Category: impressions

The Printed Homer: A 3000 Year Publishing and Translation History of the Iliad and the Odyssey

Philip H. Young’s The Printed Homer: A 3000 Year Publishing and Translation History of the Iliad and the Odyssey is an odd book to recommend to laymen because about half of it will be useful only to a very focused class of specialists. The other half, though, is of interest to any Classicist, professional or amateur, and is enough to justify buying the whole package.

The specialist half can be dealt with very briefly. Young has compiled a comprehensive list of every known printing of Homer’s works (including those spuriously attributed to him, such as the Hymns) from the first example in 1470 to 2000. It’s an impressive undertaking and I’m sure it’s very helpful for historians who specifically study historical interest in and treatment of the Homeric texts. For laymen such as myself, though, I find it hard to imagine a plausible scenario where this part of the book might be useful.

The rest of the book, though, discusses a range of material that I found fascinating and enlightening as an introduction to the Homeric Question, how the texts were created and transmitted, and how Homer was received, interpreted, and admired from ancient Greece to modernity, as well as Young’s own defense of why Homer is worth studying. I’ll just give a sample of each chapter.…

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The Bowl of Tears and Solace

Not that long ago the common complaint around the Right (broadly defined) was that we needed more dissident artists and authors. Over the past year or two, though, that situation has been reversing itself and it feels like everyone who’s anyone now has a novel coming out. I’ve reviewed Neovictorian’s book Sanity previously, and Neovictorian himself has reviewed Sanction and The Brave and the Bold, while in short fiction there’s enough material for Logos Club to offer a weekly overview of it all. Now, to call all of this “Right-wing” is to sell it short; most of it is not explicitly ideological, and in general these authors are most interested in being artists first, philosophers second, if at all. Despite that, though, given Leftist dominance of traditional publishers the people most likely to be drawn to independent outlets and self-publishing are disproportionately going to be Right-of-Centre, whether that means Right-Libertarian, Throne and Altar Monarchist, or someone in between.

So, let’s take a look at a recent entry in this unexpectedly crowded field, Garth Ogle’s science fiction novel The Bowl of Tears and Solace, published late last year by Saints Edward Media. In short, it was the best graphic novel I’ve read in a long time.

“Wait,” you might be thinking, “isn’t this a regular prose novel?” Yes. That’s the novel’s strength and weakness. I like Ogle’s style, the ideas are intriguing, and the book is full of strong individual scenes. I also found the plot very difficult to follow, and the many action scenes in particular would have been better served in a visual medium like film or comics. To take an example from early in the book:

“It’s private,” I say. “Can we get to – ” but I am cut off by a sudden –

THUD

I rush to the door. This being a back street in the middle of the afternoon, I wonder how a tram accident could have happened. But then I see it.

In the middle of the road, just aside from the rail on the left, is a massive, gray– bug. It is, as best as I can tell, on top of a man, who does not seem to be benefiting from the exercise.

The handful of pedestrians just watch, as in a dream, seeming to me, perhaps, to wonder if it is real. Then I see something happen very quickly.

Across the street, on the right side of the road, I see a woman, with her hair up in a ponytail and dark glasses on. In a moment she is in shadow and there is a bright halo around her. With a motion too quick for me to see, she has drawn a rod and leaping, struck the insect on the back. The air itself shudders oddly with the blow, as if gravity itself were disrupted by the end of her rod. The insect collapses, bloodless and crumpled, and she, returning to normal begins doing something furtively with her handheld computer.

As I watch, in a matter of minutes, a golden man descends from the sky, and the woman throws off her glasses and unbinds her hair.

“CONGRATULATIONS!” he bellows, to the passersby. “YOU’VE BEEN VISITED BY THE DEFENDERS OF G-1! LET ME TELL YOU WHAT YOU’VE WON!”

I blink and turn back to the proprietor, who is idly dusting a glass case.

“I think a man just died out there.”

“No, it’s all a show. They keep it interesting here,” he replies impatiently.

