The Greeks by Diane Harris Cline

If you're looking for a very light introduction to the immense body of history attached to ancient Greece, then The Greeks by Diane Harris Cline will be a good introduction. This audiobook is a companion to an illustrated book and a series, which I'm sure would have enhanced the experience for me, but since I traditionally listen to audiobooks while doing arb stuff like housework or driving, I wasn't in a position to look at any images.

I'd peg this as a general overview and a crash course into a highly complex culture, at best. And at the time I was looking for a bit of a refresher, so in that regard, it did its job. It also didn't hurt that at the time the book was included in my Audible subscription. I'd likely not have purchased it otherwise. I'd definitely want more meat on the bones, so to speak, otherwise.

I really don't have much more to say about this title that I've not summarised. It's easy enough to understand for folks who're not of a historical bent, so I'd recommend it for complete noobs, but as someone who's studied ancient Greek art and mythology at a tertiary level, it left me wanting.

Heroes by Stephen Fry

Stephen Fry has got one of those honey-gold voices I just want to distill and pour directly into my brain. If ever there is one human being on this planet who is so overwhelmingly talented and absolutely fabulous, and who deserves every honour accorded to him, it's this man. And the audiobook for Heroes further underpins my opinion about Stephen Fry.

Anyone who's worth their salt in terms of languages and literature should have at least a passing familiarity with the Greek myths. I had a module at university that focused primarily on the mythology, so I was treading familiar territory when I gave Heroes a whirl. And while a bewildering array of gods and goddesses, nymphs and monsters feature prominently in this hefty tome, it's the heroes who are, ahem, well, the heroes of this book. Well, duh.

From Jason and Perseus, to Atalanta and Hercules, we follow a bunch of ancient Greek luminaries on their quests for golden fleeces, the slaying of terrible monsters, and a quest for power and glory. Fry delivers the tales of derring-do, wonder, and tragedy all with his singular wit and fantastic sense for the dramatic. If you've ever encountered anyone who's complained that reading the primary sources is dull, the rather put them onto Fry. You'll thank me later, and if anything, this might yet inspire folks to dip into the original texts.

The old Greek myths have it all – epic quests, tragedies, dramatic love affairs, adventures, horror. In fact, I'd hazard to say, that modern fantasy fiction owes a vast debt to these great classics. And it's been a special treat to have them brought to life by the author himself. I could probably carry on heaping praise on this book until the cows come home to roost, and I'm most certainly going to pick up the rest of the titles in this series that Fry has been working on.

Ancient Greece by Thomas R Martin

I've always been deeply fascinated by history, so I was full of high hopes when I downloaded Ancient Greece by Thomas R Martin as an audiobook as part of my Audible subscription. I'd say that this is most certainly more geared towards an academic overview of the different Grecian eras, from the prehistoric all the way through to Alexander's conquests, and gives a solid overview of Greece's political structures, the civilisation's social organisation, as well as arts and culture.

But.

There was going to be a but.

I am no great fan of the narrator, and the audio quality leaves much to be desired. Firstly, John Lescault's reading is dull and lifeless, and renders what might be quite fascinating text into a dull, monotonous drone. Not only that, but it's obvious where content has been spliced in – there are clear shifts in clarity/volume that jolted me out of the listening experience. I mean, it was not a complete deal breaker, but considering that I listen to many audiobooks, I've gained an ear for this sort of thing enough so that it annoys me. Not a fan of this narrator, and I'll probably think twice before picking up anything else he reads.

But onto what makes this work good – if you're looking for a refresher or introduction into Greek history, then this will give you a great bird's eye view, especially in terms of getting a handle on the Minoan and Mycenaean cultures that played such a large part in the establishment of the Classical and Hellenistic periods. One thing that I do carry away from this is how Greek culture as a whole played such an important part in shaping even modern Western civilisation in how its philosophy, art, architecture, and literature had such a influence handed down through the years.

Overall, this is a solid read and it's definitely kindled more curiosity on my part to try to find works that are more specialised and perhaps somewhat more detailed.

Circe by Madeline Miller

A few years ago I picked up a copy of The Song of Achilles, by Madeline Miller, and having read and enjoyed Mary Renault immensely, I was hooked immediately – it's my opinion that Miller is Renault's literary heir. Miller not brings ancient Greece to life, but she populates it with gods and mortals in a hypnotically lush narrative. When Circe came out, it was a no-brainer – I immediately bought a print copy for my permanent collection.

While you needn't have read The Song of Achilles in order to follow the events in Circe, a basic understanding of the Greek myths will most certainly enrich your reading experience, and chronologically speaking, the books do in a way follow on from each other.

