Review: Classical Mythology, by Helen A Guerber

Hot(ish) off the heels of her excellent book on Norse mythology I bought Guerber’s work on classical mythology, which I know rather better. As such, there were fewer surprises and less novelty value. Also, as the intro mentions, she deliberately avoids what might be called the racier details. In this edition, which is illustrated, there’s plenty of fantastic artwork covering the gods, heroes, and monsters of classic myth. Note that Roman rather than Greek names are usually used, with the exception of Cronus/Saturn.

We start off with the creation of the world, then proceed through the various gods and goddesses, before covering major heroes and then, briefly, minor gods/spirits. As much be expected, some gods and heroes have bigger chapters than others (Hercules gets a lot, as one might expect).

Overall, the coverage of stories is very good indeed, although personally I prefer Greek to Roman names as (almost always) the origins are Greek. It’s also worth noting there’s no mythological comparison, so this might be better preceding than succeeding the Norse book.

While there’s no detail of the racy stuff (and I think nothing homosexual whatsoever, though I could be wrong) there is still reference to rape and abduction etc. Which is just as well for Jupiter or his chapter would’ve been rather short. In addition to the excellent artwork there’s also a map at the front/back which isn’t strictly needed but can be interesting for the various journeys.

As with the very enjoyable Norse book the writing style presents an engaging amount of detail without wandering into flabby padding territory, and I often read more than intended in a session.

My decision to add this to my sizeable reading pile was very much vindicated, and I recommend this to anyone after classical mythology tales in a single volume.

Thaddeus

Review: The Epic of Gilgamesh

The version I got was the Penguin Classics edition, translated by Andrew George.

This story is one of the oldest still extant, with the earliest versions pre-dating the great pyramids of Egypt. How well has it aged? Is it interesting?

The story of the epic revolves, unsurprisingly, around Gilgamesh, the king of Uruk who also happens to be a demi-god. He’s a bit of a pain in the arse until the arrival of his new best friend Enkidu, sent by the gods (essentially to stop Gilgamesh being a dick). They’re inseparable and have adventures together. But the heart of the story is about Gilgamesh’s fear of death. He travels the world seeking the only immortal man, trying to find the secret to eternal life.

That fear of death, and the sorrow of grief, is what makes the Epic of Gilgamesh resonate so well through the millennia since the story was first conceived and marked down on tablets. It’s rather fitting that perhaps our oldest story is about something that still vexes us today.

Naturally, the writing style is, ahem, old-fashioned but there’s a handy little preamble to each tablet translation outlining what happens, so you shouldn’t get lost.

In addition to the twelve tablets covering the Epic there are a number of others. Some of these are variants (occasionally inserted to fill gaps in the Epic, which is mostly taken from a single set of tablets), and some are additional stories about Gilgamesh (also known as Bilgames). Almost all have some consideration of death.

There are frequent gaps. Often these are small and can be filled easily with educated guesswork, but sometimes, especially in the additional stories, they’re pretty substantial.

On the whole, I enjoyed the Epic quite a lot, and the different stories were entertaining too. The variant tablets were less to my taste, though it is interesting to see the differing versions.

Thaddeus

The Good Lucifer

Prometheus was one of the titans, the generation of gods whose rule preceded that of the more famous Olympians. His name means ‘forethought’, and he was one of the few titans who sided with Zeus, the Olympians’ leader, rather than Cronos, father of Zeus and titan leader. As such, when the other titans were thrown into Tartarus (darkest pit of the underworld), Prometheus was left in peace.

However, there was a problem. He saw mankind scrabbling about on the Earth, lower than gods but barely above animals, and Prometheus wanted to help them. Zeus forbade it, perhaps fearing men might usurp the supremacy of gods in time.

The titan defied the Olympian, and stole fire from Mount Olympus, which he then gave to people. Knowledge spread rapidly, and the use of fire kickstarted technology. It was used for heat and light, melting down ore and casting metal tools. People benefited greatly and civilisation flourished.

But Zeus was not amused.

Prometheus was chained to a rock, and each day a great eagle came to peck out his liver. The titan could not die, and each day the liver grew anew, only to be feasted upon once again.

It’s a sort of immortal martyrdom that Prometheus suffered to give a great gift to us all.

And yet, there are startling similarities between this story, which portrays Prometheus as a clear benefactor of mankind, and the Devil in the Garden of Eden (Satan, of course, depicted in a rather different light).

