A sailor arrives to pass on Odysseus's cover story. Pretending that Neoptolemus had fled from Troy, he says he has been sent by Menelaus and Agamemnon to bring him back to battle. Odysseus would be fetching him himself, execpt that he is in the middle of a different search: to find Philoctetes. Neoptolemus isn't happy with this story, as he is losing his nerve to do what he had been ready to do. After dropping the news, the sailor heads back.
Philoctetes is pleased at his opportunity to revenge. His attitude: "Screw 'em all, let's hop on the boat and head home for Greece!" But Neoptolemus is hesitant, and tries to delay because of the weather. But he steels himself and is ready to go. Philoctetes gathers up his few possessions-- including the bow of Heracles, now much admired by Neoptolemus.
The Chorus again laments the horrible fate that has befallen Philoctetes. They point out [and this is new] that he never did anything to deserve the terrible physical pain and abandonment he has experienced. [This might be unique among the Greek tragedy characters up to this point.]
Suddenly, a wave of pain shoots through Philoctetes-- an intermittent additional suffering he must occasionally put up with, he explains. He is more afraid, though, that the spectacle will cause Neoptolemus to leave him, so he downplays it as best he can. In the meantime, he hands over the bow for safekeeping. As the pain grows, though, he asks for Neoptolemus to end it all: to burn his body in the same way Philoctetes burned Heracles's body when he was in similar pain from the poisoned shirt-- the very act that won him the bow in the first place. Neoptolemus promises to stay with him, and the pain gradually subsides, dropping Philoctetes into an exhausted sleep.
Now it is decision time for Neoptolemus and his crew. They have the bow, and the Chorus is urging that they run off with it. Neoptolemus feels the obligation to rescue Philoctetes from his abandonment. For the moment, though, they're more worried that Philoctetes will hear them discussing it.
He awakes, and is ready to go-- and Neoptolemus is ready to take him! But at the very last minute, he hesitates again: "Now is the moment. What shall I do from now on?" Philoctetes is begging him again, but sees the betrayal coming. Neoptolemus explains that it's not even as simple as that. The real problem is that, if he rescues Philoctetes, he won't be taking him home to Greece at all, but will head right back to the war with Troy and the hated Odysseus, Agamemnon, and Menelaus. To Philoctetes, this is far worse than before-- and now Neoptolemus refuses to return the bow, condemning Philoctetes to a lonely, hungry death on the island.
-------------------------
This is horrible.
The tragic figure here turns out to be Neoptolemus, pulled by conflicting duties in at least three directions: to the war, to his promises to Philoctetes, to making sure Odysseus gets what is really coming to him. There's no way out.
I'm glad Sophocles mentioned that Philoctetes hadn't done anything to deserve his fate. It's a good reminder to an audience who sees most characters as bringing their burdens onto themselves. And it may have been a necessary reminder, too, if they weren't paying attention.
There's a clearer indication here of the problems inherent in Odysseus's "cleverness"-- called strategem throughout this translation. Philoctetes laments most of all that he was betrayed in this way. That's the problem. He is OK with perishing through the searing pain-- that is the natural way of things. He would be OK with being bested in battle-- that is one man using natural gifts toward their natural end. But the use of cleverness and guile in such a twisted way is despicable. It is a perversion of the natural goodness of man's gift of intelligence. Nothing could be worse.
One other neat little thing: the conversation between Neoptolemus and the sailor sent by Odysseus is a great example of dramatic irony. They're both using cover stories, keeping Philoctetes in the dark, while Neoptolemus is simultaneously expressing his disgust over the whole charade. Now where have I seen that before?
Thesis: George Costanza is a modern day Odysseus. "It's not a lie, if you believe it."
Thursday, April 12, 2012
Friday, April 06, 2012
Philoctetes, 1
Odysseus arrives with Neoptolemus, son of slain Achilles, on the island where Philoctetes has been marooned for nine years. He had been hurt on is foot, bitten by a poisonous serpant. The pain was so great, putting him in such great agony, that his wailing was becoming a drag on the Greek parties outside of Troy. Menelaus and Agamemnon instructed Odysseus to maroon him.
Now, Odysseus is back to try to win Philoctetes prized possession, a bow that once belonged to Heracles. The bow is necessary to win the siege of Troy. Odysseus instructs Neoptolemus to win the bow away from Philoctetes by tact and by cunning. Neoptolemus balks at the trickery, but Odysseus explains that he cannot win it back himself, that the bow is needed for Neoptolemus himself to win the final battle, and that Neoptolemus will be doubly revered back at the camp if he succeeds. The sweet-talking works. Odyssues also sets up a back-up plan: if too much time passes, he will send another sailor in disguise to try another tack. Odysseus returns to the boat.
With additional soldiers in support (playing the Chorus), Neoptolemus waits for Philoctetes to appear. They here a cripple coming back to the cave-dwelling, and are shocked by the wretched life he must lead. Philoctetes arrives and questions the strangers. Neoptolemus introduces himself-- they've never met before, he coming late to the war. Philoctetes expounds on his own circumstances and curses Agaememnon, Menelaus, and Odysseus as he tells of his marooning and his subsequent terrible life. He tells of visitors who take pity on him and leave food and supplies, but none will take him home. The Chorus is moved to pity.
Neoptolemus explains further his own situation. He tells of his anger at Odysseus, which is the story Odysseus instructed him to tell-- though it is not at all clear that the anger isn't genuine. After Achilles' death, he expected to receive his father's armor, but it was given to Odysseus instead. He, too, [says he] hates Agamemnon, Menelaus, and Odysseus with a burning passion.
Philoctetes is confused by the power-play, but Neoptolemus explains that Ajax was not around to stop it-- he's dead. Along with Antilochus and Patroclus. The group laments that war seems to take the best and brightest, while letting the devious like Odysseus to live. Philoctetes also asks of the fate of Thersites [?], who seems to be still alive.
Neoptolemus is ready to go, but Philoctetes begs him for passage off the island. Literally begs. The Chorus, moved once again, assents to his request. Neoptolemus is moved as well, and agrees. Philoctetes is overjoyed.
But one of the sailors from back on the boat arrives in disguise, presumably sent by Odysseus.
---------------------------
I'm not doing justice to the emotional impact of the conversations so far. Philoctetes horrible fate is genuinely moving, and as the play progresses we can see the effect he has on the other characters. Neoptolemus and the Chorus were not planning at all to rescue Philoctetes from the island, but in meeting him they felt they had no choice. It was the only decent thing to do. And we can sense Neoptolemus is turning on Odysseus little by little.
Speaking of, Odysseus's cleverness is far more pronouned in this play than it has been in his other appearances, it seems to me. I never got the sense in the Iliad that it was all that impressive, except that Homer kept saying that it was. In the Odyssey, I just looked at him as playing the hero. But here, his deviousness has taken on a much more sinister quality. So far, it looks like Odysseus is the villain.
This is a consequence, I think, of Sophocles vastly different attitude toward war than that of Homer. Where Homer praised war-making qualities, Sophocles is much more focused on the tragic consequences of war-- the experience of the Greeks in the previous century would probably do that to a guy. Therefore, those who excel at war so successfully can't actually be all that great. And so we see Odysseus about to royally screw what appears to be a noble gesture.
Now, Odysseus is back to try to win Philoctetes prized possession, a bow that once belonged to Heracles. The bow is necessary to win the siege of Troy. Odysseus instructs Neoptolemus to win the bow away from Philoctetes by tact and by cunning. Neoptolemus balks at the trickery, but Odysseus explains that he cannot win it back himself, that the bow is needed for Neoptolemus himself to win the final battle, and that Neoptolemus will be doubly revered back at the camp if he succeeds. The sweet-talking works. Odyssues also sets up a back-up plan: if too much time passes, he will send another sailor in disguise to try another tack. Odysseus returns to the boat.
With additional soldiers in support (playing the Chorus), Neoptolemus waits for Philoctetes to appear. They here a cripple coming back to the cave-dwelling, and are shocked by the wretched life he must lead. Philoctetes arrives and questions the strangers. Neoptolemus introduces himself-- they've never met before, he coming late to the war. Philoctetes expounds on his own circumstances and curses Agaememnon, Menelaus, and Odysseus as he tells of his marooning and his subsequent terrible life. He tells of visitors who take pity on him and leave food and supplies, but none will take him home. The Chorus is moved to pity.
Neoptolemus explains further his own situation. He tells of his anger at Odysseus, which is the story Odysseus instructed him to tell-- though it is not at all clear that the anger isn't genuine. After Achilles' death, he expected to receive his father's armor, but it was given to Odysseus instead. He, too, [says he] hates Agamemnon, Menelaus, and Odysseus with a burning passion.
Philoctetes is confused by the power-play, but Neoptolemus explains that Ajax was not around to stop it-- he's dead. Along with Antilochus and Patroclus. The group laments that war seems to take the best and brightest, while letting the devious like Odysseus to live. Philoctetes also asks of the fate of Thersites [?], who seems to be still alive.
Neoptolemus is ready to go, but Philoctetes begs him for passage off the island. Literally begs. The Chorus, moved once again, assents to his request. Neoptolemus is moved as well, and agrees. Philoctetes is overjoyed.
But one of the sailors from back on the boat arrives in disguise, presumably sent by Odysseus.
---------------------------
I'm not doing justice to the emotional impact of the conversations so far. Philoctetes horrible fate is genuinely moving, and as the play progresses we can see the effect he has on the other characters. Neoptolemus and the Chorus were not planning at all to rescue Philoctetes from the island, but in meeting him they felt they had no choice. It was the only decent thing to do. And we can sense Neoptolemus is turning on Odysseus little by little.
Speaking of, Odysseus's cleverness is far more pronouned in this play than it has been in his other appearances, it seems to me. I never got the sense in the Iliad that it was all that impressive, except that Homer kept saying that it was. In the Odyssey, I just looked at him as playing the hero. But here, his deviousness has taken on a much more sinister quality. So far, it looks like Odysseus is the villain.
