between the rock and the cold, cold sea

Books 2010: 134

134. Aristophanes, Frogs and Other Plays. Translated by David Barrett, revised with an introduction and notes by Shomit Dutta. Penguin, London and New York, 2007.

This lively translation comprises Aristophanes' Wasps, a play about a man addicted to jury-service; Women at the Thesmophoria, a play of cross-dressing and dramatist jokes; and Frogs, in which Dionysus descends to Hades, accompanied by his slave, to judge a competition between Aeschylus and Euripides. Barrett renders some parts of the work in a bouncy rhyming verse.

It's not very much use to me, seeing as it only mentions Aesclepius once, but (providing you take the Greeks on their own ground) it's funny, energetic, and alive to humour.

Books 2010: 133

nonfiction

133. Mary Wollstonecraft, Letters Written in Sweden, Norway and Denmark. Oxford UP, New York and London, 2009. Edited with introduction and notes by Tone Brekke and Jon Mee.

Mary Wollstonecraft had an interesting life and an interesting turn of phrase. These letters, written for publication, manifest both her prejudices and her convictions in a manner that, while original, is also very much of its time. Wollstonecraft believes in progress.

She also has a fine eye for landscape, but also a convinced superiority as concerns society in the Scandinavian countries she passes through. The last few letters take a jaundiced, though most likely accurate, view of commerce.

An interesting piece of work. The appendices provide contemporary responses, among other things.

---

I am, it must be confessed, disinclined to work tonight. Well, I've been disinclined all day, to tell the truth. Perhaps instead of perusing the Timaeus I will shelve books instead.

My present project - the thesis - requires that I read all those Greco-Roman classics which I have til now successfully avoided. (This is sometimes a great pleasure, and more often a vast pain in the unmentionables.) In addition to reading specific blokes like Galen and Hippokrates (and getting a reasonable selection of the Galenic works is remarkably awkward, actually). And my personal inclinations are pushing me towards thinking about reading as widely as possible - maybe Chinese, Indian, Arabic sources in translation? - to look at how other societies may have conceptualised healing and access to the gods.

This is awkward, god knows, because material from contemporary or slightly later societies isn't available in translation half as readily as most of the Greco-Roman stuff - and considering that there's a whole bunch of Greco-Roman stuff (not the famous lads, but some of the lesser or later - i.e. Late Antique - fellows) aren't available in any translation later than the 1920s, this is not a minor issue.

Oh, well. I suppose I must count my blessings, and not my eggs.

Books 2010: 130-132


130. Robert Jordan & Brandon Sanderson, The Gathering Storm.

Apart from both Egwene and Verin having a pretty damn excellent Crowning Moment of Awesome (tm) and there being a sense that - finally, finally - the Last Battle might come... eh. Too much backstory, at this point. I have forgotten most of what I was supposed to remember was important.

Sirs Not Appearing in this book: Elayne, Mat (mostly), Perrin (mostly), Faile (mostly) and Aviendha (who has nearly nothing to do on screen, and thus did not make much impression). The Forsaken are also Sirs Not Appearing, really, apart from Semirhage being batshit, one Graendal plotting scene, and one Moridin and Rand Meet In A Dream scene.

Elaida: good riddance, but still Not Dead Yet. Fain: fortunately Sir Not Appearing. (Is he dead? I've forgotten.)


131. Geoffrey Trease, Cue for Treason.

Historical YA from college library, picked up on mad whim. Entertaining.


nonfiction


132. James Longrigg, Greek Rational Medicine: Philosophy and Medicine from Alcmaeon to the Alexandrians. Routledge, London and New York, 1993.

Being an overview of developments in medicine and connected philosophy from the early period to Hellenistic Alexandria, ending with Erasistratus. As an overview, it is solidly informative, but Longrigg is very much invested in Greek medicine and philosophy as rational processes, and does not define rational nearly well enough for me to agree with him.

Persons interested in these matters may find it here on Google Books.

Books 2010: 129


129. Guy Gavriel Kay, Under Heaven.


Beautiful. Bittersweet. Lyric. Difficult to describe.

Go forth and read it.