Circe is a daughter of Helios, the sun god, but she's despised by her kin. She's nothing special to look at, compared to them (though mortals will still find her bewitching) and she hasn't exactly been gifted with a divine voice either. Not quite divine to please her fellows, she isn't mortal either – and exists in a liminal space between the two states. And though she has no innate powers like other gods, she has something else that is forbidden to them – the power of witchcraft. The gods' static, decadent world holds no allure for the young nymph who grasps after personal sovereignty. And she is punished for her efforts.

While most could create a herbal poultice or tincture, Circe's creations are powerful elixirs that can bestow divinity or even turn men into swine. Yet this is not enough to pardon her for a perceived slight against the gods, and she is banished to the isle of Aiaia. Readers might make the assumption that a novel that is mostly set on an island for the duration of the main character's exile would be dull, but nothing could be further from the truth. There are gods and monsters, and oodles of betrayals and intrigue – as one would expect in any good Greek saga.

Both mortals and gods have a habit of straying into Circe's domain, and her weavings entangle a fair few. A key theme of this tale focuses on transformation, of self-realisation. Those who may be fair of face harbour monsters in their hearts, men's true, bestial natures are revealed when they partake of particular herbs, and Circe eventually realises her destiny – though the route she walks towards this moment of self-realisation takes requires many years and both sorrow and joy.

This is a story carrying a powerful message of feminine power wrested from a male-dominated world, of embracing a Promethean path despite it being fraught with risk. Circe might not be physically strong, but she is cunning and subtle, and watching her grow into herself is a a wonder to behold. Miller's writing is filled with rich descriptions of environment, redolent with emotion, and she adds to the incredible body of work inspired by and based upon Greek mythology. Circe will not only please long-time readers of historical fantasy, but also those who are looking for a tale that appeals to the heart, that's filled with magic and a sense of wonder.

The Gorgon Bride by Galen Surlak-Ramsey

The Gorgon Bride by Galen Surlak-Ramsey has all the ingredients that I enjoy in fantasy comedy – ancient gods, magic, and true love overcoming all obstacles. So at a glance if I could say who’d enjoy this book, I’d single out those of you who’ve read and enjoyed Good Omens by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman, and hells, while we’re at it, if you’re a Discworld fan then you’ll be on familiar turf with The Gorgon Bride.

I will admit that I’m not a huge fan of fantasy comedy (I’m one of the sad sacks for whom Good Omens fell flat the second time I read it, and neither do I indulge in any of Pratchett’s writing anymore, even though I admit that the writing is good – the fault very much lies with the reader and not the author.) So, here goes. I’m going to take off my spooky, serious GrimDark-loving hat and tell you what I liked about this novel as if I were the intended readership.

Alex, a wealthy, professional pianist, is quietly minding his business when a whale lands on him, killing him instantly. It all goes a bit bonkers after that, as a deceased Alex finds himself landed in the midst of a contest between ancient Greek gods … and he himself married to the gorgon Euryale.

On a quest to save his marriage, not only must Alex outwit and outfight gods and monsters, but must figure out what love means to him. And while at first I wasn’t exactly sure where the author was going with this story, by the end of (yet another) quest for Alex and without giving spoilers, I was fully on board with how the story is resolved.

My only criticism is that the pacing of the novel is a bit off. I didn’t really get stung by a sense of urgency and high stakes, but the quality of the writing and the interaction between characters more than makes up for that.

Alex himself grows as a character, from someone who’s self-absorbed and decidedly unheroic, into someone who’s willing to take on the god of war himself, even if his plans never quite work out quite the way he expects them to. Add to that, a wonderful cast of gods and monsters, and you’ve got a fun, rip-roaring plot of mythical proportions that kept me suitably entertained. Author Galen certainly knows his stuff in terms of Greek mythology, and he does a cracking good job bringing that ancient pantheon to life with plenty of in-jokes only those who know their myths will get (and appreciate).

Journey to the Underworld: there and back again

The vast body of works that make up the body of the Greek myths often offer dramatic conflicts, but it can be argued that perhaps the most challenging quest that any of the Greek heroes (and gods) had to undertake, was the journey into the Underworld, the domain of Hades, the god of the dead – a location that proved terrifying and inescapable to both mortal and immortal alike, as can be seen in the tales of Persephone, Orpheus and Eurydice, Herakles, and Odysseus.