It’s a striking scene, but one that loses most of its force in print. The novel is full of scenes along these lines, and if you have a stronger imagination than I do and can fully visualise them you’ll probably enjoy the book. Again, even I enjoyed most of the novel in spite of the action coming up short for me, because following the threads of what exactly this “show” is all about, as well as the plot of our protagonist discovering an almost miraculous cure and its consequences, was enough to hold my interest the whole way through. Even some of the action stands up; there are a few points where a character has a prophetic dream of the near-future, and Ogle successfully builds and maintains a lot of tension as he prepares to deal with the upcoming event.

If I’m being vague about the plot, it’s largely because the mystery is part of the appeal and I don’t want to spoil anything. Also, I struggled somewhat to follow it, especially at the rather abstract climax. I suppose I could talk about the themes, which I’ve seen the author mention on Twitter, but since I had to read the book over a longer period of time than usual for me I must have missed the connecting threads and didn’t get it.

So, do I recommend The Bowl of Tears and Solace? If you’re a voracious reader and are looking for something contemporary, sure, it’s worth a shot. If you’re a more casual reader and need to really pick your shots, I think there’s enough here that it’s definitely worth looking forward to Ogle’s next novel.…

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The Poetry of Guido Cavalcanti, That Other Great Florentine Poet

My primary reading goal for 2019, if I can find time to read at all, is to greatly deepen my knowledge of Dante Alighieri. I’ve written briefly of La Vita Nuova and extensively of Monarchia, and have previously read the Divine Comedy, but this constitutes the mere highlight reel of his career. Though not terribly prolific, Dante did write more than many people realise and besides, the Comedy itself has such depths that it deserves careful study even on its own. That said, I’d like to begin with by setting the stage with a friend of Dante’s, fellow Florentine and poet Guido Cavalcanti.

It’s a testament to Dante’s excellence that a poet of Cavalcanti’s calibre is only the second-greatest poet of his era. Though obscure to Americans, he is an important figure in Italian poetry and well-respected among those who study Italian and Medieval literature. Some readers may be aware that among his admirers were Dante Gabriel Rossetti and Ezra Pound, who each translated a volume of Cavalcanti’s poems. Let’s take a look at one of them, numbered 45 in Marc Cirigliano’s edition, “Se non ti caggia la tua santalena.”

may you not drop your little jewel
between the plowed clumps
so it is picked up by a farmer
who fondles and keeps it

tell me if the earth’s fruit
is born from dryness, heat, or moisture
and which wind blows it
and what fog fills the storm

and if you like the morning
that hears the workman’s voice
and family cacophany

i certainly know that if Bettina’s
heart has a sweet spirit
you’ll get rid of your young acquisition…

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John Carter’s ABC for Book Collectors

For Christmas I was given a copy of John Carter’s ABC for Book Collectors. Apparently my family thinks I really like books or something, though I don’t know where they may have gotten that impression. In any case, it’s a popular reference work for collectors, so I thought it would be worth a brief discussion here.

First, I specifically have the ninth edition, revised by Nicolas Barker and Simran Thadani. Though ABC is essentially a dictionary of book collecting and could have included terms from related fields, Carter was careful to limit the book’s scope to collecting, so he excludes terms from bibliography, printing, and so on unless they’re relevant to collectors. What makes ABC useful not only as a reference work but also pleasant to thumb through is that besides giving straightforward definitions he also offers some advice and personal observations here-and-there. Not enough to get in the way of the book’s main purpose, but enough to give it some added value. This is also where later editors’ revisions to recent editions become interesting. Obviously, a book first published in 1952 requires some added entries and a few revisions to older ones. Carter’s commentary, though, is part of the book’s appeal, and so Barker and Thadani are careful to preserve that as much as possible. See, for example, the entry for “Issue-Mongers.”