This is a consequence, I think, of Sophocles vastly different attitude toward war than that of Homer. Where Homer praised war-making qualities, Sophocles is much more focused on the tragic consequences of war-- the experience of the Greeks in the previous century would probably do that to a guy. Therefore, those who excel at war so successfully can't actually be all that great. And so we see Odysseus about to royally screw what appears to be a noble gesture.
Monday, April 02, 2012
The Blatchford Controversies, II - Why I Believe In Christianity
Two facts of note: First, Christianity rose and spread within a very modern world, in that the Romans had a highly developed rational philosophy. But it spread anyway. Second, the Christian world advanced by leaps and bounds beyond the non-Christian world.
Secularists ridicule what they see as central contradictions at the core of Christian belief, but we should examine the nature of the contradiction. The easiest way to avoid contradiction in belief is to proclaim agnosticism, but it is entirely unworkable. As a practical matter, simply to get through the day, we must commit ourselves to one philosophy or to another. If nothing else, we must decide to hold or not to hold others responsible for their actions. The secularist tries to deny free will, but knows that he must behave in everyday life as if it were real. Why can we not ridicule that contradiction, lived every day? Whereas a Christian who professes free will recognizes the difficulty in the position, sees no other way, embraces the contradiction, calls it mystery-- and puts it at the center of his life. Can we not respect the honesty? Especially considering that that philosophy has all the success.
Alternatives: We can respect the beautiful natural world as our creator, but at some point we will ask, then why not go to war as the birds do? Or we can recognize that problem, throw up our hands, and call the universe absurd. Then why continue to try to make our way through the world, assert ourselves against that universe?
Or, we can appreciate the birds as birds while we recognize man as man, with all the baggage and difficulty that comes with that declaration. And as we do so, we can proclaim that the God who made the birds birds Himself became man. And we will know we have solved the dilemma, even as the new path is full of contradiction.
Finally, the whole secularist program actually reaffirms Christian theology. While they proclaim the march of progress, progress can only be recognized as a movement toward a higher state. But actually recognizing a higher state as being higher requires an overall orientation that a barren universe does not provide. The Christian story of the Fall leading to the Resurrection, on the other hand, is the template of against which all progress is judged. The concept of a good human nature that can either be fallen short of or successfully pursued requires, at some point, the reality of that good state.
-----------------------------
Five pages. Holy crap.
Secularists ridicule what they see as central contradictions at the core of Christian belief, but we should examine the nature of the contradiction. The easiest way to avoid contradiction in belief is to proclaim agnosticism, but it is entirely unworkable. As a practical matter, simply to get through the day, we must commit ourselves to one philosophy or to another. If nothing else, we must decide to hold or not to hold others responsible for their actions. The secularist tries to deny free will, but knows that he must behave in everyday life as if it were real. Why can we not ridicule that contradiction, lived every day? Whereas a Christian who professes free will recognizes the difficulty in the position, sees no other way, embraces the contradiction, calls it mystery-- and puts it at the center of his life. Can we not respect the honesty? Especially considering that that philosophy has all the success.
Alternatives: We can respect the beautiful natural world as our creator, but at some point we will ask, then why not go to war as the birds do? Or we can recognize that problem, throw up our hands, and call the universe absurd. Then why continue to try to make our way through the world, assert ourselves against that universe?
Or, we can appreciate the birds as birds while we recognize man as man, with all the baggage and difficulty that comes with that declaration. And as we do so, we can proclaim that the God who made the birds birds Himself became man. And we will know we have solved the dilemma, even as the new path is full of contradiction.
Finally, the whole secularist program actually reaffirms Christian theology. While they proclaim the march of progress, progress can only be recognized as a movement toward a higher state. But actually recognizing a higher state as being higher requires an overall orientation that a barren universe does not provide. The Christian story of the Fall leading to the Resurrection, on the other hand, is the template of against which all progress is judged. The concept of a good human nature that can either be fallen short of or successfully pursued requires, at some point, the reality of that good state.
-----------------------------
Five pages. Holy crap.
The Blatchford Controversies, I - Christianity And Rationalism
Four arguments are typically given, and specifically offered by Robert Blatchford, for the rejection of Christianity as false and absurd. But the critical facts cited wihin each argument can just as easily buttress a sincere belief in Christianity.
1. The legend of a divine savior is common among many ancient and contemporary cultures, and is not unique to Christianity. Answer: This does not suggest the impossibility of a divine savior, but rather that human existence is aimed toward its own redemption by a divine savior. Just as a long and varied pedigree of tales of love and tales of revenge do not suggest the absurdity of such a thing as love and revenge, but instead highlight the centrality of such emotions and actions to genuine human existence.
2. Ascetic devotion to Christianity abandons its practitioners to a barren existence empty of other human pleasures. Answer: It certainly must be a powerfully attractive force that would draw the absolute attention of its devotees in such a way as this. In a crasser, but parallel example, we recognize that the destruction caused by alcoholism is due to the powerful hold the drink has on the drinker. We don't conclude from the addiction that the alcoholic is hallucinating his own intake of drink, but that the feeling of drunkenness is entirely, frightfully real.
3. Commitment to religious tenets has produced terrible war, abject suffering, and the worst forms of cruelty. Answer: Humans being what they are, our worst offenses always emerge out of our attempts to protect what we love best-- nearly every murder and robbery in history is undertaken in pursuit of a "noble" goal, and human religion cannot be immune from the flaws of humanity. In a more recent analogy, the terrors of the French Revolution grew from devotion to Liberty, Egality, and Fraternity. Terrible actions don't undermine the truth of their central goodness. And what is more, the injection of such a greater Truth into human society would well lead to even harsher responses from us weak humans who are ill-equipped to deal with such greatness.
4. Hebrew and Christian religions trace back to particular, local, tribal groups and simplistic primitive events. Answer: How else could human beings experience the divine, and then communicate that experience, except through the same means and patterns as their experience of their familiar local world? A human who expresses a full-formed, logical conception of the infinite goodness of God full stop is surely making it up, for humans are not wired to gain knowledge in this way.
These arguments that were offered against Christianity, then, were not arguments at all, but mere observations. And mere observations can always be used to lead to opposing conclusions. The Secularists have entirely avoided, however, the most powerful arguments in favor of Christianity-- they will follow. Furthermore, those who won't be swayed by the four arguments above only remain unmoved due to their steadfast devotion to the central tenets of their own secularist orthodoxy. Ironically impressive.
----------------------------
Time to get back on the Chesterton horse. I'm re-reading the chapters in Heretics that I read months ago, but it's worthwhile to also get a handle on the background arguments that led to him write the book in the first place. The Blatchford Controversies are the third selection in the Collected Works Volume 1.
The biggest difference between the use of the cited facts by Chesterton and their use by the secularists is Chesterton's willingness to observe human behavior as its own whole, ontologically basic thing. In all four cases, the secularists argue away human responses as the mere agglomerated, non-meaningful end results of unthinking, unfeeling physical and material processes-- processes whose bizarre end results obviously can tell us nothing about some weird spiritual realm that doesn't really exist in the first place. It is central to the argument of determinism that human existence has no genuine purpose, while Chesterton takes the purposefulness of human existence (and the personal internal experience of that purposefulness) as absolutely central and reads the reality of spiritualness back from that. And then experiences great joy out of his conclusions.
1. The legend of a divine savior is common among many ancient and contemporary cultures, and is not unique to Christianity. Answer: This does not suggest the impossibility of a divine savior, but rather that human existence is aimed toward its own redemption by a divine savior. Just as a long and varied pedigree of tales of love and tales of revenge do not suggest the absurdity of such a thing as love and revenge, but instead highlight the centrality of such emotions and actions to genuine human existence.
2. Ascetic devotion to Christianity abandons its practitioners to a barren existence empty of other human pleasures. Answer: It certainly must be a powerfully attractive force that would draw the absolute attention of its devotees in such a way as this. In a crasser, but parallel example, we recognize that the destruction caused by alcoholism is due to the powerful hold the drink has on the drinker. We don't conclude from the addiction that the alcoholic is hallucinating his own intake of drink, but that the feeling of drunkenness is entirely, frightfully real.
3. Commitment to religious tenets has produced terrible war, abject suffering, and the worst forms of cruelty. Answer: Humans being what they are, our worst offenses always emerge out of our attempts to protect what we love best-- nearly every murder and robbery in history is undertaken in pursuit of a "noble" goal, and human religion cannot be immune from the flaws of humanity. In a more recent analogy, the terrors of the French Revolution grew from devotion to Liberty, Egality, and Fraternity. Terrible actions don't undermine the truth of their central goodness. And what is more, the injection of such a greater Truth into human society would well lead to even harsher responses from us weak humans who are ill-equipped to deal with such greatness.
4. Hebrew and Christian religions trace back to particular, local, tribal groups and simplistic primitive events. Answer: How else could human beings experience the divine, and then communicate that experience, except through the same means and patterns as their experience of their familiar local world? A human who expresses a full-formed, logical conception of the infinite goodness of God full stop is surely making it up, for humans are not wired to gain knowledge in this way.
These arguments that were offered against Christianity, then, were not arguments at all, but mere observations. And mere observations can always be used to lead to opposing conclusions. The Secularists have entirely avoided, however, the most powerful arguments in favor of Christianity-- they will follow. Furthermore, those who won't be swayed by the four arguments above only remain unmoved due to their steadfast devotion to the central tenets of their own secularist orthodoxy. Ironically impressive.
----------------------------
Time to get back on the Chesterton horse. I'm re-reading the chapters in Heretics that I read months ago, but it's worthwhile to also get a handle on the background arguments that led to him write the book in the first place. The Blatchford Controversies are the third selection in the Collected Works Volume 1.