Books 2010: 128

nonfiction

128. G.E.R. Lloyd, In the Grip of Disease: Studies in the Greek Imagination. Oxford University Press, Oxford, 2003.

Lloyd has a long and distinguished career behind him in investigating Greek science, medicine, and philosophy. In recent years he has published a number of works which compare and contrast ancient Chinese science, medicine, and thought with their Greek equivalents, and in many ways his work focuses on the history of thought as much or more as on the history of actions.

In the Grip of Disease highlights this preference in his research interests. Like most books on Greek antiquity, it is heavily weighted towards the early period, with only one chapter (not counting the epilogue) dealing with developments after Aristotle.

The book is divided into nine parts. "Anthropological Perspectives," an introduction to ways of conceptualising how disease was involved with the Greek imagination; "Archaic Literature and Masters of Truth," which starts off with Homer; "Secularisation and Sacralisation," which discusses the concurrent rise of both "sacred" and "natural" ways of thinking through disease; "Tragedy," which is a brief survey of disease in the Attic tragedians (and by no means as lucid and detailed as Mitchell-Boyask's monograph, which I have already mentioned on this lj); "The Historians," which mainly concerns itself with Herodotos's and Thucydides's orientation to disease; "Plato," which is all Plato, all the time, with particular attention to the teleology of the Timaeus; "Aristotle," for which likewise but with Aristotle; and "After Aristotle: Or Did Anything Change?" which mentions Aelius Aristides but in general does not deliver any particularly new or detailed contribution. The concluding "Epilogue" reflects briefly on attitudes to sickness both ancient and modern, and how the rhetoric of disease is employed.

At the end of each chapeter, the relevent texts are given in both the original Greek and in translation. That's a useful learning tool, but it must have been a copyright nightmare.

Scholarly reviews are available here and here. My conclusion is that Lloyd has written an unusual and engaging book, which nonetheless does not go as far into detail concerning Greek attitudes to disease and sickness as the topic could stand.

Which is kind of good for me, because it means there's probably still room for my thesis topic to make an original contribution to knowledge. I hope.

Books 2010: 127


127. Lucian, Selected Dialogues. Translated by C.D.N. Costa, Oxford, 2005.

Lucian, born at Samosata on the Euphrates, wrote in Greek during the second century CE. His prominence is literary, not political: after a career as an orator, it seems he turned to comic dialogue and literary satire.

Much of his humour is opaque to me, since it relies on contemporary references and classical allusions, but his work rarely fails of being interesting. And I would seriously recommend everyone to read the two books of his 'A True History' (full parallel Greek/English text available at that link), the story of Lucian's voyage to the moon, the way between the Selenites and the Heliots, his stay in the belly of a whale, and his sojourn on the Isles of the Blest.

The Oxford Classics edition has several dialogues, a couple of encomiums - "In Praise of a Fly," a humourous one, and an encomium on the philosopher Demonax - a very scurrilous attack on the philosopher Empedocles, Lucian's "How to Write History," a piece of advice to historians of the recent Parthian Wars, the "True History," and selections from the "Dialogues of the Courtesans."

All in all, very interesting. And! It even mentions doctors!

Books 2010: 125-126


125. Rowena Cory Daniells, The King's Bastard.

It appears to me that there has arisen a specifically Australian tradition of High Fantasy - Trudi Canavan, Jennifer Fallon, Karen Miller - and it is this mode which The King's Bastard, the first book of a trilogy, follows.

Byren is the second son of the king of Rolencia. Minutes younger than his brother the heir, he has no ambitions whatsoever, and is baffled by the tension that begins to grow between them, a tension which is exacerbated after the arrival of a royal cousin (under the bar sinister) at court. Tensions are also evident in the lives of his younger brother, Fyn, who is pledged to a monastery, and his sister Piro, who has no desire to marry for politics. Piro is also hiding a dangerous secret: her talent for "Affinity," an ill-defined sort of magic, much as Byren's disinherited friend Orrade is hiding his (in Rolencia generally reviled) attraction to men.

There are several problems with this book, leaving aside how superficial I find the worldbuilding. (How many people actually look at how complex pre-industrial societies are? Never mind politics in a court of any size.) The worst problem is that Byren is Too Stupid To Live. Given every indication that he should not trust certain persons, he continues to do so. In addition, he is TSTL in other ways.

The second problem is the Random Seer. Random Crazy Seer is random, and pops up all over the place in the first fifty (?) pages, for no apparent reason other than the auctorial convenience of heavy-handed foreshadowing. The third problem is the fact that the treatment of gender made me want to bite someone.

