David Malouf, Ransom

November 28, 2010

Homer’s Iliad tells of Achilles’ rage; it is also the story of Priam’s grief over the death of his son, the noble Hector, at the hands of Achilles. We know of this rage and that grief, but at the remove of centuries. David Malouf, in Ransom, brings us into the experience.

This novel is also a meditation of the meaning of our roles in life: Achilles’ role as a warrior, Priam’s role as king.

My role was to hold myself apart in ceremonial stillness and let others be my arm, my fist–my breath too when talk was needed, because … I have always had a herald at my side, our good Idaeus, to find words for me. To be seen as a man like other men–human as we are, all of us–would have suggested that I was impermanent and weak. Better to stand still and keep silent, so that when old age came upon me, as it has at last, this world would not see how shaky my grip has become, and how cracked and thin my voice. Only that I am still here. Fixed and permanent.

Priam’s permanence as a king has cost him humanity and the power to express his own human needs. He has also lost — or never had — the daily experiences that most men share of work and occasional hardships and doing without. Priam sets out on a journey to ransom his son, accompanied only by a workingman, a carter, and his two mules. He is allowed to be hot, to be hungry, to speak for himself, and to enjoy the talk that is not ceremonial.

Priam was himself ransomed when, as a boy, he was redeemed from a life of slavery by his sister. Priam’s name means “the price”, the price that was paid for his freedom. It is also, ironically, the price he has paid for many years for his kingship, his sons, and now this war. Malouf brings us back to to Homer again because Homer contains it all: a young man’s rage and and old man’s grief.


What I Read in October, 2010

November 1, 2010

Evelyn Waugh, The Loved One. Wicked and funny on the subject of death and funerals and the expatriate Brits in Hollywood. Written 60 years ago, it is still pertinent with regard to American funerary practices — I’m not so sure about the practices of the expatriate Brits.

Anita Shreve, A Wedding in December. When life seems too full of unresolvable complications (see Nostromo below), it is good to read some Anita Shreve or Jane Smiley. Life is not easy, but I know this world. This is a high school reunion story. Two classmates marry 27 years after their first romance together. Cancer, divorce, stepchildren, middle age.

Janet Brunett Grossman, Greek and Roman Sculpture in Stone. This convenient illustrated reference book is related to my Greek Ancient Arts project. One of my lectures will be about the development and range of Greek sculpture. Reading this book has increased my respect for the technology they developed, as well as the incomparable beauty of the results.

Lewis Carroll, Through the Looking Glass and What Alice Found There. What do you read after you read Alice in Wonderland? Yes, you do. Somehow this time the joke began to wear a little thin, but I still love both books.

I have read and posted comments on the following books:

Honoré de Balzac, Lost Illusions, Part III: An Inventor’s Tribulations. Finished this very long Balzac. Free at last!

Alice Munro, The View from Castle Rock

Joseph Conrad, Nostromo

Ngaio Marsh, Final Curtain

Robert Calasso, The Marriage of Cadmus and Harmony


The Marriage of Cadmus and Harmony

October 31, 2010

Roberto Calasso’s book is difficult to categorize. It is about myth and it is also about the gods and heroes who are the subject of myth and what the myths meant to the Greeks then and mean to us now. Sounds like a lot, and it is. Calasso doesn’t move through his subject in a straight line, but wobbles from story to meaning and back. It is an interesting journey and rather long, since we do not go in a straight line.

No sooner have you grabbed hold of it than myth opens out into a fan of a thousand segments. Here the variant is the origin. Everything that happens, happens this way, or that way, or this other way. And in each of these diverging stories all the others are reflected, all brush by us like folds of the same cloth.

The variants don’t contradict, any more than the back of the tapestry contradicts the front of it. The stories are pieces of something bigger, just as the gods are pieces of some bigger power, and all gods — even Zeus — yield to necessity. A friend recently asked me, “Did the Greeks really believe all this, in all these gods?” She asked a reasonable question, but the gods are not reasonable; they just are.

So what did these Greek gods want of men? What they certainly did not require was that we behave one way rather than another. They were as ready to defend the unjust action of a favorite as to condemn the just actions of someone they disliked. So what did they want? To be recognized.

To be recognized. Belief does not come into it. Do you “believe” in the Statue of Liberty? Wrong question: you recognize what it stands for and your recognition comes from your response to its form, how it reaches out and up. The Greeks taught us how to do this, with stunning example after example of their own statues and stories.


Circe, by Homer, by Joyce

July 22, 2010

When Odysseus landed on the Aeaean Island he was unsure how dangerous the inhabitants would be. He sent half the crew to check it out, and they were turned by the goddess Circe into swine – with the exception of one man who escaped and returned to tell Odysseus. Circe is attractive:

…But still
they paused at her doors, the nymph with lovely braids

Circe—and deep inside they heard her singing, lifting
her spellbinding voice as she glided back and forth
at her great immortal loom, her enchanting web
a shimmering glory only goddesses can weave.