The biggest difference between the use of the cited facts by Chesterton and their use by the secularists is Chesterton's willingness to observe human behavior as its own whole, ontologically basic thing. In all four cases, the secularists argue away human responses as the mere agglomerated, non-meaningful end results of unthinking, unfeeling physical and material processes-- processes whose bizarre end results obviously can tell us nothing about some weird spiritual realm that doesn't really exist in the first place. It is central to the argument of determinism that human existence has no genuine purpose, while Chesterton takes the purposefulness of human existence (and the personal internal experience of that purposefulness) as absolutely central and reads the reality of spiritualness back from that. And then experiences great joy out of his conclusions.
Friday, March 30, 2012
Electra, 3
Orestes enters in the guise of a messenger from Phocis. He bears an urn with the ashes of Orestes, he says. Electra is devasted, worse than before. It's all over for her now. She thought her actions-- saving Orestes as a baby, standing up to her mother-- would eventually lead to justice, but it seems not to be. Orestes sees now that he is speaking with his sister, and feels horrible. He laments for her now-- not only putting on a show over her supposed loss, but also genuinely lamenting the terrible burden she has had to endure in the palace, alone, for years.
But for some reason he draws out his own reveal for, like, two-and-a-half pages. When he finally gets around to it, Electra is elated.
Orestes explains that they still have to be careful, for his plan is set in motion. Pedaegogus comes out and scolds them for being so loud-- if Orestes is found out, it's all over. Electra recognizes him at last and praises him for his service in raising Orestes.
They give praise to Apollo before executing the plan. The Chorus remarks that it looks as if Apollo himself is exacting revenge when Orestes strides into the hall.
From outside, Electra hears the dying cries of Clytemnestra and mutters encouragements in response. Aegisthus arrives, and Electra reports the death of Orestes, saying his body is inside. (Tee-hee.) Aegisthus is pleased-- brazenly pleased. He sees the covered body on the bed, but Orestes himself reveals it to by Clytemnestra. Aegisthus, done for, asks to be allowed to speak some last words. Denied. Orestes, egged on by Electra, will not indulge him one bit, but will instead kill him in the spot where Agamemnon is killed.
The Chorus is elated with the turn toward justice:
And that's it.
The attitude of the Chorus is identical to what Aeschylus wrote about. Except Aeshylus continued on to explain that the actions of Orestes will lead to his own ultimate downfall, his harassment by the Furies.
But this play isn't about Orestes, it's about Electra. And at this point, her life's arc has come to a fitting conclusion. She has spent her whole life devoted to a single cause, and she has seen it through to the end. The deaths of Clytemnestra and Aegisthus (note: the killings are in the reverse order here versus in the Aeschylus) are what she has been working on for years, even if it was never in her power to execute them herself. Devotion to justice is good in and of itself, and is rewarded. And damn the consequences. I guess.
But for some reason he draws out his own reveal for, like, two-and-a-half pages. When he finally gets around to it, Electra is elated.
Orestes explains that they still have to be careful, for his plan is set in motion. Pedaegogus comes out and scolds them for being so loud-- if Orestes is found out, it's all over. Electra recognizes him at last and praises him for his service in raising Orestes.
They give praise to Apollo before executing the plan. The Chorus remarks that it looks as if Apollo himself is exacting revenge when Orestes strides into the hall.
From outside, Electra hears the dying cries of Clytemnestra and mutters encouragements in response. Aegisthus arrives, and Electra reports the death of Orestes, saying his body is inside. (Tee-hee.) Aegisthus is pleased-- brazenly pleased. He sees the covered body on the bed, but Orestes himself reveals it to by Clytemnestra. Aegisthus, done for, asks to be allowed to speak some last words. Denied. Orestes, egged on by Electra, will not indulge him one bit, but will instead kill him in the spot where Agamemnon is killed.
The Chorus is elated with the turn toward justice:
O race of Atreus, how many sufferings--------------------------
were yours before you came at last so hardly
to freedom, perfected by this day's deed.
And that's it.
The attitude of the Chorus is identical to what Aeschylus wrote about. Except Aeshylus continued on to explain that the actions of Orestes will lead to his own ultimate downfall, his harassment by the Furies.
But this play isn't about Orestes, it's about Electra. And at this point, her life's arc has come to a fitting conclusion. She has spent her whole life devoted to a single cause, and she has seen it through to the end. The deaths of Clytemnestra and Aegisthus (note: the killings are in the reverse order here versus in the Aeschylus) are what she has been working on for years, even if it was never in her power to execute them herself. Devotion to justice is good in and of itself, and is rewarded. And damn the consequences. I guess.
Electra, 2
Clytemnestra enters to have a word with her unruly daughter. She defends her actions by reminding Electra (and the audience) of the injustice of Agamemnon killing their other daughter [Iphigenia] merely to placate the Greek army and his brother Menelaus. Surely she is in the right in vindicating her own daughter. Electra counters that Clytemnestra did the murder for her own selfish reasons: to be with the usurper Aegisthus. Moreover, Agamemnon's killing of Iphigenia was in direct accordance with the wishes of Artemis. Did Clytemnestra have any divine instruction before her murders? More back-and-forth. The Chorus is confused.
Paedogogus enters, in disguise and unrecognized. He brings "pleasant news" [?] to Clytemnestra: Orestes is dead. He was killed in a chariot race at a set of contests he was winning. There was a pile-up on turn four, and in the mayhem Orestes was thrown from his chariot and trampled. Electra is devastated, but Clytemnestra is demure. Paedogogus is surprised she is not relieved, for it is well known that Orestes was a threat to Aegisthus's throne. Clytemnestra explains that Electra has always been more a thorn in their side, living within the palace and all. Electra is ready to give up on her life completely. The Chorus wonders if there is any justice in the world at all.
Chrysothemis enters, also claiming to bear "happy" news. Orestes is alive! She saw sacrifices at Agamemnon's grave, including flowers and a lock of hair that could only be Orestes's. Electra breaks the bad news, but offers counsel. She has steeled herself for what must be done: the task of avenging Agamemnon's murder falls to the two of them. Chrysothemis, ever timid, wavers. They, two women, have not hope of pulling off such a plot. Electra blows her off and decides to go it alone, and Chrysothemis can't talk her out of it. The Chorus wishes her success, for she is the only one left so devoted in the pursuit of justice.
Paedogogus enters, in disguise and unrecognized. He brings "pleasant news" [?] to Clytemnestra: Orestes is dead. He was killed in a chariot race at a set of contests he was winning. There was a pile-up on turn four, and in the mayhem Orestes was thrown from his chariot and trampled. Electra is devastated, but Clytemnestra is demure. Paedogogus is surprised she is not relieved, for it is well known that Orestes was a threat to Aegisthus's throne. Clytemnestra explains that Electra has always been more a thorn in their side, living within the palace and all. Electra is ready to give up on her life completely. The Chorus wonders if there is any justice in the world at all.
Chrysothemis enters, also claiming to bear "happy" news. Orestes is alive! She saw sacrifices at Agamemnon's grave, including flowers and a lock of hair that could only be Orestes's. Electra breaks the bad news, but offers counsel. She has steeled herself for what must be done: the task of avenging Agamemnon's murder falls to the two of them. Chrysothemis, ever timid, wavers. They, two women, have not hope of pulling off such a plot. Electra blows her off and decides to go it alone, and Chrysothemis can't talk her out of it. The Chorus wishes her success, for she is the only one left so devoted in the pursuit of justice.
Thursday, March 29, 2012
Electra, 1
Paedogogus arrives at the palace in Mycenae with Orestes in tow. Paedogogus had taken Orestes, son of Agamemnon, from the palace as a boy and raised him himself to protect the boy from his mother Clytemnestra and her new husband (and new king) Aegisthus. Orestes has recently heard prophecies that it is time for him to avenge his father. He is to kill his father's murderes through stealth, so he hatches the plan: Paedogogus will enter and announce the recent and unfortunate death of Orestes in a chariot race. Meanwhile, Orestes will visit his father's grave, and leave an offering of a lock of his own hair, to prepare for his coming actions.
Inside, Orestes' sister Electra laments-- at length-- the evil murder of her father. Though she has lived with the sorrow for many years, she is at the end of her rope and can't simply stand by and live in the household with her wicked mother and her usurper husband any longer. The Chorus, other women in the palace, agree with her outrage over the murder, but urge her to get over it already. She cannot. Electra holds special contempt for Clytemnestra, who has ridiculed her all her life for her devotion to her father. Electra's only relief is the thought that Orestes might soon be returning to exact vengeance and justice. But even that, at times, seems to be a fading hope.
Chrysothemis, Electra's (younger?) sister, enters and scolds Electra for carrying on. Chrysothemis isn't thrilled with the way Agamemnon was murdered, either, but she has managed to make some peace with the situation and can live as a participant within the palace. Electra knocks her down a peg or two for doing so. Chrysothemis is more upset than ever, though, for the latest news is that the king will banish Electra to a cave. Electra, defiant, announces she will gladly accept such a "punishment" if it will highlight the type of unjust ruler Aegisthus is.
In the meantime, Chrysothemis is on her way to Agamemnon's grave to leave an offering-- an offering from Clytemnestra, in fact. Surprised, Electra asks how it is that Clytemnestra is paying any tribute to her previous husband at all. But it seems the queen has had visions and nightmares recently about Agamemnon, and is trying to put things right between her and the gods. Hearing this, Electra forbids that the offering be given, as it is coming from such an evil source. Instead, she instructs Chrysothemis to leave a lock of her own and of Electra's hair at the grave-- a proper tribute from devoted daughters, rather than from a treacherous wife. They're all in agreement that this is a good course of action.
----------------------------
I think this is the first play that telling is telling the same story, at length, as a previous play I've read-- The Libation Bearers. It's kind of cool to get the story from a different persepective, and even cooler that the actions of the various characters seem to line up pretty closely. I remember, at least, the locks of hair left at Agamemnon's grave being the signal to Electra that Orestes had arrived, Clytemnestra's nightmares, and Orestes simply entering the palace to commit the avenging killings.