The issue-monger is one of the worst pests of the collecting world, and the more dangerous because many humble and well-intentioned collectors think him a hero to whom they should be grateful. He may be a bibliographer (usually of the self-styled type), or a bookseller, or a collector, and his power for harm may be rated in that order. He is an honours graduate of what Lathrop Harper called ‘the fly-spot school of bibliography’. He is the man who, if he cannot construct a bogus point out of some minute variation he himself has discovered between two copies of a book, will pervert the observations of others to the same purpose. Show him a misprint or a dropped numeral, and he will whip you up an ‘issue-point’ in no time. Show him a difference of a month between two sets of inserted publisher’s catalogues and he will be good for a whole paragraph of dubious inferences. Show him a wrappered proof copy of a book which he happens not to have seen in that state before, and his cry of ‘trial issue’ or ‘pre-first edition’ will turn Pollard or McKerrow in the grave.

His natural and unlamented prey are the point-maniacs. But unfortunately his more numerous victims are those collectors credulous enough to accept anything they see in print or hear declaimed with sufficient assurance about priority. Every difference has its significance and, properly regarded, its place in the history of a book’s production and as such is worthy of a collector’s attention; but it does not have to prove a point.

It is fair to say that issue-mongers are now not as numerous, as confident, or as influential as they were in 1952 when the preceding salvo was fired; which suggests that collectors and booksellers are more sensible – or perhaps that books once common enough to demand differentiation are now too rare to need it.

For comparison, here’s the more typical entry for “Grooves.”

The space between the boards and the spine must be pressed well in to make good hinges. These depressions are called grooves, French if the spine is flush with the boards, English if it protrudes from them.

The ninth edition is the first to be illustrated. Though the lack of illustrations isn’t a major problem if you have an older edition, I think they do justify getting the Ninth, especially since it’s not an expensive book to begin with. Though the text explanations of each entry are clear, it’s still a little easier to understand what, say, gauffred edges or volvelles are with an accompanying photo or drawing.

One final point worth mentioning is that there are a number of small touches that add a little charm to the book, even if they aren’t strictly necessary. For instance, certain entries are illustrated by the way the entry itself is written, so the definition for “Guide Letters” begins with a guide letter, and the entry on “Misprints” includes a few intentional misprints. Also, there are small tags here-and-there, like on the free endpaper noting that “[This is the free endpaper],” a hand pointing to the fore-edge labelled “[FORE-EDGE],” etc.

So, who should buy a copy of ABC for Book Collectors? It certainly fulfils its purpose for the target audience of beginning collectors and it will likely come in handy for experienced collectors, as well. For people like me who buy a lot of books but don’t seriously collect them, it’s not necessary but can be helpful. When buying used books I occasionally see some of the technical terms defined here, so it is occasionally useful. Also, it’s just fun to flip through occasionally to learn a new term or get an H.S.O. on the heroes and pests of the book-collecting world.…

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The Lively (and Nauseous) Genius of Martial’s Epigrams

Note: This is the final repost from Thermidor, originally published June 5, 2018. As with all of these, this is presented with only minimal editing.


Last time we talked about Roman poetry, it was on Catullus’ “stately bawdiness.” Today, we’ll move forward roughly a century to Martial, who was born in what’s now Spain in A.D. 40. He moved to Rome at twenty-four years old to pursue a literary career, with some success, but eventually grew tired of life in the capital and so moved back to Spain in 100. We don’t know the exact date of his death, but it was no later than 104.

As for his work, well, it can be rather divisive. On the one hand, Pliny the Younger called him “a man of an acute and lively genius, and his writings abound in both wit and satire, combined with equal candour,” though he added that he did not expect his poetry to be “immortal.” On the other hand, Lord Macauley wrote in a letter that “I wish he were less nauseous. […] Besides his indecency, his servility and his mendicancy disgust me.”

Of course, much the same could be said of Catullus, in whose tradition Martial followed. Like his predecessor, Martial is known for his short, often comical poems skewering fair-weather friends, the shallow rich, and promiscuous men and women, among other (mostly) deserving targets. However, he doesn’t work in obscenity and abuse quite as often as Catullus. Make no mistake, there is plenty of both in Martial’s Epigrams, but he was also more dependent on his patrons that Catullus was, and those patrons included the emperor Domitian. This is the “servility” that Lord Macauley referred to, and between the poems abusing Rome’s narcissists and cheapskates one finds others praising his rich patrons, and given the tone of the rest of the Epigrams one can’t help but question his sincerity in these.