The Odyssey, Book 10, Robert Fagles Translation

With the help of the god Hermes, Odysseus resists Circe’s drugged wine and gets her to free his crew from their animal forms. Then there is bathing and feasting and going to bed and the goal of Ithaca is forgotten for a year. When Circe sends him on his way, she instructs him to visit Hades to consult the seer Tiresias.

I am reading/struggling through James Joyce’s Ulysses and wonder what the long Circe section there has to do with Homer’s Circe. Joyce has written in dramatic form, with indicated speakers and with stage directions, so the externals of who is saying this or doing that are clearer than in some of the preceding sections. Yet it reads like an extended dream sequence in which all the themes take their turn on the stage.

I am looking for Circe and find an assortment of prostitutes, as well as references to all the women previously encountered. My candidate is Bella/Bello who does indeed work changes in form, both on herself and on Leopold Bloom. Bella becomes Bello and assumes the masculine pronoun. Bloom remains Bloom but is now a female, doing Bello’s bidding. Blamires’ comment:

Thus, before the powerful figure of Bella, the latent femininity and submissiveness of Bloom emerge…. Bloom, with dulling eyes and thickening nose, becomes a humble infatuated creature, while Bella fully takes over the masculine role, becomes ‘Bello’, and orders Bloom down on all fours.

Joyce performs a switch on Homer’s story. Ulysses here, rather than avoiding enchantment and taking control of the situation, is overwhelmed and transformed in ways (feminine) that Joyce perceives as negative. Is that what powerful women do? They make you into the female they no longer are, submissive, groveling, animal like.

More, the entire Circe section is one transformation after another as characters ranging from Milly Bloom to King Edward come and go in Bloom’s disordered mind. What I do not find here is the gift of the Odyssey — the knowledge that enchantment has pleasures but also dangers. Joyce’s Ulysses experiences the dangers, but where is the joy?


Getting into James Joyce’s Ulysses

July 7, 2010

By one measure I am halfway through, having read 9 of the 18 sections of Joyce’s novel about a day in Dublin. By another measure, I have a long way to go, as I am now on page 218 of the 704 pages of this edition. So why am I plodding on if I have to count pages to encourage myself?

To prepare myself. Dr. Mark Schenker of Yale gives lectures in various Fairfield County libraries and senior centers. It was because of his series on the literature of war that I recently read All Quiet on the Western Front and The Things They Carried. In November he is going to speak on James Joyce’s Ulysses, a literary classic I have avoided until now. I am somewhat prepared, having read Dubliners and Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man in the past and, more recently Homer’s Odyssey, on which Ulysses is based.

I have a guide as I follow Stephen Dedalus and Leopold Bloom through Dublin’s busy streets in 1904. The Bloomsday Book by Harry Blamires provides an explanation of people, places and allusions. After I read each section in Blamires, I read the corresponding episode in Ulysses, with much less bewilderment than I would otherwise have. Yet something just is not clicking for me. Joyce is a clever writer and this is a clever book. I enjoy the wordplay, the weaving of past and present in the minds of Stephen and Leopold. I see them, I hear them, but I just don’t care about them much.

I want to care. I didn’t expect to care about the fate of Homer’s Odysseus, that self-confident ruler of Ithaca who left his wife to deal with things for 20 years, but I was enchanted with the Odyssey. Odysseus dodged and fought and lied his way around the Mediterranean and a great time was had by all, including this reader. The travels of Dedalus and Bloom about Dublin are much less compelling. Maybe they will avoid Scylla and Charybdis and maybe not; if not, too bad.

Maybe my shift in attitude reflects a shift in expectation. We expect Odysseus to be a sexist warrior but hope for something better from 20th century Dubliners. Joyce  is, if anything, more sexist than Homer. Homer brings us Penelope and Nausicaa with delight in their beauty and dignity and also some sense of their feelings. Joyce trivializes women with slighting names: Molly, Milly, Dilly, Boody. Stephen knows he is arrogantly entitled to his own education and opinions, but when his sister buys a book,

He took the coverless book from her hand. Chardenal’s French primer.

- What did you buy that for? he asked. To learn French?

She nodded, reddening and closing tight her lips.

Show no surprise. Quite natural.

But he is surprised by this evidence of female intellectual aspirations.

Better incidents surely like ahead, but at this half-way point I want to record an honest reaction to Ulysses: it is clever but irritating at times.


What I Read in June 2010

June 24, 2010

Those books on which I have not posted separately are briefly described below.