This play seems to be presenting a psychological portrait of Electra, a character who didn't quite have a full direct participation in the action in Aeschylus's play. The long lamenting passages paint a fairly clear picture of Electra's current mental state. She has been brooding for years, but has been helpless to exact revenge. All the while, she has been assigning blame to the family around her, despising some and resenting others-- again, all because it is not within her power to do much of else. Her internal torment shows a fighting spirit nonetheless.
Inside, Orestes' sister Electra laments-- at length-- the evil murder of her father. Though she has lived with the sorrow for many years, she is at the end of her rope and can't simply stand by and live in the household with her wicked mother and her usurper husband any longer. The Chorus, other women in the palace, agree with her outrage over the murder, but urge her to get over it already. She cannot. Electra holds special contempt for Clytemnestra, who has ridiculed her all her life for her devotion to her father. Electra's only relief is the thought that Orestes might soon be returning to exact vengeance and justice. But even that, at times, seems to be a fading hope.
Chrysothemis, Electra's (younger?) sister, enters and scolds Electra for carrying on. Chrysothemis isn't thrilled with the way Agamemnon was murdered, either, but she has managed to make some peace with the situation and can live as a participant within the palace. Electra knocks her down a peg or two for doing so. Chrysothemis is more upset than ever, though, for the latest news is that the king will banish Electra to a cave. Electra, defiant, announces she will gladly accept such a "punishment" if it will highlight the type of unjust ruler Aegisthus is.
In the meantime, Chrysothemis is on her way to Agamemnon's grave to leave an offering-- an offering from Clytemnestra, in fact. Surprised, Electra asks how it is that Clytemnestra is paying any tribute to her previous husband at all. But it seems the queen has had visions and nightmares recently about Agamemnon, and is trying to put things right between her and the gods. Hearing this, Electra forbids that the offering be given, as it is coming from such an evil source. Instead, she instructs Chrysothemis to leave a lock of her own and of Electra's hair at the grave-- a proper tribute from devoted daughters, rather than from a treacherous wife. They're all in agreement that this is a good course of action.
----------------------------
I think this is the first play that telling is telling the same story, at length, as a previous play I've read-- The Libation Bearers. It's kind of cool to get the story from a different persepective, and even cooler that the actions of the various characters seem to line up pretty closely. I remember, at least, the locks of hair left at Agamemnon's grave being the signal to Electra that Orestes had arrived, Clytemnestra's nightmares, and Orestes simply entering the palace to commit the avenging killings.
This play seems to be presenting a psychological portrait of Electra, a character who didn't quite have a full direct participation in the action in Aeschylus's play. The long lamenting passages paint a fairly clear picture of Electra's current mental state. She has been brooding for years, but has been helpless to exact revenge. All the while, she has been assigning blame to the family around her, despising some and resenting others-- again, all because it is not within her power to do much of else. Her internal torment shows a fighting spirit nonetheless.
Sunday, March 25, 2012
Oedipus The King, 4
The shepherd arrives. Oedipus struts a bit as he interrogates him, but the shepherd is reticent to speak. Oedipus switches to threats. Finally, the shepherd admits to freeing the young baby... who he had been instructed to kill... by the baby's parents... in the house of Laius... intending to avoid a prophecy that he would one day kill his father. And swears he did it out of pity, though he clearly regrets his actions now. Oedipus finally gets it:
[Nice work, Mr. Roche.] He flees into the palace.
The Chorus is also aghast. At first, they lament the downfall of so great a man as Oedipus. Their disgust grows, though.
Palace workers emerge with even more disturbing news. The queen Jocasta killed herself by hanging in her bedroom chamber, cursing the bed which she shared with Laius and Oedipus. Upon finding her body, Oedipus seized her broaches and gouged his eyes out with the pins-- repeatedly. He seeks only now to be banished from Thebes. He-- and the Chorus-- wish he had died that day on the mountainside.
Creon enters, now the acknowledged new king of Thebes. Oedipus begs to be banished, but Creon insists on seeking the gods' advice before proceeding further. After all, it is not more clear than ever that they are truly in charge. In the meantime, Oedipus tries to settle some parts of his estate. His sons, he thinks, will be fine. His daughters, though-- Antigone and Ismene-- will be done for. Who will ever marry them knowing thaeir infamous pedigree? Creon brings the girls before Oedipus, and he imparts final advice:
Remember when I said this was a comedy? Not anymore. Multiple puncture wounds to the eyes keep it firmly in the tragedy camp.
I remember reading this in high school and mentally playing around with the paradoxes of fate. What is fated is fated, and all actions-- even those attempting to avoid the outcome-- lead to that inevitable result. Cool idea, and fun to puzzle out, and see it applied in time-travel movies and soforth.
There's a slightly deeper aspect to this, though. Once we've conceded that fate is real and unavoidable, the important question is our attitude towards it. The true disasters took place because the characters wouldn't merely submit to their fates. Jocasta was far too meddlesome, trying to place herself above the power of the gods in charting her own life. Her attempts were doomed from the start. Oedipus, on the other hand, seems to have the opposite problem. In some ways, he was too ready to take advantage of the fates he could see laid out before him. He happily commandeered the leadership of Thebes, and aggrandized himself in the process, never acknowledging that his successes were no more due to his merit than any other person's failures were due to their faults. He too put himself above the gods, not in his attempts to outwit them, but in his delusional self-regard and belief in his own prowess. Creon, in the end, displays the proper outlook, and gives us the true moral of the play.
Lost! Ah lost! At last it's blazing clear.
Light of my days, go dark. I want to gaze no more.
My birth all sprung revealed from those it never should,
Myself entwined with those I never could.
And I the killer of those I never would.
[Nice work, Mr. Roche.] He flees into the palace.
The Chorus is also aghast. At first, they lament the downfall of so great a man as Oedipus. Their disgust grows, though.
Palace workers emerge with even more disturbing news. The queen Jocasta killed herself by hanging in her bedroom chamber, cursing the bed which she shared with Laius and Oedipus. Upon finding her body, Oedipus seized her broaches and gouged his eyes out with the pins-- repeatedly. He seeks only now to be banished from Thebes. He-- and the Chorus-- wish he had died that day on the mountainside.
Creon enters, now the acknowledged new king of Thebes. Oedipus begs to be banished, but Creon insists on seeking the gods' advice before proceeding further. After all, it is not more clear than ever that they are truly in charge. In the meantime, Oedipus tries to settle some parts of his estate. His sons, he thinks, will be fine. His daughters, though-- Antigone and Ismene-- will be done for. Who will ever marry them knowing thaeir infamous pedigree? Creon brings the girls before Oedipus, and he imparts final advice:
My darling little ones, if you could only understand,Oedipus is ready to exit to his doom, but tries to cling to his daughters one last time. Creon rebukes him:
I'd tell you, oh, so many things!
Let this suffice, a simple prayer:
Abide in modesty so may you live
the happy life your father did not have.
Stop this striving to be master of all.----------------------------
The mastery you had in life has been your fall.
Remember when I said this was a comedy? Not anymore. Multiple puncture wounds to the eyes keep it firmly in the tragedy camp.
I remember reading this in high school and mentally playing around with the paradoxes of fate. What is fated is fated, and all actions-- even those attempting to avoid the outcome-- lead to that inevitable result. Cool idea, and fun to puzzle out, and see it applied in time-travel movies and soforth.
There's a slightly deeper aspect to this, though. Once we've conceded that fate is real and unavoidable, the important question is our attitude towards it. The true disasters took place because the characters wouldn't merely submit to their fates. Jocasta was far too meddlesome, trying to place herself above the power of the gods in charting her own life. Her attempts were doomed from the start. Oedipus, on the other hand, seems to have the opposite problem. In some ways, he was too ready to take advantage of the fates he could see laid out before him. He happily commandeered the leadership of Thebes, and aggrandized himself in the process, never acknowledging that his successes were no more due to his merit than any other person's failures were due to their faults. He too put himself above the gods, not in his attempts to outwit them, but in his delusional self-regard and belief in his own prowess. Creon, in the end, displays the proper outlook, and gives us the true moral of the play.
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
Oedipus The King, 3
Oedipus recognizes the story of Laius's murder as that of the murder he committed. He sees himself as the cause of the city's troubles after all, and is in agony over it. [He doesn't know the half of it. Strike that, he doesn't know the tenth of it yet. Laius's murder is the least of his problems.] There was one survivor from the murder, a servant who, upon seeing Oedipus take the throne, asked to return to shepherding, his previous career. Oedipus asks that he be brought in, and the exact circumstances of Laius's murder matched against his own memory.
In the meantime, Oedipus tells his own story. At home in Corinth, he was told in passing that he was adopted. Unnerved, his parents Polybus and Merope tried to set his mind at ease. But he went to an oracle, whose prophecy was far worse than just the adoption news. He was told he would murder his father and marry his mother. Horrified at the prospect, he fled. And on the road, he had an altercation with a travelling band at the three crossroads. He killed them. And now he might be responsible for Laius's death. Jocasta tries to calm him, saying at the very least the prophets don't know what they're talking about-- because Laius certainly wasn't killed by his son!
The Chorus try to wrap their heads around the situation. They know that justice must be done against Oedipus if he really is the killer. On the other hand, if prophecies go unfulfilled so easily, why must any respect be paid to them at all?
A messenger enters with news from Corinth. Polybus is dead, and Oedipus will inherit that throne. It's good news! And even better, this tells against the prophecy that was giving Oedipus so much grief-- he didn't have to kill his father after all! [Nobody has noticed up to this point the similarity between Oedipus's prophecy and that of Jocasta.] Oedipus is still fearful of returning home, fearful of the second half of the prophecy-- marrying his mother. The messenger explains that the whole prophecy was never anything to worry about in the first place-- after all, Polybus wasn't even Oedipus's real father! Oedipus was adopted, brought to the king by this messenger himself, after being found as an infant with his ankles bound on a hill near Thebes!
Jocasta is getting upset.