Rape of Persephone by Rembrandt
Picture: Wiki Commons

These myths can be interpreted in various ways, including physical and moral allegory, and their functions can be seen as social, historical, ritual, psychological and existential, depending on who it is who’s doing the interpretation, and what their intent is. (Greek Mythology in Context: 9-13) To consider that the myths possess only one hard-and-fast interpretation is to lose sight of their plurality, and, ultimately, their legacy of fluid meaning, as each storyteller is wont to place his or her own spin on a particular tale. (And unlike the Judeo-Christian religions, ancient Greek religions were not constrained by the establishment of dogma in the form of enduring holy scriptures.) Varying accounts existed, as can see by the differences between Hesiod’s Theogony (Buxton: 44-48), the Homeric Hymns (Buxton: 49) and Orphic poetry (Buxton: 52).

The gloomy domain of Hades, according to Greek myths, where the souls of the dead – be they hero or commoner – went after death, was not a happy place; many of the dead suffered often gruesome punishment for how they behaved during life, for instance Tityos having his liver continuously pecked out by vultures (for having attempted to rape Leto). (Buxton: 208) One would have to be made of stern stuff to brave this grim realm and its denizens.

Persephone was the daughter of the gods Demeter and Zeus, and was beloved of her mother. Demeter was understandably grief-stricken when Zeus allowed Hades to abduct Persephone with the view of making her his wife. Persephone herself was also filled with sorrow at her enforced marriage, and this state of affairs also had dire consequences for the world when Demeter became derelict in her divine duties. The world became barren, and the natural order was thrown out of kilter while Demeter searched for her daughter.

Yet the story of Persephone’s eventual return does tie in with a ritualistic interpretation of the myth. According to the tales, Demeter, disguised as an old woman, served the family of the king of Eleusis as nursemaid, and through her interaction (and eventual revelation of her true identity) founded a temple where her adherents were instructed in sacred rites and ceremonies linked to her worship. These are known as the Eleusinian Mysteries, sacred rites that may have related to immortality and rebirth.

One of the conditions of Persephone’s confinement to Hades was that if she (or any other immortal, for that matter) tasted food while she was there, she would have to remain forever. Though Hades eventually agreed to let Persephone return to her mother, Persephone had thoughtlessly consumed six pomegranate seeds in the Underworld, and a compromise had to be reached; consequently, for six months of the year, she could be with the gods above, and for the remainder, she had to return to her husband’s side. (Berens: 39-44)

The myth itself as aetiological function with regard to the origin of the seasons, but also takes on deeply religious significance in an hope for a better afterlife, as can be seen by the establishment of a doctrine related to life after death (the Eleusinian Mysteries). Through adherence to the mysteries, ordinary Greeks could aspire to happiness after death.

Death acting as a separator, is a theme prevalent in the myth of Orpheus, son of Apollo and the muse Calliope. Orpheus was a poet and was also viewed as the origin of the Orphic Mysteries, which offered hope of salvation to ordinary Greeks who wished for a better afterlife. (Buxton: 213)
After all, with so many myths spelling a future of doom, Hades was a place to be feared.

When Orpheus’ wife Eurydice was fatally bitten by a snake, he was filled with such sorrow that armed with his lyre, he braved Hades’ realm in order to win back his love. So moved were Hades and Persephone by Orpheus’ performance that they allowed him to return to the world above with his wife. Once again, a condition was applied to this boon: Orpheus was not to look upon Eurydice until he’d left Hades’ domain. As myths are wont to deal in tragedy, Orpheus was unable to prevent himself from looking upon his beloved before they reached the upper world, and she was swallowed up by the shadows, leaving Orpheus to succumb to an equally tragic fate when he was eventually torn apart by maenads. (Berens: 65)

Whereas the divine Demeter and Persephone enjoyed partial success in their endeavours to circumvent the power of Hades, the mortal Orpheus and Eurydice failed, undone by the depth of Orpheus’ passion. Perhaps here I could suggest that even love alone is not strong enough to overpower the finality of death, and those who don’t follow the conditions laid out by Hades to the letter, will pay the consequences.

The Underworld was not only populated by the shades of the dead, but also contained frightening creatures such as dread Kerberos, a monstrous, three-headed dog with a venomous bite. The hair on its head and back consisted of poisonous snakes and it had the hindquarters of a dragon and a serpent for a tail – quite a formidable beast to encounter. (Berens: 192)

And it was Herakles, son of Zeus and Alkmene, who had the wherewithal to tangle with Kerberos when he completed his epic Twelve Labours in order to free himself of his services to Eurystheus (Herakles was doing penance for having killed his own children). (Berens: 191) This final task laid upon him encompassed bringing up Kerberos from the Underworld – a task suited only to those who were graced with heroic strength, as Herakles would go on to prove yet again.

