Scotland.

I'm off back to Scotland for the summer (two months-ish) where I'll be living and working in Edinburgh (teaching) before buggering off back here to CZ.

I don't know how much I will be able to post (depends on how busy I am - but it's looking hectic now), although I will try to post whenever possible. I doubt I'll be doing many classically related things, sans a visit to my old university (Glasgow) and maybe a quick peek at the numismatic collection (providing my lady isn't too against it!).

I haven't had a great deal of time to read anything new, and much of the classical news kicking around touches on things I've basically written about before - pedestrian finds "sexed up" to get funding, nobody having a genuine clue where Cleopatra's tomb is, but having a damn good time telling everyone they do anyway and other bits and pieces - and so I've found it difficult to write anything about them.

Apart from random ruminations, the only things I've done recently that can be tangibly related to the classics are: read Beard and Henderson's "Classical Art" (although I got sunburnt while doing so, and as a result my feelings for the text have slid down somewhat); I watched the entire first season of Spartacus: Blood and Sand - which I totally dug. It was very entertaining and blood thirsty to a fault.

I was surprised how good it was, to be honest. I expected it to be absolutely trash, but Spartacus was well cast and John Hannah was sensational as he practically chomped away at the scenery. Throw in the completely OTT sex scenes intertwined with unbelievable violence (taken so far that it becomes comical, pretty much) and it was a great show. I'm looking forward to the prequel and the eventual sequel very much.

I also (re)watched HBO's Rome for the umpteenth time (I really can't recall, but it's definitely 6 times, minimum) and I enjoyed it as much as I always do. I was a bit cerebral with my attack on the depiction of Agrippa last time I watched it, but he still rankles with me. It's just such a wonderful show. I always have a distinct sadness when it's over, for the protagonists (fictive as some are and a mix of fictive and real as others are) always feel like friends come the end of 22 hours viewing and not only do we depart from listening to their tale, but they are all in fact dead and died some 2000 years ago. I suppose it's a mixture of feeling quite close to them (as bizarre as it sounds) and then immediately realising the distance between us is enormous.

Anyway. I hope the very few that stumble across this post have a wonderful summer.

Old Shoes.

Not especially insightful this one, I imagine. Anyway, here I go.

A news story caught my eye this week - that of the bloody old shoe! (read it here). Essentially, some archaeologists found a 5500 year old leather shoe in a cave in Armenia preserved under heaps of sheep dung (finds don't get much more interesting than that, do they?!).

Anyway, you're perhaps wondering how I'm going to squeeze a classical angle out of this and here it is: finds like this always remind me that the ancient world wasn't that ancient. It's often a bit of a mental challenge for me to remember that very little changed in everyday life for a few millennia (until the 19th and mostly 20th century) and that the ancients lived relatively similar lives to people alive just a few hundred years ago (stress on the "relatively").

I'm always surprised when I see artefacts from ancient homes - shoes, mirrors, hair clasps, cups - the lot. Something in my mind always associates the ancients with being truly ancient. Finds like this remind me that the Romans had shoes quite similar to modern leather shoes and they're really not so distant as they seem.

Perhaps this post betrays my own stupidity, but I always find keeping a firm chronology in my head (and understanding that time matters) can be rather difficult. It's rather easy to clump the whole of antiquity to together, even though there are some 500 years or so between the beginning of the classical period and the death of Augustus, for example. A lot happened, and a lot changed.

Like I mentioned before - everyday life hadn't changed too much during that period, and so perhaps it's unfair to compare that five hundred years to the same period between the 1500s and now, where life has changed significantly, but nevertheless, it's vital to remember that antiquity is not a single period but rather many linked ones.

That's my ramble over for today. It's insanely beautiful weather here in Plzen and I plan to try to enjoy it with several beers from this wonderful place.

Lepidus: Unfairly Treated? II

Finished it, then.

Not bad, not bad. I wonder now, having finished, whether the sole aim of the work (as the title utterly gives away) has in some way coloured the worth of the text? It really is a work of history that primarily aims to defend a character and then sets about it.

It's done quite well, for the most part. The Bryn Mawr review (here) has the same misgiving as I had when reading the text - there are just too much usage of "might/must have been" and "it seems quite possible that", which is most certainly a result of the evidence for removing Lepidus' tarnish being not as convincing as it's made out to be.