And actually, this messenger didn't find Oedipus per se. He was found by another shepherd-- one of Laius's men. The Chorus thinks perhaps this is the same guy who they already called about the other story. They ask Jocasta if she remembers anything, but she's suddenly playing dumb and trying to change the subject. Oedipus wants to know all about his origins, but Jocasta is begging him not to follow through to the end of the story. But he's feeling upbeat now, and thinks she'll be embarrassed by his lowly station, if he's the abandoned son of slaves. But perhaps he is the son of the gods themselves! Tee-hee!
The Chorus gets carried away thinking of the possibilites. Here among them, offspring of the divine! That kind of thing never happens anymore! Awesome!
---------------------------
The language games are getting more and more clever-- but I can't tell if it's Sophocles or Roche making more of it than is actually there. A sampling:
"This is his palace, sir, and he's within.
This lady [Jocasta] is his wife and mother... of his children." [Come on.]
[Answer! From Alex Jech.
The Greek lines are:
"I do not blush to own I'm Forgune's pampered child.
She will not let me down. She is my mother."
One other line of note, when Jocasta is trying to settle down Oedipus's fear of the prophecy of him marrying his mother:
"Forget this silly thought of mother-marrying.
Why, many men in dreams have married mothers,
And he lives happiest who makes the least of it."
A clinical description of the Oedipal Complex! I always thought that Freud simply named it after the character because it was such a well-known story. But it looks like the psychological phenomenon itself was mentioned right in the play. We've gone totally meta.
In the meantime, Oedipus tells his own story. At home in Corinth, he was told in passing that he was adopted. Unnerved, his parents Polybus and Merope tried to set his mind at ease. But he went to an oracle, whose prophecy was far worse than just the adoption news. He was told he would murder his father and marry his mother. Horrified at the prospect, he fled. And on the road, he had an altercation with a travelling band at the three crossroads. He killed them. And now he might be responsible for Laius's death. Jocasta tries to calm him, saying at the very least the prophets don't know what they're talking about-- because Laius certainly wasn't killed by his son!
The Chorus try to wrap their heads around the situation. They know that justice must be done against Oedipus if he really is the killer. On the other hand, if prophecies go unfulfilled so easily, why must any respect be paid to them at all?
A messenger enters with news from Corinth. Polybus is dead, and Oedipus will inherit that throne. It's good news! And even better, this tells against the prophecy that was giving Oedipus so much grief-- he didn't have to kill his father after all! [Nobody has noticed up to this point the similarity between Oedipus's prophecy and that of Jocasta.] Oedipus is still fearful of returning home, fearful of the second half of the prophecy-- marrying his mother. The messenger explains that the whole prophecy was never anything to worry about in the first place-- after all, Polybus wasn't even Oedipus's real father! Oedipus was adopted, brought to the king by this messenger himself, after being found as an infant with his ankles bound on a hill near Thebes!
Jocasta is getting upset.
And actually, this messenger didn't find Oedipus per se. He was found by another shepherd-- one of Laius's men. The Chorus thinks perhaps this is the same guy who they already called about the other story. They ask Jocasta if she remembers anything, but she's suddenly playing dumb and trying to change the subject. Oedipus wants to know all about his origins, but Jocasta is begging him not to follow through to the end of the story. But he's feeling upbeat now, and thinks she'll be embarrassed by his lowly station, if he's the abandoned son of slaves. But perhaps he is the son of the gods themselves! Tee-hee!
The Chorus gets carried away thinking of the possibilites. Here among them, offspring of the divine! That kind of thing never happens anymore! Awesome!
---------------------------
The language games are getting more and more clever-- but I can't tell if it's Sophocles or Roche making more of it than is actually there. A sampling:
"This is his palace, sir, and he's within.
This lady [Jocasta] is his wife and mother... of his children." [Come on.]
[Answer! From Alex Jech.
The Greek lines are:
στέγαι μὲν αἵδε, καὐτὸς ἔνδον, ὦ ξένε:Alex's raw translation was "But this woman is mother of his children." After giving him the context, he acknowledged there was something goofy going on in the structure of the second line. He then suggested "Wife and mother, this one, of his children," which is pretty close to the effect of Roche's version, though a little more subtle. Success!]
γυνὴ δὲ μήτηρ ἥδε τῶν κείνου τέκνων.
"I do not blush to own I'm Forgune's pampered child.
She will not let me down. She is my mother."
One other line of note, when Jocasta is trying to settle down Oedipus's fear of the prophecy of him marrying his mother:
"Forget this silly thought of mother-marrying.
Why, many men in dreams have married mothers,
And he lives happiest who makes the least of it."
A clinical description of the Oedipal Complex! I always thought that Freud simply named it after the character because it was such a well-known story. But it looks like the psychological phenomenon itself was mentioned right in the play. We've gone totally meta.
Sunday, March 11, 2012
Oedipus The King, 2
The prophet Tiresias enters, but refuses to speak, for what he knows hurts him too much to make public. Oedipus tries to flatter it out of him, to no avail. Angry now, Oedipus accuses Tiresias himself of being the murderer, or at least plotting it years ago. That pisses him off something fierce. Tiresias now directly fingers Oedipus as the murderer, which just makes the confrontation more contentious than before.
Not understaning the accusation at all, Oedipus thinks he has stumbled on the real plot. He claims that Creon has put the prophet up to it, in a power play to usurp the throne. (And he thinks himself enormously clever for figuring it out.) Tiresias is more insulted than ever, and curses out Oedipus. He starts to hint at the truth, at Oedipus's origins, but Oedipus simply mocks him for speaking in riddles-- solving such riddles is his strength, after all. So in a final speech before exiting, Tiresias tells it to him straight (though without actually mentioning his name): the murderer was no stranger, but a native of Thebes, is his children's brother, his mother's husband, and will die in disgrace.
The Chorus is greatly upset from the argument. And they don't want to think of the implications of Tiresias's accusation.
Creon enters and gets an earful from Oedipus, being accused of attempting to usurp the throne. Oedipus knows he's in cahoots with the prophet-- otherwise the prophet would have fingered Oedipus for the murder when it actually happened instead of waiting until now. Creon pleads his case: in the current arrangement, as brother-in-law to the king, he has an equal say in the affairs of the state without the hassle of actually being the monarch. Why would he want to give that up? Oedipus is not settled, and the conflict escalates.
Jocasta the queen enters: "Everybody, cool out. COOL OUT!" The chorus pleads with Oedipus to simmer down. Paranoia now seems to be catching up with him, as he lashes out at everyone around him. Jocasta just wants to know what all the fuss was about, and Oedipus explains that the prophet had accused him of the murder. I mean, it's preposterous!
Jocasta chuckles about it. "Silly, long ago Apollo foretold that Laius would be killed by his firstborn. And yeah, he was killed at a three-way crossroads. But that was in a faraway land, by a band of marauders! And we had abandoned our firstborn on a hillside as soon as he was born! So, no worries!"
Oedipus: "Yeah, I mean.... wait, what?"
---------------------
Heh.
One very cool bit of irony in this part is Creon pleading his innocence and claiming to be free from the temptations of power. One, because the audience already knows the rest of his story, and two, because Sophocles already wrote that play himself. You're not fooling anyone, you know.
Not understaning the accusation at all, Oedipus thinks he has stumbled on the real plot. He claims that Creon has put the prophet up to it, in a power play to usurp the throne. (And he thinks himself enormously clever for figuring it out.) Tiresias is more insulted than ever, and curses out Oedipus. He starts to hint at the truth, at Oedipus's origins, but Oedipus simply mocks him for speaking in riddles-- solving such riddles is his strength, after all. So in a final speech before exiting, Tiresias tells it to him straight (though without actually mentioning his name): the murderer was no stranger, but a native of Thebes, is his children's brother, his mother's husband, and will die in disgrace.
The Chorus is greatly upset from the argument. And they don't want to think of the implications of Tiresias's accusation.
Creon enters and gets an earful from Oedipus, being accused of attempting to usurp the throne. Oedipus knows he's in cahoots with the prophet-- otherwise the prophet would have fingered Oedipus for the murder when it actually happened instead of waiting until now. Creon pleads his case: in the current arrangement, as brother-in-law to the king, he has an equal say in the affairs of the state without the hassle of actually being the monarch. Why would he want to give that up? Oedipus is not settled, and the conflict escalates.
Jocasta the queen enters: "Everybody, cool out. COOL OUT!" The chorus pleads with Oedipus to simmer down. Paranoia now seems to be catching up with him, as he lashes out at everyone around him. Jocasta just wants to know what all the fuss was about, and Oedipus explains that the prophet had accused him of the murder. I mean, it's preposterous!
Jocasta chuckles about it. "Silly, long ago Apollo foretold that Laius would be killed by his firstborn. And yeah, he was killed at a three-way crossroads. But that was in a faraway land, by a band of marauders! And we had abandoned our firstborn on a hillside as soon as he was born! So, no worries!"
Oedipus: "Yeah, I mean.... wait, what?"
---------------------
Heh.
One very cool bit of irony in this part is Creon pleading his innocence and claiming to be free from the temptations of power. One, because the audience already knows the rest of his story, and two, because Sophocles already wrote that play himself. You're not fooling anyone, you know.
Tuesday, March 06, 2012
Oedipus The King, 1
The people of Thebes are beseeching their king, Oedipus, to help them. The priest explains that they want to be rid of the plague that holds them. They know that once before Oedipus rid them of one terrible trouble-- the Sphinx. They hope that Oedipus can again be the savior for the people. Oedipus: "Yes, of course. I knew all that already. In fact, I've already sent my brother-in-law [actually his uncle] to learn from the oracle of Apollo what might be done."
Creon arrives and announces that, per Apollo, the solution is simple. The city suffers because the death of its previous king, Laius, went wholly unpunished. Oedipus asks the circumstances of his death, and Creon relates the story of how Laius was killed, along with his band of travellers, during a pilgrimage outside the city. Oedipus: "Sons of bitches."