Salman Rushdie, Midnight’s Children – see post.

Bill Bryson, Neither Here Nor There – A little light relief after some serious reading. Bryson relates episodes from a trip he made almost 20 years ago, while remembering a trip 20 years before that. Plenty of layers and some humor. Best was reading bout places I had been myself, plus Bulgaria which seemed quite strange.

Daniel Mason, The Piano Tuner – see post.

Andrew J. Clark, Maya Elston and Mary Louise Hart, Understanding Greek Vases: A Guide to Terms, Styles and Technologies. I am developing a second set of presentations to go with my Glimpses of Greece. This one will be Ancient Arts: storytelling, painted pots, sculpture and theater. This little book is valuable for understanding the beautiful painted vases of Classical Greece, providing descriptions, definitions, history and plenty of examples.

Niccolo Machiavelli, The Prince – see post.

P. D. James, The Lighthouse. This must be the only P.D. James mystery novel featuring Adam Dalgleish that I had previously missed. (I’m not reading them in order, but that doesn’t bother me.) It has the virtues and failings of the others: a variety of sympathetic characters (Dalgleish and his team, some of the suspects), a limited setting (a hospital, a school, an island), a complex plot with intricate relationships of times, places and alibis, some unfinished business from the past. This one opens slowly and gets underway rather deliberately, but hold on. It gets stronger as James develops the situation.

Jeffrey Eugenides, Middlesex – see post.

Douglas Brinkley, The Great Deluge; Hurricane Katrina, New Orleans, and the Mississippi Gulf Coast. No time to write a proper post, but this book certainly deserves one. Brinkley is a man with heart as he tells many individual stories of the victims of Katrina and those who did or did not respond to their plight. Among those who did not respond effective: New Orleanrs Mayor Nagin, FEMA Director Brown, Homeland Security Secretary Chertoff and President Bush.

Josephine Lawrence, My Heart Shall Not Fear (1948) and All the Years of Her Life (1972) - see post: The World according to Josephine Lawrence.


Jeffrey Eugenides, Middlesex

June 23, 2010

I did not want to read a book about a hermaphrodite, but I read this one. Calliope (“Callie”) tells of growing up Greek-American in Detroit and her discovery at age 14 that, although she looked like a girl, she was genetically — and emotionally, mostly — a boy. I’ll spare you the developmental details, but they square with what I learned in zoology. We begin with a set of parts which, depending on our genes, our prenatal hormone exposure, our own hormones after birth and cultural influence, can develop into a recognizably male or female body. Or, sometimes, a body which is a bit of both.

Callie’s story is about identity. While her grandparents and parents struggled to align their Greek and American identities, Callie had to decide which gender she/he was. Maybe he/she should be pushed more firmly one way or the other with hormone injections and surgery. In her encounter with the expert, she learned,

I thought that after talking to me he would decide that I was normal and leave me alone. But I was beginning to understand something about normality. Normality wasn’t normal. It couldn’t be. If normality were normal, everybody could leave it alone. They could sit back and let normality manifest itself. But people — and especially doctors — had doubts about normality. They weren’t sure normality was up to the job. And so they felt inclined to give it a boost.

Eugenides writes movingly of self recognition and acceptance, within Callie’s body and within Callie’s world. I was reminded of The Left Hand of Darkness by Ursula LeGuin, another novel which explores the meaning of gender. In a science fiction format, she takes us to a world where people have no settled gender, but could be one or the other, depending on circumstances and, to a certain extent, choice. Callie also feels she has a choice.

And so a strange new possibility is arising. Compromised, indefinite, sketchy, but not entirely obliterated: free will is making a comeback. Biology gives you a brain. Life turns it into a mind.

This is not primarily a novel about sex. It is about family and adapting to a new culture and Detroit. I spent most of the 1950′s in Ann Arbor, Michigan, so the Detroit I knew then was an arrogant city of wheels, about to see those wheels go rolling away. I enjoyed catching up on the news from there, as Callie’s story takes us into the 70′s. It’s not good news as Detroit, like any hermaphrodite, contends with an uncertain identity.


H.D.F. Kitto, The Greeks

May 29, 2010

Kitto wrote in the 1950s, so you won’t find the most recent archaeological evidence here, but this is a description of ancient and classical Greece any lover of that time and place would enjoy. In a few, readable pages Kitto gives us the political background, the accomplishments and what he conceives to be the meaning of The Greeks.

In his chapter on Homer, for example, he does not see Homer as a war reporter or a recorder of ancient traditions. Instead he sees him as the creator of a structure for his subject: the wrath of Achilles.