Like I said in my previous post, I've always thought Lepidus was hard done by, and I always feel for him, in a sense, when I watch HBO's Rome and he's usually ignored or sidelined. That, of course, perhaps puts me at a disadvantage because I want to believe Weigel's book, even if it's slightly lacking in force.

In the end, the overwhelming impression I got of Lepidus after reading the work was that he was an able man, used well by "greater" men and while he's perhaps unfairly treated, there is no hidden Lepidus that is waiting in the shadows that can be used by a modern historian to redeem the tarnished triumvir.

Lepidus: Unfairly Treated?

I'm currently reading Lepidus: The Tarnished Triumvir by Richard D. Weigel, and I gotta say, I dig it.

Marcus Aemelius Lepidus has always seemed like a rather fascinating character to me, he's all over accounts of the Late Republic, but he's nearly always given short thrift. He's relegated to the sidelines of the struggle for supremacy that engulfed the Late Republic and nobody really seems to really care what he's up to.

Maybe that's why, then, I kinda looked for a book such as the one I'm reading at the moment. Weigel argues that Lepidus is unfairly treated in most accounts of his life, as well as modern commentaries, owing to two central factors: he irritated Cicero and he challenged Octavian (later Augustus).

I'll put a fuller review up here once I've finished reading the book, but it's certainly an interesting topic. Especially so as I am re-watching HBO's Rome and the somewhat cerebral and "sidelined" Lepidus makes a mandatory appearance (as he does so frequently) but he is ever so slightly mocked, derided and essentially made unimportant.

The Ancient Novel.

I've just finished reading (well, two days ago) the English version of Niklas Holzberg's "The Ancient Novel: An Introduction", which I think is a pretty neat little text.

In the final year of my Masters I took a course on the Ancient Novel, and as fun as it was, I now realise how heavily it was based on Holzberg, which is a great compliment to the book - I suppose it forms the basis of all modern introductory courses on the topic.

It's 129 pages, all in - including the author's note, bibliography and index, which is made up of five chunks: the genre; the rise of the genre; the idealistic novel in early Imperial times; the comic-realistic novel and finally the idealistic novel in the age of the second sophistic. A chronological route, then.

The opening two sections set the tone - the first, especially, puts down the thrust of the whole work - that the ancient novel exists as a separate and defined genre, which the second supports by describing it's origins. Both of these are convincing. Holzberg discusses how the novels we have exhibit clearly defined motifs (or inversions of these motifs) throughout, and how the form of the novels, while influenced by other genres, clearly came about from a conscious decision to create a new genre that was separate, unique and different.

Holzberg then goes on to discuss the various novels we have in chronological order, with a large focus on detailing their respective plot lines. This is of the highest importance because by the end of the book one has the overwhelming feeling that the novel exists as a separate and distinct genre, which exhibits clear and unique motifs throughout.

The text, as a whole, is an attempt to justify the study of the novel as a distinct genre and prove not only to posterity but to classical scholars that it's worthy of consideration and that it most certainly exists as single genre with defined parameters. Holzberg is successful in doing this, for sure.

The novel has perhaps been ignored as a genre until modern times, and derided by scholars as insignificant in the classical corpus - wispy sort of stuff not really worth studying. Holzberg organises a defence of it, and it works. I like the ancient novels - they're interesting, fun, escapist but with plenty of depth and worth.

There is nothing essentially wrong with the text at all - it's a fantastic introduction, and therein is perhaps the only qualm I have with it - it does nothing more than establish the novel as a genre, further discussion is not all that frequent. Introductory texts don't usually have to defend the genre they will discuss (too much, anyway) but the novel very much needed the help, and so I can hardy moan about the book being too "introductiony".

Having a more clearly defined conclusion may have helped, and given the reader a chance to have everything summed up, but it was perhaps Holzberg's active decision to not include one, and leave the work very much as a departure point - the very foundations, so to speak, upon which a study of the genre could be built upon. In that respect, it's not such a big loss.

I recommend the book for anyone who hasn't really considered the ancient novel before - it gives a nice overview of the genre and is easy enough to read. It's concise and to the point and should be the starting point for pretty much anyone interested in the novel, but unsure how to approach it or how it fits in with classical studies more generally.

