a queen!)
What when the art of Gastfreundshaft:
simple kindness and fine manner;
conducted in kind and manner likewise,
and no matter one's stand in life -
nor the given or guessed circumstance.

- Anne Dromache, October 3rd 2020

book 17: insults and abuse

pp. 386-407

As Telemachus sets off to the palace where his mother awaits him, Odysseus returns to his disguise as he furthers his plot against the suitors. Heading into town with Eumaeus, he soon discovers that not everyone will treat an old, impoverished beggar with the respect and kindness accorded to him by Eumaeus and in his first meeting with his son.

Firstly, the goatherd Melanthius, in cohorts now with the suitors, maligns and assaults him, and then at the palace he is ridiculed by the suitors, and most especially Antinous who will not even give him some meagre food scraps. Odysseus learns the hard way that there is hospitality for some, and only hostility for others.

Some interesting interludes. Again – a dog. But this time the reaction is different; the old stray, once Odysseus’ favourite puppy Argos, and now neglected and dying, sees behind the guise to his first master from twenty years before. What happens to a dog’s soul in those bare moments between the joy of recognition and death? And, as he stands at the portal of his house, his palace, momentarily Odysseus is so overwhelmed that, in describing so precisely the layout, he almost reveals himself to Eumaeus – who registers surprise at the old beggar’s familiarity with this place, but puts it down to gifts of observation.

In the midst of the raucous feasting, Penelope is made aware of the continued bad behaviour of all those young men seeking her favour, and their treatment of an old man who had travelled from afar and wanted only a morsel to stem his hunger. That he should have heard of Odysseus and his fate, does she wonder, and ask of Eumaeus. She must now seek counsel with this stranger.

book 18: two beggars

pp. 408-423

Even beggars have a place to defend, and as medieval knights may duel on a question of honour, so must a beggar fight for the meagre favours that may be tossed his way. And Odysseus must now contest his right to be tolerated on the fringes; and do so against the beggar Irus, and cajoled by the suitors with an appetite for blood equal only to that for dripping roasted meats. Strangely, the suitors are taken aback, but no more, at the gladiatorial muscles revealed beneath the rags of the bedraggled old man, and his victory gives Odysseus the opportunity to warn the best amongst the suitors, Amphinomus, that he should find a reason to depart, for bloody times lie ahead. Alas, the die is cast. Amphinomus never had a choice.

Penelope, as an instrument to Athena’s scheme, makes herself impossibly glam, and with seductive gestures enters the banquet fray. With promises of a forthcoming decision on whom she will favour with her self, Penelope coerces an abundance of gifts and treasure. Something which impresses the attentive Odysseus no end! Not so the behaviour of the slave girls, earning only his displeasure – and one fears they too will pay a price.

Tempers are frayed amongst all gathered, but Telemachus displays an acumen of which his father would be proud, and after final drinks are drunk each of those doomed suitors is called by the promise of warm bed and sleep.

Out of the closet, from under the bed …

…and into the light of day. Gifted now to Charleston, an extraordinary collection of erotic works by Duncan Grant; and as explained in this BBC News video clip:

Produced during the 1940s and 50s, the more than four hundred works were given by Grant to his close friend and fellow artist Edward Le Bas (here some biographical details at Charleston, and here some of his work at the Tate) in 1959, and after Le Bas’ death in 1966 presumed to be lost. We now know, they just moved on; changing hands, ending up about eleven years ago with the theatre designer Norman Coates, and it is he whom is to be thanked for providing for this interesting addition to the complicated artistic legacy surrounding the Bloomsbury Group.

It also says something, and one tends to forget, about just how very recently it is that society (and not just British) has changed such that homoerotic works, like Grant’s drawings, may be openly shared without fear of legal repercussions or gasps of outrage.

How political can Black be?

Identity, very real yet permanently theorised upon; the reflection in the mirror or thoughts in the head, the heated arguments, the terminology, and beyond – who is what and who says, variance in usage and acceptability over time and from nation to nation; all this and more is almost impossible to escape these days, and just when one is convinced to be almost on top of it, or given up in despair, there it is again demanding to be considered again. For me, at least, that state arises again this time in reading an opinion article in The New York Times by Kwame Anthony Appiah; throwing a spanner in the works again.

