tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-41345339720109811222024-03-17T13:34:29.173+00:00The EdithorialEdith Hallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02518971064140009711noreply@blogger.comBlogger415125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4134533972010981122.post-81682194241717923012024-03-17T13:33:00.002+00:002024-03-17T13:33:30.124+00:00Day of Drama in Dublin<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Green
was everywhere. The elation was palpable. Half the people on the flight from Stansted were dressed as leprechauns
and the other half in Ireland rugby merch. But I wasn’t going for St Patrick’s
Day or the Six Nations showdown. In a once-in-a-lifetime coincidence and treat,
two friends of mine of decades-long standing had their plays in performance at
the historic Abbey Theatre. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjhwmULb-PKKAp3MO06H7sAZpH3SmY8A6zkjqSXhCZrHxcKjL9YI-ZT1pMK0RJ-xWNej9kgzeN7d4lpA4X3qSjFSmBQVlD2kD_rVZ_qt7jlRpGQR885YDLtnTJP5NkPz4JZf80zhZGKOv2C3kxE4R3PBzh9f30fpRj0SJ_yc1m7ZUytQNktl0UBbkf-jhg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="570" data-original-width="816" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjhwmULb-PKKAp3MO06H7sAZpH3SmY8A6zkjqSXhCZrHxcKjL9YI-ZT1pMK0RJ-xWNej9kgzeN7d4lpA4X3qSjFSmBQVlD2kD_rVZ_qt7jlRpGQR885YDLtnTJP5NkPz4JZf80zhZGKOv2C3kxE4R3PBzh9f30fpRj0SJ_yc1m7ZUytQNktl0UBbkf-jhg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /><span style="font-size: 14pt;">One was Marina Carr’s brand new and brilliant </span><i style="font-size: 14pt;">Audrey or Sorrow</i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">, directed with pitch-perfect sensitivity and vision by Catriona McLaughlin</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">; the other was Conor Hanratty’s direction of the oldest surviving play in the world, Aeschylus’ </span><i style="font-size: 14pt;">Persians</i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">. The two plays, written two and a half millennia apart, are linked by ghosts, bereavement, and delusion.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgskd78NKshIqJoBPm40YuBEBpDWLNtqLcErhrxt6uz2FS3j04FS9VBdgd1SsIapc7MK9FfJhfqSROXncnCQFgnEDPTBap4UB07SUKjRHHNwjjdtfNw_OlQ7z4t7dHoCwyzOWP5Mn43GL2HJ61fMkA1z5618DVxWQeE9ib_77A3YpCbDQAHbQR1XWbuWVk" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1023" data-original-width="908" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgskd78NKshIqJoBPm40YuBEBpDWLNtqLcErhrxt6uz2FS3j04FS9VBdgd1SsIapc7MK9FfJhfqSROXncnCQFgnEDPTBap4UB07SUKjRHHNwjjdtfNw_OlQ7z4t7dHoCwyzOWP5Mn43GL2HJ61fMkA1z5618DVxWQeE9ib_77A3YpCbDQAHbQR1XWbuWVk=w355-h400" width="355" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">The
ghost in <i>Persians </i>is the great King Darius, raised in a thrilling
necromantic ritual to explain to his wife and councillors why they have
suffered such appalling fatalities in their doomed invasion of Greece. His deluded
son Xerxes believed he was entitled to invade and conquer Hellas. It was
impossible not to be reminded that, just five minutes away, a large and peaceful Free
Palestine demonstration was in full vocal form along the banks of the River
Liffey. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As Marina said to me, ‘As a
once-colonised, starving nation, the Irish have to speak out’.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEidaYqjvJTVKvlTUQKRD26cz1nXblxfYzOhsFb3c9-VpuTBbW9ZyWL4Pm89Yie4hx-Azpct1OZ7D87FaJtR8B0wkPLonchfi5gc6jpbHX8CnUICQpyYovirK-gactuqU7D1yUQ_zFEvbK2sRzItKSDsqIkaFc3BOPSFnyHYV19RhoNF3RzGQ0HrdLiz12c" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1122" data-original-width="908" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEidaYqjvJTVKvlTUQKRD26cz1nXblxfYzOhsFb3c9-VpuTBbW9ZyWL4Pm89Yie4hx-Azpct1OZ7D87FaJtR8B0wkPLonchfi5gc6jpbHX8CnUICQpyYovirK-gactuqU7D1yUQ_zFEvbK2sRzItKSDsqIkaFc3BOPSFnyHYV19RhoNF3RzGQ0HrdLiz12c" width="194" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">I got to know Marina’s exquisite work because, like so many great Irish writers, she has found inspiration in the ancient Greeks—<i>Medea </i>in <i>By the Bog of Cats</i>, the <i>Oresteia </i>in <i>Ariel,</i> and <i>Hippolytus </i>in <i>Phaedra Backwards</i>,<i> </i>just for starters. But <i>Audrey </i>is a modern Irish tragedy with a Beckettian absurdist edge and a noirish psychological detective plot about the ineradicable domestic presence of children who die. Yet it is often hilarious: Marina has a perfect ear for the casual cruelty that members of nuclear families inflict on one another and the lies they tell themselves. I was left speechless by the denouement, even though I half saw it coming.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgSP9KVeOO2pYD96DodWlFKstJN2T_SR495nhxwS-mRKEcOoOyVhCLswdbwMpLeKsypDH3EIXJf8P5Y9e3iNLm1oiW1411jcBfqxLZectWAqWzhdTyw74LazwkCc9uM4M-acQoYh-3vF4C9wHV8h7CSVgFfrZu6Ka4HfL_ofFmxUAHXsm858PvpgYYzwzU" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgSP9KVeOO2pYD96DodWlFKstJN2T_SR495nhxwS-mRKEcOoOyVhCLswdbwMpLeKsypDH3EIXJf8P5Y9e3iNLm1oiW1411jcBfqxLZectWAqWzhdTyw74LazwkCc9uM4M-acQoYh-3vF4C9wHV8h7CSVgFfrZu6Ka4HfL_ofFmxUAHXsm858PvpgYYzwzU=w400-h225" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Marina's Beckettian ghosts</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Conor’s
production is scintillating for several reasons. One is that the first ever production
of <i>Persians </i>at the Abbey has been a long time coming. Edwardian Professor of Greek </span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">Gilbert
Murray was well aware that the play, in the right context, was political
dynamite, for in a letter to Yeats in 1905 he suggested a production in the
Abbey Theatre, Dublin, ‘with a seditious innuendo’.</span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">In Yeats ‘The Statues’, Easter 1916 became a
victory of civilisation over barbarism as the Irish rebels won a spiritual
victory over the English. It was men, ‘not the banks of oars/that swam upon the
many-headed foam at Salamis’ who ‘put down/All Asiatic vague immensities’,</span></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">It
is therefore even more appropriate that Conor has realised his long-held</span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"> conviction that this ancient text would be well served by performance
in the ancient tongue of Ireland (I was so proud that <a href="ttps://www.liverpooluniversitypress.co.uk/doi/book/10.3828/9780856685972">my own 1996 translation</a> was used for the surtitles, which I didn't realise until halfway through). And the acoustic effect is a revelation. As the mist swirls
over Darius’ tomb and his spectre comes into view, it feels like a metaphor for
the entire history of theatre, where we raise the ghosts of the past to speak
to us once again in our ancestral languages.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg80aN9eYnvLSMgdlMaQyCE5oQe8h2T9DDIZJ8_1XvN02RO3IBYl_U37nnkSBblorzX7AZoKSv6gUTzCp-rAnGTSdpG2kJ98tkSWW9jORT-8ERWFEWgaoykQ7AL_5dscquMlXYjJ_HV88399PMeV1rNRe-wyykkZdy-I5FmS6ls2oHzgba4qjxt0SsY2Ls" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg80aN9eYnvLSMgdlMaQyCE5oQe8h2T9DDIZJ8_1XvN02RO3IBYl_U37nnkSBblorzX7AZoKSv6gUTzCp-rAnGTSdpG2kJ98tkSWW9jORT-8ERWFEWgaoykQ7AL_5dscquMlXYjJ_HV88399PMeV1rNRe-wyykkZdy-I5FmS6ls2oHzgba4qjxt0SsY2Ls=w400-h268" width="400" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">The
final quarter of <i>Persians </i>features Xerxes, in despair, singing a long
antiphonal lament with his bereaved compatriots. He is the only character in
all Greek tragedy who never speaks, but only sings. In a master stroke, Conor
cast a young <i>sean nós </i>singer from the Gaeltacht region of South-West
Donegal, </span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"><a href="https://inishowensinging.ie/singers/naoise-mac-cathmhaoil/">Naoise Mac Cathmhaoil</a>. </span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">The sweet, heartrending, melodic phrasing of this ancient dirge idiom was
hypnotically beautiful. You know when a performance has spellbound its audience
when there is a long silence before they break into applause. At the end of the
Irish </span><i style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">Persians</i><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">, the silence was profound.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgNyHJfnYrq1RwT-Q07tH9Rno30TVY0XHouzng-adSzspa-W_JTX06WLOavwXHjFsQM6o4YKvldx3AbAuB_I6NMQCERHhsHnX_BWkZmHCPMSJB7DEtCS0Jyjk2aQPyCtKAaMiWR19eNuaJ9Bvodin3zasTV4ywp5mzn-CEq7cWG8fU9tbw7xRCgIaaWRvo" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="908" data-original-width="2016" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgNyHJfnYrq1RwT-Q07tH9Rno30TVY0XHouzng-adSzspa-W_JTX06WLOavwXHjFsQM6o4YKvldx3AbAuB_I6NMQCERHhsHnX_BWkZmHCPMSJB7DEtCS0Jyjk2aQPyCtKAaMiWR19eNuaJ9Bvodin3zasTV4ywp5mzn-CEq7cWG8fU9tbw7xRCgIaaWRvo=w400-h180" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With Naoise and Conor<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 18.0pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">I first went to Ireland in the early 1990s. It was
so different. My car was searched by surly armed soldiers at the border
checkpoint driving from Belfast south. In the Republic, divorce was prohibited,
women had to travel secretly out of their own nation to obtain an abortion, and
I was assured last night by someone who has inside information that the
national broadcaster RTÉ refused to allow <i>Father Ted </i>to
air. But the sheer energy and merriment palpable in the streets of Dublin
this weekend seem down to far more than a victory in the rugby. In a world of
so much darkness, watching such an ancient culture grow into its liberal, lively, fun-loving, irreverent, woman-friendly maturity is an absolute joy.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p></p>Edith Hallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02518971064140009711noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4134533972010981122.post-30599582733530356972024-03-10T12:46:00.009+00:002024-03-10T15:40:52.062+00:00Pope Francis on Ukraine: What Has His Holiness been Reading?<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;">'You've got to be in it to win it' goes the adage cited by academics working overtime to submit lengthy applications to the lottery for external research grants in order to save their jobs. But Pope Francis is telling Volodymyr Zelensky, 'You've got to be able to win it to justify being in it'.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;">What
the war-weary population of Ukraine, an Orthodox country, do not need is being told to
surrender by the head of the largest Christian church on the planet, to which fewer
than 3% of them belong. His Holiness made these reckless remarks last month in
an interview with Swiss broadcaster RSI. A transcript was made available
yesterday to <a href="https://www.reuters.com/world/europe/pope-says-ukraine-should-have-courage-white-flag-negotiations-2024-03-09/">Reuters</a>. It is to be broadcast on March 20.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;">When
asked if he thought Ukraine should surrender to Russia, he apparently responded,
‘I think that the strongest one is the one who looks at the situation, thinks
about the people and has the courage of the white flag, and negotiates’. International
Powers could help: ‘The word negotiate is a courageous word. When you see that
you are defeated, that things are not going well, you have to have the courage
to negotiate’.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjA69hOMiE49M9YnD69b7avzqI_Yyy8Of7UaZAAwaL4TH8Ia-rTsgvxBc-ZLxIRflX-2iKH--DjCQaqGNa1E43ZFQWutGvIPIVxw-8IzVRAxZ0P0kekREwc1pGOd0az85w4i48EPaVgl3v1EbWwxRqBzhFctCJRz5Xq96KeIb7QezTKihyhxaqngBOwcZY" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="675" data-original-width="1200" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjA69hOMiE49M9YnD69b7avzqI_Yyy8Of7UaZAAwaL4TH8Ia-rTsgvxBc-ZLxIRflX-2iKH--DjCQaqGNa1E43ZFQWutGvIPIVxw-8IzVRAxZ0P0kekREwc1pGOd0az85w4i48EPaVgl3v1EbWwxRqBzhFctCJRz5Xq96KeIb7QezTKihyhxaqngBOwcZY=w400-h225" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Zelensky meets Pope Francis in 2023</td></tr></tbody></table><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;">
</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;">Hmm.
Leaving aside the question of why this individual thinks he has the right to demoralise the Ukrainians at such a precarious moment in their
history (which I personally think is highly irresponsible of the former
bouncer, janitor and food technician), we can ask whether his unsolicited and
(I am certain) unwelcome advice to Volodymyr Zelensky has any doctrinal basis
in Roman Catholic ‘Just War’ theory.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;">The answer is ‘well sort of’, but only if you take seriously what Cardinal Thomas de Vio, aka Cajetan (better known as the spokesman for Roman Catholic opposition to the teachings of Martin Luther) decreed in 1540, after a millennium of RC Just War discourse.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgA3IUyRrGzUttQGPU1e9sxQGNOINYCnu5wuyhFDS-4FVJJezdMKuy6AmtcYpz7hLvuzTDO-_gSrupbxE33nHXwIR7VgP9InGPrp7y-4m-TvCCs6EpCgwaYPORmWPcVTj5hQSMg2vGqvmNnd5FcWaimea-7d7F_jZPKqgxK9WW18SX1dGbYizLHGvhQ1As" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="262" data-original-width="215" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgA3IUyRrGzUttQGPU1e9sxQGNOINYCnu5wuyhFDS-4FVJJezdMKuy6AmtcYpz7hLvuzTDO-_gSrupbxE33nHXwIR7VgP9InGPrp7y-4m-TvCCs6EpCgwaYPORmWPcVTj5hQSMg2vGqvmNnd5FcWaimea-7d7F_jZPKqgxK9WW18SX1dGbYizLHGvhQ1As=w328-h400" width="328" /></a></div><br /><br /><div><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;"><br /></span></div><div><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; text-align: justify;">In </span><i style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; text-align: justify;">City of God </i><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; text-align: justify;">Augustine said that war is a tragic necessity in a sinful world, but that it those waging it need to hold the just intention </span><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; text-align: justify;"> </span><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; text-align: justify;">of restoring peace, which is surely the Ukrainians’ goal. Perhaps the Pope has been reading the 11</span><sup style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; text-align: justify;">th</sup><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; text-align: justify;">-century Benedictine cardinal Peter Damian, who, in a letter to Bishop Olderic deploring priests making war on each other, reminded his correspondent of Matthew 18.21-2. When asked by Peter ‘How often must I forgive my brother if he wrongs me? As often as seven times?’, Jesus responded that he should forgive ‘seventy times seven’.</span><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgdUF72HvK5z1deJnWkwpso9-q2D7CUtA5q1ioVijOvXeDvp2lDt9aStA2vpYiMGqUFOHUfrhjrMOpBam7WoH_doO5EfjmviAZ_BSqXqR_O6QhgO687luCMYcKAQMCkrzMSbXy1vRb0H3pP6ZH7vOnRT0sqo1K3DEWjw8CygROCX3Nn2hrQgf_SiamX4b4" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="983" data-original-width="794" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgdUF72HvK5z1deJnWkwpso9-q2D7CUtA5q1ioVijOvXeDvp2lDt9aStA2vpYiMGqUFOHUfrhjrMOpBam7WoH_doO5EfjmviAZ_BSqXqR_O6QhgO687luCMYcKAQMCkrzMSbXy1vRb0H3pP6ZH7vOnRT0sqo1K3DEWjw8CygROCX3Nn2hrQgf_SiamX4b4=w323-h400" width="323" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Damian
then reported an incident in Gaul where an abbot and a nobleman confronted one another in battle. The abbot ordered his monks to face the opposing cavalry
completely unarmed; his opponents were filled with the fear of god, threw down
their weapons and begged for forgiveness. </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I fervently hope that Pope Francis is not so
daft as to expect that Vladimir Putin’s army would respond in the face of
Ukrainian submission like those Gallic militiamen.</span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjtZml8KH7UPXLuqVV36ZywL-xeX3qFZUyC96JwJTOfoIcBPalzjPrb8YmUSfSERDbuIbNZ8-Ef5fpk-2Q7SpnapLSqjpDhuhx1fu0tkASjQzJzmca2t920-uLeVKrxGIDdbSCONwVQ3j5URGrtGF-85fFBet3J6xG2uQLwATvevs_qmXZLcqdBG19ds80" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="543" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjtZml8KH7UPXLuqVV36ZywL-xeX3qFZUyC96JwJTOfoIcBPalzjPrb8YmUSfSERDbuIbNZ8-Ef5fpk-2Q7SpnapLSqjpDhuhx1fu0tkASjQzJzmca2t920-uLeVKrxGIDdbSCONwVQ3j5URGrtGF-85fFBet3J6xG2uQLwATvevs_qmXZLcqdBG19ds80=w272-h400" width="272" /></a></div><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;">I
heard a religious commentator say on radio this morning that Thomas Aquinas had
stipulated that the prosecutor of a just war needed to be able to win that war.
But this is not the case. In <i>Summa Theologiae </i>40, Aquinas actually
modifies Augustine’s view, permitting other goals than peace: ‘True religion
looks upon as peaceful those wars that are waged not for motives of
aggrandizement, or cruelty, but with the object of securing peace, of punishing
evil-doers, and of uplifting the good’. If some Ukrainians are motivated by a
desire to punish the Russians, I for one am not bothered.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;">It
was in fact a commentator on the <i>Summa Theologiae</i>, the aforementioned Cardinal
Thomas de Vio, who in 1540 was the first to (mis)understand Aquinas as saying that
a war is only justly waged if it is won. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh11uwgjmh1uzle9EPc0w3GtkhXYofSaFeZoFy02Wsr6cMpvK1iy4LV6tE_xxa5St3H9Mb7og2dT3D6Uz8N6nBZEGuu3aHfS12SCrjw0an3Qo_IZWzHCPq_E_TNSfvFK9b1NVBJXo7hCIqzCRKY24OnQITLUEvoCudzVMLDVCFELxtzWyEQ7GYC__B7EJo" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="397" data-original-width="550" height="231" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh11uwgjmh1uzle9EPc0w3GtkhXYofSaFeZoFy02Wsr6cMpvK1iy4LV6tE_xxa5St3H9Mb7og2dT3D6Uz8N6nBZEGuu3aHfS12SCrjw0an3Qo_IZWzHCPq_E_TNSfvFK9b1NVBJXo7hCIqzCRKY24OnQITLUEvoCudzVMLDVCFELxtzWyEQ7GYC__B7EJo" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">'Cajetan' v. Luther</td></tr></tbody></table><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;">The
far more intelligent Roman Catholic who suggested that the suffering
caused by the war to one's own side should be <i>proportionate </i>to the advantages
the war confers (a subtle point not made by Il Papa) was the Granada-born Aristotelian
expert Francisco Suárez (1548–1617). He is to be admired for his questioning in
<i>de Indis </i>of the violence of European colonisers, and his argument that
the islands of the Indies be viewed as sovereign states legally equal to Spain
as members of a worldwide community of autonomous nations. I suspect he would
have disapproved of Russian aggression in Ukraine. But in his <i>Disputatio de
Bello</i>, Suárez may have given the Pope the ideological
ammunition to underpin his potentially catastrophic comments, if unintentionally:<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;">‘For
a war to be just, the sovereign ought to be so sure of the degree of his power,
that he is morally certain of victory. The first reason for this conclusion is
the fact that otherwise the prince would incur the evident peril of inflicting
upon his state losses greater than the advantages involved… Furthermore, he
ought to balance the expectation of victory against the risk of loss, and
ascertain whether, all things being carefully considered, expectation is
preponderant’.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjvbZqg2_MgKM0Gv3grtoZZI5Zr59ISS3S9KUXT3gA8lvGcigK0e2QjVHkXF01UZhJbe-_vVYggW2gHo2LJsvgHyooyi24E0CkQT2qZWexfPThPfnLaeHB0Z9x297gq225-dgR0dOHkBRqKw9sxgMLyAdAPFsT7nJWU7wuKmRdMEHf0f8mcvWkhWGrEOw4" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1080" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjvbZqg2_MgKM0Gv3grtoZZI5Zr59ISS3S9KUXT3gA8lvGcigK0e2QjVHkXF01UZhJbe-_vVYggW2gHo2LJsvgHyooyi24E0CkQT2qZWexfPThPfnLaeHB0Z9x297gq225-dgR0dOHkBRqKw9sxgMLyAdAPFsT7nJWU7wuKmRdMEHf0f8mcvWkhWGrEOw4=w400-h266" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 18.6667px; text-align: justify;">Francisco Suárez</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;">But
Suárez was writing about pre-democratic states ruled by monarchs. His point
was that the absolute ruler must ask whether a war benefits his subjects. If it
harms them, the ruler is behaving like a tyrant. </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Suárez
also sensibly points out that certainty about the outcome of a war is an impossibility.
Moreover, thinking about this issue may delay the end of the war. </span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Pope Francis
would do well to keep his Renaissance scholastic disputations to himself,
because they may have the dangerous effect not only of delaying </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">a just outcome
to this war, but of altering its course in favour of the unjust party. Where Vladimir
Putin’s concerned, you’ve always got to be in it, and supported by the
international community, to win it.</span></div>Edith Hallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02518971064140009711noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4134533972010981122.post-21963183545101175992024-02-25T10:20:00.003+00:002024-02-25T13:55:05.125+00:001772: James Somerset versus Aristotle<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Aparajita;">I’m leading a project
<a href="https://aristotlebeyond.co.uk/">exploring the ubiquity of Aristotle</a>
outside the Academy. He has often been mobilised in progressive causes, but nothing
can be done to rehabilitate the muddled thinking of the first few chapters of
his <i>Politics</i>; despite acknowledging that some of his contemporaries
regarded slavery as contrary to nature, he justifies it, especially in the case
of Greeks enslaving non-Greeks whom they have conquered. These chapters were
incessantly cited by apologists for slavery in Europe and North America, as has
been <a href="https://edithhall.co.uk/product/ancient-slavery-and-abolition-from-hobbes-to-hollywood/">superbly
analysed by Professor Sara Monoson</a>. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Aparajita;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Aparajita;"><br /></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhRv_6ScSod3has1OZqDQY8nS8uFsqQHptIKRuM7YEyavSjQHuka9-9lk6NyhlasowxTY-1v-EuDTno7oq8liLEu70OQ_yEKPPjoWWI3VUjDGS5DhMxOPpU8gL5qpz6wXGBJVOn4g77bFxS4oieAeo-CmYGFDfZyMUe1-1ImyeiZ_oKWzVWG-uKdALVC9U" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1117" data-original-width="1760" height="203" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhRv_6ScSod3has1OZqDQY8nS8uFsqQHptIKRuM7YEyavSjQHuka9-9lk6NyhlasowxTY-1v-EuDTno7oq8liLEu70OQ_yEKPPjoWWI3VUjDGS5DhMxOPpU8gL5qpz6wXGBJVOn4g77bFxS4oieAeo-CmYGFDfZyMUe1-1ImyeiZ_oKWzVWG-uKdALVC9U" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With Profs. Patrice Rankine, Sara Monoson, Henry Stead</td></tr></tbody></table><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Aparajita;"><br /><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Aparajita;">And in 1772, Aristotle’s argumentation<i>
</i>was at the centre of <a href="https://www.english-heritage.org.uk/visit/places/kenwood/history-stories-kenwood/somerset-case/">an era-defining case</a> that came before the King’s Bench
in London. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Aparajita;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Aparajita;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiXOTE5ffgDhUgx5cPpDiQ__x5SBeG2VdiJwTyufNwhPaP6nSiJxMMC759xn18jKjJi5xol4a9d60-T4plDLkZYGin8pSR9r7kVeTmSVqcPNIohfzfSIbsnliR4B3JNYqU0phSreT_OFnwM4OQh_ifNrjfn-wq6wWKjO5fy6LNXhBBjv0NKTfePaMCHS4A" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="612" data-original-width="1440" height="170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiXOTE5ffgDhUgx5cPpDiQ__x5SBeG2VdiJwTyufNwhPaP6nSiJxMMC759xn18jKjJi5xol4a9d60-T4plDLkZYGin8pSR9r7kVeTmSVqcPNIohfzfSIbsnliR4B3JNYqU0phSreT_OFnwM4OQh_ifNrjfn-wq6wWKjO5fy6LNXhBBjv0NKTfePaMCHS4A=w400-h170" width="400" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Aparajita;">James Somerset, born
in West Africa, was purchased in Virginia by the merchant Charles Stewart.
Stewart moved to London in 1764. He sold or leased his other slaves, but took
James, then aged about 23, with him. The young man met London’s thousands-strong
free Black community and white Abolitionists and was adopted by two; they became
his godparents when he was baptised in Holborn in 1771; shortly afterwards, he
left Stewart’s service and refused to return. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Aparajita;">Stewart, incandescent,
had Somerset kidnapped and imprisoned on board a slave ship to be taken to
Jamaica and sold. But Somerset’s godparents made an application for a writ of <i>Habeas
Corpus</i> before the King’s Bench; he was released pending the trial. The
defendant, the person illegally detaining Somerset, was the ship’s captain,
James Knowles.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Aparajita;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh-gbXtouH1gBk2ZmEhTSAQG8imFXkrjqDq-Ujdsv63fovUH0w3B9GfX1Qd4C8LSF_gO8yre3sehR_Dcc08uy6vh4WO4uV4yluJF6JqM5eXbwMk4saOU3oE9oLz1TH6Fv1AC5L_atRT-Mm8ea6UqQkJAt7Sh6Kv5pQW6wV_rbpGszJ57aN1k25YiBAxnxU" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="775" data-original-width="1024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh-gbXtouH1gBk2ZmEhTSAQG8imFXkrjqDq-Ujdsv63fovUH0w3B9GfX1Qd4C8LSF_gO8yre3sehR_Dcc08uy6vh4WO4uV4yluJF6JqM5eXbwMk4saOU3oE9oLz1TH6Fv1AC5L_atRT-Mm8ea6UqQkJAt7Sh6Kv5pQW6wV_rbpGszJ57aN1k25YiBAxnxU" width="317" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Somerset’s legal team
was financed by inveterate antislavery campaigner Granville Sharpe, one of the
earliest and most assiduous Abolitionists. There was great tension in the court
when the first of them, John Alleyne, rose to speak at the hearing on May 14th
1772. He introduced Aristotle into his argument almost immediately, in part
using Montesquieu’s <i>The Spirit of Law</i> (1748), sensing the importance of
refuting the chief authority underpinning the slavers’ apologias:</span><span style="font-size: 14pt; text-indent: -42.55pt;"> </span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 42.55pt; text-indent: -42.55pt;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Aparajita;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>’Tis
well known to your Lordships, that much has been asserted by the ancient
philosophers and civilians, in defence of the principles of slavery: Aristotle
has particularly enlarged on that subject. An observation still it is, of one
of the most able, most ingenious, most convincing writers of modern times, whom
I need not hesitate, on this occasion, to prefer to Aristotle, the great
Montesquieu, that Aristotle, on this subject, reasoned very unlike the
philosopher. He draws his precedents from barbarous ages and nations, and then
deduces maxims from them, for the contemplation and practice of civilized times
and countries.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Aparajita;">Alleyne now subjected
Aristotle’s prose to his lawyerly scalpel. First, if a man has spared a man in
battle, whatever rule of war ensured that he did so must also make him return
his liberty. Secondly, the question of a contract (Locke’s proposal) in this
context is absurd, since in all contracts both sides must have full power to
agree to it. If a man agrees to dispose of all rights vested in him and his
descendants, he effectively stops being a moral agent and has no rights to
invalidate those of his descendants. Most importantly, slavery is not natural:
it is ‘a municipal relation; an institution therefore confined to certain
places, aid necessarily dropt by passage, into a country where such municipal
regulations do not subsist’.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Aparajita;">A month later, on 22
June 1772, the ruling was made in Somerset’s favour by William Murray, Lord
Mansfield of Kenwood and Chief Justice of the Court of King’s Bench (Murray
happened to live with a great-niece, Dido Belle, the daughter of an enslaved
African woman and Mansfield’s nephew). <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Aparajita;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgU-wPpICuTz1PkI44pQZ0cKzLoVNAJ-U3DARF_MZRYBcoBtKu37ne-MIvb3LHHJgYT9WX4P672utJ94IR5ZatCj1bMDkNS_J2B_SDoaHOJ0fyFKL8vH0sgrSSCB3r7Ac8nlexuKgfN76a6QYa3OGWifnJByIl9okSjeLIvUA1-KbG6DN7O8WP5Rl5NzCY" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="619" data-original-width="495" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgU-wPpICuTz1PkI44pQZ0cKzLoVNAJ-U3DARF_MZRYBcoBtKu37ne-MIvb3LHHJgYT9WX4P672utJ94IR5ZatCj1bMDkNS_J2B_SDoaHOJ0fyFKL8vH0sgrSSCB3r7Ac8nlexuKgfN76a6QYa3OGWifnJByIl9okSjeLIvUA1-KbG6DN7O8WP5Rl5NzCY=w320-h400" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Aparajita;">The public inferred that slavery was now illegal in England. This historic and
public refutation of Aristotle made slave-owners across the world shudder. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Aparajita;">England
became an attractive destination for people who had escaped slavery anywhere else.
And the following Saturday evening, according to the Public Advertiser, ‘near
200 Blacks…had an Entertainment at a Public-house in Westminster, to
celebrate the Triumph which their Brother Somerset had obtained over Mr. Stuart
his Master. Lord Mansfield’s Health was echoed round the Room; and the evening
was concluded with a Ball’. I would like to have been in that pub.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Aparajita;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Aparajita;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgbLMW9fM7lCNKMV8gNa3RXTJwtbzx7tvaPr3prywbr0aJ15X8yWJf6wX6XntY37dRK5P4vas3hIfMBkDY8GK2EvMcw0NuzgyLQS9lRi7MYSKd9-Q2giI_dyBLwJRwo7dUe5yuRlW6GqsxmOUytNZdUKM591F89iUw9fvUzkSYYX_fJk_A9sNGevlsV-Tk" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="784" data-original-width="1024" height="491" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgbLMW9fM7lCNKMV8gNa3RXTJwtbzx7tvaPr3prywbr0aJ15X8yWJf6wX6XntY37dRK5P4vas3hIfMBkDY8GK2EvMcw0NuzgyLQS9lRi7MYSKd9-Q2giI_dyBLwJRwo7dUe5yuRlW6GqsxmOUytNZdUKM591F89iUw9fvUzkSYYX_fJk_A9sNGevlsV-Tk=w640-h491" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span face=""Gill Sans Light", sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #373737; font-size: 12.8px; text-align: left;">‘Granville Sharp the Abolitionist Rescuing a Slave from the Hands of His Master’ by James Hayllar, 1864, </span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><br /><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Professor Monoson and
I are discussing this, and other moments when Aristotle was central to constitutional
and Abolitionist debates, at the University of Chicago, on the invitation of Professor
Patrice Rankine, on Thursday 4</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> April: here’s an AI image I
generated to publicise it. Aristotle is here getting refuted by Frederick
Douglass, who himself visited Britain several times while campaigning for
Abolition. I’m sorry Aristotle’s hair came out a bit bouffant, which makes him
resemble Karl Marx. Teaching this old lady new AI tricks is proving a little
difficult.</span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Aparajita;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Aparajita;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjJA3mk8vJ-8BIQjIUQ0doccEPgPxnS_Eaa8mVaU2FQFNqzp5LIjfC6shOc7LdUKh8laCqzcRzDvm8DdzElY3kvADaKv4PY-yTC_U37ON2BcfQZuNhEH2CRZrukimsqgSPsL46nA46mfRv6Mto7YHxyy4N3gvy_1VI3CMHYjG29kJL4tiycAZB_K1oSsWg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjJA3mk8vJ-8BIQjIUQ0doccEPgPxnS_Eaa8mVaU2FQFNqzp5LIjfC6shOc7LdUKh8laCqzcRzDvm8DdzElY3kvADaKv4PY-yTC_U37ON2BcfQZuNhEH2CRZrukimsqgSPsL46nA46mfRv6Mto7YHxyy4N3gvy_1VI3CMHYjG29kJL4tiycAZB_K1oSsWg=w400-h400" width="400" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p>Edith Hallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02518971064140009711noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4134533972010981122.post-34369227671273171892023-12-19T06:45:00.000+00:002023-12-19T06:45:29.371+00:00Nine Questions for the British Library's Chief Executive<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Seven weeks after the
British Library was afflicted by a ransomware cyber-attack, its chief
executive, Sir Roly Keating, has belatedly issued <a href="https://blogs.bl.uk/living-knowledge/2023/12/knowledge-under-attack.html">a substantial statement</a>.