The Chorus pray to the gods for their aid to Oedipus in finally righting the wrong. They pray to a number of gods in turn, especially Athena, Artemis, and Apollo.
Oedipus gathers the people and asks that anyone with any knowledge of Laius's death to come forward, but is only met with silence. He tries to cajole their confession with flattery and rewards. When that doesn't work, he threatens them with punishment. Nobody comes forward [because no one actually knows anything]. At last the Chorus suggests that Oedipus consult with the blind prophet Tiresias. Oedipus: "Of course. I've already sent for him." The Chorus also hints at stories of the murder of Laius by other travellers, but there are no witnesses.
Tiresias enters, and Oedipus grandly asks him to proclaim what he knows, so that he might get on with the saving of the city.
Shit's about to get real.
-------------------------
Translation by Paul Roche again, and it's a breath of fresh air after The Women of Trachis. Here I can actually feel the rhythm of the translated poetry. The structure of the Chorus sections is also quite pleasing, as he delineates the call-and-response pattern of the two halves of the Chorus. The translation really makes a huge difference.
I'm starting to get pissed off that all of the cool action is in the back stories of these plays. Oedipus's step-parents already heard the original prophecy and sent him away in a panic, Oedipus already killed his father and married his mother, and Oedipus already solved the riddle of the Sphinx. Okay..... but when do I actually get to read any of this stuff? I don't, apparently.
It occurs to me, then, that there's no such thing as a twist in any of these plays. The stories are so well known that they make up the background knowledge in the Greek cultural awareness. Nothing in the plot of the play is ever surprising. But I wonder if they told the stories to children in such a way as to surprise them with the plot twists? Hmmm.
To make up for the lack of tension in the plot, the lines themselves are packed with irony-- highly entertaining for the all-knowing audience. The characterization is crucial as well. In this case, Sophocles has made Oediups a self-aggrandizing buffoon-- and it's hilarious. "Yes, of course, I'm one step ahead of you." And some of the ironic lines are particularly well-placed:
Is this a drama or a comedy? The audience must have been roaring with laughter.
Creon arrives and announces that, per Apollo, the solution is simple. The city suffers because the death of its previous king, Laius, went wholly unpunished. Oedipus asks the circumstances of his death, and Creon relates the story of how Laius was killed, along with his band of travellers, during a pilgrimage outside the city. Oedipus: "Sons of bitches."
The Chorus pray to the gods for their aid to Oedipus in finally righting the wrong. They pray to a number of gods in turn, especially Athena, Artemis, and Apollo.
Oedipus gathers the people and asks that anyone with any knowledge of Laius's death to come forward, but is only met with silence. He tries to cajole their confession with flattery and rewards. When that doesn't work, he threatens them with punishment. Nobody comes forward [because no one actually knows anything]. At last the Chorus suggests that Oedipus consult with the blind prophet Tiresias. Oedipus: "Of course. I've already sent for him." The Chorus also hints at stories of the murder of Laius by other travellers, but there are no witnesses.
Tiresias enters, and Oedipus grandly asks him to proclaim what he knows, so that he might get on with the saving of the city.
Shit's about to get real.
-------------------------
Translation by Paul Roche again, and it's a breath of fresh air after The Women of Trachis. Here I can actually feel the rhythm of the translated poetry. The structure of the Chorus sections is also quite pleasing, as he delineates the call-and-response pattern of the two halves of the Chorus. The translation really makes a huge difference.
I'm starting to get pissed off that all of the cool action is in the back stories of these plays. Oedipus's step-parents already heard the original prophecy and sent him away in a panic, Oedipus already killed his father and married his mother, and Oedipus already solved the riddle of the Sphinx. Okay..... but when do I actually get to read any of this stuff? I don't, apparently.
It occurs to me, then, that there's no such thing as a twist in any of these plays. The stories are so well known that they make up the background knowledge in the Greek cultural awareness. Nothing in the plot of the play is ever surprising. But I wonder if they told the stories to children in such a way as to surprise them with the plot twists? Hmmm.
To make up for the lack of tension in the plot, the lines themselves are packed with irony-- highly entertaining for the all-knowing audience. The characterization is crucial as well. In this case, Sophocles has made Oediups a self-aggrandizing buffoon-- and it's hilarious. "Yes, of course, I'm one step ahead of you." And some of the ironic lines are particularly well-placed:
For who knows, tomorrow this selfsame murderer
may turn his bloody hands on me.
The cause of Laius therefore is my own.
....
And if I myself should prove myself
to have him in my halls an intimate,
Then on myself I call down every curse I've just invoked.
Is this a drama or a comedy? The audience must have been roaring with laughter.
Saturday, February 25, 2012
The Women Of Trachis, 4
Heracles, unconscious, is brought in to Hyllus. He awakens, but in agony. He begs to be killed by any around him-- and then specifically by Hyllus when he recognizes him. And then he lashes out at Deianira for having killed him (as he sees it, anyway)-- even asking that she be brought out to him so he can inflict on her the same pain he feels himself. The venom of the hydra that eats at him reminds him of all the beasts he has conquered before.
Hyllus attempts to speak with Heracles to inform him of some of the developments. First of all, Deianira is dead, by her own hand. Moreover, she did not intend Heracles's death, but was tricked long ago-- she actually was trying to woo him back. Heracles recognizes the duplicity of Nessus the centaur long ago, and also recognizes the work of the gods throughout the whole ordeal. He reveals the prophecy that had him being finished with his toils at this moment-- and recognizes that it ends not with rest but with death.
As his final act, Heracles extracts promises from Hyllus. First, Hyllus must burn Heracles alive on a funeral pyre to end his agony. Hyllus refuses, but agrees at least to bring him to the pyre where Heracles may set the fire himself. Next, he must marry Iole. "No other man but you must ever have her who has lain with me at my side." [Gross.] Hyllus is unnerved at the command again, but ultimately agrees.
Heracles is taken away to his final death. Zeus has willed it.
-----------------------
First of all, would it have killed the translator to use the phrase "poisoned shirt" at least once? You know, to trigger a little cultural memory in the reader with a phrase that they might actually recognize? On the other hand, I'm not sure I actually had the poisoned shirt mentally hooked up with Heracles's death, so it might not have mattered.
Having re-read the introductory essay, there is an interesting point here. Unlike the other Greek plays I have read so far, the action does not center around one character and the way fate catches up to him or her. Instead, the fate just kind of happens to everyone in turn. Fate doesn't befall them because of their faults, or their disobedience, or their self-destruction, it just kind of happens because the gods don't really care about the actions of humans at all. The theme of the play is the disinterest of the gods in the affairs, expectations, and desires of men-- even the greatest of men are ultimately minor characters, mere playthings. The title of the play, otherwise completely incongruous, does stress that the focus of this play isn't on Heracles or his wife or his sun, it is on the action of fate working around all human lives. I can acknowledge the validity of that point. You win again, classics.
Hyllus attempts to speak with Heracles to inform him of some of the developments. First of all, Deianira is dead, by her own hand. Moreover, she did not intend Heracles's death, but was tricked long ago-- she actually was trying to woo him back. Heracles recognizes the duplicity of Nessus the centaur long ago, and also recognizes the work of the gods throughout the whole ordeal. He reveals the prophecy that had him being finished with his toils at this moment-- and recognizes that it ends not with rest but with death.
As his final act, Heracles extracts promises from Hyllus. First, Hyllus must burn Heracles alive on a funeral pyre to end his agony. Hyllus refuses, but agrees at least to bring him to the pyre where Heracles may set the fire himself. Next, he must marry Iole. "No other man but you must ever have her who has lain with me at my side." [Gross.] Hyllus is unnerved at the command again, but ultimately agrees.
Heracles is taken away to his final death. Zeus has willed it.
-----------------------
First of all, would it have killed the translator to use the phrase "poisoned shirt" at least once? You know, to trigger a little cultural memory in the reader with a phrase that they might actually recognize? On the other hand, I'm not sure I actually had the poisoned shirt mentally hooked up with Heracles's death, so it might not have mattered.
Having re-read the introductory essay, there is an interesting point here. Unlike the other Greek plays I have read so far, the action does not center around one character and the way fate catches up to him or her. Instead, the fate just kind of happens to everyone in turn. Fate doesn't befall them because of their faults, or their disobedience, or their self-destruction, it just kind of happens because the gods don't really care about the actions of humans at all. The theme of the play is the disinterest of the gods in the affairs, expectations, and desires of men-- even the greatest of men are ultimately minor characters, mere playthings. The title of the play, otherwise completely incongruous, does stress that the focus of this play isn't on Heracles or his wife or his sun, it is on the action of fate working around all human lives. I can acknowledge the validity of that point. You win again, classics.
Thursday, February 16, 2012
The Women Of Trachis, 3
Deianira enters in a panic. She had wiped Nessus's blood on the cloak with a small piece of wool. When she threw that piece on the ground in the sun, it shrivelled, decayed, and brought forth from the earth a terrible bilious poison. She realized the centaur had been lying to her when he gave it to her-- and why would he do otherwise? He wouldn't offer her a tool to woo Heracles, his murderer; he offered instead a tool of revenge.
It was a trap the whole time.
The Chorus tells her to wait and see. Maybe it will all be OK.
Hyllus immediately enters in agony, though, accusing Deianira of murdering Heracles. He witnessed it himself: Lichas approached Heracles with the cloak as he was preparing a sacrifice to the gods. During the sacrifice, in front of the flames, the poison did its work. Heracles first accused Lichas of treachery, who tried to explain only what he knew. Heracles swung him by his ankle and smashed his head against a rock anyway. In great pain, Heracles called for Hyllas to carry him home.
Hyllas formally accuses Deianira of killing the best of men. Deianira slinks away.
The Chorus realizes the prophecy has come true in the bad way. It actually said that the twelve years would bring an end to the toils of Heracles-- and so they have. And done in by the jealousy of a woman! Looks like Aphrodite is behind it all.