For those unaware, in the Bible God creates man and then woman (Adam and Eve). The pair live together in an idyllic garden, Eden, where all is lovely and super. God orders them not to eat of the fruit of the tree of knowledge, and they obey.

God then apparently fell asleep or wandered off, or briefly forgot he was omniscient and omnipotent, because Lucifer, masquerading as a snake, slithered into Eden. He persuaded Eve to eat of the fruit of the tree of knowledge, and she did so, and gained awareness (not least shame about her nudity). Eve then persuaded Adam to eat.

God returned and was furious. He banished the pair from Eden forever, and handed out punishments. Eve would face pain in childbirth, and Adam would have to toil and labour in order to survive. The snake appears to have gotten off quite easy, as God punished him by sentencing the serpent to ‘slither on its belly’.

The similarities to the Prometheus story are pretty obvious, but so too is the contrast between Prometheus the friend of mankind, bringing us knowledge at great personal risk (and, ultimately, cost) and Satan, the meddler who interfered in paradise and got us thrown out. However, that does lead to the interesting conclusion that, in the Bible, ignorance actually was bliss.

You might simply sign this up to the Prometheus figure being pagan and therefore condemned (as an aside, Lucifer means light-bringer). But lots of pagan ideas (check out how much Christianity stole from Mithridates’ followers) were simply borrowed wholesale, given a lick of paint and incorporated into Christianity. So, why not the story of how mankind gained knowledge?

Thaddeus

Review: The Greek and Roman Myths: A Guide to the Classical Stories by Philip Matyszak

This book is a concise introduction to and overview of the myths of classical Greece and Rome. It begins right at the start of the universe’s (or cosmos’) creation and proceeds until the Odyssey and Aeneid which tell the tale of two heroes after the Trojan War ended.

Although far from dry it is more strait-laced than the other books (the Legionary and Gladiator Unofficial Manuals, which I highly recommend) I’ve read by the author. Having read a few works of classical literature it’s easy to appreciate the difficulty of sorting the entangled and various accounts of myths into anything approaching a coherent narrative, and Dr. Matyszak does a good job.

It should be stressed that whilst there are summarised accounts of a few major myths (the likes of Perseus, Aeneas and so forth featuring particularly prominently) this is not so much a collection of abridged stories as an over-arching guide to the entire canon of Greek and Roman myths.

There are multiple references to the later impact of classical myths upon the world, such as where words derived from the myths, works of art inspired by various divine shenanigans and so on. In addition, there are a number of photographs and illustrations of the gods and heroes.

The parts I found most interesting were actually the earliest bits and pieces, as the Trojan War and its aftermath for Odysseus and Aeneas are pretty well-known. I didn’t, for example, realise that Aphrodite was actually the oldest of the Olympians.

Another aspect of the book that was new to me and helpful as well as interesting was the concise explanation of how Greeks and Romans viewed their gods. This is my own example, but to an extent they might praise Zeus for rain in the same way a modern person might say “Thank God for that” (ie not necessarily a literal thanking, just an expression of relief at a handy change in the weather). The Olympians and heroes as forces of civilising order arrayed against the monsters and wilderness of chaos was another perspective I hadn’t considered before.

It is somewhat tangled, with multiple references throughout to characters who are involved in multiple myths, however, this is the nature of classical mythology. Everything’s interwoven and there are often multiple accounts of single events.

If you’re after an overview of classical mythology, this is nice and concise, clearly written and covers the major stories (although Dr. Matyszak was a bit rude about Telamonian Aias, my favourite hero of The Iliad).

There’s a slightly short section at the end on further reading, and I was surprised to see that I’d read many of the suggestions. The Iliad (apparently Lattimore’s version is excellent, but I’ve got the Rieu translation recommended in the back) and Odyssey are obvious starting points, and the Aeneid, though later, is also worth reading. To be honest, I found West’s translation of Hesiod’s Theogony and Work & Days to be the most easy to read of classical literature, but it is quite brief.

The author also refers to a number of other books, including Graves’ Greek Myths, which I’ve been intending to buy for about four years now.

Thaddeus

Anglo-Saxon dominance in fantasy

The first roots of fantasy are probably in ancient tales that are partially or wholly religious in nature, such as Gilgamesh and the Iliad. Monsters like the gorgon Medusa have lasted the test of time thanks to their easily imagined yet horrifying nature, and even today many creatures, heroes and villains first spoken of thousands of years ago are commonly known.

Modern fantasy is often considered to have been founded by two great British authors: CS Lewis, who wrote the Chronicles of Narnia, and JRR Tolkien, who wrote the Lord of the Rings.