While it is indisputable that the attack has been perpetrated by a dastardly
criminal group, in my opinion Keating’s statement strikes discordant notes and
leaves us with more questions than answers.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiGdYeKT52VwkfcQCZ-E61Xg_EGBqxcvLd7AXboifJt7LGLf2hZgjIPVV7DU0fBqpOMY46rkQwbgNi-xK1IM8YYcTElO0Rp_7Xgkjbwy-vXO0SgajpsFRA1WDlGqA6sfmrpXqoih2eDyEQEUdO71mXeUWIwgXnUnPpvDC6sTYc_kq4cy0vAHu9ogcCrZW8" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="667" data-original-width="1000" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiGdYeKT52VwkfcQCZ-E61Xg_EGBqxcvLd7AXboifJt7LGLf2hZgjIPVV7DU0fBqpOMY46rkQwbgNi-xK1IM8YYcTElO0Rp_7Xgkjbwy-vXO0SgajpsFRA1WDlGqA6sfmrpXqoih2eDyEQEUdO71mXeUWIwgXnUnPpvDC6sTYc_kq4cy0vAHu9ogcCrZW8" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">First, although Keating
claims this kind of attack ‘was something we had prepared for and rehearsed,
and had taken steps to guard against’, the protective systems of which he was
in charge <i>failed</i>. It would be good to hear him concede this. It would also be
good to know exactly what plan the library had in place for such an event?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Second, the best way to
protect against Ransomware is to <a href="https://cloudian.com/guides/ransomware-backup/ransomware-backup/amp/?fbclid=IwAR06R9nVnvrX7Cp8Iat-4boxDqEqu38oOYJ5HFDL8y7vD1b4i8z-RrPO9zU">have a clean backup of data</a>. If the library
had backed it all up, why can't it be reinstalled straightaway and we can all get back to normal? Or
did the hackers encrypt a backup too? That might suggest negligence on the part
of the library. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Third, the British
Library <a href="https://www.gov.uk/guidance/public-libraries-support-and-resources">is publicly funded</a>. Assuming no public money has been paid to hackers,
that still leaves the costs of remediation: are these coming out of the public
purse, and if so, what sums are involved?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Fourth, BL employees
have had their personal details including bank accounts hacked. Users like
myself have also had personal data hacked. Might a public apology be appropriate?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Fifth, why does it
remain impossible to order on-site materials to the Reading Rooms so many weeks
after the attack? I do not understand why a book or manuscript cannot be
ordered using a piece of paper and a pencil, and then be collected from the
stacks by one of the many members of staff currently sitting around in the
Reading Rooms looking miserable. Such a blindingly obvious resilience measure
should have been in place ever since the process by which books are ordered was
first computerised.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgWuFOSLaXHfyeW9dC93CYu7vGWVHm5dhsCEjJ0diFLn_Kxw-uH3r08FNEmIwAsSPXuI3O2_IEstgzR3tYlBnu4YzrgyqMmF7iKuQaRjLi9-_sHYrYykEBU5SU7J4aRBOmidjge6vCuU_60p0H8Sf7JypHEFB91lCSqQ4YAsnJmNlVbkOoKyMkQDahXwtc" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="293" data-original-width="490" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgWuFOSLaXHfyeW9dC93CYu7vGWVHm5dhsCEjJ0diFLn_Kxw-uH3r08FNEmIwAsSPXuI3O2_IEstgzR3tYlBnu4YzrgyqMmF7iKuQaRjLi9-_sHYrYykEBU5SU7J4aRBOmidjge6vCuU_60p0H8Sf7JypHEFB91lCSqQ4YAsnJmNlVbkOoKyMkQDahXwtc=w400-h239" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It was simpler getting books off shelves in Alexandria</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Sixth, why has the information
about what is available been desperately misleading? Users
were sent an email stating that materials ordered before 28th October would be
delivered to Reading Rooms. I was victim to this misinformation myself when on
1st December I visited to read materials I had ordered in early October. The (non-tragic) result was a comically incomplete paper at my own conference on the <i>Aeneid</i> last
week; it consisted of a string of research questions rather than an argument.
The Reading Room staff were deeply apologetic, but not so Sir Roly, it
transpires.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Seventh, is Sir Roly aware that this particular piece of misinformation has cost Readers a lot of money? My futile
trip to London cost me less than £100, which (unlike my students) I can grudgingly afford.
But Rachel Mann (Uni Texas Rio Grande Valley) and Rebecca Long (University of
Louisville), two American Professors of Music beside whom I sat in the
otherwise deserted Rare Books Room, had spent thousands of dollars on
transatlantic flights to consult papers they assumed from the Library’s email
communication would be available. Other overseas individuals have got in touch
with me, <a href="https://ca.news.yahoo.com/digital-lives-real-world-back-060000223.html?guccounter=1&guce_referrer=aHR0cHM6Ly90LmNvLw&guce_referrer_sig=AQAAAHWdp0RHmrKtIeO6hkAK-EiCBFQ0QI0zpPfcfmvp8cqNgC63B-exQ0NV06lhJaPPSVtVqv2hx5j3gf0vc4YnwsPLleJiWQjuth8JXUOalmyor0cF2dwdZCR__3McrJA8UTH8TpYtLTFDVaigkr_mtXBb1iJ02H_E8bckmUgwzpWm">after I spoke on BBC Radio 4’s ‘PM’ programme about the issue</a>, with
similar stories of frustration and financial loss. Yet another Reason to be
Embarrassed to be British.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhdp9mJtKAM3kt2ocI1bkwtN9J0ntCDRPJj-YHsdmBBmmUHGxXGLpow0Sw2ZH3UM4BsKohePS1WnaqRz-KTqsTrIdu-6TO-IBkEzvhJkachgw_2IIbOaR0OpxZuTM-wcLBEa8qR8sj-JOcEWlt-skt0nqZSUYdqTjid7UBHnz6ulBvTdOCy7SL9cC6AxM0" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="377" data-original-width="405" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhdp9mJtKAM3kt2ocI1bkwtN9J0ntCDRPJj-YHsdmBBmmUHGxXGLpow0Sw2ZH3UM4BsKohePS1WnaqRz-KTqsTrIdu-6TO-IBkEzvhJkachgw_2IIbOaR0OpxZuTM-wcLBEa8qR8sj-JOcEWlt-skt0nqZSUYdqTjid7UBHnz6ulBvTdOCy7SL9cC6AxM0" width="258" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Eighth, students,
especially those writing dissertations on rare materials and postgraduate
researchers, are in serious trouble over deadlines. Not a word of
acknowledgement of their problems is said by the Chief Executive, let alone an
apology. I met a PhD candidate who is travelling to Paris to the Bibliothèque
Nationale to get hold of rare materials to meet their submission date. More
advanced academics who need to publish to secure tenure or promotion face
serious consequences for their careers.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">And, ninth, Keating’s
statement is still desperately vague over when specific services will be
restored: ‘From early in the new year you will begin to see a phased return of
certain key services’ is not particularly helpful. Nor is ‘Other interim
services will include increased on-site access to our manuscripts and special
collections’. So no specific plans can be
laid for the New Year. The backlog will also mean that the library will be
mobbed by frustrated users; queues for seats in Reading Rooms, which already
get crowded in the lead-up to Final Examinations, will be inevitable for weeks. What plans are in place to ameliorate this?<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjnK5cYm9rG1QbGJxLn-C4QkwjWcJwv7FPsuqfgq0iWxlq_C1kaA9ig-Tk2wqHUC0SZHeZBbXS6Up4DVcaOXGzV85A1zDB6K-K9Zh7o9s4b1tai7FU0oP0eRbPwJmvL26H18GMsrv8G1-K9e2JDO7MBzPRg0xWZEunknbXIe9Cc4R403puYaqSBGwJJ-2M" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="510" data-original-width="405" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjnK5cYm9rG1QbGJxLn-C4QkwjWcJwv7FPsuqfgq0iWxlq_C1kaA9ig-Tk2wqHUC0SZHeZBbXS6Up4DVcaOXGzV85A1zDB6K-K9Zh7o9s4b1tai7FU0oP0eRbPwJmvL26H18GMsrv8G1-K9e2JDO7MBzPRg0xWZEunknbXIe9Cc4R403puYaqSBGwJJ-2M" width="191" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">The overarching tone of
the statement is one of high-minded rage (with which we can all sympathise) combined with
a curious sense of helplessness. But anger doesn’t submit dissertations in time
for deadlines, write books, pay for what turns out to be pointless travel, secure promotions or
enable planning for research trips in the new year. Readers are in pain. A
certain amount of humility and contrition, as well as far more detailed
information about what happened and is going to happen, would have gone a long
way to alleviate it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>Edith Hallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02518971064140009711noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4134533972010981122.post-25347273472880818812023-06-08T12:50:00.001+01:002023-06-08T13:00:00.912+01:00Goodbye to My Father, Man of God<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;">Like
Shakespeare, Raphael and Ingrid Bergman, my father, the Reverend Professor
Stuart George Hall, died yesterday on his birthday, 7 June. He had
just completed 95 years alive. Given his age, his visible deterioration over
the last few months and our troubled relationship, I am amazed at how winded I
feel.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;">Born
to a working-class East London couple, a police constable and a seamstress, he ascended
via scholarships at UCL School and Oxford to a firm niche in the Middle Class. My
feelings about him are complicated. We did not rub along temperamentally, or
rather, were not able to discover if we might have done had we not disagreed
about many important issues. He was the type of man who was loved by all outside the household--his academic colleagues, students and parishioners--but found it hard to be an
emotionally supportive father.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijMw3B8txGLVLw7Xt9F7c56J4olB-KZb4KbpwfGHM2KHDalP9VCFxieeZ4fQUDLVDASwBmX4gRWexOg9gCrM5TIqED7T1Hx7A-nwZaTl6cBlK0VQapWkfkzXnUpY5qIjl1REGfa1nyou7TBFXuL3HFZhifI9rN2tjWPTYYiNfWgBBwBXQ0KnYw6WgF/s1161/baby%20with%20stu.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1161" data-original-width="1103" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijMw3B8txGLVLw7Xt9F7c56J4olB-KZb4KbpwfGHM2KHDalP9VCFxieeZ4fQUDLVDASwBmX4gRWexOg9gCrM5TIqED7T1Hx7A-nwZaTl6cBlK0VQapWkfkzXnUpY5qIjl1REGfa1nyou7TBFXuL3HFZhifI9rN2tjWPTYYiNfWgBBwBXQ0KnYw6WgF/s320/baby%20with%20stu.jpg" width="304" /></a></div><br /><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;">Growing
up in a nuclear family where all decisions need to be referred to an invisible Almighty,
whose views are relayed by his vicarious male agent on earth, is a weird
experience. When I lost all belief in the Christian faith at the age of 13, my
father was incandescent. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;">He
was not a supporter of feminism (I recall his opposition to the Equal Pay Act
1970). He found it almost impossible to express any pride in my achievements (I
cannot speak for my siblings). He was slow to anger, but his infrequent
outbursts of rage were terrifying. He was no domestic democrat, and was absolutely
furious when in my teens I began addressing everyone in the family as “Citizen”.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;">I
did have it out with him after our mother died in 2016. Although he did not
apologise, he acknowledged that he could have made much more of an effort to be
supportive. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our recent last meeting, attended
by his new wife and my husband, entailed real, affectionate communication and
was, I am glad to say, unprecedentedly warm and friendly.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjFyldFpeOnW8MrmuuEcuUzy2gZ9DMo70bW-7IfnxSthPSGbfWkzBUK7kq5CUy1B1qIa1f8auUNFPusYJCV5_P8MKOvzfJXLa0vD5lbYAmMU0A8159TkwcwIbPwJQPlyH60f2VlKRI9bjaXUvjEtjjjM2wLxDTfW52HMe3ZiYQDAp1RWTvvxuGXPskb" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="962" data-original-width="1284" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjFyldFpeOnW8MrmuuEcuUzy2gZ9DMo70bW-7IfnxSthPSGbfWkzBUK7kq5CUy1B1qIa1f8auUNFPusYJCV5_P8MKOvzfJXLa0vD5lbYAmMU0A8159TkwcwIbPwJQPlyH60f2VlKRI9bjaXUvjEtjjjM2wLxDTfW52HMe3ZiYQDAp1RWTvvxuGXPskb" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;">And
there are many things I owe to him, besides a firm jawline and an absurdist
sense of humour. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;">He
never embraced bourgeois values and when tired started to sound a little like the East-End boy he had been. Childhood interactions with his large circle
of working-class relatives irrevocably shaped my politics. He hated racism and
I was absolutely inspired at about the age of ten when he rebuked some distant
relatives from the Texas Bible belt who had used derogatory language about
African Americans.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;">He
had a great sense of fun when he allowed himself to express it, and composed hilarious
poems to divert his children when things were boring (as they often were in
the 1960s). We used to drive all the way to Scotland at least three times a
year. I adored his epic about Romans on Hadrian’s Wall, of which, sadly, I can
only remember four lines, with deliberately tortuous rhymes:<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Send us the Scots and we will fight 'em.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> We are stationed at Corstop</span><b><span style="font-size: large;">I</span></b><span style="font-size: 14pt;">tum.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Send us the Picts and we will fix 'em.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We are stationed half a mile from
Hexham.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;">He
loved cats and we had long, jokey conversations, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>which I remember almost daily, about what
different tail shapes and positions might signify. He was the best shoe-shiner
in history, and I can polish black leather boots to a radiant gloss. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhYIbZfzaM9YJhIy0eUsfsLmhE7COcL_oCNd-IcEF56KridHzbKry60Ckixxjkl83g-IyGLIctSwTLAfxEvN3HM2q0JtQjyK8_mg9ny5GBbTCjysR4hRpuvydjciAjKgQXjE0HmVCptRrHl9qhhlUI0cEYprtxq_eIGZ1QIuhPhL8p9O1B7sNUN9IpQ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1572" data-original-width="1572" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhYIbZfzaM9YJhIy0eUsfsLmhE7COcL_oCNd-IcEF56KridHzbKry60Ckixxjkl83g-IyGLIctSwTLAfxEvN3HM2q0JtQjyK8_mg9ny5GBbTCjysR4hRpuvydjciAjKgQXjE0HmVCptRrHl9qhhlUI0cEYprtxq_eIGZ1QIuhPhL8p9O1B7sNUN9IpQ" width="240" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;">I
learned how to give a decent lecture by comparing his riveting sermons with
those by the usual verbose and uncharismatic C of E preachers. Never more than
ten minutes, a simple, lucid argument, improvised without any notes; sustained
eye contact and clear diction, at least one joke and always a ringing quotation
from the best prose in the King James Bible. It is down to him also that I know
most of the Old Testament backwards.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOUzL2vTTfnECbANSZACh90OboNodZw5W80B7tR5tuD4TGTUNadD6SUQ2UyuXX3-kO6YSqtVVjHpyesmP-rUuFjoxVbFVNDMFc4rFjap0halhWunm6JyUlALo1yqHOnPK8D6jvszTFU4huFxjBwV5oa5FqxbKNI-z0v0yvv2B7QRTBspwrf_cpUpE8/s1605/stu%20graduates.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1605" data-original-width="1021" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOUzL2vTTfnECbANSZACh90OboNodZw5W80B7tR5tuD4TGTUNadD6SUQ2UyuXX3-kO6YSqtVVjHpyesmP-rUuFjoxVbFVNDMFc4rFjap0halhWunm6JyUlALo1yqHOnPK8D6jvszTFU4huFxjBwV5oa5FqxbKNI-z0v0yvv2B7QRTBspwrf_cpUpE8/s320/stu%20graduates.jpg" width="204" /></a></div><br /><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;">He
taught me my first steps in Greek by helping me decode the first sentence of
John’s gospel and explained why ‘Beginning’ had no definite article. His own
academic publications set a lofty bar on clarity, elegance and meticulous
scholarship that I have tried hard to emulate.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;">I
am so completely my father’s daughter that I feel intense sadness at the many
things that kept us apart emotionally. That is my sincere final message to him,
if he can hear me after death, as, in his piety, he was convinced he would be
able to forever. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhWEPy2nmpbynghDWBaYMlCTESWx60Wb6IB2g-Qtbr_vA6-b3wFHEQsYPKh8d7jM-nUNxBEyXQRCztGzxyBoFPU3e4eZnhjkxzt8hfj3GmCYaKUIENCxK4DYVMRLNrtPAFiV_PKWe1M7iBNu6rvz8cNEWGpfpiFO40-sBQXVCuxJJ_hV8bqjRsCSnRi" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="251" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhWEPy2nmpbynghDWBaYMlCTESWx60Wb6IB2g-Qtbr_vA6-b3wFHEQsYPKh8d7jM-nUNxBEyXQRCztGzxyBoFPU3e4eZnhjkxzt8hfj3GmCYaKUIENCxK4DYVMRLNrtPAFiV_PKWe1M7iBNu6rvz8cNEWGpfpiFO40-sBQXVCuxJJ_hV8bqjRsCSnRi" width="151" /></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhWEPy2nmpbynghDWBaYMlCTESWx60Wb6IB2g-Qtbr_vA6-b3wFHEQsYPKh8d7jM-nUNxBEyXQRCztGzxyBoFPU3e4eZnhjkxzt8hfj3GmCYaKUIENCxK4DYVMRLNrtPAFiV_PKWe1M7iBNu6rvz8cNEWGpfpiFO40-sBQXVCuxJJ_hV8bqjRsCSnRi" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg6LMGBywTGFx9ewA-xvia1piYc9-YUNztqrYZd0-Ygk3wOKjGAIL2c64PvIr0E4sBu8JG3xSexG6a6e97Jhez-cT6Mu3t4tu4uTH45DG43_bdSfrmNa6XAWcV1m0ei_mvM0DVPQPDSkcyFFd2yMRhT2tx6fDFubNqFZPq1NceqVIC6KhK5bi2znIsb" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg6LMGBywTGFx9ewA-xvia1piYc9-YUNztqrYZd0-Ygk3wOKjGAIL2c64PvIr0E4sBu8JG3xSexG6a6e97Jhez-cT6Mu3t4tu4uTH45DG43_bdSfrmNa6XAWcV1m0ei_mvM0DVPQPDSkcyFFd2yMRhT2tx6fDFubNqFZPq1NceqVIC6KhK5bi2znIsb" width="180" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiQBQ_Pzxf8lt-ElGHsaCpJIbLs9ee7DgL8ss1FoKtTjD7D7kpc9w-C4LdT8JiD9seJQ79HHO2O8dWwt3Rh28JCHRkFtOKHE_dBumIVdCsWnCtWOMv-oBN27KZtxK-PXK4lBQ9VlUP5XduMy_pDmVMFa-mI7CqMQ3_w0IPXmLIkbXnxho9Iy1ykEKkX" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="300" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiQBQ_Pzxf8lt-ElGHsaCpJIbLs9ee7DgL8ss1FoKtTjD7D7kpc9w-C4LdT8JiD9seJQ79HHO2O8dWwt3Rh28JCHRkFtOKHE_dBumIVdCsWnCtWOMv-oBN27KZtxK-PXK4lBQ9VlUP5XduMy_pDmVMFa-mI7CqMQ3_w0IPXmLIkbXnxho9Iy1ykEKkX" width="240" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><br /></div><br /><br /><p></p>Edith Hallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02518971064140009711noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4134533972010981122.post-77389911949483803152023-05-08T07:42:00.001+01:002023-05-08T07:42:32.725+01:00Text of TLS Review of 2 Books on 2 Cleopatras<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">CLEOPATRA’S
DAUGHTER<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Egyptian
princess, Roman prisoner, African Queen<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Jane
Draycott (</span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">336pp.
Bloomsbury. £27.99).</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">CLEOPATRA
<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Her
history, her myth<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Francine
Prose (</span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">216pp.
Yale University Press. £15.99).</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
name “Cleopatra” conjures images of a seductive siren – sailing in an opulent
barge, dissolving a pearl in vinegar to convince Mark Antony of her fabulous
wealth, or pressing a phallic asp into her billowing cleavage after Octavian,
the future emperor Augustus, defeats her at the battle of Actium in 31 BCE. The
picture of Cleopatra as mother-of-four does not quickly spring to mind. But she
bore four living children between her mid-twenties and her mid-thirties. The
first was her son by Julius Caesar, Ptolemy XV, known as Caesarion, “Little Caesar”;
he reigned over Egypt jointly with his mother from the age of three. Her other
babies were fathered by Mark Antony – the twins Cleopatra “Selene”
(Moon-Goddess) and Alexander “Helios” (Sun-God), born in 40 BCE, and Ptolemy
Philadelphus, born four years later.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Cleopatra
Selene soon lost her father, her mother and all three brothers produced by her
famous mother (most of her five half-siblings, the children of Mark Antony,
fared better). Caesarion, as Julius Caesar’s son, was killed by Octavian in 30
BCE, to remove a potential rival. The other three children, not yet in their
teens, were taken to Rome, at which point both boys mysteriously disappear from
the historical record. But their sister, the last known survivor of the
Ptolemaic dynasty of Egypt, was taken in by Octavian’s older sister Octavia.
Octavia had once been married to Mark Antony, and looked after her large
“blended” family in the imperial residences on the Palatine Hill. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">At
about fifteen, Cleopatra Junior was married off to King Juba II of Numidia. He,
too, had been raised in Rome after his father’s kingdom had been annexed, and
he became a loyal henchman of the Roman emperor. The couple moved to Juba’s
newly expanded realm, at that point retitled Mauretania. They named their
capital Caesarea (now Cherchell, Algeria) to acknowledge Juba’s status as
Augustus’ client. Juba was a keen supporter of intellectual, cultural and
architectural endeavours; their kingdom prospered. They had two children, a
girl and a boy; Cleopatra died in her mid-thirties. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">That
is virtually all that the surviving written sources have to say about her, but
Jane Draycott has wrestled dauntlessly with the little evidence there is about
this intriguing figure, producing the only modern full-length biography to
stand alongside the dozen or more novels in which Cleopatra Selene appears,
from Robert Graves’ <i>I, Claudius</i>
(1934) onwards.</span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgebh3-6K-lWAPKnEc1NklDVH56uQcNNb9NsKLVG0CZMtXeEN3yHrd6rMZhbLeLMbUYq0lotkwTSqrW9xOZqaDzGrT1LZCsA3zeVE_vdSxcknZyEMMDFgoo80gUkZnKa3T-BYdsWVrfv2COo0WGgMalDDC3hRiEjgqxq-jyVkE0S6OrdGOyDshQIp5z" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="261" data-original-width="170" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgebh3-6K-lWAPKnEc1NklDVH56uQcNNb9NsKLVG0CZMtXeEN3yHrd6rMZhbLeLMbUYq0lotkwTSqrW9xOZqaDzGrT1LZCsA3zeVE_vdSxcknZyEMMDFgoo80gUkZnKa3T-BYdsWVrfv2COo0WGgMalDDC3hRiEjgqxq-jyVkE0S6OrdGOyDshQIp5z" width="156" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /> <o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Draycott
is skilled at bringing ancient social environments to life. Her reconstructions
of the physical conditions in which the royal offspring lived, and Cleopatra’s
emotional responses to her dramatic early life, are plausible and vivid. When
only six, Cleopatra sat with her parents and siblings on an elaborate public
platform in front of the assembled Alexandrian masses, to be declared queen of
Cyrenaica and Libya. After her parents’ suicides, she was forced to march with
her twin in Augustus’ Roman triumph in chains of gold, escorting an effigy of
their mother holding that asp. She was bombarded with vicious caricatures,
produced by the Augustan propaganda machine, of Cleopatra VII as a barbarous
whore. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Draycott
is writing for the general reader, and needs to make her narrative exciting.
She is sometimes seduced by the sensationalism of her sources – Plutarch,
Suetonius, Cassius Dio – into presenting their claims without sufficient
scepticism. Elsewhere, she is forced, by the nature of her project, to rely on
painting imaginative word-pictures or on compiling detailed accounts of the
convoluted genealogies and shifting political alliances of her era. Much of the
book is written in the subjunctive: Cleopatra Selene “might have” felt sad, or
“would probably” have been present at an event. But, with the help of
fascinating illustrations, Draycott does an excellent job in recreating the
culture and febrile atmosphere of the early years of Augustus’ reign, observing
it from the perspective of a politically important pawn in his imperial game.