Before going farther let’s take a look at one of his poems about his “friends,” translated by James Michie. This is from Book X, Epigram 15:

Crispus, you’re always saying you’re the friend
Who loves me best. But your behaviour offers
No evidence for it. When I asked, “Please lend
Five thousand,” you refused me though your coffers
Are crammed to bursting. And though fellaheen
Sweat on your profitable Nile estate
Have I had one ear of spelt from you, one bean?
Have you ever given me in the chilly season
A short-cut toga? Or sent silver-plate,
Even half a pound of it? I see no reason
Why I should count you as a friend – apart
From the informality with which you fart.

It makes one feel good about the brotherhood of Man to know that, in all times and all places, we can all agree that fart jokes are universally funny. You won’t find those in Virgil, by the way.…

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A Child’s Garden of Verses

There are two important parts of the Christmas holiday; the first, of course, is the Nativity of Our Lord. Second is a focus on family, and children in particular. Christmas puts me, and many others, into a nostalgic mood, thinking back to Christmas Mass, exchanging gifts on Christmas morning, then going over to my grandparents’ house to have dinner and play with my cousins. God willing, I’ll be able to extend these experiences to a new generation, but with last year’s addition of my nephew to the family children are once again part of the Carroll family’s Christmas.

Today’s book isn’t about Christmas, but it’s relevant at this time of year because it is about childhood, Robert Louis Stevenson’s A Child’s Garden of Verses, first published in 1885 but reprinted many times since. Mine is a reprint of an edition illustrated by Jessie Wilcox Smith, whose illustrations are what first caught my eye when I spotted the volume in a bookstore. Also of interest is the author; Stevenson is best known as a prose writer, especially for his adventure story Treasure Island and horror classic Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Does his talent in prose carry over to poetry?

Honestly, it’s a little difficult to tell. Because children are the intended audience, his metres and rhyme schemes are kept simple, and his subjects are all things of interest to children. The length of the poems varies considerably, from a single couplet to a few pages, but all fairly short. None of this, though, should be taken as a shortcoming, as Stevenson’s verse is consistently charming and pleasant to read. Consider, for instance, “Bed in Summer.”

In winter I get up at night
And dress by yellow candle-light.
In summer, quite the other way,
I have to go to bed by day.

I have to go to bed and see
The birds still hopping on the tree,
Or hear the grown-up people’s feet
Still going past me in the street.

And does it not seem hard to you,
When all the sky is clear and blue,
And I should like so much to play,
To have to go to bed by day?

Poetically, it’s simple as can be. Rhymed couplets of four feet each, except the first line, though its short length and natural language keep it from getting monotonous. Yet, it’s charming because I remember, when I was very young, bed time being a significant concern for me, and in the summer time there was still some light when I had to go to bed – a problem I’m sure was worse for children who lived farther north than me.…

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How to Read the Iliad

Note: This is another republication from Thermidor, where it first appeared on March 20, 2018.


“The classics have more and more become a baton exclusively for the cudgelling of schoolboys, and less and less a diversion for the mature.” Ezra Pound’s observation, from a 1920 essay on translations of Homer, may have been true at the time but has, in the following decades, become somewhat optimistic. Often, schoolboys aren’t really taught the classics at all, but insofar as they are, “cudgelling” is still about right. I can’t completely blame those reluctant to read old books, since the very sight of anything from the Odyssey to The Scarlet Letter is apt to bring back memories of chapter quizzes and book reports due by next Friday.

