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Today I'm twenty-nine years old. Another year older and still not dead!

It has been my habit on my birthday, the last couple of years, to send messages to people telling them how much I appreciate their presence in my life. This year, I think, there are too many people to make that entirely practical - and I don't know all their emails. So I'm just going to write here what I want to say.

Dear friends,

It's been a tricky year, since this time in 2014. Without you, I wouldn't be here. Without you, I wouldn't have a PhD all but in hand. Without you, my life would be so much poorer and smaller, and contain so much less joy. I am honoured by your acquaintance, and your friendship, your hospitalities and your support: your presence in my life is a gift and a blessing, and it humbles me.

Thank you. Never stop being awesome.
hawkwing_lb: (Helps if they think you're crazy)
I woke at 0630 with a purring cat on my foot, and rolled over to go back to sleep.

It was a good day. The sun had all September's brightness and the last warmth of summer on the blackberries. I walked northeast with the parent after noon, trailing the coast all the way to the passage tombs on the headland, where the shore lies open to your vision south to Skerries and north clear to Drogheda and beyond, colours so sharp you'd cut yourself on the greens, sea a drowning blue glittering with light. The tide low, seaweed-scented and thick with brine. We sat on the mound's half-circle tiny rampart and listened to small animals rustle in the brambles and the farmer's field of dying soya beans.

Two hours' worth of walking, slowly. Then to the supermarket for shopping, and home for burgers and cold sliced carrot and cucumber. I'm still addicted to Coca-Cola: I had my weekly treat on Thursday but the sight of all those special-offer bottles in the supermarket had my tongue thick and dry, and my resolve rather cracked before them.

Two review-like things from the to-do list hit the dust tonight, for a total of ~900 words. It strikes me that even in a slow week I write ~700-1500 words, even leaving aside my thesis. It's no wonder that my inclination to blog about things is not very high...
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As promised. (Although I've had to change up the order of things.)

Mary Renault's The King Must Die is the first novel by Mary Renault I've ever read. A re-imagining of the youth of Theseus, it's a work of stunning power and mythic scope. Renault's imagining of gods and of sacrifice is vital, present, humane, and full of the power of divine immanence. And I wouldn't be surprised to find that Renault has influenced many other writers in her time: I was put very much in mind of the tone and some of the thematic resonances - at least with reaction to divinity at work in mortal lives - of Jacqueline Carey's first Kushiel trilogy as I read. Renault's language and sense of rhythm is beautiful; her craft is masterful.

Her historical chronology and her ability to write female characters is not so great.

For all that The King Must Die is billed as a historical novel, it is necessary to read it as a fantasy. For once you pause to consider the impossibility of the Cretan elements existing contemporary to the mainland elements, the entire thing falls apart. The mainland - Troezen, the Corinthia, the Isthmus, Attica - has what seems to be the material culture of early Geometric/"Dark Age"/Homeric Greece, but with extra added literacy.

(While Linear B writes the Greek language, it falls out of use with the crisis and destructions at the end of the Bronze Age, and there is a gap of some three hundred years and more before Greek is written again, this time in alphabetic script. "Dark Age" Greece was illiterate. The first examples of writing in the Greek alphabet are from the cup known as the Cup of Nestor from Pithekoussai, Ischia, Italy, and the Dipylon inscription, from the area of the Kerameikos in Athens. Both of these examples date from no earlier than 750 BCE, which makes them Late Geometric in period. At this time, Euboea and Corinth were the economic powerhouses of Greece, with Athens beginning to rise in pre-eminence, and there is evidence for extensive trade with Italy, Phoenicia, and Asia Minor. Although not, contra Renault, with "Hyperborea." Renault appears to labour under the apprehension that the stone henges were raised contemporary with the Greek "Dark Age." Rather than being at least 1000 years older...)

I base the assumption of "roughly Geometric" as the intended time period in part from the depicted culture, both material culture and the depiction of the warbands, and in part from Renault's depiction of Theseus as beginning the synoikismos of Athens and Attica. While Athens is one of the few sites to have evidence for continued settlement across the divide of the collapse/crisis/depopulation/migrations at the end of the Bronze Age into the Geometric period, it did not during the early and middle Geometric periods rival Euboea for economic activity, and it does not appear - to me, at least - that a movement for Attic synoikismos can really be said to take place much before the 8th century itself.