Spartacus Blood and Sand: Not so bad after all?

Surprisingly the most recent low budget recreation of the ancient world, Spartacus: Blood and Sand, is actually pretty damn good.

I saw the first season in full a while ago (from U.S TV) and I was surprised how fun and interesting it really this. The teaser trailers made it look ultra low budget, faux stylistic and a little silly, and while that's all pretty much true - they've actually managed to make a pretty decent TV show that gets better as the first season goes on. That seems to be the consensus among many people - it's surprisingly not bad and it gets better episode by episode.

I'm a huge fan of the BBC'S I, Claudius and HBO's Rome, both of which are immensely well done shows that capture the essence of the classical world in different yet interesting ways. I suspected Spartacus would be a cheaply done 300 in episodic form - entertaining enough but missing something. I suppose I was wrong.

The show basically chronicles the rise of Spartacus and his reasons for initiating the servile rebellion. Since we know very little of the real Spartacus (such as one can now exist), most of this element of the show is fictive. The context it's set in (late Republican Rome) is, of course, not fictive, and the show does reasonably well in rendering the period in which Spartacus operated.

It's been remarked that the moral behind Spartacus' rebellion (betrayed by a Roman, his wife in slavery) is quintessentially modern in conception, which is true I think, but it does give some pathos and motivation to the character (despite said motivation being very similar to that of a certain Maximus Decimus Meridius, give or take).

It seems the show has been popular enough to continue, although they are making a prequel (which has to be entirely fictional) owing to the lead actor, Andy Whitfield, developing non-Hodgkin lymphoma, as opposed to a sequel.

If the sequel is made, I wonder how they'll characterise the defeat of Spartacus at the hands of Crassus, and if it'll essentially be Kubrick's Spartacus all over again. There is some mileage in romanticising characters who face the nefarious might of the Roman state and are unceremoniously crucified along the Appian Way, but it's curiously modern. I'm supporting the Romans here - and history does too. Despite the several servile wars - they were all crushed - slavery continued for centuries and Spartacus is nothing more now than a figure fit for embellishment in low budget TV shows. Kind of sad, really.

That idea, though, is ever so slightly cerebral, which I can be guilty of, and it really shouldn't take too much away from enjoying this show!

In other business, I'm reading a book about the ancient novel and I'll hopefully put something up about that soon.

Did Marathon Change Everything?

Via rogueclassicism and TheDartmouth.com.

Prof. Richard Billows, in the Darthmouth.com article mentioned above claims, in a lecture aimed at supporting his soon-to-be-published book on the topic, that the Battle of Marathon can be considered one of the pivotal moments of world history.

He argues that had the Athenians lost the battle at Marathon to the Persians, Western Civilisation would be radically different - there would be no democracy, no Socrates or Plato, no Aeschylus or Sophocles. Essentially, he's claiming that the victory at Marathon set the tone for the next two generations - a period of immense intellectual, cultural and political development.

His argument is full of "mays", "maybes" and "mights". I have to say I find it a little bit tiresome. It can be an interesting exercise, but it seems like a stroke of poor imagination to pick an event (even though Marathon is well chosen) and say: "things could maybe possible be much different if that single event had never transpired or ended in a different fashion!".

I think as human beings we like these kind of explanations - they appeal to us and we enjoy the mental exercise of "what if?", but I think "research" and speculation on the topic is mostly a waste of time. I don't think we need a book on it.

Moreover - why choose Marathon? It's a single event that can be easily labelled, I suspect. Why not choose, say, the Persian decision to invade Greece, the weather or any assortment of other factors? I reckon it's because they don't have the same "pull" as the "big" events of history, but they seem to be to be just as equally valid.

Speculative counter-factual history can be interesting or fun (Nazi's hiding on the moon!?) but in the field of classics, and especially when taken seriously, it seems like a colossal waste of time to me. It has a tiny bit of merit insomuch as it may call attention to things we take for granted, but it's a fun mental exercise, nothing more.

It's overly simplistic to choose a single event and say it changed everything. Ignoring the fact that it's built on the idea that ultimately there is a prime mover of some sort in every sequence of events, it just demonstrates a lack of true imagination and demonstrates a fondness for simple or stark explanations. The flourishing of Athens after Marathon was part of a development stretching much further back in time - it was an instance on an enormous time scale which we can't really comprehend. Explanations such as this one are poor attempts at doing so.