Cleopatra, she reminds us, was also a vulnerable child and teenaged girl. Her
gender may have saved her life (in contrast to what very likely happened to her
brothers), but it compromised her every freedom. And her complicated ethnic
identity – as a member of the Macedonian royal family of the Ptolemies, born in
Egypt, partly raised in Rome and reigning as queen in North-West Africa – can,
as Draycott shows, illuminate modern debates on immigration, acculturation and
citizenship.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Francine
Prose’s reappraisal of Cleopatra Selene’s mother, Cleopatra VII, is much
shorter and less satisfactory. There have been innumerable studies of this more
famous Cleopatra, both as a historical figure and as a cultural icon
refashioned by every succeeding age. Prose is not a classical historian, and it
shows. The first six chapters consist of an impressionistic historical
narrative, divided respectively, and very conventionally, into the Ptolemaic
background into which Cleopatra was born around 70 BCE, the politics of Rome in
the 50s, Cleopatra’s dealings with Julius Caesar, her relationship with Mark
Antony, Actium and the suicide. There is confusion about the intended audience;
accounts of complicated diplomacy sit alongside vaguely feminist generalizations;
some sources are given precise references, while others are not. The
scandal-peddling ancient sources are sometimes treated as hopelessly misogynist
and unreliable fictions, sometimes as unassailable truth. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Prose’s
real enthusiasm seems to be the more recent reception of Cleopatra. She
frequently refers to films about her heroine even in the “historical” chapters,
and the second part of the book is entitled “The Afterlife of Cleopatra”. It
would better be called “Selected Afterlives of Cleopatra”. It offers a few
comments on Renaissance and Early Modern representations of the dissolving
pearl anecdote, a sketchy discussion of Shakespeare’s debt to Plutarch in <i>Antony and Cleopatra</i> and Dryden’s <i>All for Love</i>, and a cursory overview of
three films about Cleopatra, the main focus inevitably being on the 1963
extravaganza starring Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton – although there have
actually been dozens of other films, beginning in the earliest days of silent
cinema. </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiKHUyC9EWkiEsflsYdl-szBZGG_vaxf4l8tBuXzuOJeFEQg8sKbVibSpfS1RQA1Zje_x1ibI0sCT9ens7IhWnD-qfBdNbg1UyxJKuuFGsrTt80EXPAuAS2bU3WMGKAxWn1GoiPCDW--XP6JcjxPM4LtfEhrgiyz9woZqUd_UABMO3pEDbYUP07sJWs" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="237" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiKHUyC9EWkiEsflsYdl-szBZGG_vaxf4l8tBuXzuOJeFEQg8sKbVibSpfS1RQA1Zje_x1ibI0sCT9ens7IhWnD-qfBdNbg1UyxJKuuFGsrTt80EXPAuAS2bU3WMGKAxWn1GoiPCDW--XP6JcjxPM4LtfEhrgiyz9woZqUd_UABMO3pEDbYUP07sJWs" width="190" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">A controversy has been raging about the casting of the Israeli movie
star Gal Gadot, rather than an actress with some Arabic or African ancestry, as
Cleopatra in a biopic to be directed by Kari Skogland. The latest such debate
is over the casting of Adele James</span><i style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </i><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">as Cleopatra in a Netflix docudrama, </span><i style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">African
Queens: Queen Cleopatra</i><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">, produced by Jada Pinkett Smith, whose maternal
ancestors are Jamaican and Bajan (from Barbados) and African-American in her
paternal line.</span><i style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </i><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">James is British and mixed-race, but understandably private
about her precise heritage. </span></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgHvx70SELCSwTfDoXIuKo7TXsnaa0xB5-6qmJoDbv0tTCnEt5eFqzYpmuh_u0dEnqDYmSf0PL356owXuSzLyZ9HFfLQnFs_tNUWKTA8_RAByyXPdtLFHdLNsICs-tn1KoeOSUrmcdP4RAmyTd08QpCpHU_DEVm5ZFwTJTDx3dqEopW3-mkXXkJzP7G" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="266" data-original-width="474" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgHvx70SELCSwTfDoXIuKo7TXsnaa0xB5-6qmJoDbv0tTCnEt5eFqzYpmuh_u0dEnqDYmSf0PL356owXuSzLyZ9HFfLQnFs_tNUWKTA8_RAByyXPdtLFHdLNsICs-tn1KoeOSUrmcdP4RAmyTd08QpCpHU_DEVm5ZFwTJTDx3dqEopW3-mkXXkJzP7G" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Yet, after a trailer for the four-part programme, an Egyptian lawyer has filed a request that the public prosecutor take steps to prevent access to it in Egypt, claiming without any evidence (because there is none) that Cleopatra was light-skinned.</span></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">This
is where Draycott shows a sensitivity unknown to Prose towards by far the most
important aspect of the reception of Cleopatra over more than a century: her
ethnicity. Despite some harshly worded disputes, in which eminent classicists have
unwisely expressed uncompromising views, we have absolutely no idea of
Cleopatra’s precise genetic make-up: she was descended from Macedonians (whose
claim to be Greeks was disputed), but in the course of the Ptolemies’ 260
years’ residence in Egypt, it is difficult to believe that no local genes
entered the bloodline. The important point is that to people of African and
Arabic heritage worldwide it matters that Cleopatra was “Egyptian”, culturally
and/or biologically. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">In
1927, for example, the Egyptian author Ahmad Shawqi’s play <i>The Death of Cleopatra</i> challenged the classical sources in arguing
that Cleopatra had been falsely maligned, a victim of European imperial
propaganda.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgzwCRoBESJn1l2d1BBGaGAFwHNf89Kl8CEHRi6Vo4W5ZiZ1H6OfydjM9Pi-H7-ILWGOnlG45_sai1aa4cuSvlyqBPx9rXA6DTP1qCwGvrUgx5-cNcBTgp_R1JHHYIwTdnPqbUPsNr8_eKkFqDsZbPGnVfdGr0GHw-G1YQ1-89K_A3GI8MHir6FMy1t" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="527" data-original-width="937" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgzwCRoBESJn1l2d1BBGaGAFwHNf89Kl8CEHRi6Vo4W5ZiZ1H6OfydjM9Pi-H7-ILWGOnlG45_sai1aa4cuSvlyqBPx9rXA6DTP1qCwGvrUgx5-cNcBTgp_R1JHHYIwTdnPqbUPsNr8_eKkFqDsZbPGnVfdGr0GHw-G1YQ1-89K_A3GI8MHir6FMy1t" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> A vast sculpture of “The Death of Cleopatra” by Edmonia Lewis was
the sole major work of art by an African American at the</span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Centennial Exposition in Philadelphia in
1876: Nathaniel Hawthorne had already drawn satirical attention to the
eroticization by white men of Cleopatra as a smouldering Nubian in </span><i style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">The Marble Faun</i><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> (1860). More recently
the Philadelphian artist Barbara Chase-Riboud, who is African American, has
returned over twenty times to depictions of Cleopatra in sculpture, wall art
and poetry. Ever since abolition, “Cleopatra” has in the USA been a “speaking
name”, bestowed by Civil Rights campaigners on their daughters and on the
action heroine of the blaxploitation movies </span><i style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Cleopatra
Jones</i><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> (1973) and its sequel. Prose’s attempt to chart the significance of
Cleopatra’s afterlife, without properly exploring this aspect, is a missed
opportunity indeed.</span></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhOZD9pIGKgGQwELdKHP9_nYzFq6JwT2odTgLZ1bIXymwBkG1XQ6tRYL7g6QSavaSf6LnQlGxzVv3F68JrgmVYvFgZiHd71v-Abw_r1aFpLbqTHV0OXU98ZV0yF3LrzvovvP2hZViL_0WEe8Y1CDw4rhd88lir3eAkvq7TxHUe50-WU6lSyvkMmPxaQ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="598" data-original-width="600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhOZD9pIGKgGQwELdKHP9_nYzFq6JwT2odTgLZ1bIXymwBkG1XQ6tRYL7g6QSavaSf6LnQlGxzVv3F68JrgmVYvFgZiHd71v-Abw_r1aFpLbqTHV0OXU98ZV0yF3LrzvovvP2hZViL_0WEe8Y1CDw4rhd88lir3eAkvq7TxHUe50-WU6lSyvkMmPxaQ" width="241" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>Edith Hallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02518971064140009711noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4134533972010981122.post-69069184357288264302023-03-18T08:00:00.000+00:002023-03-18T08:00:17.744+00:00The Mystery of Greek Theatre's Use in Ancient Medicine<p> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhorkB50_eTZEUPbTyK9JJGdmnoXUgmrWBINXjt1SSRDnqJhBCN35ix07yFioEZUUeMivJhYFwWsnbNWMhu_nt2wE2NmNMWkbUcDym8GdFdx7VgLcnyh97shzdha3Y5_BlJaK7L5hQleqItbe1HhQmbKjtLnHb2nrHQERT3CP1Hom7aUTk9yMgv002D" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1267" data-original-width="1920" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhorkB50_eTZEUPbTyK9JJGdmnoXUgmrWBINXjt1SSRDnqJhBCN35ix07yFioEZUUeMivJhYFwWsnbNWMhu_nt2wE2NmNMWkbUcDym8GdFdx7VgLcnyh97shzdha3Y5_BlJaK7L5hQleqItbe1HhQmbKjtLnHb2nrHQERT3CP1Hom7aUTk9yMgv002D" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Ancient Theatre of Epidauros</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></p><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><p></p><div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">One
of the reasons I’m so thrilled to be leading a retreat, with an initiative called Travelgems, in the north-eastern
Greek Peloponnese in July,<a href="file:///C:/Users/edith/Dropbox/2023%20Travelgems%20blog%20Epidavros.docx#_edn1" name="_ednref1" title=""><span class="MsoEndnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoEndnoteReference"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">[i]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a> is
that I can revisit the ancient health centre at Epidauros, the most important
ancient cult centre of the healing god Asclepius. All his sanctuaries were
built in the most healthful locations, where trees, fresh water springs,
medicinal herbs and restful views promoted the wellbeing of all who visited
them, whether their malady was bodily or psychic. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiUOnIQMMvOkkLSPOCWas5W-0kxGTYEAdkz9b5geM1immgGnBYRAu1ENPRYLXNLJYnQJO2MxpA3uTRGYideajJ3O0aMjr3UQ1xe9u82JWgXePgFx6SwBHabF41M9Ych8MWc1wyK9MtMyHL9WZG1PeXHwyxPP_bnBPz_g5rlea1UmfcxXvvR344eXjy-" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="476" data-original-width="640" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiUOnIQMMvOkkLSPOCWas5W-0kxGTYEAdkz9b5geM1immgGnBYRAu1ENPRYLXNLJYnQJO2MxpA3uTRGYideajJ3O0aMjr3UQ1xe9u82JWgXePgFx6SwBHabF41M9Ych8MWc1wyK9MtMyHL9WZG1PeXHwyxPP_bnBPz_g5rlea1UmfcxXvvR344eXjy-=w385-h286" width="385" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Reconstruction of Asclepius' Temple at Epidauros</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">
</span></p><div><!--[if !supportEndnotes]--><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Available
treatments included dream interpretation, a precursor of modern psychotherapy. </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Rituals, bathing and daily prayer and
meditation promoted optimism and positivity. But a great mystery surrounds one
aspect of most sites where the arts of the therapeutic doctor-god were
practised: Epidauros and others have beautiful ancient theatres, and performance
arts seem to have been cultivated at many of his other sanctuaries.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgyErPQYLMBzN29Vd092E6VmcJqeSMLC8hxK2yuQWfypqxs3SztF5-gBlR8em8m5HLrCXt2nH2yZXijpNaqGKEsSLl-Zz-GP6i5ey4Y4iKzR7n6BBom4NeNyxv_CPt0dD2644Y9NES6GmVQhx5rS21sD9iF1mrqJRnrF6nVhKDGI4zWOdk76JdjY3bd" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="394" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgyErPQYLMBzN29Vd092E6VmcJqeSMLC8hxK2yuQWfypqxs3SztF5-gBlR8em8m5HLrCXt2nH2yZXijpNaqGKEsSLl-Zz-GP6i5ey4Y4iKzR7n6BBom4NeNyxv_CPt0dD2644Y9NES6GmVQhx5rS21sD9iF1mrqJRnrF6nVhKDGI4zWOdk76JdjY3bd" width="158" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">We just do not know exactly what form these performative cures actually took. But the Greek philosopher Aristotle, the son of a distinguished medical physician, who claimed descent from a doctor given his medicine chest by the doctor-centaur Cheiron, speaks of the role of music, as experienced in certain religious rites, in the treatment of emotional distress. There were special ‘sacred melodies’, both ecstatic and calming, which could help groups of people suffering from the same psychological problem find relief. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhj5XB_vJLFdWQNq687GdfDFowgr4aKIetnobln19ItwIOAm9BJtvdkp9wo5-bkcbmASj8H-ASr7V3rtJYRAShnxSmXF23GHoR1qpAA0Ceq73le0c_HNxtD-mSot4llvk28NyFUX38znIiWz0_QZ1MDykXE_GKVtR9Z9os7qg0hskdYBpZUBjIfvOJg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="105" data-original-width="400" height="116" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhj5XB_vJLFdWQNq687GdfDFowgr4aKIetnobln19ItwIOAm9BJtvdkp9wo5-bkcbmASj8H-ASr7V3rtJYRAShnxSmXF23GHoR1qpAA0Ceq73le0c_HNxtD-mSot4llvk28NyFUX38znIiWz0_QZ1MDykXE_GKVtR9Z9os7qg0hskdYBpZUBjIfvOJg=w443-h116" width="443" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: 14pt;">This is probably related to Aristotle’s theory that tragic theatre helps people deal with painful emotions through ‘catharsis’ by watching tragedy—which was a musical medium similar to opera—in a form of emotional homeopathy.</span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgWiQA5lw_ePYpCzQGdT3sOWFLTUfSAFcuUS_VZ6kLFMK-S9kHUc10nnHigVi6jYw4GWIBzm7d6RHMIGPPw6mXqZOfuDDxt-BhDQUSFDWQwivdULU4C-28wv5_hhZtyQjsXOdf4xJfgD1DpOUOMtogFb3NvLSUR_bYxSlmRgPErTDrd1l5CnAYdWjRS" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="193" data-original-width="261" height="237" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgWiQA5lw_ePYpCzQGdT3sOWFLTUfSAFcuUS_VZ6kLFMK-S9kHUc10nnHigVi6jYw4GWIBzm7d6RHMIGPPw6mXqZOfuDDxt-BhDQUSFDWQwivdULU4C-28wv5_hhZtyQjsXOdf4xJfgD1DpOUOMtogFb3NvLSUR_bYxSlmRgPErTDrd1l5CnAYdWjRS" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">There are other links between tragic theatre and medicine. Sophocles was said to have introduced the cult of the healing hero Asclepius into his own household.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjt0qFrZTlp3O0X4xa8k2GHSBrAhNN8ORWKLuGmOY3B2dzX3aT6Rr9q1KrEbSJuiojnErrZIWdq9TQVXz_plal8NhRdFmNEvYIoXqw4dDQDenO8_ihDLrgyQSJgqilu3jdFf9gmnBFrU931AYyHegzZ6Edo-w8wfkWD7OePlyE2d93R_JjRJBMautyr" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="314" data-original-width="400" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjt0qFrZTlp3O0X4xa8k2GHSBrAhNN8ORWKLuGmOY3B2dzX3aT6Rr9q1KrEbSJuiojnErrZIWdq9TQVXz_plal8NhRdFmNEvYIoXqw4dDQDenO8_ihDLrgyQSJgqilu3jdFf9gmnBFrU931AYyHegzZ6Edo-w8wfkWD7OePlyE2d93R_JjRJBMautyr" width="306" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">The retreat I am leading, with stunning guest lecturer <a href="https://www.rcwlitagency.com/authors/haynes-natalie/">Natalie Haynes</a>, will culminate in a performance of tragedy at the great Epidauros theatre itself. The experience will allow participants to undergo the healing power of the medical god himself as well as discuss the therapeutic psychological aspects of tragedy.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgWE1xNNMtTSGZRdiamYBrRCgIUN7viUDAXjsGuR7V2ilMxsWnDr0KMlz_PH7nW4P_8aqAAI1i57f-9VdTtBD8wMH_XVR2lT5_S80Hk5u_oRUaTIxlnSVC2oeW_WGxsbOVYU6sIEincuUEXOeHmf0YPlImNr-kSpLPmcXbHthR5D5VYTOEcsxypf1pO" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="857" data-original-width="1280" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgWE1xNNMtTSGZRdiamYBrRCgIUN7viUDAXjsGuR7V2ilMxsWnDr0KMlz_PH7nW4P_8aqAAI1i57f-9VdTtBD8wMH_XVR2lT5_S80Hk5u_oRUaTIxlnSVC2oeW_WGxsbOVYU6sIEincuUEXOeHmf0YPlImNr-kSpLPmcXbHthR5D5VYTOEcsxypf1pO" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p>
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</div><p><a href="file:///C:/Users/edith/Dropbox/2023%20Travelgems%20blog%20Epidavros.docx#_ednref1" name="_edn1" title=""><span class="MsoEndnoteReference"><span class="MsoEndnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">[i]</span></span></span></a> <a href="https://travelgems.com/edith-hall-retreat/" rel="noopener" style="color: #3c61aa; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: small; word-break: break-word;" target="_blank">https://travelgems.com/edith-hall-retreat/</a>. A few places still available.</p>Edith Hallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02518971064140009711noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4134533972010981122.post-68263795118239930362023-01-22T16:19:00.001+00:002023-01-22T16:19:36.125+00:00Good Times A-coming: Join me in Greece?<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Last time I blogged I was entering an unpleasant
period of medical treatment, but I’m thrilled to say that I’m nearly through and have been given the all-clear. So I’m getting back down to
business and am in search of Helios' sunshine!</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhviokRvosc8ZN_T7cIfwaP27bQbbR9gea_Ca40MWssWuhMs7c3kdcZLBaK4Kic7I2b7lle5BBitDNsXzqHL5WlMKdFtKlnx7Oc4SEu9BeoZHWqI-MPtR6lJq5IlmR9xZUMPNqwWiY91rjmATn0FfR2utV3BfdXIHnHupCaTXHOWANVcA3s7x6HB_L3" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="368" data-original-width="450" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhviokRvosc8ZN_T7cIfwaP27bQbbR9gea_Ca40MWssWuhMs7c3kdcZLBaK4Kic7I2b7lle5BBitDNsXzqHL5WlMKdFtKlnx7Oc4SEu9BeoZHWqI-MPtR6lJq5IlmR9xZUMPNqwWiY91rjmATn0FfR2utV3BfdXIHnHupCaTXHOWANVcA3s7x6HB_L3" width="293" /></a></div><br /><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I’ve got something wonderful to look forward to, as
well, and some of you may even be interested in joining in. An enterprising company
called <a href="https://travelgems.com/edith-hall-retreat/">Travelgems</a> run by some inspiring Greek ladies has invited me to lead a retreat
on the psychological relevance of Greek tragedy to today’s problems at an
excellent hotel in the old seaside town of Naflplio between 11</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: 15.5556px;">th </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">and
16th </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">July 2023. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; line-height: 150%;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFOIDGBdc8biKPi173p9eNm3EcwJrDxhcSRctxZp0ZCC4RGxE4gqP2MRfsrRfk4BhKNtAx_ls7o9dEUUmM1HRZ4HjHG1k8RC0WKoqWI0ri9HnVyJb5Chp3YLE0zkpDvfrgDQER__KZEfBgp5T-EFFRjxXqAXq8miEnfY-kcEuFycnEvaSBc3B1GhwO/s1889/travelgems.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="821" data-original-width="1889" height="139" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFOIDGBdc8biKPi173p9eNm3EcwJrDxhcSRctxZp0ZCC4RGxE4gqP2MRfsrRfk4BhKNtAx_ls7o9dEUUmM1HRZ4HjHG1k8RC0WKoqWI0ri9HnVyJb5Chp3YLE0zkpDvfrgDQER__KZEfBgp5T-EFFRjxXqAXq8miEnfY-kcEuFycnEvaSBc3B1GhwO/s320/travelgems.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The culmination will be a group outing to a live
performance of an ancient drama at the stunning ancient theatre of Epidaurus. It
will be unforgettable.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPSbrc6OfnOnTlJKEULQ5lcaQa94citEj26tyf40-g9I5BAnJbeyor6Fhe_zW8Rcw6RpcbiWqEfzLfof25ehFD_QjNyjWqwT5Vbze0Uyy6A3XqbGpY7HgXoHybc-lAgBv6xrZmkY4Qb3Sds5Cpb_PRsLfPu-vpjmcPZaztk96eAsZ9SW1EYk55H1yS/s240/websitewithnat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="150" data-original-width="240" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPSbrc6OfnOnTlJKEULQ5lcaQa94citEj26tyf40-g9I5BAnJbeyor6Fhe_zW8Rcw6RpcbiWqEfzLfof25ehFD_QjNyjWqwT5Vbze0Uyy6A3XqbGpY7HgXoHybc-lAgBv6xrZmkY4Qb3Sds5Cpb_PRsLfPu-vpjmcPZaztk96eAsZ9SW1EYk55H1yS/s1600/websitewithnat.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I’ll lead all
the sessions where we will explore these timeless plays; there'll also be a guest
lecture by the incomparable Nat Haynes and expeditions to the marvellous concentration
of museums and sites in Greece.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;"><br /></span></span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhNGm5PtIeeT_KqFsX1ArA4vzZwVpBSc5VozmOQ84UHggJ57ivxXRec5Ngr4lSQ5eymiyvRBcrBQe0wjDBf8R_B8WOLwwJJ1tt_wcEzO7oh1sza171Qu9bqlKmzY0vPfi0tJQi_4c-_EW_zGumBsDMa9ZAgMCch-oNA4_ZB0UcMNamdOOWwWhDU6fRJ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1864" data-original-width="2072" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhNGm5PtIeeT_KqFsX1ArA4vzZwVpBSc5VozmOQ84UHggJ57ivxXRec5Ngr4lSQ5eymiyvRBcrBQe0wjDBf8R_B8WOLwwJJ1tt_wcEzO7oh1sza171Qu9bqlKmzY0vPfi0tJQi_4c-_EW_zGumBsDMa9ZAgMCch-oNA4_ZB0UcMNamdOOWwWhDU6fRJ" width="267" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I’ve just finished a book coming out next year with
Yale University Press called <i>Facing down the Furies </i>on how Greek tragedy
and ethics can help us address even the most intractable emotional problems,
and this retreat will give me a chance to offer participants a private preview
of the book’s contents.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgMadXONmXaoGC6C-_Mmt2CGW5PKAB5bs4ydAUW0LphvoeC_hK6vyBM-eOMfRWZC1t3bM4A_F_bEIW6Mug6cwJwfhgiy74TNdatAVvye2tdPZnLkYMn4P25SGlv09VdE3dlvYJ0BIlAOgqR6QyHdAESCNbhMGm5x5ocGxj3qykAW2GdywJ3l0g6L_S9" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="171" data-original-width="294" height="186" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgMadXONmXaoGC6C-_Mmt2CGW5PKAB5bs4ydAUW0LphvoeC_hK6vyBM-eOMfRWZC1t3bM4A_F_bEIW6Mug6cwJwfhgiy74TNdatAVvye2tdPZnLkYMn4P25SGlv09VdE3dlvYJ0BIlAOgqR6QyHdAESCNbhMGm5x5ocGxj3qykAW2GdywJ3l0g6L_S9" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /><br /></span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We will ask how Aeschylus’ <i>Oresteia </i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>can teach us resilience, Sophocles’ <i>Antigone
</i>the importance of patience in decision-making, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>Philoctetes </i>how to maintain hope even
in our darkest hours, and Euripides’ <i>Heracles </i>on how to move on even after
disaster and depression. We will ask why the Greek tragedians returned time and
again to the stories of strong women facing up to the emotional problems of a
society which oppressed them.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;"><br /></span></span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhLBObGWh4ElTWe4bDieTcJyXU-XKzjzL_s_WpYLYM0v2W5KQ0SxBnAZ8IZNb87kuhOPhJUJ_zmdTLC4JP-7nUcSffC4GD2Yefaw2fNrn2sUSptj5NSFPKuUKdzrFpPVC0fuQ447iqOw5wEdjwRZipifCQ-p2PfcH2ACUpow9jKSSmWiv77LZXjWi-k" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="614" data-original-width="387" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhLBObGWh4ElTWe4bDieTcJyXU-XKzjzL_s_WpYLYM0v2W5KQ0SxBnAZ8IZNb87kuhOPhJUJ_zmdTLC4JP-7nUcSffC4GD2Yefaw2fNrn2sUSptj5NSFPKuUKdzrFpPVC0fuQ447iqOw5wEdjwRZipifCQ-p2PfcH2ACUpow9jKSSmWiv77LZXjWi-k" width="151" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We’ll <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>laugh,
cry, swim, eat, explore, and get inspired by some of the most beautiful art,
poetry and archaeology in the world. I really can’t wait! To prepare myself, I’m
going to start blogging on different myths connected with the area, starting
next week with the healing sanctuary of Asclepius at Epidauros. The Greeks understood
a great deal about minds and emotions. I’d love you to come with me on this <a href="https://travelgems.com/edith-hall-retreat/">retreat </a>for a
journey through their ideas.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi4IkvpdianRdYtaA9hP9ECXeeIfPrLy2d7xAEurDEhBa4tlfQje08heYXw9E-l1klRtWosJNPVpHiQgPT8b6i0G4miotUK8gmC6U31ih1wowdvCQ6I6QaMHT_fXN_W0FhdIFAHDAnJ-AAOr9WGwu4P2S3tQo9Mdz5KWcx1HVWOoTttZ3jksFibQRwW" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi4IkvpdianRdYtaA9hP9ECXeeIfPrLy2d7xAEurDEhBa4tlfQje08heYXw9E-l1klRtWosJNPVpHiQgPT8b6i0G4miotUK8gmC6U31ih1wowdvCQ6I6QaMHT_fXN_W0FhdIFAHDAnJ-AAOr9WGwu4P2S3tQo9Mdz5KWcx1HVWOoTttZ3jksFibQRwW" width="192" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p>Edith Hallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02518971064140009711noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4134533972010981122.post-33852919375440037252022-11-27T16:19:00.004+00:002022-11-27T16:40:17.666+00:00Finding the Argo, Medea and Alcestis: Adventures in Thessaly<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I’ve just ticked off a
crucial item on my bucket list by touring Thessaly, and identifying key places
in Greek mythology. I’m in a break between surgery for breast cancer and radiotherapy
and am determined to enjoy myself. The horrid little tumour was detected very
early and the prognosis is excellent. But I spoke too soon two blogs ago about
things looking massively up after a couple of wilderness years.<o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiu-elVQWWAUFTZP0IBrTuZEtbEV-e5AQRAjNuIoAl6QJSsYc4bTTADeDaTTgw7KTjlqo4HnZuivXJECDRiY4xxxudVC7_MDI73x3J0_j67QUROAifwUdL6uqZw-8WuQgS7Bp0HaLgn7dd921qXBNNLfxbd_NTIkGwNv_pY2c2Zan_zM0Q4M3lFSPNA" style="font-size: 18.6667px; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img alt="" data-original-height="465" data-original-width="816" height="182" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiu-elVQWWAUFTZP0IBrTuZEtbEV-e5AQRAjNuIoAl6QJSsYc4bTTADeDaTTgw7KTjlqo4HnZuivXJECDRiY4xxxudVC7_MDI73x3J0_j67QUROAifwUdL6uqZw-8WuQgS7Bp0HaLgn7dd921qXBNNLfxbd_NTIkGwNv_pY2c2Zan_zM0Q4M3lFSPNA" width="320" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">After speaking at an august
conference run by the Academy of Athens I set off with fellow Argonauts,
brother and sister Leonidas and Sofia of the Papadopoulos family. But only
after seeing Leonidas’ beautiful new play <i>Pass-Port </i>at the aptly named
Argo theatre in Athens. Based on the PhD thesis he wrote under my supervision,
it explores the place that tragic sea crossings have always played in Greek
life.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhaLRTvWZc4QzpovK1HY0SEJcJqZMbLrLNaP_NIQD8iOo0U5cCbJchOF4J-QIp5Tfjnc2b2Gg5CCG6pCzsK0PL557pvdYMDoyN87JRGvaTTpEQTeYE1jDFrgAgQfOKmKP502cbZSI08y0NdXy1iQ78Q2U1AkJ3x7EnTE3oZ1CHnO7COWi4xPapjwOVn" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="680" data-original-width="510" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhaLRTvWZc4QzpovK1HY0SEJcJqZMbLrLNaP_NIQD8iOo0U5cCbJchOF4J-QIp5Tfjnc2b2Gg5CCG6pCzsK0PL557pvdYMDoyN87JRGvaTTpEQTeYE1jDFrgAgQfOKmKP502cbZSI08y0NdXy1iQ78Q2U1AkJ3x7EnTE3oZ1CHnO7COWi4xPapjwOVn" width="180" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">First stop was Mount Pelion,
home of the timber that made the Argo, where I met its most famous resident,
Cheiron the Centaur. Then I explored the Mycenaean Palace at ancient Iolkos
near Volos, a substantial building complex in which Medea persuaded the
daughters of Bad King Pelias to boil him to death. The most influential version
of this story was told in<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEizivTA-iVBOdmQax8R-yVCwTUPpVuWqRA6_qZ5IHQOk12ufL3-XCcaNkpQOEkErOHqnXIc3oxDBM97vIFkY_NM6zDUaHmXTv9aEYZ-kysbEek15-FZQCQoUgLZJCP8b6khUzSga7G-Yh_bkTDef9cPIRIT9db8rkZf7DT9RFtTSaR8XsSm7Spr5PP0" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="377" data-original-width="597" height="202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEizivTA-iVBOdmQax8R-yVCwTUPpVuWqRA6_qZ5IHQOk12ufL3-XCcaNkpQOEkErOHqnXIc3oxDBM97vIFkY_NM6zDUaHmXTv9aEYZ-kysbEek15-FZQCQoUgLZJCP8b6khUzSga7G-Yh_bkTDef9cPIRIT9db8rkZf7DT9RFtTSaR8XsSm7Spr5PP0" width="320" /></a></div><br /> Euripides’ tragedy </span><i style="font-size: 14pt;">Daughters of Pelias</i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">, of
which only fragments and vase images illustrating it remain.</span><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjh9vDBAB0DCxkVpW7o1L6UT4tUucvR7ELfOmynBirUyvuMRiBGZn4asw73IN5xvIN5UWxfptqOnxHJcfFDSWSo9f17KTq0RWK8eQfQeLT6D40NkgQV5GxCnU04_ciX5ZtGHhrP60Fg4RR3u_E0-VLmlRa-gzMPlOD3STFGl9wVh5D1Xrxp-1eSbC9s" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="510" data-original-width="680" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjh9vDBAB0DCxkVpW7o1L6UT4tUucvR7ELfOmynBirUyvuMRiBGZn4asw73IN5xvIN5UWxfptqOnxHJcfFDSWSo9f17KTq0RWK8eQfQeLT6D40NkgQV5GxCnU04_ciX5ZtGHhrP60Fg4RR3u_E0-VLmlRa-gzMPlOD3STFGl9wVh5D1Xrxp-1eSbC9s" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt;">The details of this amazing site, and the finds from it like this toy horses and chariot, will feature in my forthcoming book </span><i style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">Medea: A Life in Five Acts </i><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt;">with Yale University Press. </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZqmfRxLSUVTzoKRxN0czLzn-mR9Ach_Um3K3Jirkf3YjXvYr6xAgLjs5LtBFAw-u9aFu6ZVn4VjY2Xh9nFI_aLd2yxZxKGKtlCOSySH8E9KoTWlS9vO6icIxJvXhsmw5igp84ZcmA2eFlZkTqeQWPMPwXg4fwLaYWuZexwdhk7YqVw6Fmv_GMfekK/s262/horse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="174" data-original-width="262" height="306" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZqmfRxLSUVTzoKRxN0czLzn-mR9Ach_Um3K3Jirkf3YjXvYr6xAgLjs5LtBFAw-u9aFu6ZVn4VjY2Xh9nFI_aLd2yxZxKGKtlCOSySH8E9KoTWlS9vO6icIxJvXhsmw5igp84ZcmA2eFlZkTqeQWPMPwXg4fwLaYWuZexwdhk7YqVw6Fmv_GMfekK/w461-h306/horse.jpg" width="461" /></a></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></div><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; text-align: justify;">Today we found a replica Argo in Volos harbour, a statue of the Argo competing with Santa’s sleigh on the ring-road, and the Mycenaean harbour at Pefkakia from which the Argo first set sail. A magical experience on the lovely coast directly beneath Pelion’s wooded heights.</span></span></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjt2KcwafN5HK2MTmZG1e1lfOt6h1xZnlzW_vewDYRuErjaXmgBAzB4nCRE6E1lLAMNu0h88RvtuIaaorojSm7AuLyyBf8YRz0WFr1XJZnB22MHeL1Ok80cX5UXWtfDgNWYZO26o878TRCAswT-sovgZCUGFXbJYssoPotItTmQbdPMieogHhyDyv6I" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="563" data-original-width="750" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjt2KcwafN5HK2MTmZG1e1lfOt6h1xZnlzW_vewDYRuErjaXmgBAzB4nCRE6E1lLAMNu0h88RvtuIaaorojSm7AuLyyBf8YRz0WFr1XJZnB22MHeL1Ok80cX5UXWtfDgNWYZO26o878TRCAswT-sovgZCUGFXbJYssoPotItTmQbdPMieogHhyDyv6I" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Today we ventured inland to
the Mycenaean archaeological sites at nearby ancient Pherae, where one of
Pelias’ daughters, Alcestis, married the local king, Admetus. Another tragedy
by Euripides, his <i>Alcestis</i>, enacts how she gave up her life in the place
of Admetus, died with her little children at her side, and then miraculously
returned from the dead. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 150%;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 14pt; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhK24C0bdsUSjRD5FIEhSC6NcPAAMijhsVyo5Kd2rFX-qOgE5aTp-x6BJOYPlYgoAaVRWgCxznQJ3FJb7osBudsabf55GjgI-K9TwX3RN225PntKq7KzfiPP8ozmQt9yPkwc2hHIWj_MGo6hG2NeQVNIHgiPJRUXMIr9ndrDvwbfRjFuPk-l2hMVna5" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="150" data-original-width="249" height="193" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhK24C0bdsUSjRD5FIEhSC6NcPAAMijhsVyo5Kd2rFX-qOgE5aTp-x6BJOYPlYgoAaVRWgCxznQJ3FJb7osBudsabf55GjgI-K9TwX3RN225PntKq7KzfiPP8ozmQt9yPkwc2hHIWj_MGo6hG2NeQVNIHgiPJRUXMIr9ndrDvwbfRjFuPk-l2hMVna5" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: large;">Heracles wrestled with Thanatos and retrieved her. We
even found a Mycenaean tomb outside which that wrestling match could have taken
place.<o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 150%;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 14pt; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg6fzt4E4n21C8pWHsCY2yz7k6IJVGS1dW7-O3ke5FnbMTWRHhLKWPPi7e3-wVe5YOOXHVdan5Nipg5dO91UH1_mndRKP9_n8j55G3QSSxuNAJSd381Cn-K8plMKFFbSWK324na0JWCD9ELNCw0CVvObmMusgLwzDTw0mvczMJu7mWHDonndVtxVuK8" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="627" data-original-width="749" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg6fzt4E4n21C8pWHsCY2yz7k6IJVGS1dW7-O3ke5FnbMTWRHhLKWPPi7e3-wVe5YOOXHVdan5Nipg5dO91UH1_mndRKP9_n8j55G3QSSxuNAJSd381Cn-K8plMKFFbSWK324na0JWCD9ELNCw0CVvObmMusgLwzDTw0mvczMJu7mWHDonndVtxVuK8" width="287" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Nothing pleases me more than
adventures which trace the geophysical reality which provided the contexts for
ancient literature. I returned to Blighted Blighty tomorrow fully energized to
face whatever the NHS is about to throw at me. Not only have you not got rid of
me yet, but you ain’t SEEN nothing yet. I promise.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjpwpBhVOXaAGkn6F9L7OWOhb2Rm2WUqJL5yZmjBkOPy04P23IhQkukA8FGuNPRxzedU93S5uwL-axCfttSX2qGEPxlDTA6Z8heTgajCa_DSYqATnyLb-JgTt63lE3B4JI-a21MPOmj0zRLeQnbu3gwdXuFwz3ob6L7Y7bKP82vQKoiq2rI3mewDKA3" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="563" data-original-width="750" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjpwpBhVOXaAGkn6F9L7OWOhb2Rm2WUqJL5yZmjBkOPy04P23IhQkukA8FGuNPRxzedU93S5uwL-axCfttSX2qGEPxlDTA6Z8heTgajCa_DSYqATnyLb-JgTt63lE3B4JI-a21MPOmj0zRLeQnbu3gwdXuFwz3ob6L7Y7bKP82vQKoiq2rI3mewDKA3=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p>Edith Hallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02518971064140009711noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4134533972010981122.post-52912513900858905462022-09-11T11:55:00.001+01:002022-09-11T11:55:49.798+01:00Five New North-Eastern Classics Initiatives<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; line-height: 150%;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 14pt; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhuXlksLORrc-4LSQpBDvshzoltO4babPB7PLrhwyK4jI7Ia3B374Ysu60z3hSucnVA4gdGp3KAF87HpZqI8Eb5x2sCEGeEk2ng32dprOK7YYDzcoSpHfxJec-f8pEHUNbDAO2DytDEeYXfQw6oIQa2zOkZyRzgHc3RH_8MGTXp-cHykyMu3KlF3A5n" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="145" data-original-width="348" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhuXlksLORrc-4LSQpBDvshzoltO4babPB7PLrhwyK4jI7Ia3B374Ysu60z3hSucnVA4gdGp3KAF87HpZqI8Eb5x2sCEGeEk2ng32dprOK7YYDzcoSpHfxJec-f8pEHUNbDAO2DytDEeYXfQw6oIQa2zOkZyRzgHc3RH_8MGTXp-cHykyMu3KlF3A5n" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: large;">Yesterday was the launch of <i>five </i>new
initiatives fostering understanding and enjoyment of the ancient Greek and Roman worlds in the
North-East of England. It was drizzling on and off, and the lawn outside the
Durham Uni lecture hall on Palace Green lived up to its name, shining emerald
in the intermittent sunshine. I made a large celebratory chocolate cake.</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjHm5E8nW-4qoXsjTlGU0wl59ei0syJ5F7WBpz4ePYf6DD-E3n8v2XRdxYpoY6Vd-ja2Vltgj1VMUdUL-tRi6BiuwLl467NyeViYgqG6pyo3LRLXQ5Rn-57CWEfRIhXBTQiTmy5k0e6sirH7NIbFHEgmumXfhLkiJE0QUnTg44l402MsLqXyjZrjWiZ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjHm5E8nW-4qoXsjTlGU0wl59ei0syJ5F7WBpz4ePYf6DD-E3n8v2XRdxYpoY6Vd-ja2Vltgj1VMUdUL-tRi6BiuwLl467NyeViYgqG6pyo3LRLXQ5Rn-57CWEfRIhXBTQiTmy5k0e6sirH7NIbFHEgmumXfhLkiJE0QUnTg44l402MsLqXyjZrjWiZ" width="180" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The Head of the Classics & Ancient History
Department, <a href="https://www.durham.ac.uk/staff/jennifer-ingleheart/">Prof.