However, Herakles did not go into this without preparation; he underwent initiation in the Eleusinian Mysteries, and after his enlightenment, he was ready to be guided by Hermes into the domain of Hades. Once he’d descended to the lower realm, he was merciless and was ready to slay Medusa (though Hermes requested that he refrain from doing so). Apart from his primary task involving the hellhound, he took it upon himself to free Theseus but was unable to help Pirithous. Hades gave Herakles permission to bring Kerberos to the upper world, but only if he were physically capable of doing so. Not one to be held back by tests of his physical prowess, Herakles went on to prove that he was perfectly capable of the task, despite Kerberos putting up a struggle and biting Herakles for his efforts. Thus Herakles’ labours were ended and he was free.

In this case, I view Herakles’ descent into the Underworld as a task its giver was almost certain would doom the hero to failure, especially viewed within the context of how Persephone and Orpheus were not wholly able to succeed in their bids to free themselves. Herakles’ willingness to subject himself to oblivion could also be indicative of his state of mind – for surely he felt great remorse for having murdered his kin. Yet his labours could also be described as a crucible that shaped him as a hero, that final labour an allegory of how a mortal son of Zeus himself was mighty enough to defeat challenges cast his way in the Underworld, of excelling in this darkest of places.

Odysseus is another hero to have had his brush with the Underworld, though he did not descend as far as the others. While on his epic return journey after the Trojan War, Odysseus and his men spent time with the enchantress Circe, who had advised him to travel to the “gloomy land of the Cimmerians” (Berens: 240) until he reached the entrance of the Underworld.

There, Odysseus made a blood sacrifice of a ram and a ewe, and called up the shades of the departed in order to consult with the prophet Teiresias. He learnt many things about his destiny and the state of his loved ones back home, but he also got more than he bargained for when he consulted with the shades of dead heroes such as Achilles, Patroklos and Agamemnon. He lost his nerve and fled back to his ship and his men in terror. (Berens: 240-241)

What I gather from this is that there is a degree of transgression against one’s destiny that occurs the moment a hero overreaches himself into realms beyond that which is natural. So-called esoteric knowledge that lies in that liminal space which is locked against mortals comes with a high price, and in my mind the myth suggests how one who is arrogant in his sense of self can be cut down to size. The message is clear: death awaits us all; even the greatest hero can be reduced to but a whisper of his former self once he has crossed over between the land of the living and the dead, where all are made equal. This knowledge is the price that Odysseus pays for his folly for wanting to know his destiny before it unfolds.

Themes prevalent in all four myths vary between escape from forced marriage, as in the case of Persephone; a quest to overcome separation, as in the case of Orpheus and Eurydice; restitution for a great wrong, as in the case of Herakles; and a quest for knowledge, as in the case of Odysseus. The motivations for the quests are vastly different, as are the outcomes, but if one considers the Greek conception of arête (valour, excellence), it is perhaps clear that those who approach the obstacle armed with valour may have the better, while those who give in to doubt, like Orpheus, or who allow their terror to overwhelm them, like Odysseus, will find themselves bested by their situation. A moment of inattention resulted in Persephone travelling forever between the two realms. All instances can be viewed as cautionary tales; if you’re about to enter the Underworld, you had best be prepared.

The realm of Hades can be perceived the implacable final frontier all men face, that not even gods can always escape. Those who strive for excellence (arête) and succeed in transcending death itself, are therefore truly deserving of their place among the divine. By personifying this frightening place, the storytellers were able to frame their understanding using familiar symbols. By giving the Underworld’s ruler a name and a face, they suggest that Hades is someone who can be bargained with, that perhaps there remains a hope for those who have to tread this path. Especially within the context of reassurance, the heroes have gone before so that mere mortals can follow in their footsteps; mankind has prepared a way in which they can assure themselves hope for the inevitable, as can be seen by the establishment of the Eleusinian Mysteries and similar cults. Death might be the end, but all those who tread those dread paths are not always lost – though the consequences of failure may be dire.


References:
Berens, E.M. (1880) The Myths and Legends of Ancient Greece and Rome. New York: Maynard, Merrill, & Co.

Buxton, R. (2004) The Complete World of Greek Mythology. London: Thames & Hudson Ltd

Department of Classics and World Languages. (2011) Greek Mythology in Context. Pretoria: Unisa

A little gossip from ancient Greece

This week I've decided to share part of my Greek Mythology in Context assignment from university. We were tasked with writing a gossip column about one of the Greek gods' sexploits, and I went for the obvious culprit. Enjoy!