Springing from an ongoing debate, some of it fair, and some provocative purely for the sake of provocation (this ranging from the mischievous to the malevolent) about the correct nomenclature when in comes to US Vice-Presidential candidate, Kamala Harris, born in California to an Indian mother and a Jamaican father, Appiah’s thoughtful piece returns half-way home (for him) to the United Kingdom, where ethnicity has been historically approached differently and the matter much more black and white (my pun is intended), to construe his argument.

Appiah describes the “political Blackness” ideology, rooted in the early nineteen seventies and finding legitimacy at the latest in the eighties, and in the wake of recommendations from the Commission for Racial Equality; whereby Asians were officially categorised as Black. (In terms of Britain, important is that here we are talking predominately about South Asians – i.e. Indians, Pakistanis, etc. dispersed in the wake of Partition and the aftermath – whereas in America one would understand “Asian” to refer to those of East Asian, e.g. Chinese, Japanese, Korean or Southeast Asian, for instance, Vietnamese, descent.) While historically and unofficially, Black people were always seen to be anyone who was not absolutely white, that categorisation was then embraced by many in minority communities that were not sub-Saharan or from the African diaspora.

Under the “umbrella” of their Blackness, it is easy enough to understand that its proponents envisaged power, not only in numbers, but shared experiences and just grievances, mostly extending from the remnants of Empire and colonisation. It is also clear: there are disadvantages inherent in claiming too “big a church” for too “diverse a congregation” (my unoriginal metaphors). Appiah also agues on the point of the immense range of internal diversity; cultural and religious (e.g. consider alone India: Hindu, Muslim, Sikh, etc., languages and dialects ad infinitum, socio-economic status and caste) that further complicate sympathies and allegiances.

Today the project still remains highly contentious – for every example of mutuality sought there is at least another of repudiation and offence. But, as an “idea” of inclusivity, it is not dead and that is something.

Sympathy for … “Jack”

Did I not say I wasn’t going to read any more reviews on Jack? But, when it is from Hermione Lee in the New York Review of Books and is titled: “Sympathy for the Devil”, what can I say? Must be read. Lee, wonderfully I think, fixes this new novel in the midst of the greater oeuvre of Marilynne Robinson’s work, foremostly the other “Gilead” books (which she revisits) but not only, and encapsulates, what for me is the essence of Robinson’s writing: her singular way of grasping the ephemeral in the every day, loading them with grace and kindness, then giving them permanence in the greater human narrative.

Elaine Showalter’s review in The New York Times (as pleaded for, I did get another, a better, review from NYT!) is not as extensive nor does it assiduously reference Robinson’s past works or comments, but obviously she read the same book as Hermione Lee; right down to Prince of Darkness metaphors.

Finally, a couple of general points: Lee and Showalter do seem to agree that this new novel would be difficult to appreciate outside of the context of the previous three in the series, and both remain unconvinced as to why Della is prepared to forsake so much for Jack’s sake. In respect to the latter, Showalter makes a plea for the another instalment – and for it to be called “Della”!

(Hilary) Mantel pieces

I recall a piece about Hilary Mantel in The Guardian the other day, which mentioned a forthcoming collection of essays; and I was immediately taken by the title: “Mantel Pieces”. This I thought very clever indeed – a nice play with name in the first instance, and then there is the association to fireplace which extends to frame and flame, warmth and light, kindle and burn, etc., and extended then to the shelf above – a piece, a place of display and decoration. Many attributes that could well apply to a fine piece of writing. And certainly to most everything put to page by Hilary Mantel.