Jennifer Ingleheart</a>, kicked off proceedings with an eloquent manifesto contrasting
the richness of classical culture in our region with its educational and
material poverty (our event was free, as was lunch, and plenty of local people
came). <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I offered some context by talking about the
extraordinary cluster of brilliant creative individuals produced by Grangefield
Grammar School, at other times known as Stockton Secondary School: Ridley
Scott, director of <i>Gladiator</i>; Pat Barker, author of <i>Silence of the Girls
</i>and <i>Women of </i>Troy, and Barry Unsworth, a miner’s son, whose <i>Songs
of the Kings </i>is a searing account of how Iphigenia was literally ‘spun’ to
death by a New Labour PR man named Odysseus. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhNYJUkLXmsv0FHsk6aWpgRNVQUcTEJ4_pJFdMdPA4JPITVWn0dSfYAXfGhXH1Hg3ADVwy_TLya9gKuvp5olxzZEwNxg_3Z1hPYWDb8uEqNqzqDtg_V8sYQ2hOkW8pbSY7E-3TjFBl2vd62KEmhK1MRub1FozpsDPqbZlBewM9QSIwZZLOEtUx6J3tO" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="275" data-original-width="183" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhNYJUkLXmsv0FHsk6aWpgRNVQUcTEJ4_pJFdMdPA4JPITVWn0dSfYAXfGhXH1Hg3ADVwy_TLya9gKuvp5olxzZEwNxg_3Z1hPYWDb8uEqNqzqDtg_V8sYQ2hOkW8pbSY7E-3TjFBl2vd62KEmhK1MRub1FozpsDPqbZlBewM9QSIwZZLOEtUx6J3tO" width="160" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Initiative 1: Durham University School of Education has
just introduced the first <a href="https://www.durham.ac.uk/study/postgraduate/taught-degrees/application-guidance/pgce-applications/">PGCE
training in Classics</a> for decades. The Northerners who want to teach
Classics have been forced for far too long to up sticks and go to Cambridge or
King’s College London. My amazing fellow-schemer <a href="http://www.drarlenehh.com/">Dr Arlene Holmes-Henderson</a> has designed the
teaching materials. Schools in the North-East wanting to teach Classics will
finally have a locally-trained supply of teachers on tap.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjsIeq_5NFPuKjb07kCt9-5TJCjniC3_HV_BQBWVOlETDwCIL6BDtnWGdInT9zHd86Cw1P1kSeiZf6acsfp0OrZ1kNl8lRfzc0kFR1YRrdRDYw1kouXyiq_AIzq4xCSopTjlHESktaQQCWUuKOFaE1lifzCnQSwyTTlo_ufJwPaYmCNkeTRucgLiEnr" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="204" data-original-width="247" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjsIeq_5NFPuKjb07kCt9-5TJCjniC3_HV_BQBWVOlETDwCIL6BDtnWGdInT9zHd86Cw1P1kSeiZf6acsfp0OrZ1kNl8lRfzc0kFR1YRrdRDYw1kouXyiq_AIzq4xCSopTjlHESktaQQCWUuKOFaE1lifzCnQSwyTTlo_ufJwPaYmCNkeTRucgLiEnr" width="291" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Initiative 2: The campaign to make Classical
Civilisation and Ancient History in State Education, <i><a href="http://aceclassics.org.uk/">Advocating Classics Education</a></i>, which
Arlene and I founded in 2017, transfers its HQ to Durham University from King’s
College London. I remain available to talk at schools and sixth-form colleges,
either in person or virtually; please just email via my website. And I’ve just
completed translations of all the plays on the Greek Theatre A-Level module for
use as the standard set texts. More on this soon.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhLuT6JrNJkMUksQbSJCgN_ZtYrYrxFSM4HfItCpr5acJIEMo4TkjTmbZv3iV685MZISVmOl_RIMKZkDVGimK3B6Jc15VHIJ0I4ZztipSw2AUFtHrRN6I3zBGqNcTwV7vI-LcuNYMSW-o6TwGQiJqNqadP_rozPhxfHl2LEGpxtdZLpta7aOrVuxPtP" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="328" data-original-width="721" height="146" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhLuT6JrNJkMUksQbSJCgN_ZtYrYrxFSM4HfItCpr5acJIEMo4TkjTmbZv3iV685MZISVmOl_RIMKZkDVGimK3B6Jc15VHIJ0I4ZztipSw2AUFtHrRN6I3zBGqNcTwV7vI-LcuNYMSW-o6TwGQiJqNqadP_rozPhxfHl2LEGpxtdZLpta7aOrVuxPtP" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Initiative 3: <a href="https://www.durham.ac.uk/staff/e-v-thomas/">Dr Edmund Thomas</a> and I,
with the help of champion cricketer PhD student Rory McInnes-Gibbons, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>are convening a year-long seminar series and a
conference on the history of Classics in the North-East. Papers will discuss
radical printing houses, translations of ancient zoological and botanical
treatises, historical pageants, classicizing architecture, Hadrian’s Wall,
workers’ education and much, much more. There will be a book, a website and
building of a network to participate in making a film to explore the rich classical
tradition in this part of the world.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh-ArSxFEHPm94YZHejCIoleD2Xz-6gLvvdTf6HaEezgHiNVYh2WHYbU9KwdPwOmh_wy7GsB_mf-EZMWXXTc37_UtLTmsdHAIrdZtFJK2nevROF0cvQ7BVJBZm2ilzaSYGkvIZjVGGLfe9Juq5ahrhzsC5yfMTs0jHb0mJO6AAxBR8cAMmsN5MjcY0E" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1920" data-original-width="2560" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh-ArSxFEHPm94YZHejCIoleD2Xz-6gLvvdTf6HaEezgHiNVYh2WHYbU9KwdPwOmh_wy7GsB_mf-EZMWXXTc37_UtLTmsdHAIrdZtFJK2nevROF0cvQ7BVJBZm2ilzaSYGkvIZjVGGLfe9Juq5ahrhzsC5yfMTs0jHb0mJO6AAxBR8cAMmsN5MjcY0E" width="320" /></a></div><br /></div></div><p></p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Initiative
4: We launched the new <a href="https://hadrianswallca.wordpress.com/">Hadrian’s
Wall Branch</a> of the Classical Association, of which I am president, Dr
Cora-Beth Fraser is Secretary/Editor and Prof. Justine Wolfenden is Chair. We
are determined to make this an inclusive organization: ethnic minority,
disabled, unwaged and neuro-diverse members are particularly welcome. Our first
big public event will be a family-friendly celebration of the Saturnalia on
Saturday 10 December. Parents will have to serve children. Costumes will
be worn. Delicious Roman dishes will be available.</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></p></blockquote></blockquote><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjGFksoxqycDQr893YD8MV3naRPMJyhMeXJXyppVm-Maf2j8uaEqPGUR79P5uapHi37TXA_sg1hthiXtdy-0D6u7kBULIBxTw571qRsUY5L_crR2Grs4hqbodpI982FN-XF8w3zoeq6jG8guZpQXxwZe_JXBequQ81jFqAFtt5BCma6PqkcMOTxuwd4" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="308" data-original-width="164" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjGFksoxqycDQr893YD8MV3naRPMJyhMeXJXyppVm-Maf2j8uaEqPGUR79P5uapHi37TXA_sg1hthiXtdy-0D6u7kBULIBxTw571qRsUY5L_crR2Grs4hqbodpI982FN-XF8w3zoeq6jG8guZpQXxwZe_JXBequQ81jFqAFtt5BCma6PqkcMOTxuwd4=w171-h320" width="171" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Initiative 5: Our department’s bid to become the best Classics
research centre in the land has got off to a flying start this term with my
securing of two large research grants. One, funded by Leverhulme, studies
Aristotle’s presence outside academic circles since the Restoration (see e.g.
this anti-feminist cartoon); the other studies his fascinating and hopelessly
under-researched writing styles. It is funded by UKRI. Four new post-doctoral
researchers will be arriving in Durham to turn it into the most important
northern outpost of the great philosopher’s Athenian Lyceum. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix8ViWWjHXIMYIILLa7Y29I3Jst-HR2OIUZLbddSBKlgZvfbC0oEAwhD0UHgilf3JT6XVRHdkEn-kC9G8TjzO-ScZ8JU3pk-H5mT0mdf_21t9VIAQmjEJfc_SJ87a-FkvmAnfKQ1WKe3zneL4OnEdaOP5Vna7_6B9yZNj2Jz3UpBhugbuyhPqWb0Pq/s3000/Picture2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="2635" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix8ViWWjHXIMYIILLa7Y29I3Jst-HR2OIUZLbddSBKlgZvfbC0oEAwhD0UHgilf3JT6XVRHdkEn-kC9G8TjzO-ScZ8JU3pk-H5mT0mdf_21t9VIAQmjEJfc_SJ87a-FkvmAnfKQ1WKe3zneL4OnEdaOP5Vna7_6B9yZNj2Jz3UpBhugbuyhPqWb0Pq/s320/Picture2.jpg" width="281" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">There is a great deal to do, but I’m bursting with
enthusiasm for every single initiative-research, outreach, public engagement, widening access, boosting state education, local history, sheer good fun. I have the best collaborators in the
world. And the Geordie for collaborator, my friends, is the deeply unclassical,
Scandinavian-derived and resonant noun <i>marra</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjywVydAAMMHI5cjLzjDRoJfmNGfbBSosm4KepEVU_fsEwEzQ2kk7mIKwxSTI1k3oY5lOp-SP0RNN_2GqX6GYSnAytBtWLQIEFJpZv1oE7iNlebKhmxmEYI5k1kxue5nhFSh-wnMS3pa-y6gf5sA_8rI0nc9ASW2EQOxdvdQv7oKz5lrAnCbG1y5CwY" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="219" data-original-width="231" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjywVydAAMMHI5cjLzjDRoJfmNGfbBSosm4KepEVU_fsEwEzQ2kk7mIKwxSTI1k3oY5lOp-SP0RNN_2GqX6GYSnAytBtWLQIEFJpZv1oE7iNlebKhmxmEYI5k1kxue5nhFSh-wnMS3pa-y6gf5sA_8rI0nc9ASW2EQOxdvdQv7oKz5lrAnCbG1y5CwY" width="253" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p>Edith Hallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02518971064140009711noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4134533972010981122.post-80657275439574452222022-08-10T13:46:00.002+01:002022-08-10T14:59:54.079+01:00On Vindication and Robert the Bruce's Spider<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">What
a difference a month can make! A year ago I was in the greatest pickle of my
working life. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fortunately, the visionary
Head of Classics & Ancient History and the management at Durham, which
still understands <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>the purpose of a
university, embraced my job application and have made me welcome. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">The
downward spiral began at the end of 2014, when I was officially invited by the Oxford
Faculty of Classics to apply for their Regius Chair of Greek. I would not have
applied otherwise. Uncivilly, they did not shortlist me. I got over it quickly.
I loved my job at King’s College London. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">But
the events of 2020-2021 took my public humiliation to a whole new level. I was
interviewed for the Cambridge Regius Chair of Greek, and told it had been
offered to another candidate. He is brilliant; it was no shame to lose to him. I
got over it quickly. But nobody told me I had been deemed unappointable. This
meant that for more than two months after he turned it down, I was forced to
field endless enquiries from all over the world asking if I ‘had heard anything’.
My 'unappointability' was visible to all. I hit an all-time low.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">In
the end I swallowed my pride and asked a friend at Cambridge what was going on.
I did eventually get an apology that I had not been kept informed. When I asked
Cambridge HR on which of the published criteria I had been deemed unappointable,
they said the committee had identified my ‘Research Plans’ as inadequate. This was somewhat mystifying since I had
included in my dossier full details of all my current research grant
applications.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">None
of this would have mattered if management at KCL had not decided that the tasks
I had been contracted to perform nearly a decade ago no longer applied, and
that I was now required to do substantial amounts of elementary teaching. I
could no longer travel in term and needed, demeaningly, to tell all the
international institutions I had agreed to lecture to that I could no longer
come because of my many first-year seminars backing up other lecturers’ courses.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">I
love teaching and I could have coped with this if it were not for
the coercive tone taken by management. I accessed my inner socialist rebel and
union member. But I was facing being driven out of one university by brutality after being deemed
unappointable at another. I was being pensioned off when I still need income to
educate our children.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">The
verb ‘vindicate’ originally meant ‘to proclaim (<i>dicare</i>) authority (<i>vis</i>)'.
I felt I was disrespected by many peers and had lost all authority as a scholar of
Greek. So it is with incredible joy to me that I’ve heard, within four weeks,
three pieces of news that have restored my self-belief. I’ve been elected
Fellow of the British Academy, and won two large research grants, one of which,
on Aristotle’s prose style, pays 70% of my salary for five years as well as
supporting three others. Things can change quickly! Readers, do not give up!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">I’m
delighted to have my authority restored and to be giving Durham any benefits
that accrue. I am also pleased that the Aristotelian principle motoring my life—it
doesn’t matter how others judge you if you are true to your own principles and project and never
give up—has been vindicated. <o:p></o:p></span></p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjlbqfJTJuLjU8fdheZLYjwCHqfv-3linN9Cy3rN-7DfsLHzWpUecjxcQCcz9A9mQVbsExY7-eNzbttDZ0m5kLh0N5ptVmVIsEq8jy83bmiOYKOrgmdt09aS4GKlqhgdphADlaU9XAWj-HIr5KhKvYjBI6hkkN81PsSjuH9P5VZtyOJ_kPhTST9KLyj" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img alt="" data-original-height="347" data-original-width="512" height="261" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjlbqfJTJuLjU8fdheZLYjwCHqfv-3linN9Cy3rN-7DfsLHzWpUecjxcQCcz9A9mQVbsExY7-eNzbttDZ0m5kLh0N5ptVmVIsEq8jy83bmiOYKOrgmdt09aS4GKlqhgdphADlaU9XAWj-HIr5KhKvYjBI6hkkN81PsSjuH9P5VZtyOJ_kPhTST9KLyj=w385-h261" width="385" /></a></span></p></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">My
mother often told me the story of the King of Scotland called Robert the Bruce
and the spider. Robert’s army kept being defeated by the English. When he was
taking refuge in a cave, he watched a spider fail six times to attach her web
to the cave wall. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She succeeded on her
seventh attempt. This inspired Robert to try to expel the English again. He
won. He proclaimed the Scots' authority. <o:p></o:p></span></p>Edith Hallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02518971064140009711noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4134533972010981122.post-21426592692599102062022-07-30T12:55:00.007+01:002022-07-30T13:06:42.346+01:00On (Briefly) Returning to KCL and Supervisory Best Practice<p><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Weird event of the week was attending a King's College London graduation day at the magnificent Royal Festival Hall. Having left this university unnecessarily, under a humiliating cloud entirely of Management making, I was nervous and dragged my husband along to protect me from The Evil Eye. But I soon felt comfortable on meeting some of my favourite former colleagues, whom I miss sorely: Hugh Bowden, Emily Pillinger-Avlamis, and Will Wootton.<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiyoD6siSYM6ydhQek3zeV2hgDNewFd0wjnQTf1gZQqQClxRGmgmPXuG-dH15WVHReV2utfaJpEtGIDhXqKu4xXNfiNrRfJgGje3KWzLbG8rKRJiXKynNt2OgL26kxZXrPnuqFYgCPOd8t4pKevQqh9CZQ1rJC0vjwXB-hVesd4YoGiDOQ1bArvscCN" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="456" data-original-width="1024" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiyoD6siSYM6ydhQek3zeV2hgDNewFd0wjnQTf1gZQqQClxRGmgmPXuG-dH15WVHReV2utfaJpEtGIDhXqKu4xXNfiNrRfJgGje3KWzLbG8rKRJiXKynNt2OgL26kxZXrPnuqFYgCPOd8t4pKevQqh9CZQ1rJC0vjwXB-hVesd4YoGiDOQ1bArvscCN=w400-h179" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With Father of My Children, Who Offered to Bring an Electric Drill for Some Reason</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">I was there to receive an award for being the best PhD supervisor in Arts and Humanities. There was a fruity irony in one Dean's office deciding to bestow this on me, thanks to the amazing testimonials provided <a href="http://edithorial.blogspot.com/2019/06/we-are-proud-professional-mother.html">by my lovely PhDs</a>, when another Dean's office was spending hours devising ways effectively to demote me. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEia9Q12_WLn5t6dWadrP7EIxxT9mgNmvbhzQ2o-1vmgRTJ5I2GwUvEIXNRa8MAx1648-0lqUTfOzvCn0VF_qnEjfdGoVovadISgHUxtQyg-DT1jefwEubvKxM5JI8waqgKxjUhJ6KzxH3xTDOcRBMiinCQgwv9j28jceSLDbHT4B3rLjWg5DCGyIEA0" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="882" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEia9Q12_WLn5t6dWadrP7EIxxT9mgNmvbhzQ2o-1vmgRTJ5I2GwUvEIXNRa8MAx1648-0lqUTfOzvCn0VF_qnEjfdGoVovadISgHUxtQyg-DT1jefwEubvKxM5JI8waqgKxjUhJ6KzxH3xTDOcRBMiinCQgwv9j28jceSLDbHT4B3rLjWg5DCGyIEA0=w400-h217" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With lovely former colleagues Emily Pillinger-Avlamis and Will Wootton</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Unfortunately nobody warned me that the tube in which the diploma to be awarded was actually empty, and my husband caught a photo of me staring inside it in some confusion.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjpicCTbKucv3pRhWk-ONkNnY_saH76_lK3A9-sen-qy-r6dKZSBE165ihWH5MT14GDZedrmPCzOgAmvwmQqCYRz84Dwed0LI_6YmuS0vAhmMvB95-Yrw1rkxoxWl280jOhVRO9XU5tbzV1viSXHjxVMhMmx9EQQNqE-ptlMKrAuTk5FahqR8pYBrV0" style="font-size: 14pt; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="440" data-original-width="723" height="195" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjpicCTbKucv3pRhWk-ONkNnY_saH76_lK3A9-sen-qy-r6dKZSBE165ihWH5MT14GDZedrmPCzOgAmvwmQqCYRz84Dwed0LI_6YmuS0vAhmMvB95-Yrw1rkxoxWl280jOhVRO9XU5tbzV1viSXHjxVMhMmx9EQQNqE-ptlMKrAuTk5FahqR8pYBrV0" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">I was asked last summer to provide a statement about my supervisory theory and practice to go on the KCL website. Unsurprisingly, it has never been posted, presumably because I do not work for that institution any more. So just in case anybody out there is remotely interested, here is what I wrote:<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhslZfYDRTVdtJs7N0jZk9q_8HH0BaK4DcYbNYESz92qA9mCi_-eJDfItqDiI7_3lnKC1KsK5rFyJhI90D7LKoP-vGBjfYxmQk0J1LpKZMsBUsS2pEu9UOffU7GHUu_gqJ18qlJ1a5XQEI6V0i3D0RV8H0l4qp5qwkRSplHOeu3_QnwjLnM9y1Pm8K8" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="486" data-original-width="1016" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhslZfYDRTVdtJs7N0jZk9q_8HH0BaK4DcYbNYESz92qA9mCi_-eJDfItqDiI7_3lnKC1KsK5rFyJhI90D7LKoP-vGBjfYxmQk0J1LpKZMsBUsS2pEu9UOffU7GHUu_gqJ18qlJ1a5XQEI6V0i3D0RV8H0l4qp5qwkRSplHOeu3_QnwjLnM9y1Pm8K8=w400-h191" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With Professor Hugh Bowden, Superb Town Crier at the Event</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">My supervisory practice
is founded in the philosophical approach inaugurated by Sara Ruddick’s <i>Maternal
Thinking </i>(1989), which emphasises that society needs to shape the care and
education of each citizen as a mother does for each of her children. This is
supplemented by Aristotle’s belief that every one of us has a potential (<i>dynamis</i>)
to be the best possible version of ourselves, but that to fulfil it one needs
sensitive and caring support from others.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">I try to look after each
supervisee from the moment they contact me with a view to studying for a
research degree onwards, helping them frame the research question in their
applications and exploring their motivation, skillsets and potential to cope
with for the long, hard, lonely effort that writing a dissertation entails. I
try discreetly to discover how well they are supported financially and emotionally
in order to shape advice and support to their individual needs and make them
feel confident and welcome.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">The reference works in
Classics are numerous and extremely complicated to use. Students, especially
from unconventional backgrounds, are often intimidated by them. When
supervision commences, I introduce supervisees physically to the library and
online research tools they will need, advise on key mailing lists, societies
and online communities to enrol in, and introduce them to all my other current
PhD students in order to encourage mutual advice networks.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">Clarity in terms of
expectations and timetabling are crucial. Together we often create a paper diagram
with optimal dates (receipt of written assignments, supervisions, first draft
of thesis plan, doxography, upgrade, research trips, receipt of first full
draft, selection of examiners). This is then adapted as
necessary across the months and years.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">The single biggest
challenge intellectually is turning a research topic into an over-arching
research question. This needs to be formulated as a ‘why’ or ‘how’ question,
rather than a ‘what’ question (the last of which tends to elicit empirical and
descriptive lists rather than analytical writing). I never cease emphasising the
principle that every page of the thesis must be geared towards answering that question
and that any excursuses need justifying.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">In feedback, kindness and
constructiveness are essential; intellectual confidence is a fragile thing. I
try to find something to praise in every piece of writing and guide supervisees’
thought processes by Socratic questioning rather than flat criticism which
tends to shut down discussion. I recommend the close study of the way in which scholars
write when supervisees say they admire it, in order for them to discover for
themselves what makes a convincing and elegant academic style. I hold ‘live’
rehearsals when they are to deliver papers at conferences or attend interviews and
work with them to improve the clarity, brevity, and enjoyability of their oral
performances.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">But the most important
aspect of the supervisor’s relationship with graduate students is that it is quasi-parental,
even where the supervisee is considerably older than the supervisor. I make it
clear that I am happy to help at any time with personal difficulties, observe
the strictest confidence protocols, and always ask at the beginning of
supervisions how students are doing/feeling in general. I look out for
opportunities for them to deliver papers, publish, and network and train them
in how to do it for themselves. The point is to give them an intellectual
tractor of their own rather than a few years’ sustenance.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Finally, I do everything
I can to ensure that supervisees pursue successful careers or life goals when
they finish: I allocate an afternoon a week to reference writing. With the most
academically ambitious, I hold joint conferences and train them in co-editing
published volumes. I have been consultant on their theatrical productions and
have helped them publish their dissertations as monographs or series of articles.