Nurse enters. Deianira killed herself on her wedding bed, stabbed through with a sword. (When she pulled out the sword, the nurse ran to tell Hyllas. Instead of, you know, getting the sword out of her hands.) Having lost his mother and father on the same day to a murder-suicide, Hyllas is distraught, and partly blames himself for being so hard on Deianira.
The Chorus is looking for some good news among the misery, and not finding it. Finally, a throng of men carrying the body of Heracles enter, bringing him home at last.
It was a trap the whole time.
The Chorus tells her to wait and see. Maybe it will all be OK.
Hyllus immediately enters in agony, though, accusing Deianira of murdering Heracles. He witnessed it himself: Lichas approached Heracles with the cloak as he was preparing a sacrifice to the gods. During the sacrifice, in front of the flames, the poison did its work. Heracles first accused Lichas of treachery, who tried to explain only what he knew. Heracles swung him by his ankle and smashed his head against a rock anyway. In great pain, Heracles called for Hyllas to carry him home.
Hyllas formally accuses Deianira of killing the best of men. Deianira slinks away.
The Chorus realizes the prophecy has come true in the bad way. It actually said that the twelve years would bring an end to the toils of Heracles-- and so they have. And done in by the jealousy of a woman! Looks like Aphrodite is behind it all.
Nurse enters. Deianira killed herself on her wedding bed, stabbed through with a sword. (When she pulled out the sword, the nurse ran to tell Hyllas. Instead of, you know, getting the sword out of her hands.) Having lost his mother and father on the same day to a murder-suicide, Hyllas is distraught, and partly blames himself for being so hard on Deianira.
The Chorus is looking for some good news among the misery, and not finding it. Finally, a throng of men carrying the body of Heracles enter, bringing him home at last.
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
The Women Of Trachis, 2
The messenger pulls Deianira aside to give her additional information. It seems Lichas wasn't being entirely truthful with his story about Heracles sacking the city for revenge, nor about the identity of the particularly pretty girl. Lichas had been telling others in the village-- and the messenger overheard him-- that Heracles had sacked the city solely out of love for the girl, Iole. Deianira feels betrayed. The Chorus is pissed at Lichas. The messenger expects a tip again.
Deianira confronts Lichas on his way out again. He's not budging from his story, and can't figure out why anyone in the house wouldn't believe him. I mean, geez! [Almost an exact quote.] But Deianira coaxes it out of him, partly by saying she knows all about Heracles's conquests of other women, and partly by playing on Lichas's sense of his own honor being at stake. The Chorus joins in the coaxing. "Obey her. What she says is good. You will have no cause to complain later, and you will gain our thanks." [Who is the Chorus again? What might they mean by that?]
Lichas spills it. The whole sacking of the city was a feint to get at Iole. The Chorus, now apparently omniscient, describe the battle between Heracles and Achelous over Iole, with Cypris the goddess of love refereeing. Heracles won.
Deianira re-emerges with her last desperate plan. She cannot have a younger consort within her own household, feeling as if she-- Heracles's only wife!-- has been replaced at home. Men! Luckily, when she was a girl, she was carried by [the centaur] Nessus across a river on her way to meet Heracles for the first time. He molested her on the way over.Zeus Heracles killed him for it. And as a penance Nessus offered her the blood from his wound, which would at all times entice Heracles to her. Using it for the first time, she has now dipped a cloak in this blood, and sends Lichas out with it to give to Heracles. When he puts it on, her place in the household will be secure again.
The Chorus is excited for Heracles's return once again.
--------------------------
This story is getting more and more ridiculous. Although it seems the parts that were ridiculous last time turned out to be a fabrication, so who knows anymore. Sexual politics has emerged as a theme in a big way, and that might be new among everything I've read so far.
It occured to me while reading this that I have paid no attention whatsoever to the lyrical structure of these plays. As in, I haven't looked for a poetical meter at all. So I made a conscious effort to pay attention to that, and simply couldn't see it at all. I suck. Or the translator sucks.
Edit, 2/16: Apparently, I badly misread the details in the story about Nessus yesterday. The edited details above are hugely important for the following action.
Deianira confronts Lichas on his way out again. He's not budging from his story, and can't figure out why anyone in the house wouldn't believe him. I mean, geez! [Almost an exact quote.] But Deianira coaxes it out of him, partly by saying she knows all about Heracles's conquests of other women, and partly by playing on Lichas's sense of his own honor being at stake. The Chorus joins in the coaxing. "Obey her. What she says is good. You will have no cause to complain later, and you will gain our thanks." [Who is the Chorus again? What might they mean by that?]
Lichas spills it. The whole sacking of the city was a feint to get at Iole. The Chorus, now apparently omniscient, describe the battle between Heracles and Achelous over Iole, with Cypris the goddess of love refereeing. Heracles won.
Deianira re-emerges with her last desperate plan. She cannot have a younger consort within her own household, feeling as if she-- Heracles's only wife!-- has been replaced at home. Men! Luckily, when she was a girl, she was carried by [the centaur] Nessus across a river on her way to meet Heracles for the first time. He molested her on the way over.
The Chorus is excited for Heracles's return once again.
--------------------------
This story is getting more and more ridiculous. Although it seems the parts that were ridiculous last time turned out to be a fabrication, so who knows anymore. Sexual politics has emerged as a theme in a big way, and that might be new among everything I've read so far.
It occured to me while reading this that I have paid no attention whatsoever to the lyrical structure of these plays. As in, I haven't looked for a poetical meter at all. So I made a conscious effort to pay attention to that, and simply couldn't see it at all. I suck. Or the translator sucks.
Edit, 2/16: Apparently, I badly misread the details in the story about Nessus yesterday. The edited details above are hugely important for the following action.
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
The Women Of Trachis, 1
Deianira, wife of Heracles, frets. She had been saved from a miserable future when Heracles had taken her from home and married her. But since then he has always been away, on one gods' adventure after another. Currently, he has been gone over a year, with no word of his whereabouts.
Deianira's nurse suggests she ask her son, Hyllus, if there is any news of his father. Hyllus: "Oh, Heracles? Yeah, he was a slave to a Lydian woman. Now he's in Euboea fighting Eurytus.". Deianira: "Huh. That's exactly what the prophecy said he'd be doing." Hyllus: "What prophecy?"
[The lack of communication before today is absurd.]
Hyllus goes to find more information. The Chorus enters and commiserates with Deinira, but ultimately reproves her for her pessimism: this is Heracles, after all, and he's made it through worse scrapes before. But Deinira explains that when he left this last time, he had told her that in a little more than a year, he would either be finished with the tasks forever or he'd be dead. That day of reckoning has now arrived. [Which kind of explains why everything came to a head all of a sudden.]
A messenger arrives with news from Heracles's herald, Lichas. Heracles is on his way back home. The messenger expects a tip.
And there was much rejoicing.
Lichas himself arrives with a gaggle of captured women in tow. Heracles is taking care of some divine promises, but will be home shortly. It seems Heracles had visited Eurytus in peace, but was dissed badly while he was there. Shortly after, he killed Eurytus's son Iphitus in a fit of rage, by throwing him off a cliff. As punishment, Zeus handed him over to the Lydian woman for a time. When that was through, Heracles went back to get his revenge on Eurytus who got him into the trouble in the first place. Simple. And utterly ridiculous.
The women, meanwhile, are the pillage from the victory, and are screwed. Deinira pities them, and focuses especially on one young, possibly noble girl [named Iole]. She asks Lichas for the details about this one, but he knows nothing-- she's been silent since her capture-- and can't figure why she'd care anyway. The women are sent inside.
---------------------------
I've read this about five different times, and simply can't get interested in the story. Partly, it's because the Heracles mythology is kind of coming out of nowhere. He's been referenced, of course, in many of the previous works, but this particular episode is totally new, and doesn't seem to have any importance at all. So far.
Or maybe it's the translation, by a guy (Michael Jameson) I haven't read before. The introduction, at least, was impenetrable-- like he was writing an analysis just to fill out the assignment, and couldn't care less if what he said was interesting or not. I've written papers like that myself.
So far, this play is a dud all around.
Deianira's nurse suggests she ask her son, Hyllus, if there is any news of his father. Hyllus: "Oh, Heracles? Yeah, he was a slave to a Lydian woman. Now he's in Euboea fighting Eurytus.". Deianira: "Huh. That's exactly what the prophecy said he'd be doing." Hyllus: "What prophecy?"
[The lack of communication before today is absurd.]
Hyllus goes to find more information. The Chorus enters and commiserates with Deinira, but ultimately reproves her for her pessimism: this is Heracles, after all, and he's made it through worse scrapes before. But Deinira explains that when he left this last time, he had told her that in a little more than a year, he would either be finished with the tasks forever or he'd be dead. That day of reckoning has now arrived. [Which kind of explains why everything came to a head all of a sudden.]
A messenger arrives with news from Heracles's herald, Lichas. Heracles is on his way back home. The messenger expects a tip.
And there was much rejoicing.
Lichas himself arrives with a gaggle of captured women in tow. Heracles is taking care of some divine promises, but will be home shortly. It seems Heracles had visited Eurytus in peace, but was dissed badly while he was there. Shortly after, he killed Eurytus's son Iphitus in a fit of rage, by throwing him off a cliff. As punishment, Zeus handed him over to the Lydian woman for a time. When that was through, Heracles went back to get his revenge on Eurytus who got him into the trouble in the first place. Simple. And utterly ridiculous.
The women, meanwhile, are the pillage from the victory, and are screwed. Deinira pities them, and focuses especially on one young, possibly noble girl [named Iole]. She asks Lichas for the details about this one, but he knows nothing-- she's been silent since her capture-- and can't figure why she'd care anyway. The women are sent inside.
---------------------------
I've read this about five different times, and simply can't get interested in the story. Partly, it's because the Heracles mythology is kind of coming out of nowhere. He's been referenced, of course, in many of the previous works, but this particular episode is totally new, and doesn't seem to have any importance at all. So far.