Maybe it was that I was just a little too interested in what Mantel had to say about not making the Booker shortlist (pragmatic and gracious, of course!), or maybe it was not said; for whatever reason I failed to get that the collection does in fact comprise her contributions to the London Review of Books over thirty odd years, and this I register only now on reading this blog entry at the LRB. (A delightfully informative blog entry by the way; fulfilling the requirements as stipulated by the marketing department!) Mantel Pieces, then, is a compilation of twenty essays or reviews and, even more tantalising, each is accompanied by fragments of correspondence (for instance, with the editor Mary-Kay Wilmers) or artwork relating to the piece.

Fact-checking my own recollection: in fact, the subject matter of the collection was NOT said in the abovementioned Guardian article – only the October publication date. What it did say and I should add, is that at the moment Hilary Mantel is busily at work adapting The Mirror and the Light for the stage (alas, there is no mention yet of a continuation to the BBC television effort), and so, even if inclined to, she has little time to cry in her teacups, and obviously maintains an air of optimism in terms of a return to normality in the theatrical landscape in London.

And, diverting slightly, more generally speaking on the politics of book awards, I note the following:

As I predicted, there does appear again to be murmurings about the probity of opening up of the Booker to US authors (coming mostly from the conservative media in the UK granted), but Hilary Mantel is otherwise inclined and accepts the diversification argument and encourages British and Commonwealth authors to accept the challenge of greater competition. As I said: gracious. I was actually quite peeved, specifically about the Mantel omission and more generally am sceptical of conflating powerful US book market interests with good literature !
And then, this just read in the NYT, which is illustrative of the above said, and is some affirmation of my argument:

…another major literary event threatens to make an already overcrowded fall publishing season even more chaotic: the release of former President Barack Obama’s memoir, “A Promised Land.”
On Tuesday, the Booker Prize said it was moving its award ceremony, previously scheduled for Nov. 17, to Nov. 19 to avoid overlapping with the publication of Mr. Obama’s book…
…[this]could also fuel new criticism that the prize, originally established in 1969 to honor writers from Commonwealth countries and the Republic of Ireland, has become too Americanized and increasingly focused on the U.S. book market. American authors have dominated the Booker nominees in recent years, following a 2014 rule change that made any novel written in English and published in the U.K. eligible…

It is clear, the book business (and when all’s said and done awards are after all just another element of merchandising) operates on a global scale as with most everything else these days – for good or ill, and that is unlikely to change.

Yes, yes…I get it that the Booker people fear their winner will go under in the Barack Obama hype, it is just that I consider their argument somewhat specious – many, many people will read Obama and a lot, lot less people will read a fine contemporary novel, and some will read both, and maybe I am the latter, but they are hardly works in competition to each other. More honest would have been to admit to kowtowing to the pressure of monolithic publishing companies.

The good news is: in former President Obama, we have an ardent reader, from whom we can expect each summer one of his cult reading lists, which is sure to include National Book Award and Booker nominees and unknown gems and certainly NOT a de rigeur presidential afterlife – granted he has no reason to read a thousand pages of politicking; he lived it to write it!

A philosophical mix – or fix!

Some balm for the tormented psyche (or tortured soul in shifted state)! Of which there are enough in these days of late! A bit of philosophising can never go astray; here, then, a very nice podcast (this from Spotify, but only because I can embed it here which doesn’t apply to other platforms like Apple from which it is also available) that has come my way by chance. It is somehow consoling to reflect upon the fact that so many of our trials and tribulations, that we recognise as particular to our own time, have in fact been pondered upon by our ancestors since antiquity.

The Panpsycast Philosophy Podcast

Aimed at teachers and students in the United Kingdom, some of the subject matter is fairly dense, some not so, and mostly accessible to an enquiring mind, and there could be worse ways in which to while away an hour or so. Here is the website with some further information, and from which it is easier to explore and dive into episodes of particular interest.

Start the Week…

with Marilynne Robinson et al.

Always a very good listen, but I was especially delighted with Marilynne Robinson being a guest on Andrew Marr’s BBC Radio 4 program “Start the Week” this morning. Here it is at Spotify (also available as podcast at Apple.)

Andrew Marr talks to Marilynne Robinson and Rowan Williams September 28, 2020.