I continue to meet them regularly either in person, often on theatre trips, or virtually for the rest of
our lives. A PhD student is for life, not just for a PhD. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDDaraRhMccov8-vAaOMzInsoE1MmJ6AKn492yvCxYfz3E9S08XY3-NZ1ab6HU_jgk8o4vjIGkcravNqDhdirp0Z1-Q0KFedsRaL3j_LIRc6E0aUtqwVV80NZOD3OqGXm_VQHNczPUAypu3sb7a6o8Ra5MMYP-vQKUFKTrAEpeSmbIXz5esOdanDUw/s1712/292381828_552389859966288_7228204747675736571_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1712" data-original-width="1284" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDDaraRhMccov8-vAaOMzInsoE1MmJ6AKn492yvCxYfz3E9S08XY3-NZ1ab6HU_jgk8o4vjIGkcravNqDhdirp0Z1-Q0KFedsRaL3j_LIRc6E0aUtqwVV80NZOD3OqGXm_VQHNczPUAypu3sb7a6o8Ra5MMYP-vQKUFKTrAEpeSmbIXz5esOdanDUw/w300-h400/292381828_552389859966288_7228204747675736571_n.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> </span></p>Edith Hallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02518971064140009711noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4134533972010981122.post-64573686293529157042022-07-17T10:27:00.003+01:002022-07-18T10:20:46.297+01:00Ancestral Suicide, the Ancient Greeks, and Me.<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEil2G84tyVdQUefvJAGsM1kAXTScxDqiLgTbDc80cWx29LLFlg435oCqi2kkdClz88HEHL4tzjgSe_uL6gBihoQ5L0Q0Ny3UsDiNXFzbChV9igFp2czVy8qL7i_ew46kIjSCJfD8--qCoRYU-TizTIfxEDYBdQxjlYeCf1Qls3daApVjNRUxdgJd5bq" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="274" data-original-width="474" height="231" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEil2G84tyVdQUefvJAGsM1kAXTScxDqiLgTbDc80cWx29LLFlg435oCqi2kkdClz88HEHL4tzjgSe_uL6gBihoQ5L0Q0Ny3UsDiNXFzbChV9igFp2czVy8qL7i_ew46kIjSCJfD8--qCoRYU-TizTIfxEDYBdQxjlYeCf1Qls3daApVjNRUxdgJd5bq=w400-h231" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Edwardian Dunbar</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /></div><br /></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 14pt; text-align: justify;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I've needed for some time to find out more about my mother's family. She died in 2016, but had refused to talk much about her own mother, who killed herself almost exactly 50 years after her father, my great-grandfather, had taken his own life.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">When I first read a Greek
tragedy, at 16 years old, I was immediately fixated by the idea of families afflicted
by curses handed down over generations. Sometimes I think the trajectory
of my entire </span><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="font-size: 18.6667px;">working </span><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt;">life was determined by the shadows hanging over my matrilineal
descent.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg-BW8PE4IBy8OtO4AwnqcyUaWl50zPf9tHnXjWRmaci4FLbGGRS8wG-OsKBs8Ed766GMNXkubXbhs8ly74gvzhigFlBA9rFzvnrl0cYIgnP9SS2M0Ly0dp2kNH49zYtgJY8WygVPluUZpl85_pQPP_ankjS2pr5F3GEkk28OyRR0YcyRnYG64Wm3Gh" style="font-size: 18.6667px; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img alt="" data-original-height="346" data-original-width="219" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg-BW8PE4IBy8OtO4AwnqcyUaWl50zPf9tHnXjWRmaci4FLbGGRS8wG-OsKBs8Ed766GMNXkubXbhs8ly74gvzhigFlBA9rFzvnrl0cYIgnP9SS2M0Ly0dp2kNH49zYtgJY8WygVPluUZpl85_pQPP_ankjS2pr5F3GEkk28OyRR0YcyRnYG64Wm3Gh=w253-h400" width="253" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">First we went to Dunbar, a
beautiful seaside town on the south coast of the Firth of Forth, once a popular vacation
resort in the days before package holidays to the Mediterranean. We were
looking for Seafield Pond, where my great-grandfather, Robert Nicol Masterton, was
found drowned in August 1912. It is a beautiful spot, right by the sea, once a
quarry. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhR1FoO-SCxBu-JSqeoy47i-fZZ36g7Vsxu8HhE1vKKqH2CFa6Qmx6BH5pTdO9aWQNFlKl86kVlcrtQ8cssJt2PG-nrUiN4kXNWKnXHks2CAPPrcaVzI7avfnC03AZ4Iqbxu0Sw6AiQsNvLYmtPlgbFimGUjHvJLlogmYiax52qSdzJJhMQH8wg-yVo" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="856" data-original-width="1284" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhR1FoO-SCxBu-JSqeoy47i-fZZ36g7Vsxu8HhE1vKKqH2CFa6Qmx6BH5pTdO9aWQNFlKl86kVlcrtQ8cssJt2PG-nrUiN4kXNWKnXHks2CAPPrcaVzI7avfnC03AZ4Iqbxu0Sw6AiQsNvLYmtPlgbFimGUjHvJLlogmYiax52qSdzJJhMQH8wg-yVo" width="320" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">With the help of my husband
Richard Poynder and brilliant local archivists Hanita Ritchie and Pauline Smeed,
we discovered that Robert was a well-respected officer of the Burgh, Inspector
of the Poor. He was in his fifties and had bought a fine Dunbar house for his
wife and four children, now in early adulthood. He had risen socially through his
marriage to the daughter of the local Provost (Mayor), my great-great-grandfather
<a href="https://www.johngraycentre.org/people/movers-and-shakers/dunbar-provosts/john-kellie-keir/">John Kellie Keir</a>. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgFAzNrfJFDL5N1mcoGOYzaVRl44TgmNT0RDR1CDLG9n3GvzlFWzMYabGQmkeuQ3-b3LZNihPBJsUjmA5oxj0ABM6x-7bwX82RDXLUGgVz20Y45ZeF29C6AH-tddXL7irKQnUfHtsky-sixgClGgVplVqMZDMSKn3jM-aIkFFJmBtVt1cjcmqhezuin" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="763" data-original-width="511" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgFAzNrfJFDL5N1mcoGOYzaVRl44TgmNT0RDR1CDLG9n3GvzlFWzMYabGQmkeuQ3-b3LZNihPBJsUjmA5oxj0ABM6x-7bwX82RDXLUGgVz20Y45ZeF29C6AH-tddXL7irKQnUfHtsky-sixgClGgVplVqMZDMSKn3jM-aIkFFJmBtVt1cjcmqhezuin=w268-h400" width="268" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">John Kellie Keir</td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Robert’s death caused a huge
disturbance in the community as well as his family. Although depression is
undoubtedly in this line of DNA, and he fought very hard for more funds to
alleviate poverty, nobody knows what drove him to suicide. The shock in the
local news reports is palpable.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijhOz3L4TBYUPFkJKtDRvc2ExSGdg5dArZFy6fWKA9bY5UBADJ8-5iEphhMrw2beFdZnX2sJ_dTipKoXjJqwI_Z8HMXvMjc57prv1--GY7O9Ot_qjnDhuODCMPEHkcm8dgTY80KNgJ-4jWoO7Pd99CnwdYNrv2vlncryXHXwmtoFfmbIYizNQpOGqG/s888/edith%20masterton%20again%202.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="888" data-original-width="450" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijhOz3L4TBYUPFkJKtDRvc2ExSGdg5dArZFy6fWKA9bY5UBADJ8-5iEphhMrw2beFdZnX2sJ_dTipKoXjJqwI_Z8HMXvMjc57prv1--GY7O9Ot_qjnDhuODCMPEHkcm8dgTY80KNgJ-4jWoO7Pd99CnwdYNrv2vlncryXHXwmtoFfmbIYizNQpOGqG/w203-h400/edith%20masterton%20again%202.jpg" width="203" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Edith Masterton in 1913</td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We crossed Scotland to the coast
of Ayrshire, where my grandmother Edith Henderson (born Masterton), who had
been devastated by her father’s death when she was a suffragette undergraduate at Edinburgh,
threw herself from a hotel window in Largs on October 1<sup>st</sup> 1962. The
hotel has since been demolished, but its precise setting, right by the sea, is
oddly similar. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhEqde3nSFYy_C9hN5oVnckzAXAeX7kdLS3I_AeGmNXaoelBuHGGF7SFb7jgHuegVtP__FrP7-TvEu89NM4kfqlLOP8LXkjYhLvnrc5fBHsQWRBQ8hGt0JTKRxuuiZ8R_vjUm6zLf8tAY9ycHbWp6NKCwr1QSHF0P8w35WEN1sB7NrgvatdqiAMJaJQ" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhEqde3nSFYy_C9hN5oVnckzAXAeX7kdLS3I_AeGmNXaoelBuHGGF7SFb7jgHuegVtP__FrP7-TvEu89NM4kfqlLOP8LXkjYhLvnrc5fBHsQWRBQ8hGt0JTKRxuuiZ8R_vjUm6zLf8tAY9ycHbWp6NKCwr1QSHF0P8w35WEN1sB7NrgvatdqiAMJaJQ" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Marine and Curlighall Hotel, Largs, c. 1983</td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /><span style="font-size: 14pt;">My mother receiving the news
of this catastrophe by phone in Nottingham is my earliest memory. Her adamant
silence about it subsequently, besides expressing regret she had called me
after her mother, was a symptom I believe of her deep pain. Her mother Edith had
suffered from lifelong depression, an unhappy marriage, no occupation for her
excellent brain and the death of a baby. Her suicide had long been imminent.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgSjV8BDqDYWf_S2GMGK39M9QfrXpvOVywFNcq319TNKnEgVSPtebZwj1MMnVB0K0eVHZt8H3ySnP97aiLylvzwMW7B62o9OjZgC31HyGK-oJRRhG7E_a4s64iR-n3mzPDUUs80c1x5ODpZJWcWEMiYYKyKEB7J1Vn4xN0X6-nuafGT3PIPl1VwReKc" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="856" data-original-width="1284" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgSjV8BDqDYWf_S2GMGK39M9QfrXpvOVywFNcq319TNKnEgVSPtebZwj1MMnVB0K0eVHZt8H3ySnP97aiLylvzwMW7B62o9OjZgC31HyGK-oJRRhG7E_a4s64iR-n3mzPDUUs80c1x5ODpZJWcWEMiYYKyKEB7J1Vn4xN0X6-nuafGT3PIPl1VwReKc=w400-h266" width="400" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">This round-trip enabled me finally to visit the crematorium in Kirkcaldy where my own mother’s funeral
ceremony took place in 2016. For reasons too painful yet to make public I had
not attended it. The waves of peace washing over me after leaving flowers at
all three places have brought me an unexpected amount of relief.<o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjr94cLys9iI8btfCwzDH6mWMS-1igk6QWIlM3B1SphOG4Eohv665WyT6uVVpzUYm0v5ofiWLFVKgMOgtcvK7kN2NOrajbtz0KlAkzN9_PkMz3t_Itr4Jb-p-L2_-zuJl1zlU5_1szA56IC86ypTHHvPeXjvM0bdwJOSjOGKFYf_lqvFIBbzCBQnp9E" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1712" data-original-width="1284" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjr94cLys9iI8btfCwzDH6mWMS-1igk6QWIlM3B1SphOG4Eohv665WyT6uVVpzUYm0v5ofiWLFVKgMOgtcvK7kN2NOrajbtz0KlAkzN9_PkMz3t_Itr4Jb-p-L2_-zuJl1zlU5_1szA56IC86ypTHHvPeXjvM0bdwJOSjOGKFYf_lqvFIBbzCBQnp9E=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I write this not to elicit
pity, which would be misplaced, nor (I hope) to be self-indulgently morbid. There are still taboos around
suicide and depression, and the utter silence about this history in my family has always
disturbed me. More importantly, I believe that the trauma caused by suicide
leaves profound intergenerational scars which can never be healed without investigating
and addressing the truth. <o:p></o:p></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhcPk5kSZo8Y_JHVNaae47Ijgwr1VU3sHqfwUukdfcYJJ-gu_UKNamSQ5M-hsn_DDUxk3VORSW3FIuyY2YslyDjYc8OJItw4Cf-pDTZSZLrNx66ywPX1uMGUGZNoOyxCNWw_iLuyJ8S4yMontlj3nW5CueACpq9KpF3dCAJ-MllHc44M-m04WtQvZ6l" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1712" data-original-width="1284" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhcPk5kSZo8Y_JHVNaae47Ijgwr1VU3sHqfwUukdfcYJJ-gu_UKNamSQ5M-hsn_DDUxk3VORSW3FIuyY2YslyDjYc8OJItw4Cf-pDTZSZLrNx66ywPX1uMGUGZNoOyxCNWw_iLuyJ8S4yMontlj3nW5CueACpq9KpF3dCAJ-MllHc44M-m04WtQvZ6l=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With Hanita Ritchie at the John Gray Centre, Haddington</td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I hope to write a book about
how the extraordinary suicide narratives in Greek tragedy, and the arguments
against suicide in Aristotle, have helped me to a better understanding of these
things. But for now, I’m just feeling thankful to those archivists and my amazing husband with his car and camera and humour and enjoying
an unprecedented sense of psychic calm.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face="Trebuchet MS, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;"><br /></span></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhXfKQm52cfDDCBYvr5bH8Bj7gbBiEMoSsTYe6arS9WifciT_4FlxBe90ASQ0bRtwNBbDa0AmrUWLhUNu9ekXV3B5rkwbIsWE9y9o-o0f8t5HiPxUQpcFhIM1kbSFXkckjh2QM3EybrPi2SuLNeCmTjwZdnhQe24V4DDR81bDxxgkoeDp9p_gtkFKtT" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1712" data-original-width="1284" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhXfKQm52cfDDCBYvr5bH8Bj7gbBiEMoSsTYe6arS9WifciT_4FlxBe90ASQ0bRtwNBbDa0AmrUWLhUNu9ekXV3B5rkwbIsWE9y9o-o0f8t5HiPxUQpcFhIM1kbSFXkckjh2QM3EybrPi2SuLNeCmTjwZdnhQe24V4DDR81bDxxgkoeDp9p_gtkFKtT=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With Pauline Smeed of the Dunbar Local History Society</td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></p>Edith Hallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02518971064140009711noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4134533972010981122.post-48199866130100391132022-06-30T16:59:00.001+01:002022-07-02T09:59:59.768+01:00<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt;">For once I’m speechless. It’s Thursday lunchtime and in
the last 330 hours I have talked publicly about 7 different ancient Greek
topics and one Roman one. Conference season is always exhausting, but this year,
with relaxation of Covid restrictions, has been exceptional.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjrdbaSyUIwzV7XEL4SZHJphxxU63kIw-KjxxjiUs_6NTky1wEG4aU0VOsITgphbM6vqrxyOSY2SBEzXHqLzWvAf087yqjocb9igZVTeE0ReoVwLe-qZ27uoAv6qw1MuOLTc7X6O95505vOuQcIRsxLFH8YdN76nBtE8PJzZXnCuns9nV-X607PK-4c" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="517" data-original-width="639" height="323" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjrdbaSyUIwzV7XEL4SZHJphxxU63kIw-KjxxjiUs_6NTky1wEG4aU0VOsITgphbM6vqrxyOSY2SBEzXHqLzWvAf087yqjocb9igZVTeE0ReoVwLe-qZ27uoAv6qw1MuOLTc7X6O95505vOuQcIRsxLFH8YdN76nBtE8PJzZXnCuns9nV-X607PK-4c=w400-h323" width="400" /></a></span></div><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">First up was a paper at a Durham conference on the
image of the intellectual in antiquity. I pointed out that at the time of
Aristophanes’ <i>Clouds </i>Socrates was only in his forties, famous for
particularly thuggish performances as a hoplite, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>and therefore probably played by his actor as muscular,
violent and domineering rather than a geriatric sage.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: left;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhra96sGpromDFjXaPrL64kMOJ-erxHIvnk0TgE75Xk_T8A6AkcxCkP40uLooKNdKLA4gS4rHZYxbIcgf475c7_9MI8-ucK0UuQsDFL8F6dD1YLvXEsdHqOv3yhbuoPyPvXskcR3TpO-eoA2a-OVGlhywXeBbb56bpqk4a98VOxfWTjsyR9X7CuaQku" style="font-size: 18.6667px; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1352" data-original-width="1228" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhra96sGpromDFjXaPrL64kMOJ-erxHIvnk0TgE75Xk_T8A6AkcxCkP40uLooKNdKLA4gS4rHZYxbIcgf475c7_9MI8-ucK0UuQsDFL8F6dD1YLvXEsdHqOv3yhbuoPyPvXskcR3TpO-eoA2a-OVGlhywXeBbb56bpqk4a98VOxfWTjsyR9X7CuaQku" width="218" /></a></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Next was an extraordinary version of Terence’s Latin
comedy <i>Eunuchus </i>by the libertine Restoration playwright Charles Sedley, revived
on ITV in the 1970s with Helen Mirren in the starring role. The seedy plot about
a man dressed as a eunuch raping a teenaged female is wholly unedifying but the
wisecracking is polished. This was an Oxford conference in association with the
<a href="http://www.apgrd.ox.ac.uk/">Archive of Performances of Greek & Roman Drama</a> I co-founded long ago.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjLJexTuJ0V5TsuA82Zy1VRnky44So9FrX68ukta54ourBZy1laQyn13TnEgJkrakAmRTuCTEai1g9wM84yW1NUVjto6eJTOiqhW6Y5e-APWid-Es-l7HPfqF1jRN0WbkdsB0ba6A1ZnjQ8jMTn0k7XitKlDIr6jDSgufpL3dSMszF1jfx3zMZMNIwy" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1125" data-original-width="2000" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjLJexTuJ0V5TsuA82Zy1VRnky44So9FrX68ukta54ourBZy1laQyn13TnEgJkrakAmRTuCTEai1g9wM84yW1NUVjto6eJTOiqhW6Y5e-APWid-Es-l7HPfqF1jRN0WbkdsB0ba6A1ZnjQ8jMTn0k7XitKlDIr6jDSgufpL3dSMszF1jfx3zMZMNIwy=w400-h225" width="400" /></a></span></div><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">From Oxford I hastened to the British Museum to add my
voice, as member of the <a href="https://www.parthenonuk.com/about-bcrpm/who-we-are">British Committee for the Reunification of the Parthenon Marbles</a>, to a mass chorus of Greeks, Cypriots and others who want the
BM To Do The Obviously Right Thing. This will happen within my lifetime, I am
convinced.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjk_2b7xijaPpXhhJOAStfco7K0GBBzVQCZ-ldxxfn8Phj0kuG8BXWSvHlqELhaQAG97dQCNEIHeeHQhdADCzp3R0yW9jniAjAfAaAt3XUIQN9FuUvG7017l9uV2kBYJR45DQyFlwt5P53noQov04HP5NF2JmL-4tjR8vgp3abS38QvUDTOO-_OHXyk" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjk_2b7xijaPpXhhJOAStfco7K0GBBzVQCZ-ldxxfn8Phj0kuG8BXWSvHlqELhaQAG97dQCNEIHeeHQhdADCzp3R0yW9jniAjAfAaAt3XUIQN9FuUvG7017l9uV2kBYJR45DQyFlwt5P53noQov04HP5NF2JmL-4tjR8vgp3abS38QvUDTOO-_OHXyk=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></span></div><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Then I made an emotional return to my mentees at King’s
College London, my relationship with whom no Management berserkers can destroy.
I spoke to introduce their wonderful <i>Plague at Thebes</i>, an <i>Antigone</i>/<i>Oedipus
</i>fusion performed as the KCL Greek play. Marcus Bell and David Bullen: you
gentlemen rock.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjIenm52hBa0bdSMA0grAW_1j2F9gAoZAjfYN5z0PtiLpP7wAxqXT23DlWaOTd706XUJhqiTLdrowPMF_xko-_D7YqKsP6XoeYLO3CKz7dZiU_HzhfnmNMxxzXSqi1JHoF1stFuKw60JGq0DNuo21wny8FbBLt7YqGOOU_fV7DmcjvGoTxJDnX_ZPbC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjIenm52hBa0bdSMA0grAW_1j2F9gAoZAjfYN5z0PtiLpP7wAxqXT23DlWaOTd706XUJhqiTLdrowPMF_xko-_D7YqKsP6XoeYLO3CKz7dZiU_HzhfnmNMxxzXSqi1JHoF1stFuKw60JGq0DNuo21wny8FbBLt7YqGOOU_fV7DmcjvGoTxJDnX_ZPbC=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></span></div><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Deftly locating a train during the week of a strike I
wholly support, despite Mike Lynch of the RMT<a href="https://www.standard.co.uk/news/uk/mick-lynch-mike-lynch-rmt-diane-abbott-euston-station-b1008363.html"> rhetorically picking on Classics</a>
as an example of an education that does not prepare one for running a nation's infrastructure, I got back to Durham in time to talk
about Tony Harrison’s brilliant poetic responses to fragmentary papyrus texts,
especially in his personal <i>Ars Poetica</i>, ‘Reading the Rolls’, in this volume. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhWxyKEk8E3z9UF2NKUf1rKDMhHMjDQT3ejFI894cLHOYA-9_dEWN0sWHPOtcSavfgWYUv9zwptqqJRY-qGShzC0u3E2evDuQGWdLZIrIPsR3DoQj2U1yqedtwvhbS4oFZrsQ164L6L9W8wAOmB9uMc2BZ7kMaoSMp_sMbG4rvmT2c7emPsnhLBHIGY" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1019" data-original-width="683" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhWxyKEk8E3z9UF2NKUf1rKDMhHMjDQT3ejFI894cLHOYA-9_dEWN0sWHPOtcSavfgWYUv9zwptqqJRY-qGShzC0u3E2evDuQGWdLZIrIPsR3DoQj2U1yqedtwvhbS4oFZrsQ164L6L9W8wAOmB9uMc2BZ7kMaoSMp_sMbG4rvmT2c7emPsnhLBHIGY=w268-h400" width="268" /></a></span></div><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Continuing the Harrison theme, I then went to Leeds to
introduce a screening of Harrison’s movie <i>Prometheus</i> organized by
stalwart Labour MP for Leeds East, Richard Burgon. It is a joy to find someone
with a Leeds accent who knows as much of Harrison off by heart as I do. We
visited the poet’s childhood home and the cemetery where his most famous poem, ‘<i>v.</i>’,
is set.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhazJzM3wZRrw6lEbyoCKgP6dS0_VPAa68kQu7FOW1OB7_zYPaxgUxHMkGdi87LRNf58h-2wUjtIejLtUvOVYL__rM4EMnwvY2WB3fmliRnRR1EKe8SYG165S9EzRDkg5ddV75xcK8GJyLZX1TGniM83KQPxcsJCU8Kj_wdsyMhcXmblaHHUOkFkBmb" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhazJzM3wZRrw6lEbyoCKgP6dS0_VPAa68kQu7FOW1OB7_zYPaxgUxHMkGdi87LRNf58h-2wUjtIejLtUvOVYL__rM4EMnwvY2WB3fmliRnRR1EKe8SYG165S9EzRDkg5ddV75xcK8GJyLZX1TGniM83KQPxcsJCU8Kj_wdsyMhcXmblaHHUOkFkBmb=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></span></div><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I feel exhausted as I write. The next words were in Durham
Cathedral after I was deeply honoured to receive an Honorary Doctorate from the
Chancellor, Sir Thomas Allen, a local lad who became an opera singer and
inspired Lee Hall’s <i>Billy Elliott. </i>I used the occasion to pay tribute to
the wonderful <a href="https://www.thenorthernecho.co.uk/news/19734068.memorial-service-greek-history-expert-peter-rhodes/">Professor Peter Rhodes</a>, who served as Professor of Ancient
History in the Department for decades before his recent sad death. He was a
beacon of human decency at a time when it is hard to locate anywhere in public
life.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgbXBQmqshxWqFxwRf45HmJBJF3-QpbdYXmCL1aA6ZKbXRFWgf4RGsylBSzWkGTs1eayC7gKQxM2cgQ6H8F4Q3DzXLeD4xK5ZUKaUgHMY7EjDvAm-p4UfZL1FgNRzaTz3HA9IircV863tziN8Z78GcDrmCqVQmKZGt80dwVVCF1_FwO4lbe5yV8SKSa" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1268" data-original-width="850" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgbXBQmqshxWqFxwRf45HmJBJF3-QpbdYXmCL1aA6ZKbXRFWgf4RGsylBSzWkGTs1eayC7gKQxM2cgQ6H8F4Q3DzXLeD4xK5ZUKaUgHMY7EjDvAm-p4UfZL1FgNRzaTz3HA9IircV863tziN8Z78GcDrmCqVQmKZGt80dwVVCF1_FwO4lbe5yV8SKSa=w429-h640" width="429" /></a></span></div><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /><o:p></o:p></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"></span></p><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Then, last night, I talked about the athletic, brutal,
dancing, Artemis-loving women of ancient Sparta at the recording of the incomparable
Nat Haynes’ latest episode of her radio show where she <a href="https://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b077x8pc">Stands Up for the Classics</a>. My friend over 45 years Paul Cartledge coruscated as much as she did;
she also summarized the <i>Odyssey </i>in 28 minutes flat and with
sidesplitting humour. I’ll let you know when it is being broadcast.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgBxisFEaRgr_8xaXtiw_fx2OAYP96-y29k60nRvW4FahOGlpEMFw7trQ5Zk8hVDQKCCKQbD9uRZFlJ8HiUAcC0EUtsCVlhUAHnogxH7tO7SsvzBAeUp_EtvnfgNJ-Buh2u37lK3jdkGHSpZKW8fMyJB4qxYZscrcKM5MyI7YyGs-fGQAEHSG2Au70u" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="510" data-original-width="680" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgBxisFEaRgr_8xaXtiw_fx2OAYP96-y29k60nRvW4FahOGlpEMFw7trQ5Zk8hVDQKCCKQbD9uRZFlJ8HiUAcC0EUtsCVlhUAHnogxH7tO7SsvzBAeUp_EtvnfgNJ-Buh2u37lK3jdkGHSpZKW8fMyJB4qxYZscrcKM5MyI7YyGs-fGQAEHSG2Au70u" width="320" /></a></span></div><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I’m off to the Isle of Dogs to talk about satyr plays
after a rare performance by <a href="https://space.org.uk/event/cyclops/">Thiasos Theatre of Euripides’ <i>Cyclops</i></a> on Saturday
afternoon. There are still a few tickets left. A good use of a summer Saturday
afternoon. But right now I’ve exhausted myself merely putting this on record
and will be catching up on <i>Eastenders </i>with a large pot of tea.<o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjomTu7cI9zanomaqmyGY0CtW6vOnd5vWTWWzg0hGF43-ekVqVT8905AtfAr108yAsLoSPv8WDbgg_WbN-WlBo56fyFYOLONzp1bK_UH-fXTf8otksh-00MlzkskTkG20rWdUr6gMbTVjeraIZA2L1Mi2fl6CIwWf9pYR5Wxq-FgEPf_pwyviBT9NeU" style="font-size: medium; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img alt="" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjomTu7cI9zanomaqmyGY0CtW6vOnd5vWTWWzg0hGF43-ekVqVT8905AtfAr108yAsLoSPv8WDbgg_WbN-WlBo56fyFYOLONzp1bK_UH-fXTf8otksh-00MlzkskTkG20rWdUr6gMbTVjeraIZA2L1Mi2fl6CIwWf9pYR5Wxq-FgEPf_pwyviBT9NeU" width="320" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: right;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span><p></p>Edith Hallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02518971064140009711noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4134533972010981122.post-5290877831818105672022-06-11T12:10:00.003+01:002022-06-11T13:32:29.486+01:00(Not) A Postcard from 7-Gated Thebes<span style="font-size: large;">Thebes in Greek tragedy comes over as a deeply provincial if prosperous inland city, far from the sea, run by a couple of reactionary elite families who endlessly interbreed and are averse to change. Thebes today, when I visited on Wednesday, seems at least psychologically not to have changed very much. </span><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiSWCiFUBbds3Vqdx1pYjWOm_lMqqJ8Jmt8lqGVyp-nm-U9OyelHs763lv9KmUlujFds8oprKhA41jMhc4iPDTldoh_c3ewvJEisR9WEGg6dT45nHzlmnf7oLJyPr4kl3FnIv8filpv9VTNSwJOEjYdP7cHi2zapqU_crXTYAq0sQMW4hnY_W-_KZ-3" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1077" data-original-width="1917" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiSWCiFUBbds3Vqdx1pYjWOm_lMqqJ8Jmt8lqGVyp-nm-U9OyelHs763lv9KmUlujFds8oprKhA41jMhc4iPDTldoh_c3ewvJEisR9WEGg6dT45nHzlmnf7oLJyPr4kl3FnIv8filpv9VTNSwJOEjYdP7cHi2zapqU_crXTYAq0sQMW4hnY_W-_KZ-3=w400-h225" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What we Expected?</td></tr></tbody></table>One is greeted at the railway station by what my companion Dr Magdalena Zira told me were remarkably aggressive graffiti telling the viewer to go home or else. We were then assaulted by a very young girl begging importunately with a tiny baby in her arms. Creepy, to say the least.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ9NcVD3cwHNERXWKRUrowJpXwjUN07Wb_8LcVuZU3ZeoGHRN8nkRn00amp-j9e4oieUDO9yBTcqvwEh0lGcFJjzbI3m78P538jSOi3J1JNRptppcCv9rYQTGYsASLmjgXYjjXjPN3S_57dkJrZqGd4ijFbT-DgtuDgjPR7pyrkDcXkJ7XGtYUsNLT/s4032/2022-06-08%2010.33.13.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ9NcVD3cwHNERXWKRUrowJpXwjUN07Wb_8LcVuZU3ZeoGHRN8nkRn00amp-j9e4oieUDO9yBTcqvwEh0lGcFJjzbI3m78P538jSOi3J1JNRptppcCv9rYQTGYsASLmjgXYjjXjPN3S_57dkJrZqGd4ijFbT-DgtuDgjPR7pyrkDcXkJ7XGtYUsNLT/s320/2022-06-08%2010.33.13.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;">Despite the magnificent new Archaeological Museum, packed with amazing artefacts such as these funeral chests painted with heartbreaking scenes of bereaved women, tourism has never taken off. There is no possibility of purchasing a postcard even at the Museum, let alone a kiosk: “no call for it, Madam”. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjgf8QGjdNwjt-XbmnGJoVaGKCLkUaTUkSsq9HIr8c0fPNpKLwSD-aPjGVFAARohxV2o6d0m0so-CJGPBx5fHw00N76QQP2k72-4M0ZaNtvWc68L320EQvVDIdRAIy2EglxZ_4BTy-sSMr0gwWotrbanFEeFN5NvJbVK21d-ja-dwocQbYpFhuO_-A/s4032/2022-06-08%2011.02.52.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="479" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjgf8QGjdNwjt-XbmnGJoVaGKCLkUaTUkSsq9HIr8c0fPNpKLwSD-aPjGVFAARohxV2o6d0m0so-CJGPBx5fHw00N76QQP2k72-4M0ZaNtvWc68L320EQvVDIdRAIy2EglxZ_4BTy-sSMr0gwWotrbanFEeFN5NvJbVK21d-ja-dwocQbYpFhuO_-A/w640-h479/2022-06-08%2011.02.52.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">The streets are named after the (very few) famous Thebans in history, including the peerless poet of sycophantic odes for plutocratic and tyrannical overlords, Pindar. Others take the names familiar from Greek tragedy—Polynices Street, Eteocles Street. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSk65a5nHLug6RHMq0FT5XlPsVbqL14rCdPARJhsq1TYc6MfFzPNFVzg27Ch-HvYWSI8rRJDg-en2CCOVGqpjxkYuXWxP3zLWA9-7ozcEHeSi_SQJd73TblIClvyi1YVPVL_3QGtRNonr-maZ1yoJLJqqp2cVhlSKtCReGEXjKZXjh5GbcJPPYytgO/s4032/2022-06-08%2013.38.26.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSk65a5nHLug6RHMq0FT5XlPsVbqL14rCdPARJhsq1TYc6MfFzPNFVzg27Ch-HvYWSI8rRJDg-en2CCOVGqpjxkYuXWxP3zLWA9-7ozcEHeSi_SQJd73TblIClvyi1YVPVL_3QGtRNonr-maZ1yoJLJqqp2cVhlSKtCReGEXjKZXjh5GbcJPPYytgO/w300-h400/2022-06-08%2013.38.26.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">But the venues immortalized in Greek tragedy are meagre and overgrown piles of rubble.