As George RR Martin remarked in his recent interview with Joe Abercrombie (http://www.joeabercrombie.com/2011/05/08/in-conversation-with-grrm/), they were men of their time. That’s no criticism, and we can clearly see how morality in fantasy has shifted from the immediate post-war era, when it was very black and white, to a more nuanced and less certain nature in the works of chaps like Mr. Martin and Mr. Abercrombie.

I didn’t think of this until I cast an eye over my bookshelves, but it’s slightly odd that just about every author of modern fantasy that is represented there is British or American. Obviously, there’s a language barrier for people who aren’t Anglophones, but lots of people are fluent in English without it being their first language and translation’s hardly impossible.

Shortly, I’ll have finished the present set of Space Captain Smith books and the Death Gate Cycle, and I’ll be on the lookout for something new. I’d really like to find something that originated overseas, to see whether the different literary heritage and tradition yields a different kind of story.

A good example of this would be comparing Robin Hood with Outlaws of the Marsh. They’re both stories from several centuries ago and they both feature outlaw gangs fighting against the corrupt and greedy. But there are substantial differences. For a start, the Outlaws of the Marsh are huge in number, and the book itself is around 2,200 pages long. Secondly, the Outlaws are a hugely mixed bunch, and include the entertaining psychopath Li Kui, a mad axeman with a penchant for killing as many people as possible. Thirdly, the structure of the Outlaws of the Marsh is significantly different to anything I’ve read from a Western author, of any period. Characters can be dropped for hundreds of pages and then re-enter the plot, and it takes a hell of a long time to actually discover who the main character (if you can single one man out) is. I won’t spoil the ending, but that too is something I would never have expected from a Western writer.

I’m not knocking the Anglo-Saxon approach at all. I’m glad that British writers essentially founded a modern genre and continue to contribute to it in a major way, but I am curious to see how a Chinese or Arabic or African approach to a fantasy story might differ to that of someone British or American.

I’m also thinking of getting some more Greek myths. I only have the Iliad, Odyssey and a quartet of plays by Euripides right now.

Thaddeus

Exotic books: The Outlaws of the Marsh

One of the most unusual books I’ve ever read was The Outlaws of the Marsh. Written hundreds of years ago in China, it’s available in a cheaper four volume box set (which I’ve got) or a five volume set of larger books that must be bought separately (I have the second volume, The Tiger Killers). The translations are both good, the latter is perhaps better (it uses the term ‘cangue’ rather than ‘rack’ and translates one character as Short Arse Wang instead of Stumpy Tiger Wang, but it would be substantially more expensive).

Well over 2,000 pages long and bursting with violence, The Outlaws of the Marsh is a strange book, a bit like Robin Hood in ancient China. The narrative style is very interesting, and features an enormous cast (there are 108 named ‘heroes’ alone). A given hero (say, Lu Da, my favourite) will be the story’s focus for a short time, and then it will switch to another character and the first character may not come back for several hundred pages. Many characters are picked up and dropped off like this as the outlaw gang slowly accumulates new members during the course of the book.

The vast majority of the cast are male, with a few rare exceptions (the well-named Ten Feet of Steel being one), and battle against injustice and overly officious bureaucrats (something we can all relate to). Some heroes, such as Song Jiang, are almost completely virtuous and good, whereas others (Li Kui, the Black Whirlwind, being a prime example) are, er, ‘wayward’. And by ‘wayward’ I mean ‘he kills large numbers of innocent people on purpose’.

One of the nice little quirks in the book is the setting and the sayings. Written ages ago and thousands of miles away, they’re totally original to eyes that have only before read Western books.

The Outlaws of the Marsh could almost be described as the fairy tale or legend that Quentin Tarantino might write. There’s a colossal amount of violence (mostly the righteous killing bandits and officials who abuse their power), and sometimes the book can seem a bit repetitive (although that may just be a side-effect of its vast size). It can occasionally be difficult to follow the names given the large number of characters and some common names.

Because of its huge size, this is the kind of book that could easily take weeks to read. I enjoyed it quite a lot. It’s not flawless but it is interesting, different and lively.

Other similar books include The Three Kingdoms (relating the downfall of the Han Dynasty around 200AD) and Journey to the West (relating the story of a monk and his companions travelling to find the Buddha). I did start a fourth Chinese classic, Dream of the Red Chamber (also known as The Story of the Stone) but found it so tedious I stopped.

Thaddeus