Or maybe it's the translation, by a guy (Michael Jameson) I haven't read before. The introduction, at least, was impenetrable-- like he was writing an analysis just to fill out the assignment, and couldn't care less if what he said was interesting or not. I've written papers like that myself.
So far, this play is a dud all around.
Friday, January 27, 2012
The Secret Knowledge (David Mamet)
Interesting and enjoyable, though it wasn't exactly what I expected before I started reading. The beginning was very thought-provoking as Mamet presented his critiques of different aspects of modern political society-- and his criticisms of the education system were especially apt. As the book progressed, though, I found it to jump around from topic to topic, and even from thought to thought, without landing on any one place or developing any one idea to its fullest.
After a few chapters of this, I realized what I was missing. This is not a book that presents an argument of any kind. It is simply one man's exploration of his own developing ideas of how society works, and relating those ideas to different specific examples from his own everyday experience. Once I caught on, it was very effective-- because this is how we all actually think through these problems most of the time. We don't sit down and logically work out a master philosophy. Instead, different events grab our attention in different ways, and sometimes they grab us enough that we insert those experiences into an overall impression of the world. Then we plow ahead with the rest of our lives.
In Mamet's case, his overall impression wasn't working anymore, so he sought new information to develop it further. But the process is still the same-- some of the new information catches his attention more than others, and as a writer he gets to present it to the rest of us. For the rest of us, we could, if we had the skill, write an entirely different exploration of our own ideas. In the end, the important thing is that we all do have a different set of ideas, and that we all get the chance to explore and develop them independently. The worst difficulty comes when an authority attempts to interrupt that exploration and impose a uniform approach on all of society.
As I said, the sections about education caught my attention more than any other. We really do need a way prepare adolescents to take care of themselves by developing useful skills. (And there's nothing wrong with those useful skills actually being the Humanities he rails against-- so long as they're actually useful-- meaning attractive to some customer somewhere. And public funding alone doesn't count.) A good start would be to explain to the adolescents that this needs to be the end result. Following their dreams is not useful advice. Coming up with strategies for self-sustenance, by following their dreams if possible, is useful.
One other passage was especially original: Mamet's discussion of the Monty Hall problem. What was unusual was that he didn't treat the problem as a mathematical exercise. Instead, he looked at it as an actual offer by a real person offering a deal, and developed a real insight out of it that I never would have come up with myself.
Essentially, he imagines that the game show host must offer the following bargain: After the contestant selects a door, the host must give the opportunity to switch to the remaining doors. Backed into this corner (if that's the way the game is presented, he's screwed), the host ingeniously comes up with the only way to turn the odds back toward his own favor: by playing a con. The host offers additional information, pretending to be helping the contestant with the next stage of the game. The contestant, blinded by what he sees as a fatal mistake on the part of the host, overinterprets the information and pounces on the perceived advantage by standing pat. The host then coasts away with the odds in his own favor once again.
In other words, the whole problem is a design on the part of a disadvantaged player in order to regain the advantage, camouflaged (as all cons are) by the wishful thinking of the mark. And that's why everyone falls for it.
-------------------------
A couple other items of note: I took notes in pencil in the margins of the book, when Mamet's words (or rather, the gaps between his sentences-- this is consistent with the way he writes his plays) brought to mind examples that are rattling around in my own current perception of the world. I don't know if these notes are helpful, or if I'll ever look at them again, or what, but it was a way to hold onto themes even as the reading of an entire book was spread over several days.
I purchased this book in July 2011, the same time I got my iMac and in the shopping spree that accompanied it. It had been reviewed in, and Mamet had been interviewed by, all my favorite podcasts, including Ricochet and Uncommon Knowledge. I couldn't pass it by.
And finally, I didn't consider this a sidelight from the rest of the project. I have to mix in some modern (i.e. 20th-21st century) works with the others if I don't want to simply be cataloguing the past. This is expecially true for political and economic works, so stay tuned for more to come.
Saturday, November 12, 2011
Year 1, In The Books
Job and Ecclesiastes
The Iliad
The Odyssey
The Agamemnon
The Libation Bearers
The Eumenides
Prometheus Bound
Ajax
Antigone
The Histories of Herodotus
Common Sense
The Spirit of Laws
Second Treatise of Civil Government
The Anti-Capitalist Mentality
The Joke
Speed-The-Plow
Radical Chic
Mau-Mauing The Flak-Catchers
The Kandy-Kolored Tangerine-Flake Streamline Baby
The Dark Knight Returns
Batman: Year One
The Killing Joke
Friday, August 26, 2011
The Killing Joke (Alan Moore)
This one wasn't, though. Even if I didn't get the end.
The overall idea is an interesting one: how close are we each from giving up on our moral compass and devotion to the social ethic? If we undergo an experience traumatic enough (caveat: it's more interesting when the Joker doesn't have a backstory. But within this book, it's not clear if the backstory is true, anyway) how will we react in an attempt to process what has happened?
Batman himself is right on that knife's edge. His traumatic loss of his parents has driven him to near lunacy. The only difference is he holds himself to a self-imposed moral code, but it's not at all clear that he does this out of any kind of rationality, or if his own irrational response just happened to take the form that it did. The Joker fell on one side of the line, Batman fell on the other, but the Joker is essentially right about the irrationality and amorality of the universe.
Commissioner Gordon, though, emerges as the moral rock at the center of Batman's world. Exposed to the same kind of trauma (worse, probably), he holds to the same moral principles he has always held-- and is not being irrational when he does so. He has always understood why Batman does what he does; he will not allow himself to fall into a similar gray zone of justice.
The Joker's adoption of the carnival freaks as his minions make an interesting symbolic point. There really is an unexplainable unfairness in the universe, that allows innocent individuals to be born into such handicaps. It is a condition that cries out for a justification. And, if none is forthcoming, it is easy to conclude that there is no justice to be bound to in the first place.
The Dark Knight did a good job of exploring these influences on and implications of the Joker's actions, but this story nails down the themes in a very succinct and concrete way.
But the end of the book was lousy.
The Joke (Milan Kundera)
For the first half of the book, I was viewing it as a terrifying illustration of the operation of a Communist state-- the point that Steyn was making. But the introduction warned against treating it as a political novel. The introduction was right. By the end, I viewed it much more as an exploration of different viewpoints of life in general, and the paradoxes of filtering reality through our own subjective consciousness.
It's also a good thing that I read the book in under 48 hours. The shifting-narrator structure wouldn't have made sense otherwise, and I never would have caught on to the reemergence of characters from their fleeting mentions in prior narrations. It felt like an episode of LOST at times. Very effective.
Bullet points:
- Much romantic life-- at least each individual side of an unrequited love-- is a struggle to impose a coherent narrative on what is objectively unconnected events and actions.
- In a related way, the political project of Communism is the imposition of control of control and coherence on what is necessarily (because it depends on the actions of independent agents) a series of isolated social interactions. In the same way the lover is seeking bliss, the Communist seeks to achieve social perfection.
- This involves the replacement of organic culture with a simulation instead-- a simulation designed toward the imagined utopia of the future. It is believed that the artificial imitation can do the job of culture just as well as the genuine article, as long as it is simply successfully inserted into the correct social position.
- This is most notable-- and off-putting-- when religious ceremonies are stamped out in favor of Party social rituals. The actions are drained of their content, leaving only a shell of an empty formalism.
- Perhaps the most drastic imposition is forced labor camps, designed to simulate acts of penance against a controlling moral authority.
- I was greatly impressed by the plot twists sprinkled throughout the story-- especially the revelation that Ludvik was pursuing Helena purely as revenge against his enemy Zemanek. Hidden very well until the last name was suddenly mentioned. It's also possible that Ludvik was originally marked for special attention by the Party at school because of his defense of Kostka's religiosity. The only one that didn't work for me organically in the story was Lucie's relationship with Kostka after Ludvik's relationship with her ended It was simply too coincidental that those two characters' paths would cross separately from their prior relationships with Ludvik.
- I would have enjoyed a chapter narrated by Zemanek, covering his perspective of Ludvik's trial, and the gradual lessening of his intense devotion to Party.
- I enjoyed the explanation that the next generation at the school was entirely uninterested in the battles fought by the prior classes and their devotion to the Party. Another instance of an attempt to impose an overarching logic onto a reality that simply refuses to support our aims. This was also illustrated well by Jaroslav's son blowing off the folk ceremony.
- Ludvik's final identification of the "mistakes" that controlled his life was also interesting. What we call "errors" can only be so against a backdrop of correct actions-- defined in reference to the logic we're trying to impose or extract from the world. But from the perspective of History, all events are simply events. The "errors" are the history-- and there is nothing else.
- And this is the theme of the book: that the world does not react to our grand designs for it.
Yes, suddenly I saw it clearly: most people deceive themselves with a pair of faiths: they believe in eternal memory (of people, things, deeds, nations) and in redressibility (of deeds, mistakes, sins, wrongs). Both are false faiths. In reality the opposite is true: everything will be forgotten and nothing will be redressed. The task of obtaining redress (by vengeance or by forgiveness) will be taken over by forgetting. No one will redress the wrongs that have been done, but all wrongs will be forgotten.
Sunday, July 31, 2011
Batman: Year One (Frank Miller)
Color me unimpressed. Batman needs villains, and he didn't have any here. The whole thing felt like it never got off the ground. Yeah, yeah... Batman needs to be created, and he doesn't quite know what he's doing at first. But ultimately, nothing is at stake except for some (mostly) petty crime. I needed a bigger conflict to hold my attention.I suppose this was a good exploration of the psychology of Lt. Gordon. If that hadn't been delved into before, it was very nicely done. And it nicely wraps together a whole slew of characters that I recognize from other references-- Harvey Dent, Carmine Falcone, Catwoman, and Det. Flass among them.
But Batman needs villains.
Though the overall theme made for one helluva movie.
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