The palace which Dionysus rocked with an earthquake in Euripides’ <i>Bacchae</i> seems never to have recovered, although the stories dramatized in Sophocles’ <i>Oedipus</i> and <i>Antigone</i> and Euripides’ <i>Phoenician Women</i> all require sets portraying the magnificent palace of Cadmus, rebuilt after the <i>Bacchae </i>earthquake. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinDqWsMGrtHCnxOhx5vEj1L78PPdFRTQuMMXH81gpFYl9bSv7cYrq9RIeNHzIWXd8T7C4HZg48wqzyb9fTGvVYB4Efh6hSKotEQrqMqC8TM-1hjWKOFs5Rjh0UYsFxYZ6MuDT86DEQCDdOp98n8jV-Z8DK1qtiNISD3Nxnp28u7PxDvTOgn0yFGGfn/s4032/2022-06-08%2013.17.42.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinDqWsMGrtHCnxOhx5vEj1L78PPdFRTQuMMXH81gpFYl9bSv7cYrq9RIeNHzIWXd8T7C4HZg48wqzyb9fTGvVYB4Efh6hSKotEQrqMqC8TM-1hjWKOFs5Rjh0UYsFxYZ6MuDT86DEQCDdOp98n8jV-Z8DK1qtiNISD3Nxnp28u7PxDvTOgn0yFGGfn/s320/2022-06-08%2013.17.42.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Palace of Pentheus, Oedipus, Creon...</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">It is hard to imagine the blinded Oedipus or the fulminating Antigone or the lamenting Creon appearing outside this rubbish tip, although the taxi rank there is named after Cadmus.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXjN5NuUlev3UciJueWsWr33XJV5R9_nV2lESWjR82Q_Q-h6tnxrneNawwF0Nefla9NiqzHEZtflLhT4N9PQ0GrnsPrTxbd6mkcQMpGRIPz4uHp9PZ_tJxMYVKvzXg3D3ToJyQUy0LhcMDIDxkEYRvsBtHN1XeWznkWrXK-I_Znz3nsEc-O7elR25u/s4032/2022-06-08%2013.19.35.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXjN5NuUlev3UciJueWsWr33XJV5R9_nV2lESWjR82Q_Q-h6tnxrneNawwF0Nefla9NiqzHEZtflLhT4N9PQ0GrnsPrTxbd6mkcQMpGRIPz4uHp9PZ_tJxMYVKvzXg3D3ToJyQUy0LhcMDIDxkEYRvsBtHN1XeWznkWrXK-I_Znz3nsEc-O7elR25u/w480-h640/2022-06-08%2013.19.35.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kadmos Taxis and Poseidon Logistics</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">The wall with 7 gates which provides the setting of Aeschylus’ <i>Seven against Thebes</i> has entirely gone, except for the base of one turret of the Dircean gate, which Capaneus was scaling with a shield hubristically inscribed "I will burn this city" when he was blasted by Zeus with a thunderbolt. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg4gikXHhckbCPzcUoR9hxW4oFC0TFu5ebt7w7HjwGkn9ZCcRXFiNk6n5V5tU50U4yzDS2fqMhF69T0EiGJcSBvF36nGHbd5FPRryfWeRrM4sRWSqiij15FaymFNxYHL6900ZA_Pmka7lQ-RPn2EDsw3s34objmh5BtI_MisTb3JkYzJPgC1LqISYy0" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="576" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg4gikXHhckbCPzcUoR9hxW4oFC0TFu5ebt7w7HjwGkn9ZCcRXFiNk6n5V5tU50U4yzDS2fqMhF69T0EiGJcSBvF36nGHbd5FPRryfWeRrM4sRWSqiij15FaymFNxYHL6900ZA_Pmka7lQ-RPn2EDsw3s34objmh5BtI_MisTb3JkYzJPgC1LqISYy0=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></div><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"> The most evocative site is the remains of the peak from which Tiresias the prophet scrutinized the flight of birds outside the temple of Apollo Ismenios. There are about four bits of Doric pillar to be seen. Nobody else was at this hugely important site except one of the two men named Sakis we met (we met a total of 3). </span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCr97gpbKneV8L05MODivXk6C6m9--9fZOKvdgJeXirJM8yr0cFdFY9xmwwEyd1-I9htK8ANNOcdGzgt16iGNKXfdSg8zKZuLW5Q-zKl-poTyIujL8y_mF24OXxofYWH0eW_3CSHoOJKHMiYZQ2vCVCLrHZb0BAL6ZKaGWuvZz1ZUFPRfj5wBblwJr/s4032/2022-06-08%2014.22.24.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCr97gpbKneV8L05MODivXk6C6m9--9fZOKvdgJeXirJM8yr0cFdFY9xmwwEyd1-I9htK8ANNOcdGzgt16iGNKXfdSg8zKZuLW5Q-zKl-poTyIujL8y_mF24OXxofYWH0eW_3CSHoOJKHMiYZQ2vCVCLrHZb0BAL6ZKaGWuvZz1ZUFPRfj5wBblwJr/w300-h400/2022-06-08%2014.22.24.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tiresias Woz Here</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Nor do they care about their pre-Christian heritage. The Electricians' Union Theban Branch office displays a picture of Aristotle inscribed (in tiny writing under top right flame) confusingly with the name of an earlier natural scientist, Thales. Once you've seen one ancient Greek egghead, you've presumably seen them all.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhiUGOmEhcX_PzYBzbaP2DMBqYIOxJihykdkoPc64fsgm7Ry2Ip-HUyiucM8C_UIsv1vwkx-8ytI7RAeP5iPytR8OGZU7nF2xfH0M1vlHjd-NmH-4XZ_xMHSyO1yZ5Y4dtx81dPF4aLlPAPBckhXXgiRv-Vwa73Wr-2S0e4rQIlzessdgPSOXFuOo9L" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1104" data-original-width="828" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhiUGOmEhcX_PzYBzbaP2DMBqYIOxJihykdkoPc64fsgm7Ry2Ip-HUyiucM8C_UIsv1vwkx-8ytI7RAeP5iPytR8OGZU7nF2xfH0M1vlHjd-NmH-4XZ_xMHSyO1yZ5Y4dtx81dPF4aLlPAPBckhXXgiRv-Vwa73Wr-2S0e4rQIlzessdgPSOXFuOo9L=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></div><br /></div><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;">I am a supporter of all things Greek and wonder why they don’t help their economy by exploiting the incredible touristic potential of places like Thebes. Any one of these sites or artefacts would be enough to prompt a Theme Park in the UK. But the Thebans say they like things just the way they are. And have always been.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF2BYOEmH6VML4jIOR-zBGFRGMLzXje-boEuTyosGbLBRQ2MUvVKPPuMoh-zoxIFIHszZQcNsvv4LNTrbUw3-tOUvvq7xWiIsUEOhu3uguLQhue0KtT6ekOoWZWtuBKiD0uIsb9dSojNPz4czTQHpvc1z7fcIiQbQYqHb_fen5XGPa0ROmj2Xfsv_h/s4932/Matriliineal%20Antigone%20Comedie%20Francais.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4932" data-original-width="3147" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF2BYOEmH6VML4jIOR-zBGFRGMLzXje-boEuTyosGbLBRQ2MUvVKPPuMoh-zoxIFIHszZQcNsvv4LNTrbUw3-tOUvvq7xWiIsUEOhu3uguLQhue0KtT6ekOoWZWtuBKiD0uIsb9dSojNPz4czTQHpvc1z7fcIiQbQYqHb_fen5XGPa0ROmj2Xfsv_h/w408-h640/Matriliineal%20Antigone%20Comedie%20Francais.jpg" width="408" /></a></div><br />
</span></div>Edith Hallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02518971064140009711noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4134533972010981122.post-70607708134181956862022-06-03T12:36:00.002+01:002022-06-03T12:54:08.645+01:00What's the Point of Universities (e.g. Roehampton)?<p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">On Wednesday
I spoke as a ‘specialist witness’ (20 minutes in) on the <a href="https://www.bbc.co.uk/sounds/play/m0017tcv">BBC Radio 4 <i>The Moral Maze</i></a>, which
was asking <i>What is the Point of <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>University</i>? The programme claims to think
about the moral dimensions of pressing issues, but got stuck in the minutiae
of current policy. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgABpoSA8JmQEGpSW42j_jX8dKDevBNo07Z8jZ3bXHe0h3qWWT-DbMMbO0THbgC_vHjNmVULYMg1S9DafaZJlDDeTrHAvXG3r2le3_WQOkqIxZ54uMoxnYDtYx8hKOoeg6jLfWdkquXAj5Rx8_mTvurdWsBJgTNUDRexfXtCRcM3GfdpjI6H3nnyFMp" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="320" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgABpoSA8JmQEGpSW42j_jX8dKDevBNo07Z8jZ3bXHe0h3qWWT-DbMMbO0THbgC_vHjNmVULYMg1S9DafaZJlDDeTrHAvXG3r2le3_WQOkqIxZ54uMoxnYDtYx8hKOoeg6jLfWdkquXAj5Rx8_mTvurdWsBJgTNUDRexfXtCRcM3GfdpjI6H3nnyFMp" width="240" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">I’d been gardening
between thunderstorms in Durham, and arrived in muddy jeans to have my
secateurs confiscated by the Bush House security. But that gardening is
important. I’m fortunate enough to enjoy my job, unlike the staggering 37% of working
British adults who said in a recent YouGov poll that their job is pointless
and not making a meaningful contribution to the world. </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">But I still work to live
rather than live to work, and the rich humanist education I enjoyed, entirely
financed by the British taxpayer, helped equip me for my idea of "real life"--currently citizenship, researching deforestation, garden rescue and selection of TV programmes.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBpILBHsBnW85YCBvxn8E6vRTDr71afYTFXaPDz5xLiTVibP_F_LZvWkiRnjY7FsrZkQmk_Nq5cJGQ5AUC0v1BU9iT5yNH5dnqeBgJA7kDVxnkyrxGA11VJRAlAfXeDkqrMehNoM6ktDZJdlpzCe6l1DyrupSfMaNdj30nIc9D18O4JP6rVGZFcZts/s4032/durham%20garden.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBpILBHsBnW85YCBvxn8E6vRTDr71afYTFXaPDz5xLiTVibP_F_LZvWkiRnjY7FsrZkQmk_Nq5cJGQ5AUC0v1BU9iT5yNH5dnqeBgJA7kDVxnkyrxGA11VJRAlAfXeDkqrMehNoM6ktDZJdlpzCe6l1DyrupSfMaNdj30nIc9D18O4JP6rVGZFcZts/s320/durham%20garden.jpg" width="240" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The Evidence</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light", sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light", sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Many people
contacted me to thank me for pointing out the Elephant in the Studio: the commercialisation
of our universities is implicated in all their current problems, including grade
inflation, decreasing working-class applications, ‘cancel culture’ and the young adult mental health crisis. It has
also fuelled the New Philistinism, and encouraged a moronic management class
who understand nothing about the true role of education in any half-way decent
society. </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">One such management is now threatening with mass redundancies the
entire brilliant, innovative <a href="https://www.roehampton.ac.uk/undergraduate-courses/classical-studies/">Classics Department at Roehampton</a>, which in its
short and immensely socially responsible life has brought the ancient Greeks and
Romans to hundreds of people including the neurodiverse who could never have
accessed it otherwise (please sign the petition: link<a href="https://www.change.org/p/stop-the-closure-of-the-roehampton-classics-department?recruiter=34281110&utm_campaign=signature_receipt&utm_medium=twitter&utm_source=share_petition"> here</a>).<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOjkFTKjFd1px6TO5LrHer8ufM7zagE8OR-5tm1BLp-ZczGD2HYh9uSNba7yrvKzGktN714p20Po-QSNcTS62jUOCKqqcYbQDA6WKs7j4y9M8MbjMuNipXrN_IIlE4RPnm-HzRU9ryFCrolRy6pqHPzRgBlBURumv8ZPwi75UzpfowfRjUpQ8pvb2E/s1341/roehampton.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="563" data-original-width="1341" height="168" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOjkFTKjFd1px6TO5LrHer8ufM7zagE8OR-5tm1BLp-ZczGD2HYh9uSNba7yrvKzGktN714p20Po-QSNcTS62jUOCKqqcYbQDA6WKs7j4y9M8MbjMuNipXrN_IIlE4RPnm-HzRU9ryFCrolRy6pqHPzRgBlBURumv8ZPwi75UzpfowfRjUpQ8pvb2E/w400-h168/roehampton.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><br /></span></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Aristotle notes
that Sparta never flourishes in times of peace because its constitution, while
training the Spartans well for combat, “has not educated them to be able to
live in idleness”. Boredom is the enemy not only of peace but of happiness. Harry
Allen Overstreet, the inspirational chair of the philosophy department at CUNY
from 1911 to 1936, understood that education for recreation is a serious <i>political</i>
business: “Recreation is not a secondary concern for a democracy. It is a
primary concern, for the kind of recreation a people make for themselves
determines the kind of people they become and the kind of society they build.”</span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgjU4AA893hC9JXL70Nvu_jBuVjw7IP9CAZ2QqQZR3EriBp6qMoJ4WpcdDjRtAOMn2xx5eGXfykQzGYbBxIT117JPJiVz0rYKQBpT4loUs6QawAv4_hkX3AgSKQYTu0BrkJ7Yyxo8Q8VRDUNzvYVDyZL6fC4LBEpa9pthWf3XMia3hpW0n9J_ofzoPH" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgjU4AA893hC9JXL70Nvu_jBuVjw7IP9CAZ2QqQZR3EriBp6qMoJ4WpcdDjRtAOMn2xx5eGXfykQzGYbBxIT117JPJiVz0rYKQBpT4loUs6QawAv4_hkX3AgSKQYTu0BrkJ7Yyxo8Q8VRDUNzvYVDyZL6fC4LBEpa9pthWf3XMia3hpW0n9J_ofzoPH" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEihk7_-W1RFryQZ5TgRFIbGo_z3tFEvDfKlC5VtS9OXPcKdfsGKaUhyGXkNa7pmuanQtflMP4y-V57T7OZK3xz06AurQA4NB7qSQJRDFK-ocq7vFfmZZsQMn6IRYW4tAtBNOv-LAdZV6AWdoxildans2smQWmnSUUnvs3F-vUzFw-x2TbkljxjGpmUF" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEihk7_-W1RFryQZ5TgRFIbGo_z3tFEvDfKlC5VtS9OXPcKdfsGKaUhyGXkNa7pmuanQtflMP4y-V57T7OZK3xz06AurQA4NB7qSQJRDFK-ocq7vFfmZZsQMn6IRYW4tAtBNOv-LAdZV6AWdoxildans2smQWmnSUUnvs3F-vUzFw-x2TbkljxjGpmUF" width="320" /></a></div><br /></span></div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /><o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Our word
“leisure” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>comes from the Latin verb <i>licere </i>(to be allowed): leisure is the time when you are free from the
requirement to work and are “allowed” to choose how you spend it. The Greek
word used by Aristotle, <i>scholē</i>, originally meant time which you could call your
own. It gave rise to our word “school,” because the philosophers saw that
leisure (among other things) was a precondition of intellectual activity for
its own sake. If you are sent down the mine at age 5 for 51 weeks a year and
consequently die at the age of 35 you are not going to have much time for expanding
your brain.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Yet, we are obsessed
with work. We think we are defined by our jobs. When we ask someone what they
“do,” we mean what they do to make a living, not whether they spend their
leisure hours singing in a choir or visiting medieval castles. The objective of
work is usually to sustain our lives biologically, an objective we share with
other animals. But the objective of leisure can and should be to sustain other
aspects of our lives which make us uniquely human: our souls, our minds, our
personal and civic relationships. Leisure is therefore wasted if we do not use
it purposively. Education can help us do this.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhQdQuEEmb6SPud4K7G737MJS4LLzs_chfK0VXm6Yv00nupp3Hi1VEGxtNjtml4UxYD2kFojVKvEs5WN_J5OGFyTqWCYd39GXdT6e_qMggoNwVBQHO3sg1t12ElhJ_NfMK_qKgjLX8dn5v7VibUADRYFq__PAbjS4KKIhH244FsUsHlk83V8D39Pqn-" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="440" data-original-width="342" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhQdQuEEmb6SPud4K7G737MJS4LLzs_chfK0VXm6Yv00nupp3Hi1VEGxtNjtml4UxYD2kFojVKvEs5WN_J5OGFyTqWCYd39GXdT6e_qMggoNwVBQHO3sg1t12ElhJ_NfMK_qKgjLX8dn5v7VibUADRYFq__PAbjS4KKIhH244FsUsHlk83V8D39Pqn-" width="187" /></a></div><br />Max Weber
showed in <i>The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism </i>(1905) that the
work fetish first arose as a result of the Reformation and the Industrial
Revolution. It was believed that labour might one day be rendered unnecessary
by machines, but only after many centuries of extra- intensive labour. Work
<span style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">geared toward
maximizing output of material goods and mindless economic growth consequently acquired a
ludicrously high status. The idea of “non- productive” work in spheres like
education not strictly necessary for our biological survival, became perceived
as less intrinsically valuable than industrial work. Pressure to maximize
output meant that working hours stopped being seasonal and became dictated by
mechanical timekeeping. They were also massively extended, leading at the peak
of the Industrial Revolution to the unending drudgery of the residents of
Coketown, as portrayed in Charles Dickens’ <i>Hard Times</i> (1854), and to the
horrors of twelve-hour working days.</span></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Calibri Light, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgyR-OIlHkpGe0jLcU59FoN5Tlcf1IayxmFqimflKDyyEANQyiaNCVyRr_zBdLU7sAkE0MkWB7lqAMSavzdh892x8M4Igoa32VkQHw51GMeNYRVUSMWJjfL7o6DaPZP0wNaTIKLWsKbeedmveZdAg4SlAQjXqoscvrFP1GropSPtyD-UGtEJfnSKHK9" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="474" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgyR-OIlHkpGe0jLcU59FoN5Tlcf1IayxmFqimflKDyyEANQyiaNCVyRr_zBdLU7sAkE0MkWB7lqAMSavzdh892x8M4Igoa32VkQHw51GMeNYRVUSMWJjfL7o6DaPZP0wNaTIKLWsKbeedmveZdAg4SlAQjXqoscvrFP1GropSPtyD-UGtEJfnSKHK9" width="284" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div></div></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light", sans-serif; text-align: justify;">In the same
year, Henry Thoreau published </span><i style="font-family: "Calibri Light", sans-serif; text-align: justify;">Walden</i><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light", sans-serif; text-align: justify;">, which describes life in a simple
log cabin in rural Massachusetts, with plenty of time for reading and
reflection. It explores the psychological deprivation inflicted on capitalist
society. In the crazed pursuit of superabundant commodities, humankind has
forgotten the reason and purpose of life altogether, and has even begun to
invent new unnecessary needs in order to justify the disproportionate amount of
time spent at work. Thoreau has a profoundly Aristotelian fantasy: every
village in New England will one day </span><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light", sans-serif; text-align: justify;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light", sans-serif; text-align: justify;">subsidize
its own Lyceum, full of books, newspapers, learned journals and works of art, and
invite wise people to visit and enlighten the local population during their
extensive leisure hours.</span></span></div></div></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light", sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgG7Bf9ivslpTOXZFNG-IFrYrrkFmnJ4Br2Bl7km3xsbC-sJ1eco-EOhSQY2iWD6OkVVrXbLVhs3v-Zhcty2ndWmIWClUESv4GnHUawY1I_18gT20T440USQOUDw1gF8BFZeXX8irirY7lF2aOSmivnc8a8tHIRE7IsuBEQ91sK3b8CZtWpxwooGJ6J" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgG7Bf9ivslpTOXZFNG-IFrYrrkFmnJ4Br2Bl7km3xsbC-sJ1eco-EOhSQY2iWD6OkVVrXbLVhs3v-Zhcty2ndWmIWClUESv4GnHUawY1I_18gT20T440USQOUDw1gF8BFZeXX8irirY7lF2aOSmivnc8a8tHIRE7IsuBEQ91sK3b8CZtWpxwooGJ6J" width="180" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Thoreau
emphasised education as the solution to the “problem” of using leisure
constructively. He argued that good use of leisure in an ideal society would be
the main goal and objective of education. So it needs to be made available at
every level and fun to everyone in society. Call me a crazy utopian if you want. I've been called much worse.</span><o:p></o:p></span></p>Edith Hallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02518971064140009711noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4134533972010981122.post-38401584479879835312022-03-27T10:48:00.002+01:002022-03-27T11:13:51.739+01:00Why Aristotle on Friendship Matters on Mother's Day<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;">I'm still sad after nearly six years that I have nobody to send flowers to on Mother's Day. My mother, an outstanding gardener and professional flower arranger, always snorted at the quality of the limp Interflora bouquet sent by her third-born. But she would have hated not receving one.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Aristotle was wrong about women's capacity for deliberation and participation in civic life. But he did think women could be effective moral agents. In one passage of his <i>Eudemian Ethics </i>7, he implies that they are actually superior to men in the important arena of friendship.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;">Aristotle's discussion of friendship covers all our relationships, whether with blood kin, sexual and romantic partners or friends we have chosen. He is refreshingly clear that people related to you by blood or marriage can be very bad friends, and that non-kin can display perfect friendship. Blood may be thicker than water, but if it malfunctions it kills you.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> Aristotle
asks what makes the best kind of love between any two humans. Some people, he
says, prefer to receive love than to give it, which makes for unequal
relationships.</span><span style="font-size: 14pt; mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;">But
even more important in analysing friendship is the question of how conscious we
are of loving someone or being loved by them.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;">Being
loved is something we have no control over; it is accidental to us. We can be
loved without knowing it at all (I always think of when someone, whose identity
I never confirmed, witnessed and lodged a complaint about me being sexually
harassed in 1990 by a famous Professor). But we cannot love without being aware
of it.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVlmIKhUjHpbUciXI2T1HvnWBmJ2sEAYpEnsoI57VMJ9oZjNkOk-YF4PYVCsWdzrulK3K2wJYjJIqsHhgTGnqCKkqZKW0dSF8vTKn4lwpKsq8iv2gAqMyXQaHSjax0aCHmXTv_szG10LC-JA_t9LMK5h8sFxA76_9bqOax-uW1JkuGElz-uNOMN8Az/s474/OIP%20(3).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="442" data-original-width="474" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVlmIKhUjHpbUciXI2T1HvnWBmJ2sEAYpEnsoI57VMJ9oZjNkOk-YF4PYVCsWdzrulK3K2wJYjJIqsHhgTGnqCKkqZKW0dSF8vTKn4lwpKsq8iv2gAqMyXQaHSjax0aCHmXTv_szG10LC-JA_t9LMK5h8sFxA76_9bqOax-uW1JkuGElz-uNOMN8Az/s320/OIP%20(3).jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;">If
you truly love a person, in the most perfect form of friendship, then you don’t
even mind if they have no knowledge of your love or of what you would do or
have done for them. You do not ask for the recognition offered to mothers on
Mother’s Day. You would do anything and everything for that person, regardless
of personal sacrifice, and in no expectation of recognition, thanks or
gratitude.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;">Here
Aristotle specifically cites women who under certain circumstances allow others
to adopt their children. Even more specifically, he cites ‘Andromache in the
tragedy of Antiphon’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Aristotle
developed his sophisticated Ethics in tandem with his love of theatre).</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifOs5q4WYn9LO34rCP1QEmaL-dTrJlCtZmkenBIPZUpno-9NP7H_RY9T40VmgKcBOGb2XC5PGg_sgQx0Qr3nBOULnnAIuFDhvg95Bs7XySUf0EyQqTGDlTFQc-tMxwOaAT6SXyddCcHTehQ35n_D5OPVoMQ_81tXRygJwYeFF473d2cHO8Zjb7_vJe/s900/5-andromache-and-astyanax-pierre-paul-prudhon.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="772" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifOs5q4WYn9LO34rCP1QEmaL-dTrJlCtZmkenBIPZUpno-9NP7H_RY9T40VmgKcBOGb2XC5PGg_sgQx0Qr3nBOULnnAIuFDhvg95Bs7XySUf0EyQqTGDlTFQc-tMxwOaAT6SXyddCcHTehQ35n_D5OPVoMQ_81tXRygJwYeFF473d2cHO8Zjb7_vJe/s320/5-andromache-and-astyanax-pierre-paul-prudhon.jpg" width="274" /></a></div><br /><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;">This
tragedian apparently wrote a play in which Andromache sought to save her baby
Astyanax’s life by sending him out of Troy to safety to be adopted and raised
by other people, in the full knowledge that her son would never thank her for
her altruism.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnLXiXyFP71NdATBotL16VlvaAypVSyWatxt2JieCe_jcUPaoVSw0hcMNlGYJz2f7n_V2kLWf6mEBMGXEOsGLg85oMEHwlqIA26cqqE4d5ghvHvvkDZCfyE6Xgsdm3VUqHfecZ-Iy3vlJBfuR1f4UPoUjCexaGGDXDs3__qAE1UpvDdHOWPeglaE0Z/s1020/mw1920__Aristotle___manuscript_miscellany_of_philosophical_writings__mainly_texts_by_Aristotle%20(1).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1020" data-original-width="765" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnLXiXyFP71NdATBotL16VlvaAypVSyWatxt2JieCe_jcUPaoVSw0hcMNlGYJz2f7n_V2kLWf6mEBMGXEOsGLg85oMEHwlqIA26cqqE4d5ghvHvvkDZCfyE6Xgsdm3VUqHfecZ-Iy3vlJBfuR1f4UPoUjCexaGGDXDs3__qAE1UpvDdHOWPeglaE0Z/s320/mw1920__Aristotle___manuscript_miscellany_of_philosophical_writings__mainly_texts_by_Aristotle%20(1).jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;">Aristotle
concludes that the wish to be known as having done a friend a favour is
actually selfish, for its motive is ‘a desire to receive and not to confer some
benefit’, whereas the person who acts with love without requiring even
recognition of their agency does it because they want to see the loved person
benefit.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEhMAkv7kcMSN8Z8A4wSxG1qQc1_m1kd6npRr3E7LcoPiedBOLEgwmrN6qAD-7b03nQQXkr55Vav07GpZROFy-lMLYiKdMDquJkC_d17dJLFxT7gKAlkJQYTSSCE24J9SQi4inId6U5A6NIo17eXWaOi-t7RPdeCjF1jkMK4oZBSv90LEsz5CkM1_1/s2385/FJJoXJaXMAAMCYm.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1529" data-original-width="2385" height="205" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEhMAkv7kcMSN8Z8A4wSxG1qQc1_m1kd6npRr3E7LcoPiedBOLEgwmrN6qAD-7b03nQQXkr55Vav07GpZROFy-lMLYiKdMDquJkC_d17dJLFxT7gKAlkJQYTSSCE24J9SQi4inId6U5A6NIo17eXWaOi-t7RPdeCjF1jkMK4oZBSv90LEsz5CkM1_1/s320/FJJoXJaXMAAMCYm.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;">Sadly
we do not know whether in Antiphon’s lost tragedy Astyanax did in fact grow up
safely far away from Troy. I’ve been thinking about it as I watch children,
some without any parents, cross eastern European borders from besieged cities
in Ukraine. It is unlikely that Antiphon actually exempted poor Astayanax from
death, but it is certainly a beautiful idea.<o:p></o:p></span></p>Edith Hallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02518971064140009711noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4134533972010981122.post-30252083000574850452022-02-26T10:06:00.004+00:002022-02-28T11:39:54.881+00:00The Founding Mother of Ukrainian Literature's rousing Identification with Iphigenia<p style="text-align: left;"></p><h2 style="text-align: left;"></h2><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;">To mark the gravity of current horrors unfolding, a longer blog than usual, on Lesya Ukrainka (1871-1913), the founding mother of Ukrainian literature, and her identification with Euripides’ self-sacrificial Tauric—Crimean—Iphigenia. </span></span></h3><div><span style="font-weight: normal;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEit_YrmEqfjJ0KwU0ROsaXXUCKaSQ2aqOH7A18H0Y6URL-JHpOFGKmrHpZxE2OT412LCfjwd8s0K1rg8jFP7YtiFAZJYXi2adL6iKhOQz5zD5nJnTLB_3TycqAq6PkS2mI8EsK9SvOkNp91wbYkA6L4yWZOy40FWjWBU63JXf9NNEGdHMJRtmcwAiJs=s586" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="586" data-original-width="570" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEit_YrmEqfjJ0KwU0ROsaXXUCKaSQ2aqOH7A18H0Y6URL-JHpOFGKmrHpZxE2OT412LCfjwd8s0K1rg8jFP7YtiFAZJYXi2adL6iKhOQz5zD5nJnTLB_3TycqAq6PkS2mI8EsK9SvOkNp91wbYkA6L4yWZOy40FWjWBU63JXf9NNEGdHMJRtmcwAiJs=s320" width="311" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></span></div><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />Larysa Kosach, known under the nationalist pseudonym of Lesya Ukrainka, identified profoundly with Iphigenia. This was partly because she knew that the play was set in her own country, and in a part of it near Sevastopol which she had come to know and love. She had celebrated the landscapes of ‘Tauris’ in her poetry collection <i>Crimean Recollections</i>, written between 1890 and 1892 and inspired by the beautiful environment of the Crimean coastline. </span></span></h3><div><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg8ORlOzZfNgPJiFh1rwZflkOoMvWMnrp-TJDugwFZHiKhQsB9OdfyhGCVpXTc1l8XlvtXoE_q_nBx-jvMqypmphYX62TidziZHYhsVLPgSN8BNCf4e3okCJTjA-TfGlQNKTqCJiBY-KjTVG8HSVvj7Uzh_xbNF8eqDhcRHnFhHweTFTdLRVW0qCz9R=s474" style="font-size: medium; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="290" data-original-width="474" height="196" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg8ORlOzZfNgPJiFh1rwZflkOoMvWMnrp-TJDugwFZHiKhQsB9OdfyhGCVpXTc1l8XlvtXoE_q_nBx-jvMqypmphYX62TidziZHYhsVLPgSN8BNCf4e3okCJTjA-TfGlQNKTqCJiBY-KjTVG8HSVvj7Uzh_xbNF8eqDhcRHnFhHweTFTdLRVW0qCz9R=s320" width="320" /></a></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></div></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;">Iphigenia's experience resonated with her own personal sense of being an exile. She had suffered great loneliness when she struggled with the early death, from tuberculosis, of her lover in 1901. </span></span></h3><div><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;">As a Ukrainian writer, she was in a dangerous position since publishing in her mother tongue was banned by the Russian Empire. As an active opponent of the Tsarist regime, and a Marxist, she was alienated from the prevailing political order; she had been affected, at the age of 9, by the arrest and five-year Siberian exile of her aunt Olena Kosach in a wave of persecution of political activists in St. Petersburg. </span></span></h3><div><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-weight: normal;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiHLAd1XgT9icK6E5uz-Lc7hvbjMBgFpY_Klke-OdAx2ertwWpa9-wUk5Jl5O6k6efET3GLset4uZmleGAMbk5K_mF-bttotY-WmifqzlxBArm4URs5-CxU_EILM8qOjL82dg0jgyN0Eu2NYS-jga1ITO63jwcnX4aihYlDExzuXjoPgt24YCz2zalB=s960" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="597" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiHLAd1XgT9icK6E5uz-Lc7hvbjMBgFpY_Klke-OdAx2ertwWpa9-wUk5Jl5O6k6efET3GLset4uZmleGAMbk5K_mF-bttotY-WmifqzlxBArm4URs5-CxU_EILM8qOjL82dg0jgyN0Eu2NYS-jga1ITO63jwcnX4aihYlDExzuXjoPgt24YCz2zalB=s320" width="199" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;">The little girl was motivated to write her first poem, and many of her later works continued to address political themes: the cycle <i>The Songs of the Slaves</i> is a protest against the political subjugation of her fatherland, written around the turn of the century. </span></span></h3><div><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;">Ukrainka was herself arrested in 1907, when suffering bitter disappointment at the failure of the 1905 revolution. Moreover, as an invalid with acute tuberculosis of the bone, she was forced by her health into long periods of convalescence in warmer climates as well as sanatoria in the Caucasus and Crimea. Already well into her thirties, she had not only endured a great deal of pain, but also felt emotionally, linguistically, culturally and politically isolated. </span></span></h3><div><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;">It is little wonder that she worked so intensely during this period on her ‘dramatic scene’, <i>Iphigenia in Tauris</i>, which she began in 1903. Her first language was Ukrainian, and much of her work is connected with Ukrainian folklore. But her avant-garde parents had educated her at home, along with her older brother Mykhaylo (she was the second of several children), in Greek and Latin as well as modern European languages. </span></span></h3><div><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-weight: normal;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh6y9jVOPVtfEqMVsiIY0Y3Ka6SowI5kRzBWP6l9Hr7yRT1n2krcO2bIZjq8qe4L3Eigdxz1oMPHSThzeZIrLjQDzFmZeQHkxa4XQmIjFCkKKM0UyVD8rkx5Fc9-Zjekw45wy0x2W8lmPSCWlVtSR-BbOocSwfW2eFd-fCfmgfoxSSiMTJpdGa8zDuL=s1632" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1632" data-original-width="1272" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh6y9jVOPVtfEqMVsiIY0Y3Ka6SowI5kRzBWP6l9Hr7yRT1n2krcO2bIZjq8qe4L3Eigdxz1oMPHSThzeZIrLjQDzFmZeQHkxa4XQmIjFCkKKM0UyVD8rkx5Fc9-Zjekw45wy0x2W8lmPSCWlVtSR-BbOocSwfW2eFd-fCfmgfoxSSiMTJpdGa8zDuL=s320" width="249" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;">Her favourite reading included Homer and Ovid (both of whom she translated), Sappho (about whom she wrote a poem), the Greek tragedians, Shakespeare, Maeterlinck, Mickiewicz, Ibsen, and Heine. <i>Iphigenia in Tauris</i> is the only ancient play she adapted—as a Ukrainian, who had spent time in ‘Taurida’, it would have been an obvious choice. But she takes Catherine the Great’s triumphant appropriation of the myth of the Greek presence in Tauris, and makes Iphigenia a resistant Ukrainian nationalist and radical, committed to struggling for a better world whatever the personal sacrifice. </span></span></h3><div><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-weight: normal;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjKOs-FwA4kTelNHxN1adwAn7810ba9RUpiaja_eo1nRSiP3XoDfU6lw3ithIL0fLKYoPk1rFtI7fqUG6OojqkaazaKP2N7fbdeOa5txSpAcKrmaX52gFvFJobNg2fZc1np7yTDsB-ulLRP4clJdIAIIQy48gmon9KDpyowwkSm95GmXXTm7hIetx9P=s3029" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3029" data-original-width="2053" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjKOs-FwA4kTelNHxN1adwAn7810ba9RUpiaja_eo1nRSiP3XoDfU6lw3ithIL0fLKYoPk1rFtI7fqUG6OojqkaazaKP2N7fbdeOa5txSpAcKrmaX52gFvFJobNg2fZc1np7yTDsB-ulLRP4clJdIAIIQy48gmon9KDpyowwkSm95GmXXTm7hIetx9P=s320" width="217" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Iphigenia in Sevastopol, Roman-style</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;">The oppressive force in Ukrainka’s Tauris is wielded not by the barbarous enemies of Greece and Russia, but by Iphigenia’s captors, by implication the might of Tsarist Russia. </span></span></h3><div><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;"> In the reception of Euripides’ tragedy, Ukrainka is singularly important, because she brought to the text an unprecedented fusion of classical scholarship and Ukrainian cultural identity. Her chorus are not Greek, as in Euripides, but local women of the town of Parthenizza; the play is set there, according to the detailed stage direction, ‘in front of the temple of Tauridian Artemis. A place on the seashore.’ (Vera Rich’s translation). </span></span></h3><div><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-weight: normal;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhySUB1vTFI6wvoPTDXEdgbI7pYKZoeKU_aq3zPaEgcaC8lljgy6xDR02XpQ49Vew-O_7icsGc2bibVb53bcVBEaKrRi6Z994o_WrYhK6nIoJlpf08w-LaIppfzD3JBPVMm-BX0a_4GyuSBGCFkKvckLsJ22RKa-DTwJyq19_wnpkLRgVh_8YKIWt_K=s800" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="541" data-original-width="800" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhySUB1vTFI6wvoPTDXEdgbI7pYKZoeKU_aq3zPaEgcaC8lljgy6xDR02XpQ49Vew-O_7icsGc2bibVb53bcVBEaKrRi6Z994o_WrYhK6nIoJlpf08w-LaIppfzD3JBPVMm-BX0a_4GyuSBGCFkKvckLsJ22RKa-DTwJyq19_wnpkLRgVh_8YKIWt_K=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;">At a deep and subtle level of allegory, Artemis’ light can combat the darkness which the yoke of Russian imperialism has cast over all Ukraine.