Even if we get past the cudgelling, though, Pound’s reference to the classics as a “diversion” may surprise some readers. Aren’t they supposed to improve our moral character, erudition, cultural literacy, and those sorts of high-minded things? Well, sure, they can do that. However, we’re unlikely to get any of those benefits if reading is too much of a chore, and it’s worth remembering that literature is written, first and foremost, to be enjoyed. Shakespeare, it’s often pointed out, wrote for a popular audience. We may also note that in the Poetics, despite the dry literary analysis, Aristotle clearly enjoys the pleasure and spectacle of poetry and drama, and in Timber, or Discoveries, Ben Jonson says that poetry, among other things, “delights our age,” “entertains us at home,” and “shares in our country recesses, and recreations.”

This is why, though literature has always been a primary hobby for me and one that I’m eager to share, I don’t insist on others delving into it as much as I have. One should have an interest in the arts, but if that’s music, painting, or something else, that’s fine. The goal is to have something, almost anything, better than blockbuster movies, top 40 radio, and other components of mass culture to spend one’s time on. Even non-artistic hobbies, like fishing or target shooting, will work for this purpose. Also, if you do choose to pursue literature, I’d encourage you to focus on an area of particular interest to you. Do you remember liking, say, Poe’s short stories in school? Then start by seeking out other Gothic or Nineteenth Century authors. Do you have a fondness for the Middle Ages? Go check out the many Arthurian romances, then, or a volume of Boccaccio.

Now, with all that said, there are a few authors who every educated person should have a basic familiarity with. These writers are also good starting points if you want to take the study of literature seriously, or if you’re just not sure where else to begin. Exactly which authors would go on that list is debatable, but people like Ovid, Virgil, Dante, and Shakespeare will be near-universal choices. Another would be Homer, and he’s the one I’ll focus on here, and specifically the Iliad.

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Otaku: Japan’s Database Animals

Over the past year, I’ve read through a lot of academic analyses of anime and anime fandom, some on my own out of curiosity and others for academic purposes (yes, really). The overall state of academia in the anime studies field is pretty similar to what you’d find elsewhere, that is, abysmal and embarrassing. I’d say that Bl. John Henry Newman wouldn’t be impressed, but then, neither would anyone who isn’t fully embedded in the university system. Most readers probably don’t need a lot of examples, but I’ll provide a couple selections anyway just because they’re so bad they’re actually pretty funny. This is from Steven Brown, in Tokyo Cyberpunk, discussing Ghost in the Shell.

One might wonder whether such transnational hybridity and geographic indeterminacy reinforces rather than resists the dreams of the techno-orientalists by offering an illusion of Asia or Japan, such as is critiqued by Ueno Toshiya in his influential essay “Japanimation and Techno-Orientalism.” According to Ueno, Japanese animation functions “as a cultural and ideological apparatus to cover and disavow the reality of global capitalism,” which he sees as inextricably linked to the exploitation of labor forces in Asia in a post-Fordist economy. In response, [GITS director] Oshii has suggested that he is not interested in representing real nations such as Japan so much as he is in exploring the liminality of borderlines.

Here’s Samantha Close, from an article called “Fannish Masculinities in Transition in Anime Music Video Fandom.”

Politically engaged scholarship often interrogates the experiences of groups without privilege. But in order for social change to happen, privileged identities must also be reworked. An analysis of anime fandom in the early 2000s shows that fan works, such as fan video and cosplay performances, concretize masculinities that are both transgressive and desperately seeking normative confirmation. By means of queer and masculinity theory, I argue that fandom is a uniquely generative space for reworking masculinity. This will only remain true, however, if it can hold onto its subversive practices in a time of increasing mainstream attention.

Fortunately, the field isn’t a total loss. Robot Ghosts and Wired Dreams, edited by Christopher Bolton, Istvan Csicsery-Ronay Jr., and Takayuki Tatsumi, isn’t bad. It’s a collection of essays by various authors and so the quality certainly varies from one piece to the next, but some of the entries are legitimately interesting, about anime but also Japanese science fiction generally since the book also includes SF works in film and literature. If you have any interest in Japanese SF, I can give it a genuine recommendation, especially if you can get it used or at a library. The Anime Machine, by Thomas Lamarre, also has some good material for those interested in animation as animation, and Anime: A History, by Jonathan Clements, is often recommended and looks promising, though I haven’t had a chance to read it myself.