I'm not, in general, well-disposed to High Fantasy unless it's thoughtful about its themes as well as its construction. (There was a time when I was younger when this was not so, but we all change in time.) Much of it seems tired and hackneyed to me, drawing far too uncritically on the shallowly-received tropes of the European middle ages. In Bastard's case, this is compounded by its position as the first part of a trilogy. The setup is insufficiently compelling for the limited amount of payoff available, and while I'm mildly curious about what happens next, I don't have much emotional or intellectual investment in actually finding out.

...Well, that was curmudgeonly of me, wasn't it? *may in fact be annoyed today*


nonfiction


126. Thomas J. Csordas, Body/Meaning/Healing, New York, 2002.

I don't imagine it's Csordas' fault that the jargon-laden language of anthropology gives me a headache. Nonetheless. Diverting as discussions of healing in contemporary Christian Charismatic and Navajo cultures are, I, for one, would have preferred a rather more accesible style of book.

Books 2010: 122-124

nonfiction

122. Theocritus, Idylls. Translated by Anthony Verity, Oxford, 2002.

A collection of the boukolika ("ox-herding poems") of Theocritus of Syracuse, with an introduction by Richard Hunter. Theocritus, who stands contemporary with the rise of the post-Alexandrian Greek kingdoms of the Hellenistic period - it is doubtful whether he actually met either of the kings for whom he wrote panegyric, though more probable that he met Hiero of Syracuse than Ptolemy Philadelphos - has often been referred to as a model for later bucolic poetry.

Not being a literary sort, I make no remark on this. His preoccupations are interesting, however, and one of his patrons was a certain doctor, Nicias by name, which means my reading of his poems has born at least a little fruit, in terms of research. And the poems, although with a handful of exceptions rather relentlessly pastoral, are not altogether unpleasant.

Very Greek, but actually, quite pretty.


123. Marc Morris, A Great and Terrible King: Edward I and the Forging of Britain, Windmill, London, 2008.

A biography of Edward I, crusader, victor in civil war, conqueror of Wales, temporary conqueror of Scotland, ruler of Gascony, who lived an extraordinary long and active life (1239-1307, reigned 1272-1307).

Morris writes fluently and integrates his sources well, and while I'm sensible enough of my ignorance in matters medieval to know I can in no way criticise his scholarship, it feels sound. He advances no specific thesis, which is actually something of a relief: it's quite nice to read a biography that does not seem to be trying to prove a particular point.


124. Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, The Turkish Embassy Letters, Virago, London, 1994. With an introduction by Anita Desai.

In 1716, Lady Mary set out with her husband, Edward Wortley Montagu, who had been appointed as English Ambassador to the Turks. Her letters are a vivid, if fragmentary, picture of her travels until her return to England late in 1718.

A fascinating vivid picture, particularly as Lady Mary is herself unfortunately typical of the attitudes of her times. In her letters, she displays remarkably little prejudice towards the upper classes, even those separated from her world by the vast gulf of culture and religion. On the other hand, the lower orders are very much beneath her, and her class-conscious racist view of the world is - well. Let us be glad as to how much time has passed since the eighteenth century, even as we despair as to how far we have yet to go.

---

I would dearly like for my headache to go away now. No? No.

I guess it's time to get back to the boring slog of Real Work, anyway.

Books 2010: 121


121. Lois McMaster Bujold, Cryoburn.

I didn't want this book to make me cry. Damn it.

Miles has been a comfort to me in some very unpleasant hours. And I knew this was coming.

But, goddamnit. But.

The "Aftermaths" cut the bloody guts out of me.

Books 2010: 116-120


116-117. Gail Carriger, Changeless and Blameless.

The first book in this series, Soulless, was shallow, and I found the worldbuilding superficial. In these sequels, the heroine Alexia - now Lady Maccon - grows a little depth, and the curtain is pulled back on the vista of a steampunk late 19th century Europe, complete with secret laboratories underneath milliners' shops, dirigibles, mad scientists, and Egyptian mummies.

Changeless involves metaphysical shenanigans, intrigues, and werewolves in a Scottish castle. Blameless is predicated upon a vast misunderstanding, and involves an extended chase across Europe and a mad-Templar version of a reunified Italy, among other things.