Robinson discusses her new novel in the context of her wider work and concerns in the modern world; both the sacred and the profane. Her co-guest is Rowan Williams, former Archbishop of Canterbury, who speaks on the 16th century Benedictine monastic tradition; subject of his recent book The Way of St. Benedict, and its relevance now.

With such a pairing one expects the sacred to win out, but Marr ensures the more profane does not come up short. For me, at least, a very nice start to the week.

Reading Reviews – on “Jack”

That’s a thing with pre-sale reviews: does oneread, or does one not? And that question arises especially when applied to a work long awaited, and, for me, that is the case with Marilynne Robinson’s Jack; her fourth novel in a series that started with Gilead in 2004, which is in stores, on shelves (or coming via one of those ubiquitous “distribution centres” or appearing on a screen out of thin air; named for a mythical tribe of female warriors, or for the tributaries of some mighty waters) next week.

Alas, the temptation can not be resisted, and all my resistance must be directed instead against undue influence. But I usually do this well enough.

Here, then, a selection from the last couple of days:

Jordan Kisner’s reading is the one with the most intellectual depth. It is clear she knows the place from where Robinson comes, metaphorically if not in a real sense. It may, or may not, be called “Gilead”, but I would guess it has the essence of nonetheless. An excellent essay, I think. Should I wonder that they – Kisner and Robinson – share a publisher? Well I could but I won’t – and her piece is certainly not uncritical, but it is written with admiration and serious intent. She really makes some quite profound observations, not the least her identification of “predestination” as a leitmotif in Robinson’s work:

…Robinson is a Calvinist, and over the course of these novels, Jack has stood out among her characters—troublesome, seductive, full of pathos—because he most represents a central theological question raised by the Calvinist doctrine of predestination: Can a person be damned to perdition? Or, to use non-Calvinist language: Can a person be irretrievably and miserably wrong, broken, no-good, unsalvageable? If he is, and he knows that he is, what is he then to do? Does he have anything he can hope for?
The Atlantic, October 2020 issue

A wonderful extension of this, is Kisner’s assertion that Robinson has “trapped Jack and Della in a kind of structural predestination….”. This can only really be understood having read the other novels of the Gilead series with their sometimes parallel and sometimes circular chronologies, being such that we do know how it ends for Jack and Della. (Though I could qualify that and say: well, up to a point – who knows!)

Now, Dwight Garner at the NYT approaches Robinson with a determinably non-religious attitude. Which is okay, because I did likewise (and in some ways still do). But her work – and I can’t imagine this new novel to be otherwise – can not be understood without reference to the inherent Calvinistic stance from which it comes. Don’t say it can’t be done – see James Wood’s 2004 NYT piece; and I shouldn’t have to tell anybody where Wood stands when it comes to religion! It is obvious Garner can’t see much beyond the obvious when it comes to Jack; a miscreant, a bum – slick, unsavoury. As true as the nouns may be, so the adjectives. It’s just that I would call him: the loneliest of men; a weary, tormented soul. And Della? Garner says: “…[she is] a fascinating character [who] should resonate far more than she does…”. How can she possibly fascinate if she does not resonate? He goes on to bemoan that neither character has an “independent life” because the author has placed them both in “halters” of her own making. All I can say here is – besides well, they are her (Robinson’s) characters after all – is that I will return to this after my own reading.

Am I wrong in thinking that Garner didn’t have much interest in reading this novel (he sort of admits as much, or at least his ambivelence!) let alone reviewing it? Did the NYT have nobody else doing books this week? Anything by Marilynne Robinson deserves more consideration than that granted in this review. Mr. Garner didn’t have to like it, but he could have accorded just a modicum of the effort granted by Ms. Kisner. (Should I be sounding peeved, may I say in my defence, I am a really fair in this regard. For example, earlier in the year Daniel Mendelsohn gave a rather unfavourable review of Hilary Mantel’s final Cromwell tome, a lot of which I was not in agreement, but it was so well written, original in thought, fair in criticism …and respectful! That’s important I think, and what I miss in Garner’s review.)