He is not going to write about the war, not even about part of it, but about the theme which he states so clearly in the first five verses. What shapes the poem is nothing external, like the war, but the tragic conception that a quarrel between two men should bring suffering, death and dishonour to so many others.

He devotes several chapters to the Polis – the Greek city state — and its centrality to the life of classical Greece. Here is a particular strength of The Greeks. Kitto admires individuals like Pericles , but he sees them in a society which shapes their thoughts and actions.


Caroline Alexander, The War That Killed Achilles

May 21, 2010

The subtitle of Caroline Alexander’s book about the Iliad is “The True Story of Homer’s Iliad and the Trojan War.” A little long-winded that subtitle, but accurate. This is a recounting of the Trojan War as Homer told it and Alexander now interprets it. The key players are the combatants, Achilles and Hector, and their leaders, Agamemnon and Priam.

The Iliad glorifies the heroes, but it does not glorify war. Achilles is not at Troy in fulfillment of a pledge to defend the husband of Helen of Troy (originally of Sparta). He is there for glory, and yet he is reluctant to fight. He quarrels with Agamemnon not just because Agamemnon took the girl Briseis who had been awarded to Achilles, but because in the taking Agamemnon showed himself to be capricious and unjust and out for more than his fair share. The booty awarded to a warrior after a battle or a raid honored  the glory he had won, but it was not the glory itself, as Achilles understood. Agamemnon did not understand, and probably did not care to.

The new reader of the Iliad comes to it, expecting the story of the Trojan War. It is not. It is the story of a few days during the tenth year of that war, days during which Achilles withdraws from the battle, Patroclos is killed, and Achilles returns to the fight and slays Hector. We know the rest of the story — the beauty contest of the three goddesses, the abduction of Helen by Paris, the death of Achilles, the Trojan horse, the sacking of Troy — from other sources. Alexander explains,

The complete story of the war was once told by a series of six other epics, known collectively as the Trojan War poems of the Epic Cycle. Composed  at various dates, all considerably later than the Iliad, they also, like the Iliad, drew on much older common traditions.

In Alexander’s analysis of the Iliad she points out many places where Homer’s poem is at variance from that older tradition. Homer skillfully chose his incidents and characters to make real the meaning of leadership, friendship and death in the lives of the Greek and Trojan warriors. He also shows us the grief of mothers and of aged fathers, as parallels are developed between the suffering of Priam and the sorrows of Achilles’ mother, Thetis.

Thetis is a sea nymph, one of the immortals. Married to a mortal man, she gave birth to the mortal Achilles. She is destined to see him die while she lives on. (This is a disadvantage to immortality I had not considered before.) Alexander develops the idea of the inequality of the relationship between the gods who will live forever and the men who will not.

Of greater interest than the nature of the gods per se is the nature of their relationship with mortal men. The Olympians of the Iliad know everything about the mortals they look down upon…. Rarely indolent, usually zestful and opinionated, the extended family of Zeus aggressively engages with the mortal world. In disguise, the Olympians move, speak, and act freely among men, partaking of the human experience….

By contrast, despite the busy flow of divine activity that drums through their lives, the Homeric heroes and heroines know very little about their gods.

Because they know so little, men must propitiate the gods out of a proper caution for the future. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn’t. One has a sense here of why Homer still speaks and we still listen: the gods know all including the future toward which men must grope blindly.

There is so much in this book that my comments here are just picking threads off the surface. I enjoyed the comparisons with other myths and folktales, the analysis of names and language, the evidence from archaeology. Best of all was the differentiation of character that Alexander perceives in the Iliad and the way Homer’s construction of the story conveys his views of gods and war and men and, especially, Achilles.

Here was a hero with both the nature and the stature to think and speak as an individual, to stand apart and challenge heroic convention. In the hyperstated mortality of Achilles lay the origins of something potentially greater even than epic — and that was tragedy.


Classical Myth: Troy

May 4, 2010

A tourist took this picture of the walls of Troy today, a reminder that we all go down in the end. Some power fades slowly, some quickly and with violence.

This is my last post on Barry Powell’s Classical Myth. In it he devotes several chapters to the Trojan War, including what came before and what came after. His chronological account is valuable because we know the story in bits and pieces from many sources. Powell quotes extensively from Homer, but also from Euripides, Aeschylus and Virgil. He gives us the modern interpreters: Tennyson, Yeats, Cafavy and the artists — Lorrain and Turner and all those Greek pots.

That is how it stretches, from some unrecorded events in the Bronze Age through oral song through Homer’s version and then on through Ovid and Virgil to Marlowe and Shakespeare and James Joyce. We cannot top those towers or stop those stories.

If you are interested in myth, here my earlier posts on the book Classical Myth:

Getting Started

Myths of Creation

The Olympians

Fertility and Death

Heroes and Heroines


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