I do not love werewolf romances, although many of my objections can be overcome absent the "new relationship" aspect of romances. The werewolf love interest remains a bit of an arsehole, to be honest. On the other hand, the most enjoyable element of these books, for me, is the comedy element. Witty rejoinders accompany slapstick, and the broad stereotypes are hardly worse than in costume drama. (I've just been watching the BBC's Scarlet Pimpernel, which is somewhat more full of gender-dynamics fail.)

There is no universe in which I can take thses books seriously. But damn, they're good fun.



118. Walter Jon Williams, Hardwired.

I was a little out of it while reading this book, if I'm honest, which is probably not the best state in which to a read cyberpunk-esque balkanised-USA SF thriller novel.

On the other hand, it glitters. It's sharp as knives, prose sparse and lucid, the main characters - Cowboy and Sarah - deftly drawn. It struck me as a novel about hard choices and the myths we build in order to survive. In many ways, this is not a nice novel.

But it is quite brilliant.



119. Sherwood Smith, Coronets and Steel.

I'll say up front that I have very mixed reactions to this book.

Kim Murray's from California, a champion fencer who's come to Europe in order to find her grandmother's - mysterious and little-spoken-of - family. Ghosts, hijinks, mistaken identities and potential romantic entanglements ensue.

The novel opens in Vienna, but swiftly removes to an imaginary European country called Dobrenica. And the thing that broke - that kept breaking - my suspension of disbelief was the geography. This imaginary country presently shares - apparently - a border with Russia and yet fell within the Austro-Hungarian empire before WWI? Romania or Bulgaria I could believe. (Stick a teeny country between Serbia and Bulgaria, and I would have very little problem believing tense neighbourly relations. Particularly with Macedonia [FYROM] and Greece looking on and wondering what their angle is if the wheels come off the crazywagon.) (Although history in that particular neck of the woods also has Ottomans to take into account.) But Russia?

Where Russia and the Hapsburgs used to meet is the Ukraine, Belarus, bits of Poland. You put a teeny country on the eastern side of the Ukraine, and you're going to have to explain to me why it existed as a country up until WWII. And why anyone from the ruling elite survived 1917 and subsequent years-long bloody aftermath of conflict as anything other than an exile.

So. Wandering Russians aside (and they must have been very lost, but I'll stick my fingers in my ears and pretend the historical communists are Tito's, and the present-day Russians... aren't, and make sense of the geopolitics that way, shall I?), and leaving aside Kim's rather clueless assumption that no one who mistakes her for her long-lost cousin will actually hurt her (seriously. Anyone sane who is asked to impersonate a member of the political class who's been missing for months should run away very fast, and not stop running until they're on another continent) and underdeveloped sense of cynicism, this is a reasonably swashbuckling adventure in fancy dress.

I give the internal politics of Dobrenica a pass for being a made-up country. (But, I mean, seriously? Seriously? Hapsburgs and Russians, but no one even mentioned the EU once? [I thought everyone in Europe, inside the eurozone or out of it, bitched about the EU and its meddling. {Except when they bitch about it not meddling.}])

But if you want a Prisoner of Zenda that wears its Regency debt proudly on its sleeve, and throws in ghosts to boot, it's a damn good read.

Not a very conclusive conclusion, but a damn good read.


nonfiction


120. Plato, Gorgias. Translated by Robin Waterfield, Oxford, 1994.

atheilen? What do you think of this one?

Ostensibly - at least initially - a dialogue between Socrates, Gorgias, Polus, and Callicles, on the value of rhetoric, it works its way out towards an argument that only virtue can bring happiness.

Worthwhile for me, as there are a couple of bits regarding doctors and the function of medicine. On the whole, an interesting articulation of two sets of unconventional moralities (though Callicles' is probably even less rare than it is conventional) from ancient Athens. I'm not entirely sure Plato succeeds in sufficiently defining his terms - "happiness" is left, on the whole, rather vague, contra "love" in the Symposium - and the atmosphere of the Gorgias is on the whole rather more earnest and rather less relaxed than Symposium - well, it's a dialogue, not a set of encomiums mixed with a little bit of dialogue.

Also, dear Plato: terrible state of body =//= terrible state of life. I think I'm with Seneca on this one.

But I enjoyed reading it rather more than I expected.