I don't have a problem with artistic licence being taken in books, novels or TV shows - in fact, in these cases, reading into historical events can be interesting, it's just the notion of taking counter-factual history as a useful tool in genuine historical discourse that I dislike. Maybe I'm being a stick in the mud, though!

Should the Colosseum Even Be Open?

It was reported this week that some "chunks" have fallen off the Colosseum in Rome (link). As ever, the show continues and the Colosseum remains open.

Should it be? I know there is a feeling that classical sites must be opened so that the millions of tourists that visit each year can spend 15 seconds of confused wonder snapping endless photographs for their Facebook pages (do people only go on holiday now so that they can let other people know about it via social networking?), but I'm not sure I hold to it.

Many classical sites desperately need some repairs (the Italians, especially, care more about marketing and flare than genuine care - although I'm generalising, of course) but they remain open, even when "chunks" are falling off of them.

I believe that the physical remains of the classical world that we have left must be preserved not to merely service the tourist industry, but to remind people of the glory of the classical past, its wonders and what it has given to us. At the moment it seems to be a numbers game, and that's rather sad.

My proposal, then, would be to make sites such as the Colosseum (those which can be damaged by constant visitation, or need repairs due to unavoidable decay) harder to visit. People can mill around outside, but make the process of actually visiting more complicated. Not elite, nor difficult, just harder. My hope would be that then only people who truly wanted to visit and are willing to appreciate what they're looking at would bother sorting it all out.

Visiting Rome now seems like an exercise in ticking things off a list for most tourists. In some ways that is similar to the Romans who simply had to see the wonders of Greece, but I hazard a guess that the modern tourist does it with much less reverence than their Roman predecessor. The process has been cheapened, somewhat, and I wish that rot could be reversed.

Again, I don't want to sound elitist at all - the remains of the classical world are our heritage, but given that we're unable to appreciate that (on the whole) something else needs to be done.

Gone missing...

I'm afraid I've pretty much just gone missing these past two months. I suppose, sadly, it's simply a consequence of classics being directly unrelated to my job and so it occasionally gets put on the back burner.

I've still been thinking about them a great deal - I just haven't posted anything. I've been reading up about the genre of the novel, I'm rewatching HBO's Rome and I've been keeping up to date with classical news and blogs, but just while remaining silent.

My hope is to fit the blog into my life somehow and manage a post or so ever week. That's significantly less than before, but better than nothing.

Nathaniel Fick and Classics.

For the past month I've been on a Generation Kill, Evan Wright Nathaniel Fick binge, so to speak.

I first watched the HBO TV show Generation Kill, an adaptation of Evan Wright's book of the same name, which chronicles a Recon Marine division's invasion of Iraq in 2003. I love both the book and the TV show. Wright developed a lot of respect for the Marines, and I guess I have now too.

They're not mindless, and in many cases they're incredibly bright. They feel drawn towards war because of their need to be a warrior. As a result they eschew the normal things people their ages do and join the Marines. I suppose I admire that in a way.

One of the central characters of both book and TV show is Nathaniel Fick - Lieutenant of the Hitman Platoon that we primarily follow. In both versions of the story he is an incredibly moral and intelligent leader, and it interested me to discover that he had also written a memoir of his time as a Marine in a book entitled "One Bullet Away: The Making of a Marine Officer".

Needless to say, I swiftly picked it up. To my surprise Fick is a classics graduate, and the three sections of his book (Peace, War and Aftermath) each begins with a classical quote - Thucydides, Plutarch and St. Augustine, respectively). Once I'd finished the book, it dawned on me that Fick is somewhat of a classical character.

He's immensely reflective and moral, yet overwhelmingly practical. Recalling some of the Roman soldiers of the past. The comparison continues when one considers his remarkably readable and clear writing style - again recalling a certain famous Roman General. It's not lost on him either that he was part of a military force invading a country with a great ancient heritage. The parallels between him and yet another great classical soldier could be drawn here.

All in all, it's a great book and Fick an interesting figure. The power of the text works through it's elegant but simple prose and through the introspective look Fick gives to his role during a crucial time in modern history.