John William Waterhouse Danaë

Well, my dearly beloveds, auntie has had another dizzy week keeping up with the sexploits of our simply divine Olympians. Word has it that Zeus has been up to his old tricks again, but then again, nothing’s new if Hera’s latest public outburst has anything to do with it.

We all know how it went with that Phoenician wench Europa. There she was, minding her own business picking flowers by the seaside (and who could ask for a more enchanting pursuit for a young maiden?) when Zeus found her a particularly tasty morsel. To be honest, we do need to question her taste in men if she found a bull to be so charming.

Then, who could forget Leda? The fact that she was clearly already taken meant little to Zeus, and it is alleged by a source close to her that she wasn’t aware that it was Zeus, at the time.

“He came to her as a swan,” the source claims. “And she does rather have a fondness for birds. She thought nothing of the incident until she started hunting for nesting material not long after.”

King Tyndareous was less than charmed with her hatching those eggs, our same source reports.
When Zeus visited Alkmene, his penchant for disguises really pushed the limits.

“She swears it was her husband,” erstwhile handmaiden Agathos claims. “Though his royal highness was off on a campaign at the time. We all knew something was up, but no one dared to say anything.”

An oracle’s prophecy led to further trouble when it was widely reported that Danae, daughter of King Arkisios, would give birth to a child who would later kill the king of Argos. He thought to solve the problem by having his daughter locked up. This proved no obstacle to Zeus’ amorous intentions.

Danae recounts: “He was so persistent. My father’s attempts to protect his own hide meant nothing to my lover, who came to me as in a shower of gold. Zeus was so gentle, so loving, and I would do it all again. To Tartarus with the prophecies. And my father!”

We all know what happened to poor Io, driven half crazy by a vengeful Hera. Then again, it can’t be much fun being turned into a cow and chased all the way to Egypt by a persistent fly. Just ask Herakles; you really don’t want to mess with Hera.

Speaking of Hera (Looking back, who truly blames her for having had it with Zeus’ philandering ways?) what she did to Kallisto was just plain nasty, turning Artemis against her own handmaiden just because Zeus turned a lecherous eye on the girl. And if you think getting turned into a bear is a raw deal, having your own goddess use you for target practice really takes the cake.

Which brings us to this week’s bit of juicy gossip. And, surprise surprise, it’s not some lass who’s been plucked but a lad. Seems that Ganymede’s pretty face has caught Zeus’ fancy, and he has taken up employment as a barista over at Zeus’ palace. We all know that Ganymede’s going to do a bit more than pouring ambrosia.

His father, Tros, comments: “We are devastated. He was taken so suddenly, but we are assured that he is in a better place and that his beauty will be preserved for evermore.”

Hera was unavailable for comment.

The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller #review

Title: The Song of Achilles
Author: Madeline Miller
Publisher: Bloomsbury, 2011

I’ll admit from the start that I’m a huge Mary Renault fan, so when Madeline Miller’s The Song of Achilles came up on my reading pile, I recalled The Persian Boy and devoured Miller’s offering from cover to cover in less than a week. Like all mythological tales, this one is a tragedy and, I felt a lump in my throat and was a bit teary-eyed at the end, even though I knew how the story of Achilles would conclude.

Miller breathes life into the legend, in an historical retelling that incorporates some of the magic of ancient times. Immortal Chiron the centaur and Thetis the sea nymph are clothed in flesh and walk among mortals.

The gods are real, easy to anger, difficult to appease, and are as bloodthirsty and manipulative as ever. The stage is set, and the tale is told by Patroclus, a disgraced prince in exile, and how he becomes the favoured companion of Achilles, who was destined for greatness. As narrator, Patroclus exists as the opposite of  golden Achilles, who oozes charisma, beauty and near-divine physical prowess on the battlefield. Utterly devoted, and despite Thetis’s hatred of him and others’ disapproval, Patroclus follows Achilles no matter where he goes.

Achilles is faced with two fates: to live a long life and die old and in obscurity or to flare, briefly and be immortalised in legends. Well, there wouldn’t have been much of a story if he’d chosen the safer option, now would there?

Miller’s prose is lush, sensual and evocative, and she captures this age of heroes perfectly to the point where you can taste ripe figs or smell the stench of blood on the battlefield. Miller’s characters spring forth into startling life from the pages of one of the greatest legends.

This review appeared in the Pretoria News on February 17, 2013