Iphigenia embarks on an 87-line soliloquy which expresses her innermost thoughts, memories, and suicidal anguish. </span></span></h3><div><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;">First, her homesickness—she left behind in Argos everything that bestows beauty on human life; family, renown, youth and love. There is an intense feeling that she is deprived of simple physical contact—the cold marble of her temple is no substitute for laying her head on her mother’s breast, to ‘listen to the beating of her heart’, nor for cuddling her little brother Orestes. Achilles, whom she loved sexually, must be in another woman’s arms by now. </span></span></h3><div><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-weight: normal;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh1owMlOngnc8mgqWCwT1WzNQqA-8dZFXKTPzrtLmH2Lvy9qSYkQP70UDsHEwC8VvhR54lHWljUeQoqO8jrk6IOiEyI-E94jsvd_6Q91IWQaRs92V2W8NDl_EQPFFtgR3UiPRF6F0z55ZBtAfnGtsd3ENnTRzWwD8z-W1Q5o3uPP2HLi5zOtfVXBCRh=s300" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="206" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh1owMlOngnc8mgqWCwT1WzNQqA-8dZFXKTPzrtLmH2Lvy9qSYkQP70UDsHEwC8VvhR54lHWljUeQoqO8jrk6IOiEyI-E94jsvd_6Q91IWQaRs92V2W8NDl_EQPFFtgR3UiPRF6F0z55ZBtAfnGtsd3ENnTRzWwD8z-W1Q5o3uPP2HLi5zOtfVXBCRh" width="206" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;">The notorious wintry weather of Ukraine, noted in few adaptations of <i>Iphigenia in Tauris</i>, is turned by pathetic fallacy into an emblem of the frozen desolation in her soul: </span></span></h3><div><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span><span><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;"><span face="Trebuchet MS, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;">How mournfully these cypresses are rustling! <br /></span></span><span face="Trebuchet MS, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;">The autumn wind... <br /></span></span><span face="Trebuchet MS, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;">And soon the winter wind <br /></span></span><span face="Trebuchet MS, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;">Will roar like a wild beast through all the oak grove, <br /></span></span><span face="Trebuchet MS, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;">The snowstorm sweep swirling across the sea, <br /></span></span><span face="Trebuchet MS, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;">And sea and sky dissolve again to chaos! <br /></span></span><span face="Trebuchet MS, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;">And I shall be beside a meagre fire, <br /></span></span><span face="Trebuchet MS, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;">Feeble and sick in body and in soul; <br /></span></span><span face="Trebuchet MS, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;">While there at home, in distant Argolis, <br /></span></span><span face="Trebuchet MS, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;">Eternal spring will bloom once more with beauty, <br /></span></span><span face="Trebuchet MS, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;">And Argive girls will go out to the woods <br /></span></span><span face="Trebuchet MS, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;">To pick anemones and violets, <br /></span></span><span face="Trebuchet MS, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;">And maybe...in their songs they will remember <br /></span></span><span face="Trebuchet MS, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;">Iphigenia the renowned, who early <br /></span></span><span face="Trebuchet MS, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;">Perished for her native land....</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;"><span face="Trebuchet MS, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;"><span face="Trebuchet MS, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="font-size: x-large; font-weight: normal;"><br /></div></span></span></div><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;">Looking for metaphysical answers to the problem of her suffering, she tells herself not to contend against the supreme powers that rule the earth, nor the god who hurls the thunderbolt. But her inner self is in restless dialogue. Ukrainka opposes the idea that she should meekly accept her god-ordained fate by asserting that Prometheus had given her the courage to offer her life for her country: </span></span></h3><div><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><p style="text-align: left;"><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; font-weight: normal;">You, O Prometheus, great and unforgotten, <br /></span></span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; font-weight: normal;">Gave us our heritage! <br /></span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">The spark you snatched<br /></span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">From the jealous Olympians for us, <br /></span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">I feel the flames of it within my soul,-- <br /></span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">And like a conflagration, unsubmissive, <br /></span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">That flame of old dried up my girlish tears <br /></span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">When I went boldly as a sacrifice<br /></span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">For the glory and honour of my Hellas. </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Iphigenia is on the brink of suicide, pressing a sword from the altar to her heart, angrily asking Artemis why she saved her for such a wretched existence. But once again her courageous, enduring self becomes dominant. Suicide would be unworthy, she says, of a descendant of Prometheus: the true sacrifice demanded of her, she now understands, is that she must live in Tauris without people even knowing who she really is: ‘Let it be so’, she quietly concludes, but ‘Bitter is your heritage, O father Prometheus’. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgBTPwlF9iuaDl7hOv6ySEsCN0wexCivYUatvrCE8QYag2iu3_I8A9MWhH9z3Fa1rDg3G403XPxHXXrDXYVKzr-9Ozwx7Ve8gVsb43-Xw13JtRhqQnaniykY5sMkuVgw_ESJxR6pNQvUFh70twsfbASSg1dnslvO00NB4ejkkK_hhxVF-ujyasm3sAo=s640" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgBTPwlF9iuaDl7hOv6ySEsCN0wexCivYUatvrCE8QYag2iu3_I8A9MWhH9z3Fa1rDg3G403XPxHXXrDXYVKzr-9Ozwx7Ve8gVsb43-Xw13JtRhqQnaniykY5sMkuVgw_ESJxR6pNQvUFh70twsfbASSg1dnslvO00NB4ejkkK_hhxVF-ujyasm3sAo=s320" width="240" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /><span><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">While this ‘dramatic scene’ is complete as it stands, and concludes with Iphigenia walking resolutely, ‘with even steps’, back into her temple, we do not know whether Ukrainka intended to incorporate it into a longer piece or not. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">It would be good to know if she had meant to include an Orestes, since she was deeply attached to older brother Mykhalo, with whom she shared the political and artistic project of translating great works of literature into Ukrainian—the bible, Gogol, Heine and Byron. In childhood they had been inseparable, and they collaborated on performing dramatic episodes from Greek mythology, ‘in which Mykhalo always assumed the role of the hero, while Lesya was the virtuous maiden or wife’. It is not at all improbable that they enacted the Euripidean play set in their own Ukrainian land, in which brother and sister are reunited. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">As a very young girl, Ukrainka had also organised stagings of both the <i>Iliad</i> and the <i>Odyssey</i> with other little girls in Volhynia, and it would be fascinating to know whether it was the women or the men in those ancient epics in whom she was most interested, since in the cases of the bible and Greek tragedy, her readings were distinctively gendered. In the voices of ancient Greek heroines she found a medium where she could fuse her personal emotional history, her political polemic and a ‘universalising’ mythical referent that transcended the particularities of her own situation. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">She was ‘especially moved’ by the heroine of the Sophoclean <i>Antigone</i>, and the style of the ancient Greek tragedies ‘strongly’ affected her dramatic writing. In her play <i>On the Ruins</i> she tried to inspire her countrymen to great deeds of self-sacrifice through the words of the prophetess Tirsa, who exhorts her fellow Jews to liberate themselves from Babylonian captivity. This strategy is similar to the uses to which she put the Trojan prophetess in her <i>Cassandra</i>. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg38PmcJV0gcfKkVkPZge_drb9UeFSRxvtVf3rdOk6xwGBxtCkdQF4Mm78l5mx07IRJmhWND7kF8M9dWSZi_ecIDcjC3eTXlRyOcY25hEIDGY2vAUX1eGnIr_ZTJZ02r-f4G_unHWMDL0L6wwAOjFXFPOdn5hG-DYSh-mRA34dwXCT1NNY_IspvEklu=s1080" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="549" data-original-width="1080" height="163" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg38PmcJV0gcfKkVkPZge_drb9UeFSRxvtVf3rdOk6xwGBxtCkdQF4Mm78l5mx07IRJmhWND7kF8M9dWSZi_ecIDcjC3eTXlRyOcY25hEIDGY2vAUX1eGnIr_ZTJZ02r-f4G_unHWMDL0L6wwAOjFXFPOdn5hG-DYSh-mRA34dwXCT1NNY_IspvEklu=s320" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /><span><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Ukrainka was a communist and a Ukrainian nationalist as well as a feminist. Her <i>Iphigenia in Tauris</i> was designed to stand alone, as an independent performed drama. It has been staged in the Ukraine and in 1921 was used as the libretto by the Kiyiv composer Kyrylo Stetsenko. It's surely time for a revival.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: x-large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhfRhWklYZt9I0CJVZmQwY2iknY4XNJXDdGUC4uXRI7SVDZZ9-bBTcHJhoXGb25tnJD83WM6pW5wMv-UUwuxqVKh-FohfrbugcO29ZJhVpD9-nZiosHzkpA7K2RiC8BNY_aKYg2vNbzarSKRnl8P6sP8kG_61-oM2h37-FPO2Zb9k2qwMC6sNNqkctt=s599" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="599" data-original-width="306" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhfRhWklYZt9I0CJVZmQwY2iknY4XNJXDdGUC4uXRI7SVDZZ9-bBTcHJhoXGb25tnJD83WM6pW5wMv-UUwuxqVKh-FohfrbugcO29ZJhVpD9-nZiosHzkpA7K2RiC8BNY_aKYg2vNbzarSKRnl8P6sP8kG_61-oM2h37-FPO2Zb9k2qwMC6sNNqkctt=s320" width="163" /></a></div><br /></span></div><div><br /></div><p></p>Edith Hallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02518971064140009711noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4134533972010981122.post-24435139753693682982022-01-16T10:22:00.010+00:002022-01-21T07:57:22.667+00:00Boris Johnson, Tragedy and the Goat-Song<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: x-large;">Of his multiple crimes against the electorate, truth and humanity, it’s hardly
the most serious, but I resent that Boris Johnson has brought Classics into
disrepute. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: x-large;">And <a href="https://edithorial.blogspot.com/2019/08/inane-classicism-and-class-prejudice.html">it’s not as though he’s good at it</a>. In October 2021, for example,
he suggested to Bill Gates that in order to boost wind power production, ‘<a href="https://www.bing.com/videos/search?q=boris+johnson+goat+sacrifice&&view=detail&mid=1CC7F5B4793EFFD3BACF1CC7F5B4793EFFD3BACF&&FORM=VRDGAR&ru=%2Fvideos%2Fsearch%3Fq%3Dboris%2Bjohnson%2Bgoat%2Bsacrifice%26qpvt%3Dboris%2Bjohnson%2Bgoat%2Bsacrifice%26FORM%3DVDRE">We must propitiate to [sic] the Aeolus</a>, the god of wind … sacrifice a goat or
something’. But the only fauna associated with Aeolus in antiquity were horses,
bulls and kingfishers. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: xx-large;">Johnson’s goat sacrifice reference was a Freudian slip:
he knows his actions as PM all end up in tragedy. For ‘tragedy’ is the English
transliteration of the ancient Greek </span><i style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: xx-large;">tragōidia</i><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: xx-large;">, from ‘he-goat’ (</span><i style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: xx-large;">trago</i><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: xx-large;">s) and
‘song’ </span><i style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: xx-large;">(ōidē</i><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: xx-large;">). </span></div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="font-family: trebuchet; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: justify;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjKcAp8ad29m1Uue-WTBwfSQb8YOxVry9gFOVeiloMUZKDyT0M_RVTQaidTNbZUGW4wpmtyqQCcV3E_wneuGu26Xe_ZMGJpTh0ZmhMnMEWCqwSerZzXL9pvsNLKYlNGmod3DV4zbI7fjoa9F3ZqHN6IHMOw2P_nqCahSmYde-V_IPuqqo8Jrpn646Od=s601" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="601" data-original-width="549" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjKcAp8ad29m1Uue-WTBwfSQb8YOxVry9gFOVeiloMUZKDyT0M_RVTQaidTNbZUGW4wpmtyqQCcV3E_wneuGu26Xe_ZMGJpTh0ZmhMnMEWCqwSerZzXL9pvsNLKYlNGmod3DV4zbI7fjoa9F3ZqHN6IHMOw2P_nqCahSmYde-V_IPuqqo8Jrpn646Od=s320" width="292" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Personified Tragedy with a baby hare</td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><br /></span></div></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">But why on earth should the most miserable and earnest genre of
literature should be named after an animal whose bleats are inherently comical?
The funniest thing on the Internet is <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-aLYvZ5sX28">the ‘screaming goat’ remix</a> of Taylor
Swift’s <i>Trouble</i>. Playwright Edward Albee saw the absurdity of tragedy's etymology in
his hilarious <i>The Goat</i>, where a household is destroyed by a husband’s
infatuation with a she-goat. </span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgeQZnd82lH1SMz8Pl29X1XF1f5v-LlSBFIRXSRfycpWg20PO_L7J5llbdFu529A7nvr1YVk0_J7_4HFIrYGAA7YX2ejGfAB6Je0HLKRV_9mlDd8j0b2mFj-bjnsR07I3TG4osSgh6dRxxNX9IvPPKeymLWTuDfpYH7MoBuWgy9xMYnKguSGtu1z1fH=s768" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="388" data-original-width="768" height="162" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgeQZnd82lH1SMz8Pl29X1XF1f5v-LlSBFIRXSRfycpWg20PO_L7J5llbdFu529A7nvr1YVk0_J7_4HFIrYGAA7YX2ejGfAB6Je0HLKRV_9mlDd8j0b2mFj-bjnsR07I3TG4osSgh6dRxxNX9IvPPKeymLWTuDfpYH7MoBuWgy9xMYnKguSGtu1z1fH=s320" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The week’s news has indeed been tragicomic, and
<a href="https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2022/jan/15/tragedy-pandemics-climate-crisis-algorithms-tech-drama">Charlotte Higgins insightfully ask</a>s in the <i>Guardian</i> why, at a dark time, we
seem to be in retreat from tragedy. So in honour of my first lecture course in
my lovely new job at Durham University, <i>Comedy & Tragedy</i>, I’m lowering the tone
further by a review of the explanations which have been given for
tragedy=goat-song. </span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: justify;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiOz-1vQ16Gk5CqG10_QBwJ6vTb61w9MjhcVBdR4HlzeTDzmerlhPuFr8vrWk41hWCeR2EQwOauTbV7gCkN6_Bfs1NR37SumjR7U_o2fpK6iv2ueBLsA8pgUBH_qWaXXRxLV4MZcD5yINvS7oXl1X1EGmQfeTOlHttSTeR3CFUVJh7FehJrY8wds-br=s2048" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1103" data-original-width="2048" height="271" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiOz-1vQ16Gk5CqG10_QBwJ6vTb61w9MjhcVBdR4HlzeTDzmerlhPuFr8vrWk41hWCeR2EQwOauTbV7gCkN6_Bfs1NR37SumjR7U_o2fpK6iv2ueBLsA8pgUBH_qWaXXRxLV4MZcD5yINvS7oXl1X1EGmQfeTOlHttSTeR3CFUVJh7FehJrY8wds-br=w505-h271" width="505" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">My First Lecture on Comedy & Tragedy in Durham</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: x-large;"></span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><div style="text-align: justify;">Dionysus, god of tragedy, appears in early Greek art and
literature in association with hares, bulls, tigers, panthers, donkeys, snakes,
dolphins and on occasion goats, but (with an extremely rare exception below) not goat sacrifice. Scholars
ancient and modern, nothing daunted, have however proposed, rather desperately: </div></span></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">1] That the prize
for winning the tragedy competition was originally a goat. (There is no evidence
for this whatsoever).</span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">2] Tragedy may have grown out of satyr drama, and satyrs
sometimes have goatlike features or appear on vases shaped like goats’ heads.
The trouble is, in the period when tragedy emerged, they were equine. So tragedy
should be called hippedy. Or Hip-Hop.</span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhsCVUtWcmf85mBgIs3ovv0QbHvS2qLul5fkFdnBU41Y_GB_GiZ10imefnaXG_YLvZpRfTY3NeKe82b0riBaqZqh27ZcWJ6-Z7GWAVsksgSSm0uuPk9oM98pyiTHe7fPHSENeXNL-XM_P_g0DpLgJNRHE6QEUwzS_h-GC-n0IaGA8l8_-d2clHSmWyg=s1955" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1534" data-original-width="1955" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhsCVUtWcmf85mBgIs3ovv0QbHvS2qLul5fkFdnBU41Y_GB_GiZ10imefnaXG_YLvZpRfTY3NeKe82b0riBaqZqh27ZcWJ6-Z7GWAVsksgSSm0uuPk9oM98pyiTHe7fPHSENeXNL-XM_P_g0DpLgJNRHE6QEUwzS_h-GC-n0IaGA8l8_-d2clHSmWyg=s320" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><br /></span></div></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">3] The trag- element in the name is an
adaptation of another word, like <i>trux</i> (‘wine-sediment’), <i>trachus</i> (rough), or
even something with a square (<i>tetrag</i>onal) dance formation. </span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">4] There are faint traces of a story about Dionysus in a black goatskin and the daughters of
Eleuther, the king of the village of Eleutherai, traditional home of the cult of
the theatrical Dionysus. (The traces are very slight and very late). </span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">5] (Current consensus): Tragedy grew out of songs sung at goat sacrifices. The evidence is a single line
in Euripides’ <i>Bacchae</i> where the chorus sing that the celebrant of Dionysus
‘hunts the blood of a fresh-slain billy-goat, an edible-raw-meat delight’. The
trouble here is (i) that the Bacchae were, to their original audience, disgusting man-devouring barbarians who lived at least 800 years before them, and (ii) that
goats were sacrificed to practically every Olympian god, especially Artemis and
Apollo. As sacrificial animal, the goat is not at all distinctively Dionysiac. </span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="font-family: trebuchet; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: justify;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkuU3L8xoWDvsdg3dYaGYvLANeLwKJ0H6hG0ZKDKGLBiv7Yq7Vuo9kdbpJg-oNaVK47VQMXPtiDQR516TxmAFNwvPtmdPd6jy6JG3XmytJikSbjGr0VHRmbVaflBge7r5DkHfm97oS-wQ/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1676" data-original-width="2514" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkuU3L8xoWDvsdg3dYaGYvLANeLwKJ0H6hG0ZKDKGLBiv7Yq7Vuo9kdbpJg-oNaVK47VQMXPtiDQR516TxmAFNwvPtmdPd6jy6JG3XmytJikSbjGr0VHRmbVaflBge7r5DkHfm97oS-wQ/" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Priapic but equine satyr sexually harasses a goat</td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><div style="text-align: justify;">Since the theatregoing ancient Greeks were as mystified by the etymology as we
are, by the 4th century BCE (well after all our surviving tragedies) a vase-painter
in the theatre-mad Greek-speaking Puglian part of south Italy painted this exquisite
vase portraying, I think for the first time in ancient Greek art, a full-on goat
sacrifice for a small statue of Dionysus (although the tablecloth sports a bull), complete with knife, a flaming altar and an attendant female with
interesting items of bakery on a ritual tray. </div></span></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj3qWakD4LKf8Ac97aKMlxdmVMlwVmjf5oIVMrmGkzAxWIyJi2AskVnnOYAx3ZGQOkR-HwusO2DIDVjNDh4Q9dmDLwsyDS-yOXHkAmc9eR1AOc7aijev43yBNPSQ5wbjgx5RjzqPdmHGy9RyJjYLht-TVH_BDgpp8l7ECDlppAPtZi-ouiLubShj9Mf=s1012" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="1012" height="376" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj3qWakD4LKf8Ac97aKMlxdmVMlwVmjf5oIVMrmGkzAxWIyJi2AskVnnOYAx3ZGQOkR-HwusO2DIDVjNDh4Q9dmDLwsyDS-yOXHkAmc9eR1AOc7aijev43yBNPSQ5wbjgx5RjzqPdmHGy9RyJjYLht-TVH_BDgpp8l7ECDlppAPtZi-ouiLubShj9Mf=w508-h376" width="508" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: x-large;">I love this picture, but fear that
it is a fantasy invented to explain the origins of tragedy. Johnson’s Classics
may be ropey, but perhaps it was from such ancient fantasists that he learned
his total disregard for documentable truth. He may also be about to sing, instead of his swan-song, his last goat-song as (goatlike, priapic) PM.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhc1LCJ2RwI1sYpAW16bYLmDNzeByzB7cwMo1YHD-R4J_YJ9sv1TLTlkfhjXPXc6jBv6xAJrPyIYRKHIlCnzI00_mXA5nt7dzfds7a0ar7zIXBCP76euFGpLy3MeJ_BdHSi8vz88ys6fMBmaQbi7a3GhcRQ9YTvs75b3cCZGaGhy9p4mCGxgmgcFPbk=s1300" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="731" data-original-width="1300" height="294" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhc1LCJ2RwI1sYpAW16bYLmDNzeByzB7cwMo1YHD-R4J_YJ9sv1TLTlkfhjXPXc6jBv6xAJrPyIYRKHIlCnzI00_mXA5nt7dzfds7a0ar7zIXBCP76euFGpLy3MeJ_BdHSi8vz88ys6fMBmaQbi7a3GhcRQ9YTvs75b3cCZGaGhy9p4mCGxgmgcFPbk=w522-h294" width="522" /></a></div><br /><br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p>Edith Hallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02518971064140009711noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4134533972010981122.post-65356671227535943472021-10-23T15:14:00.006+01:002021-10-25T12:15:57.046+01:00Remembering Who I am in Padua<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">After
an unpleasant academic year 2020-2021, my sanity has finally been restored this week by
my first ever visit to Padua (a solo journey I could not have contemplated even a few weeks ago). Its University, founded in 1222, is the fifth
oldest in the world. My host was the wry Rocco Coronato, Professor of English, gifted
at entitling publications (a recent article of his is ‘The Emergence of
Priapism in <i>Two Gentlemen of Verona</i>’).<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhPV3lbwhH5AHkROAWkiJs4WjVCc4k60aiNf7b5bA-gF595R6UvbxufGtR93kSGHo6azm9UyflXfsrIHrsi8iBQl4eTkEZstInwrkqdayFw0a5R1IhAPK26ou63a2ih6vPcFUmC580n_IfBzSNOXgJvVkUd8qFAk3nzh9q-fTXzhCYaUWfNzPvuVEKC=s1020" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="680" data-original-width="1020" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhPV3lbwhH5AHkROAWkiJs4WjVCc4k60aiNf7b5bA-gF595R6UvbxufGtR93kSGHo6azm9UyflXfsrIHrsi8iBQl4eTkEZstInwrkqdayFw0a5R1IhAPK26ou63a2ih6vPcFUmC580n_IfBzSNOXgJvVkUd8qFAk3nzh9q-fTXzhCYaUWfNzPvuVEKC=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Elena Cornario Piscopia in the ermine of a Doctor of Philosophy</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">As
Head of the PhD programme in Linguistic, Philological and Literary Sciences,
Rocco invited me to address the doctoral students on the topic of women
classical scholars in Italy. The lecture will be available online soon. The
first woman ever to be awarded a doctorate was Elena Cornaro PIscopia as early
as 1678—her topic was Aristotle. One of the most important papyrologists of all
time was the inspirational Medea Norsa, who found and published Sappho fragment
2.<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgfABCF-p-TuHMX0Pj57kMuamGT0e9u8vglkXtMCgKrZ6IKhGZBsOWtQ02GJb2G8_gxrSQuZ0mwv0vNNHW7aP5HM7gqG4aEKJz-WawqAfy6XjkLk9V-4WpR07ptperuUSUjiFCZ5A6jZ-8GtkoNzWJzTl2X9PpYeKS-Isj5H4EtN0qu3Qnaj6zY2IBu=s300" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="277" data-original-width="300" height="277" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgfABCF-p-TuHMX0Pj57kMuamGT0e9u8vglkXtMCgKrZ6IKhGZBsOWtQ02GJb2G8_gxrSQuZ0mwv0vNNHW7aP5HM7gqG4aEKJz-WawqAfy6XjkLk9V-4WpR07ptperuUSUjiFCZ5A6jZ-8GtkoNzWJzTl2X9PpYeKS-Isj5H4EtN0qu3Qnaj6zY2IBu" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Medea Norsa, Papyrologist Extraordinary</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Padua
is forever engraved on a classicist’s heart as the city founded by Antenor, the
Trojan counsellor who in the <i>Iliad </i>sensibly advises the Trojans to give
Helen back to Menelaus immediately. But Antenor’s most famous exploit was founding
Padua (Patavium), an act described by Venus to Jupiter in some of the most
memorable lines of the <i>Aeneid</i> (1.242-9), when she is arguing that it is
about time the other Trojan exile, Aeneas, is allowed to settle in Italy too.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj_FhfJ83QaQ2blS1E1q_x30_dSIrfqdYCGBirUtTyU_aWg7_aOqNiv1jOH8TVSQ9V8yFa1peuZwzKKJpLJhmDyk_6jKUMiqzjEreXsFCYaB81Bc93VM3FBrszncYFxeMR9hgNjK1AFQyRxbNG-s5INek45MTmCUWRdT1DnvjED5DiY8-pDbVj6Y_3D=s1100" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1100" data-original-width="1076" height="357" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj_FhfJ83QaQ2blS1E1q_x30_dSIrfqdYCGBirUtTyU_aWg7_aOqNiv1jOH8TVSQ9V8yFa1peuZwzKKJpLJhmDyk_6jKUMiqzjEreXsFCYaB81Bc93VM3FBrszncYFxeMR9hgNjK1AFQyRxbNG-s5INek45MTmCUWRdT1DnvjED5DiY8-pDbVj6Y_3D=w349-h357" width="349" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Luca Ferrari, THE FLIGHT OF ANTENOR FROM TROY</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">The
historian Livy was himself a Paduan, who retained an accent people laughed at all
his life. He even opens his </span><i style="font-size: 14pt;">History of Rome </i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">with a resounding allusion
to Aeneas and Antenor arriving from Troy and the foundation of Patavium ‘in the
furthest regions of the Adriatic’. </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Livy has been given a monument in Antenor’s
piazza, where an ancient sarcophagus said to contain </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">Antenor’s body was discovered
in the thirteenth</span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"> century and an </span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">imposing
edifice built to house it. Sadly, carbon investigation reveals that the bones
are not old enough for a Bronze Age hero and indeed one is a female femur.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhDfWkdRpzYhXYGrrz5QlBsVBnmYIMymGZkFq8VZmK6cYO9X-PbgNiSH1T_E0WjTpzuu5qpsxLhDxMy_OtRB2WfslpKC5y-2HNelrlSzBewVmNIec5J_W3ns3SG5Q2nYEdGW77DYdvHkDLXO0aMKmeNyILgTP6A2AgygDDCaZu-jouioe4H5INYg7-Z=s867" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="867" data-original-width="855" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhDfWkdRpzYhXYGrrz5QlBsVBnmYIMymGZkFq8VZmK6cYO9X-PbgNiSH1T_E0WjTpzuu5qpsxLhDxMy_OtRB2WfslpKC5y-2HNelrlSzBewVmNIec5J_W3ns3SG5Q2nYEdGW77DYdvHkDLXO0aMKmeNyILgTP6A2AgygDDCaZu-jouioe4H5INYg7-Z=s320" width="316" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Antenor's Tomb and Livy's Monument</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Padua
is famous as the setting of much of <i>The Taming of the Shrew</i>, but the
show I went to see in the magnificent Teatro Verdi was <i>Turandot</i>. I made
a mistake: I thought it was the Puccini opera, and so I would get to hear the football fan’s
favourite aria <i>Nessun Dorma</i>. But it turned out to be the play, with
minimal music. It didn’t matter, even though the acting was more declamatory
than I’m used to and the plot of course preposterous. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEigV_bliUjquDKvcDx2cKK-4FTYbEEYYEwucRgPYLrl9QuVVwYUr-D8f-uGmf7wEydl3RtI_ABWNEyeagKjK3PoPCGl4zMtmTGhCDp2XLrpI_AHcj7C-xZGoVMXBOg3dGZrwULIlhBl6WmsBUFK5_y7YZccMAyM8dPYWo7yO26NGeBNxUhgqDoq51GZ=s1280" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="719" data-original-width="1280" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEigV_bliUjquDKvcDx2cKK-4FTYbEEYYEwucRgPYLrl9QuVVwYUr-D8f-uGmf7wEydl3RtI_ABWNEyeagKjK3PoPCGl4zMtmTGhCDp2XLrpI_AHcj7C-xZGoVMXBOg3dGZrwULIlhBl6WmsBUFK5_y7YZccMAyM8dPYWo7yO26NGeBNxUhgqDoq51GZ=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">I
went back to the hotel to play every recording of <i>Nessun Dorma </i>I could
find on Youtube (there are a lot; <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2RdJmqLrsbo">some are better than Pavarotti</a>), while swigging Valpolicella and scoffing the local speciality, baccalà alla vicentina (cod long basted in a
milk and onion sauce, served with polenta). And I really thought seven months ago
that I had forever lost my lust for life.<o:p></o:p></span></p>Edith Hallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02518971064140009711noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4134533972010981122.post-55029935935634309712021-10-14T11:44:00.006+01:002021-10-15T08:58:06.757+01:00On Being UnStoic in Zeno's Cypriot Birthplace<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiDmLyi-ewyjZ-CcCgbgETKYw1qMkcs6rWnojtA3XBItIoAigyxvgHKuK9BBGuMPZf8_K82Zp8mW0kC87O1Mo_bEfuNZQEdN99cbAQM7lgBHDmlP3TarfKoGpjV_6kD6AtfZDtuD5zTZeYkAnUR1sFRaMtKGPHMBprP15CyY8O2MeQG5IJVaxwd-PNx=s3151" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="998" data-original-width="3151" height="162" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiDmLyi-ewyjZ-CcCgbgETKYw1qMkcs6rWnojtA3XBItIoAigyxvgHKuK9BBGuMPZf8_K82Zp8mW0kC87O1Mo_bEfuNZQEdN99cbAQM7lgBHDmlP3TarfKoGpjV_6kD6AtfZDtuD5zTZeYkAnUR1sFRaMtKGPHMBprP15CyY8O2MeQG5IJVaxwd-PNx=w514-h162" width="514" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My Favourite Paphos Mosaic: Ikarios Invents Wine</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Regular readers will know that I am neither
temperamentally nor philosophically impressed by Stoicism. But I like to visit
the home-towns of ancient Greek intellectuals, and so rounded up six wonderful
days in Greece and Cyprus celebrating freedom by having a deeply unStoic time in
Kition, Cyprus, where Zeno the great Stoic was born at some distance from Aphrodite's birthplace in the west of the island, because obviously a Stoic disapproves of this divinity.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi70jP_eEt9ufjWK1dhWAIVXhMe9u5ULwz7a4_aw2LW5iRHpSWpjSdAQI5q98MpUDj__5lYsp0QcHMNiDr-T4Ep50mipijJM6uvf56SoLtd0CaLjWYqFmfAXkDaP74qNCD9-pd5cD6QWebx-HmDKSZchVpWwBgnQjInVYTPNcfPTcP0hqlKGWnzBIZw=s245" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="245" data-original-width="180" height="245" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi70jP_eEt9ufjWK1dhWAIVXhMe9u5ULwz7a4_aw2LW5iRHpSWpjSdAQI5q98MpUDj__5lYsp0QcHMNiDr-T4Ep50mipijJM6uvf56SoLtd0CaLjWYqFmfAXkDaP74qNCD9-pd5cD6QWebx-HmDKSZchVpWwBgnQjInVYTPNcfPTcP0hqlKGWnzBIZw" width="180" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Zeno, not my Type of Role Model</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The day started with <i>not</i> going studiously round
the ruins of ancient Kition, but waving at them from my wonderful hostess’ <a href="https://magdalenazira.wordpress.com/about-2/">Magdalena Zira</a>’s car
(she is a former PhD student of mine and a theatre director). It is impossible
not to laugh in this vehicle because an imperious lady living in the dashboard
constantly gives orders in Japanese, and nobody on Cyprus knows how to shut her
up.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgPZM1PAJC4pO3BOst3cYqWZG3zwKTHM39G8WWEXGvF45R2YEyIpl4XfqvDzSgH6v7twFcsc02EVVkouUqqP-uQAjmwMwdsDgAxxz8EyKA4oxt0_udoerBx3ehK-A8vLIK1O22wo6Kzcf47wUfZImtjaLvkaiWOCmiiTjTS0jmL1MXmTGlTsHg1dmiO=s275" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="206" data-original-width="275" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgPZM1PAJC4pO3BOst3cYqWZG3zwKTHM39G8WWEXGvF45R2YEyIpl4XfqvDzSgH6v7twFcsc02EVVkouUqqP-uQAjmwMwdsDgAxxz8EyKA4oxt0_udoerBx3ehK-A8vLIK1O22wo6Kzcf47wUfZImtjaLvkaiWOCmiiTjTS0jmL1MXmTGlTsHg1dmiO" width="275" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Posh Customers Only: Magdalena & Me</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">First I went to swim on Larnaca beach, not to improve my capacity for