Another legitimately good book, and the one I want to focus on today, is Otaku: Japan’s Database Animals, by Azuma Hiroki, originally published in 2001 and translated for the English edition in 2009.…

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“A City for Sale” – Sallust’s Histories

Note: I’m continuing to repost my old Thermidor articles; this one was originally published on February 19, 2018. As usual, I’ve done only minimal editing.


When sorting through works from the Classical world, we can divide them into three broad categories of history, philosophy, and literature. The value of the latter two are plain enough; early philosophers raised questions of eternal relevance and laid the foundation for those who came later, and for the poets and dramatists, true beauty is timeless. What, though, of history? After all, history’s primary purpose is to tell us “what happened,” and we can usually get this more easily from modern historians, who can review not only the ancient historians’ works, but data from other historical documents, archaeology, etc. Obviously, if you are a historian you’ll need these early sources, but what about the lay reader?

There are, I think, three things that make ancient historians worth reading for an educated layman. First, they do cover the basic, surface-level “what happened” aspect of history. Their work is often criticised for inaccuracy, and sometimes with reason, but despite their shortcomings, biases, and lack of modern methodology, it’s worth remembering that these were intelligent men and in some cases were well aware of their own difficulties. Herodotus, for example, emphasises several times that he can only relate to the audience what he has heard, and sometimes expresses doubt about the version of events he’s been given. Plutarch says at the beginning of his biography of Theseus that, “after passing through those periods which probable reasoning can reach to and real history find a footing in, I might very well say of those that are farther off, Beyond this there is nothing but prodigies and fictions, the only inhabitants are the poets and inventors of fables.” Similarly, Livy, in the preface to Ab Urbe Condita, refers to “The traditions which have come down to us of what happened before the building of the city [of Rome], or before its building was contemplated,” which are “suitable rather to the fictions of poetry than to the genuine records of history.” Both Plutarch and Livy, then, are well aware that the events they describe of ancient history are dubious in many places and alert their readers to the fact, but ultimately decide that giving a highly uncertain account is better than no account at all.

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Stately Bawdiness: The Poetry of Catullus

Note: This is another old Thermidor post, originally published on January 18, 2018.


Having covered some of the great Greek poets, including Hesiod and Sappho, it’s time to move on to some of the Romans. With the Greeks, I tried to approach their literature roughly in chronological order, but here I’ll begin in the late Republic with Catullus. He’s among the Classical world’s most popular poets, at least among those who don’t have the mixed blessing of being frequently assigned to bored high schoolers like Homer, and perhaps the best way to introduce Catullus and see why is to jump right into one of his poems:

Furius and Aurelius, Catullus’ comrades,
Whether he’ll push on to furthest India
Where the shore is pounded by far-resounding
Eoan rollers,

To Hyrcania or effeminate Arabia,
The Sacians or the arrow-bearing Parthians,
Or those levels to which the seven-double
Nilus gives colour,

Or make his way across the towering Alps
To visit the memorials of great Caesar,
The Gallic Rhine, those horrible woad-painted
And world’s-end Britons –

All this, whatever the will of Heaven above
May bring, ready as you are to brave together,
Simply deliver to my girl a brief dis-
courteous message:

Farewell and long life with her adulterers,
Three hundred together, whom hugging she holds,
Loving none truly but again and again
Rupturing all’s groins;

And let her not as before expect my love,
Which by her fault has fallen like a flower
On the meadow’s margin after a passing
Ploughshare has touched it.

There’s a certain gravity or stateliness we tend to associate with just about anything written in Latin, and understandably so. Most of the books that have come down to us comprise the Roman highlight reel of Caesar and Cicero, Tacitus and Livy, Seneca and Marcus Aurelius, and so on. As Latin passed out of common usage it was taken up by Medieval and Renaissance scholars, who generally used it for serious topics of philosophy, science, history, and the like.

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