self-control and resilience, but to enjoy gratuitous physical ecstasy. Then we went to <a href="https://www.myguidecyprus.com/restaurants/militzis-tavern">a world-famous
taverna</a> run by Mr Militzis surrounded by fragrant flowers and drank his
homemade wine BEFORE NOON. We ate far more than any Stoic would in a week
because it was delicious. Moreover, British Airways, with whom we were
returning later in the day, no longer think economy passengers have any
physical requirements even on 5-hour flights.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhBqZNH25RTYEK_Vfekui2ToZoZO4Yehjc91QHg-B41PSZn7UEOR6M53S4srBkjKurodWNt9TsZ18rMeboSdiQ6ofLtQQVoa6hW4f8lKtmV5rLv-vIeuqfKKpLmfH2tIDrCHcX4Gp0gi_CyIuzl_HNcAaYq-rEPi9b0ubd-5olOPDKZ6HE25VkB6YLk=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhBqZNH25RTYEK_Vfekui2ToZoZO4Yehjc91QHg-B41PSZn7UEOR6M53S4srBkjKurodWNt9TsZ18rMeboSdiQ6ofLtQQVoa6hW4f8lKtmV5rLv-vIeuqfKKpLmfH2tIDrCHcX4Gp0gi_CyIuzl_HNcAaYq-rEPi9b0ubd-5olOPDKZ6HE25VkB6YLk=s320" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgOu2uJgz-5PS0AkDXYBEg68vShlgK0WU91anO59O-4lZV5TZyCBIis3iomMAkkt-_sfyhsSz-UUJW4mdLux-FY-8ifOtAJ5VI4EmSacKE9NnVtY9AIGMTYkCxQAh0lcsrsrWw1m18hSAJkJw3rD45e-l0HXbf4MBJbn1flpj622lZCyeKMag4hzqVJ=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgOu2uJgz-5PS0AkDXYBEg68vShlgK0WU91anO59O-4lZV5TZyCBIis3iomMAkkt-_sfyhsSz-UUJW4mdLux-FY-8ifOtAJ5VI4EmSacKE9NnVtY9AIGMTYkCxQAh0lcsrsrWw1m18hSAJkJw3rD45e-l0HXbf4MBJbn1flpj622lZCyeKMag4hzqVJ=s320" width="240" /></a></div><br /><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Prior to being unStoic in Kition, where I enjoyed staying in a flat where the Communist Party of Cyprus used to have unofficial meetings, I fulfilled a
lifetime ambition by visiting Paphos. Aphrodite's town, as my travelling companion
daughter Sarah Poynder discovered to her joy, contains even more (deeply unStoic, pleasure-addicted) cats than
mosaics or statues of Aphrodite. <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhSy7h6YDSs3_7dPMjH3crVLWZIjyd1B2uoK1yGSHBeEAXg_MOPndbC2fTIpxyUB78CdJnUSxdRG_TJztNTzSV705N9T7ytv0pB2jQ_Erj6QlzNAzhCAugc2ubsk6EcTiuQF9FHMH0fJRmv6C8HQwdL3kO2ZB0S_tAGU2oYoLp7BKVu-G-8_XYDiCfh=s2048" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1969" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhSy7h6YDSs3_7dPMjH3crVLWZIjyd1B2uoK1yGSHBeEAXg_MOPndbC2fTIpxyUB78CdJnUSxdRG_TJztNTzSV705N9T7ytv0pB2jQ_Erj6QlzNAzhCAugc2ubsk6EcTiuQF9FHMH0fJRmv6C8HQwdL3kO2ZB0S_tAGU2oYoLp7BKVu-G-8_XYDiCfh=s320" width="308" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Aphrodite of Paphos obviously needs two different frocks</td></tr></tbody></table></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">And we had arrived from the Peloponnese where I had talked, within 48
hours, to audiences at the inaugural Benaki festival, on both Homer and ancient
democracy. Hanging out with my classical besties Nat Haynes and Bettany Hughes
was a delight.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjnT4k21KUOTfjEun3rjFIyzTmKLASCqSsHIw2IqPjZ7kkehkS-Pvfou2Yj1ahL9NhUiKJgdG3rvNBhMGu2Dbi0C5OCNmbgqRN7mJcHDh9Lf24FCtP20rYKlfFX0f-tzdnzrwDSKnQxE1bzp4aRAv7xB2D0sAod2UkLMXYzdm996KOMqzaYB-nQ-um7=s421" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="421" data-original-width="287" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjnT4k21KUOTfjEun3rjFIyzTmKLASCqSsHIw2IqPjZ7kkehkS-Pvfou2Yj1ahL9NhUiKJgdG3rvNBhMGu2Dbi0C5OCNmbgqRN7mJcHDh9Lf24FCtP20rYKlfFX0f-tzdnzrwDSKnQxE1bzp4aRAv7xB2D0sAod2UkLMXYzdm996KOMqzaYB-nQ-um7=s320" width="218" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Advocacy for Aristophanes: Greatest Greek</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">On Saturday night there was a competition </span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: 18.6667px;">chaired by Nat </span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: 18.6667px;">in a splendid restaurant </span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">between
spokespersons for The Greatest Greek. I
am pleased to say that Aristophanes, advocated by me, saw off Judith Herrin’s
Empress Eirene, Yannis Palaiologos’ Venizelos, Bettany’s Helen of Sparta/Troy
and Tom Holland’s Alexander the Great. I simply asked whether the audience, if
stranded together on a desert island, would rather have icons, unlimited sex,
unlimited political ambition/power or laughter plus freedom of speech. I am
glad to say that they voted the right way. And nobody nominated Zeno.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgVEImoMkL7yBjOxDwVYlFGhY8sbWTyu3ALnlatVdYFjaWedmnzFxz1Er-EKcYBSze4Gml7-F_BzgbtGtXyyQkGm48RDit2NsnOT_9c4bhbTyaUYBC6DER1jwe6Qs-ZnaYcBbjaXbvfFXwS6IohT7YPErbDS3iQX1VQt5vUEpSQBCXU3XKByVma67_k=s3264" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2448" data-original-width="3264" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgVEImoMkL7yBjOxDwVYlFGhY8sbWTyu3ALnlatVdYFjaWedmnzFxz1Er-EKcYBSze4Gml7-F_BzgbtGtXyyQkGm48RDit2NsnOT_9c4bhbTyaUYBC6DER1jwe6Qs-ZnaYcBbjaXbvfFXwS6IohT7YPErbDS3iQX1VQt5vUEpSQBCXU3XKByVma67_k=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhMJqrzrYeeuSpQ4sUMbeKrshFOno-LeGcSHVye7sf_HjUIIVs0kqaVbuVSSoMLaXAfvjvia3QPLxq4QncFv7EzyfBrLzfI8fnoR6YR6AZEs_U-6Zk_d1WIX9xUa0_4xsqMdORfa_xYe94Zrli7G7SSdUSdcrfDHhP911xJjYpJtgKLAlTWmZc9b8Vb=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhMJqrzrYeeuSpQ4sUMbeKrshFOno-LeGcSHVye7sf_HjUIIVs0kqaVbuVSSoMLaXAfvjvia3QPLxq4QncFv7EzyfBrLzfI8fnoR6YR6AZEs_U-6Zk_d1WIX9xUa0_4xsqMdORfa_xYe94Zrli7G7SSdUSdcrfDHhP911xJjYpJtgKLAlTWmZc9b8Vb=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><o:p></o:p><p></p>Edith Hallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02518971064140009711noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4134533972010981122.post-62339985373671283842021-10-03T12:54:00.004+01:002021-10-03T13:07:51.066+01:00Plutarch's Ten Top Tips for Freshers' Week<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">When Plutarch’s young friend Nicander started university, the writer sent him a treatise with advice on how to listen to lectures, </span><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;"><i><a href="http://www.perseus.tufts.edu/hopper/text?doc=Perseus%3Atext%3A2008.01.0145%3Asection%3Dintro">De recta ratione audiendi</a>.</i></span></span><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"> Much of it remains astonishingly relevant today for today’s students, even if I don’t like his first simile and, under no. 3, I think laughing and smiling are perfectly acceptable! </span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: xx-large; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGTq3LQSTsQkMpVhNnQDGfyLo53vr1QatSH7X6aymepxvVLnCV0HdUAe2YZXylgLuZgYthpePTnPffJh5Vvf1PtxvsDnPuGNRKGE6qS4HmC07JQbarQvHwPqfXyyaThcaQLa9UaiLPJlM/s680/FAwm4PaXEAQb_FS+%25281%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="531" data-original-width="680" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGTq3LQSTsQkMpVhNnQDGfyLo53vr1QatSH7X6aymepxvVLnCV0HdUAe2YZXylgLuZgYthpePTnPffJh5Vvf1PtxvsDnPuGNRKGE6qS4HmC07JQbarQvHwPqfXyyaThcaQLa9UaiLPJlM/s320/FAwm4PaXEAQb_FS+%25281%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: x-large;">
<b>1. Don’t Go Mad Socially in Freshers’ Week</b> </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: x-large;">Sudden absence of control from home unchains the impulses towards pleasure and the feelings of suspicion towards hard work. “And just as Herodotus says that women put off their modesty along with their undergarments, so some of our young men, as soon as they lay aside the garb of childhood, lay aside also their sense of modesty and fear, and become full of unruliness”.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: x-large;">
<b>2. Don’t Be Late to Class</b> </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: x-large;">“Some think it only right that the speaker shall come with his discourse carefully thought out and prepared, while they, without consideration or thought of their obligations, rush in and take their seats exactly as though they had come to dinner, to have a good time while others toil.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: x-large;"><b> 3. Lecture-Hall Decorum</b> </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: x-large;">Even with atrocious lecturers, it is imperative “to sit upright without any lounging or sprawling, to look directly at the speaker, to maintain a pose of active attention, and a sedateness of countenance free from any expression, not merely of arrogance or displeasure—not only frowning, a sour face, a roving glance, twisting the body about, and crossing the legs, are unbecoming, but even nodding, whispering to another, smiling, sleepy yawns, bowing down the head, and all like actions, are culpable and need to be carefully avoided”. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: x-large;">4. <b>Don’t Hold the Class Up </b></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: x-large;">Don’t be like the students who “hold back the speaker on every possible occasion by inane and superfluous questions, impeding the regular course of the lecture”. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: x-large;"> 5. <b>Don’t Introduce Irrelevant Questions</b> </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: x-large;">“Those persons who lead the speaker to digress to other topics, and interject questions, and raise new difficulties, are not pleasant or agreeable company at a lecture; if it is on ethical philosophy don’t ask about science, maths or logic”. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: x-large;"> 6. <b>Don’t Demand Spoon-feeding</b> </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: x-large;">Some students do no work themselves, “but they give trouble to the speaker by repeatedly asking questions about the same things, like unfledged nestlings always agape toward the mouth of another, and desirous of receiving everything ready prepared and pre-digested”. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: x-large;"> 7. <b> Be a Good Listener</b> </span><b style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: xx-large;">& </b><b style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: xx-large;">Don’t Interrupt </b></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: x-large;">Avoid being like “those who instantly interrupt with contradictions, neither hearing nor being heard, but talking while others talk, behaving in an unseemly manner...forward and contentious”.
“Guard against proposing many problems or proposing them often. For this is the mark of a man who is taking occasion to show himself off. But to listen good-naturedly when another advances them, marks the considerate gentleman and the scholar. An offensive and tiresome listener is the man who is not to be touched or moved by anything that is said, full of festering presumption and ingrained self-assertion, as though convinced that he could say something better than what is being said, who neither moves his brow nor utters a single word to bear witness that he is glad to listen, but by means of silence and an affected gravity and pose, seeks to gain a reputation for poise and profundity”. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: x-large;"> 8. <b>Don’t Condemn or Acclaim Teachers</b> <b>too fast</b></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: x-large;">For you too are capable of “poverty of thought, emptiness of phrase, an offensive bearing, fluttering excitement combined with a vulgar delight at commendation”. But don’t be a sycophant because you will get “no benefit from the lecture because it has been made full of confusion and fluttering excitement by your continual applause” and you will be regarded as either “a dissembler, a flatterer, or a boor”. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: x-large;"> 9. <b>Ignore Peer Pressure and Make Up Your Own Mind</b> </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: x-large;">Do not distract yourself by turning to look at “the other persons present to see whether they are showing any pleasure or admiration”. Just as when a person leaves the hairdresser “he stands by the mirror and feels his head, examining the cut of his hair and the difference made by its trimming”, you should evaluate the lecture afterwards independently. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: x-large;"> 10. <b>Learn to Take Criticism Constructively</b> </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: x-large;">“Admonitions and rebukes must be listened to neither with stolid indifference nor with unseemly emotion”. Do not laugh at the criticism, “nor listen unmoved, grinning, dissembling in the face of it all”. On the other hand, don’t be demolished by it, “running away if you ever hear a single word directed against you”, because shame has no place in education. “Indeed, even if the reproof seems to be given unjustly, it is an admirable thing to endure it with continued patience while the man is speaking”, but go to him privately afterwards to discuss the matter and ask him to keep his severity “for some real misconduct”. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">I recognise all the types of student Plutarch describes here: I also recognise his less edifying teachers. Here’s to a lovely, civil, constructive and happy new term in lecture halls across the land!</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3GLfRAmKLYF9zDCwpWYRvFK0SRi9GMeBJxkkyOmiIl8L8FDNlanj4gPK3p-Ru37C_3KyoGJj9zNZNWKdThmk4plxLac2kYiCEnoZrcPG6wJ4pBaUN6B6jpdtPTZaDrrd9menX5pmhDEQ/s572/prof.jpg" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="287" data-original-width="572" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3GLfRAmKLYF9zDCwpWYRvFK0SRi9GMeBJxkkyOmiIl8L8FDNlanj4gPK3p-Ru37C_3KyoGJj9zNZNWKdThmk4plxLac2kYiCEnoZrcPG6wJ4pBaUN6B6jpdtPTZaDrrd9menX5pmhDEQ/w421-h212/prof.jpg" width="421" /></a></div><br /></div><br />
</span></div>Edith Hallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02518971064140009711noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4134533972010981122.post-54549617504030613632021-09-11T16:09:00.004+01:002021-09-13T14:18:16.987+01:00On Feeling Like Ronaldo<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Ancient allegations that for selfish reasons I move between jobs too often have recently resurfaced. This blog is designed to put the record straight.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I left my first permanent job at the University of
Reading (1990-1995) after being turned down for promotion. I gather I was a
victim of a pre-existing feud between two senior males, my Head of Department
and a Professor of English who claimed that I was incapable of an
international reputation. I would still be there if I had been promoted.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I left my permanent job at Oxford in 2001 because I
could not get the Classics Faculty (then Lit. Hum.) to understand that with two
children under two I could not sustain the workload they proposed for me, especially
since I had just got in for them a huge research grant that urgently needed
administering. Changes in legislation subsequently would have made my life as
new working mother at Oxford possible, since my own college, Somerville,
was fantastically supportive. I would still be at Oxford if the current maternity
rights legislation had been passed, or if the Faculty could have evinced any
sympathy whatsoever during the first two years of our children’s lives.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I left the job I absolutely loved at Durham in 2006
because sadly the university did not match the substantial pay rise and wonderful interdepartmental contract, centered
on research and with complete exemption from administration, I competed for and won at Royal Holloway
University of London. As breadwinner and full-time working parent this was inviting.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I left Royal Holloway University of London in 2012
because the new Principal had tried to shut the Classics Department and I was
exhausted after a long (and successful) campaign to stop him. I did not find
the macho new management 'culture' congenial. I don’t think it was too fond of me
either. I sensed my future there was in jeopardy, otherwise I would still be at RHUL.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">On December 31<sup>st</sup> 2021 I am leaving King’s College
London, at which until less than a year ago <i>I absolutely loved </i>working, to return to my
favourite ever job (Durham). The writer Colin Teevan once flatteringly said I was the Thierry Henry of Classics because I 'gunned it into goal from the Left'. But now I feel like (a far less talented) Ronaldo.</span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkUJh2hSh5u9q9O3pvoXiFxuy9d81Q8rZDUv0z-B1Vd2NPspyVLLRkeHQE396EkN-NvUO2cfXLOgIj3QTyRKSYtsT48mtpf4h6cH9Xk4FjV1tFzL89pHMdh5asVyJ-IUadLpQmLMMb5wQ/s1200/Ronaldo-9.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1200" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkUJh2hSh5u9q9O3pvoXiFxuy9d81Q8rZDUv0z-B1Vd2NPspyVLLRkeHQE396EkN-NvUO2cfXLOgIj3QTyRKSYtsT48mtpf4h6cH9Xk4FjV1tFzL89pHMdh5asVyJ-IUadLpQmLMMb5wQ/s320/Ronaldo-9.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ronaldo returns to his northern English spiritual home</td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I am extremely excited about my homecoming story and will soon have more to say
about why Arts and Humanities at this northern university is so outstanding. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX075Cu8LnOK6CO9yX4WQXZ3OJ-7M1tnygsVF7R3z2yLfs9ZAzzbb2pS7ZbseySoBDY5MRe0iqWI6oL439VL-5oembwrdQqCY9rSTFs2ZacN4D3L3Q_RZV5NXySY1cK1gi1_GhzV64gdw/s600/thierry-henry-scores-arsenals-3rd-goal-150873.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="398" data-original-width="600" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX075Cu8LnOK6CO9yX4WQXZ3OJ-7M1tnygsVF7R3z2yLfs9ZAzzbb2pS7ZbseySoBDY5MRe0iqWI6oL439VL-5oembwrdQqCY9rSTFs2ZacN4D3L3Q_RZV5NXySY1cK1gi1_GhzV64gdw/s320/thierry-henry-scores-arsenals-3rd-goal-150873.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thierry Henry 'guns it into goal from the Left'.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></p><br /><p></p>Edith Hallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02518971064140009711noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4134533972010981122.post-49238800985528909942021-08-30T09:51:00.000+01:002021-08-30T09:51:26.268+01:00The Weirdest Royal Wedding: Antiochus and Stratonice<p> </p><p style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">It is Jacques-Louis David’s
birthday. He is all too familiar amongst classicists because his paintings ‘The
Sabine Women’, ‘The Death of Socrates’, ‘Leonidas at Thermopylae’ and ‘The Oath
of the Horatii’, with their pallid, depilated ancient heroes, adorn the covers
of far too many books.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></p><p style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0zhesA8AeVH7jqYFA2Btwkar87r5LYS-KMzidmqRnIjO_3FBn8AluLF4nPPwV9Yw8TcbFtBQ1vWGlMDD6C5FJ2pfMfZpmk9am2Yd0qhJDHnqDHfPDAieoXsEa05fKJIPoOxD4XcvfHzY/s800/800px-David-Antiochus_et_Stratonice.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="626" data-original-width="800" height="313" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0zhesA8AeVH7jqYFA2Btwkar87r5LYS-KMzidmqRnIjO_3FBn8AluLF4nPPwV9Yw8TcbFtBQ1vWGlMDD6C5FJ2pfMfZpmk9am2Yd0qhJDHnqDHfPDAieoXsEa05fKJIPoOxD4XcvfHzY/w400-h313/800px-David-Antiochus_et_Stratonice.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">But the David work I
most love to hate is his ‘Antiochus I and Stratonice’, mainly because it
portrays the anecdote I most love to hate in all <a href="http://www.attalus.org/old/demetrius2.html">Plutarch</a>.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Stratonice was married
off at 17 years old to Seleucus, who was 25 years her senior.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They had one child, Phlia. But then Antiochus,
Seleucus’ son by a previous wife, fell gravely ill. The famous doctor
Erasistratus, said to be the grandson of Aristotle, no less, was summoned. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Erasistratus was an
expert in anatomy and physiology, which he had gruesomely studied by practising
vivisections on criminals. He detected that Antiochus’ symptoms were heightened
whenever his stepmother entered his chamber. </span></p><p style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;">The symptoms were </span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">a faltering
voice, burning blush, languid eye, sudden sweats, a tumultuous pulse, swooning
and deathly pallor. Erasistratus knew, with his customary scientific rigour, </span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: 18.6667px;">that these were symptoms of erotic fixation. Sappho's poetry was on the syllabus at medical school. In a</span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"> </span><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blog/post/edit/4134533972010981122/4923880098552890994" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">famous
poem</a> <span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"> she had described how she felt watching the woman she loved
talking to a man.</span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;">Fortunately
for Antiochus, his father let him marry Stratonice. Their sex life was active,
since they had five children. This story has everything: royalty, fabulous
wealth, sex, parental self-sacrifice, a poem by Sappho, quasi-incest, a
detective strand and a celebrity physician.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">David was
far from the only painter attracted to this story, but he outdid all others in
the blinding whiteness and Aryan appearance of his ancient Macedonians and
Seleucids. I am particularly fond of the version by Benjamin West, who painted
the doctor Erasistratus, in lovely tan and green scrubs, looking as though he
was suffering from an apoplexy himself.</span> </span></p><p style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;"><br /></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzBLlEJKvcTKbGhOjaoFwgVSEPR2nD5n1CVE6rSUXqp75-w8Sbg1WiOBSAtiBVit_qnD7ynHxRfO2_fIqNDdZnxfPeczHVRZjAe95EpkrW-3gd-hYU0EITX0wN9feNNEEFUHjN5kUpszo/s753/west.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="528" data-original-width="753" height="280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzBLlEJKvcTKbGhOjaoFwgVSEPR2nD5n1CVE6rSUXqp75-w8Sbg1WiOBSAtiBVit_qnD7ynHxRfO2_fIqNDdZnxfPeczHVRZjAe95EpkrW-3gd-hYU0EITX0wN9feNNEEFUHjN5kUpszo/w400-h280/west.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; text-align: justify;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">The story also
reminds me of Sophocles’ Jocasta, married to both Laius and Oedipus. She ended
up dead and disgraced, as did Phaedra in Euripides’ </span><i style="font-size: 14pt;">Hippolytus</i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">. In a
world where women were routinely married off to men old enough to be their
father, there must have been many erotic entanglements between young wives and
their coeval stepchildren; but poor Phaedra couldn’t just demand that Theseus
divorce her and let her get off with the much younger man.</span></div><p></p><p style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">Plutarch
doesn’t tell us, of course, how Stratonice felt about being passed around the
family like a piece of meat, nor the psychological impact of the transfer on
her first daughter, Phlia. Stratonice’s first son by Antiochus certainly grew
up disaffected and was executed for rebellion. As George Eliot put it in </span><i style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">Romola</i><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">,
‘Our deeds are like children that are born to us; they live and act apart from
our own will. Nay, children may be strangled, but deeds never: they have an
indestructible life both in and out of our consciousness’. Bank holiday tip: don’t go falling for your parent’s spouse.</span></p><p style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGG5b3zYi9kLYShA8wbXLlcP0SC563KuDERSD3iSbmA730eJYElwvIhV_7kbV-rKG2GOeyBbkTo5z-YZ-HYSoqPFoUjm3F6WcyrZGWgqte1ISJrlpMmVuXa4U6JjDYJkQRWdS2iTkEGno/s1962/Erasistratus_discovers_the_love_of_Antiochus_for_Stratonice_MET_DP800884.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1397" data-original-width="1962" height="461" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGG5b3zYi9kLYShA8wbXLlcP0SC563KuDERSD3iSbmA730eJYElwvIhV_7kbV-rKG2GOeyBbkTo5z-YZ-HYSoqPFoUjm3F6WcyrZGWgqte1ISJrlpMmVuXa4U6JjDYJkQRWdS2iTkEGno/w640-h461/Erasistratus_discovers_the_love_of_Antiochus_for_Stratonice_MET_DP800884.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p></p>Edith Hallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02518971064140009711noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4134533972010981122.post-24473092316998306132021-07-18T16:40:00.004+01:002021-07-18T17:04:57.045+01:00Tories, Tyrants & Tall Poppies<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">In this week’s incoherent speech ‘explaining’ his ‘levelling
up policy', delivered at a West Midlands battery factory where he had apparently
inserted some of the goods into his frontal lobes, Boris Johnson attempted to drown his lack of a plan in a tsunami of metaphors: jam-spreading, robbery, rings
of steel, building a wall of vaccine against waves of virus, throwing things to
the wind, getting up a tail wind, playing around the football goal’s mouth,
strenghthening sinews, and—best of all—'the yeast that lifts the whole mattress
of dough, the magic sauce—the ketchup of catch-up’.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span face="Trebuchet MS, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;"><br /></span></span><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhdS0bbGI-9bTBLWLIA7gPjPGVgcplaF96E2eTac3nRlxz_7WBzbOBDAIj61eHh3jbuSJ6TCHGYwoWvbri8i6z67AhSdrXQwWqC-l7eKaNieNnx2yooAKxD-dw0ufarpQL32pOTYfbSZ0/s760/bj-4-760x490.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="490" data-original-width="760" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhdS0bbGI-9bTBLWLIA7gPjPGVgcplaF96E2eTac3nRlxz_7WBzbOBDAIj61eHh3jbuSJ6TCHGYwoWvbri8i6z67AhSdrXQwWqC-l7eKaNieNnx2yooAKxD-dw0ufarpQL32pOTYfbSZ0/s320/bj-4-760x490.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">But one of these vertiginous images involved one his
flashiest classical references: ‘We don’t want to decapitate the tall poppies;
we don’t think you can make the poor parts of the country richer by making the
rich parts poorer’. We can’t possibly tax the rich any more, after all. Perish
the thought.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">This reference puts Johnson into dodgy company. Thrasybulus,
tyrant of Miletus, sent a message to the even bloodthirstier Periander, tyrant
of Corinth,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>to teach him how to hold
onto power. He took Periander’s herald to a field, and cut off all the tallest
ears of wheat, which Periander rightly understood as an instruction to
slaughter all the most powerful individuals in his country (Herodotus 5.92).</span><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;">
</span><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;">Aristotle
tells the same story, but put the tyrants’ names the other way round (<i>Pol. </i></span><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">3.1284a).</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span face="Trebuchet MS, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;"><br /></span></span><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLaupRPZjmpGg2lMxm_NqZ94A4smAcWRXVSwRreNwn9Gtnve9iW7sChToAKIGBKN8ZppTd3pst1PGtS-SdUACJUH_pHisavmMuC0h-NZvc6oBhnvng_6wRoEs1WY893qME_HFYjzA5ZAg/s1124/Lawrence_Alma-Tadema_11.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1124" data-original-width="704" height="587" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLaupRPZjmpGg2lMxm_NqZ94A4smAcWRXVSwRreNwn9Gtnve9iW7sChToAKIGBKN8ZppTd3pst1PGtS-SdUACJUH_pHisavmMuC0h-NZvc6oBhnvng_6wRoEs1WY893qME_HFYjzA5ZAg/w367-h587/Lawrence_Alma-Tadema_11.jpeg" width="367" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i style="background-color: #f8f9fa; color: #202122; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 12.3704px; text-align: left;">Tarquinius Superbus</i><span face="sans-serif" style="background-color: #f8f9fa; color: #202122; font-size: 12.3704px; text-align: left;"> by </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lawrence_Alma-Tadema" style="background: none rgb(248, 249, 250); color: #0645ad; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 12.3704px; text-align: left; text-decoration-line: none;" title="">Lawrence Alma-Tadema</a><span face="sans-serif" style="background-color: #f8f9fa; color: #202122; font-size: 12.3704px; text-align: left;">,</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /><o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;">Specifically
Tall Poppy Discourse was used by the nonpareil Roman despots, the Tarquins.
Lucius Tarquinius Superbus lopped all the tallest poppies in his garden to
indicate to his equally nasty rapist son Sextus (NB Jacob Rees-Mogg seems to have remembered
this when he baptised a son ‘Sixtus’) that he should execute the leading men of
Gabii (Livy 1.54).</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span face="Trebuchet MS, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;"><br /></span></span><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE5ebxEOiPl23N39tp8mik_UKn8bXgEJTvkeU3nzr9mGGTglStY4ZebeBmdDm8AZnsPiPOb6-WePuGUK0tKpIHO44890lrogLWsN66T-MvOPT0ue1_ZEg6IbP9oCfCwv_N1jJCjB9a5W4/s750/Lucretia-und-Sextus-Tarquinius.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="626" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE5ebxEOiPl23N39tp8mik_UKn8bXgEJTvkeU3nzr9mGGTglStY4ZebeBmdDm8AZnsPiPOb6-WePuGUK0tKpIHO44890lrogLWsN66T-MvOPT0ue1_ZEg6IbP9oCfCwv_N1jJCjB9a5W4/s320/Lucretia-und-Sextus-Tarquinius.png" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Everyday Life in the Tarquin Family</td></tr></tbody></table><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /><o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;">I
accept that Boris says that the Tories DON’T want to cut off the heads of the
Tall Poppies of London and Middle England. The problem is, he hasn’t said how
he’s otherwise going to increase the height of the Short Poppies of the North, let
alone its dandelions and daisies. Metaphorical Bulimia is not an Economic
Policy.</span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2EbCzoOdC8ZQm8k2i1eQe6dnNrpLi8VaNTqgjID3rRV7uPeGI3wwsqT-OBBEaigF9SoEakYKEYdKOH83caQsxKTknhyphenhyphen0USieDkCXlIvrBAZnItcUutB_e2NZJ3JsVinp4IFJ4zrjhFh8/s2048/guernsey+poppies.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2EbCzoOdC8ZQm8k2i1eQe6dnNrpLi8VaNTqgjID3rRV7uPeGI3wwsqT-OBBEaigF9SoEakYKEYdKOH83caQsxKTknhyphenhyphen0USieDkCXlIvrBAZnItcUutB_e2NZJ3JsVinp4IFJ4zrjhFh8/s320/guernsey+poppies.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">6-foot Poppies of Guernsey This Morning</td></tr></tbody></table><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /> <o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;">But
his choice of allusion seems to me to offer interesting material to a psychoanalyst
thinking about Projection. BTW I’m weekending in the Channel Islands (to visit my
ageing father-in-law for the first time since he buried his wife all alone
under Lockdown 1). These are floating tax avoidance sanctuaries. I’ve noticed
that the poppies are tall indeed.<o:p></o:p></span></p>Edith Hallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02518971064140009711noreply@blogger.com2