It might be possible to see the culture of the Greek mainland as plausibly Submycenaean, were it not for the fact that, as we know from the Linear B translations, the Mycenaeans spoke Greek (the work of Chadwick, Kober, and Ventris had already proven this by 1956) and Renault's characters speak of a "Hellene" invasion as having occurred within far fewer generations than it would seem necessary to fit these into an archaeologically-possible chronology. Unless the "Hellene" invasion can be seen as coterminous with the Dorian migrations, but while Classical sources talk about the "Dorian" invasion, it's been impossible to pin down satisfactorily. However, this wouldn't square well with the narrative reality implied by Renault's non-Hellene "indigenous" people, the "Shore People," which she casts as matriarchal and practically autochthonous, and which she connects strongly to the rituals of the Eleusinian mysteries and to the worship of Demeter...

It's confusing.

All that aside, the society of the mainland may work as plausibly Homeric, with some handwaving. But it doesn't work at all as something that could have existed contemporary with "palace"* society on Crete, even in the Late Minoan IIIA-IIIC period, when we have evidence for Mycenaean presence at Knossos and the use of the palace site as a centre for Mycenaean-style administration in the form of Linear B tablets. Bull-leaping (the "Bull Dance," as Renault terms it) is a significant part of The King Must Die's Cretan narrative, but known bull-leaping depictions don't date from later than LM IIIB. Ca. 1200-1100 BCE, all the remaining major centres of Crete suffered destruction events, the population went into decline, and during the Subminoan period, sites are in the main characterised by their small size and defensibility.

After the Bronze Age destructions, Knossos once again grew into a significant centre in the Cretan Iron Age, but by then most of the cities of Crete laid claim to Dorian Greekness. And the Knossos palace complex was long since destroyed. So chronologically that doesn't work too well either, unless Theseus is a time-traveller.

Historicity aside, I'm not really hot on the fact that most of the named women are either manipulative and out for power or passive and happy to be led by a man... but that seems to be Renault's modus operandi. And in characterising "civilised" men as effete and "mincing"... Yeah.

In conclusion: a brilliantly-written Aegean ahistorical fantasy, with a bunch of problematic shit. On the whole, I'm rather glad I read it.

*Several archaeologists prefer the term "court-centred complex" to palace, since it makes fewer assumptions about the function and nature of the structures. But "palace" is the more widespread term.

Further reading on bull-leaping (.pdf):

McInerney
Younger
hawkwing_lb: (Bear CM beyond limit the of their bond a)
After posting "So. It has come to this," last night, I went to sleep.

I logged on today, twelve hours later. Guys. I am gobsmacked and speechless at your generosity. You've given me more than I asked for - twice as much as I dared hope for.

(In consequence of said twiceness, only let me know and I will refund half of the donation.)

You are all amazing, and I am humbled and grateful.




I promised rewards. Let me talk about the timeframe for fulfilling my promises.

I will write the 500-word review of a book chosen by the person who donated most (I will be in touch to confirm who you are) before the end of July.

I'll write the 500-word review of Lucian's True History also before the end of July.

I'll write the 500-word review of G.W. Bowerstock's The Throne of Adulis: Red Sea Wars On The Eve Of Islam (Oxford University Press, 2013) before the end of August.

I'll write the 750-word review of Mary Renault's The King Must Die also before the end of August.

I'll write up every session I attend at the conference within two weeks of coming home from said conference.

I'll review with as much detail as possible Paul Roberts' Life and Death in Pompeii and Herculaneum (Oxford University Press, 2013) before the middle of September.




Any funds remaining after I have covered conference costs, I will donate to a good cause. There being so many worthy causes, I will investigate and report back which one(s) after the conference is done.
hawkwing_lb: (Default)
I have the best friends.

Okay, so tonight it was just one friend. M., back from London for the weekend and making time to catch up. Three hours in the tearooms (the lovely lovely tearooms), drinking tea and talking about geeky things, films and books and life.

It reminded me that I do get lonely, and that the internets are great and shit, but there's no substitute for hanging out with people in the flesh. We're social animals, us apes. We need contact.

(I love you, guys. I may be drunk on happy endorphins, but I do.)
hawkwing_lb: (Bear CM beyond limit the of their bond a)
It's December 23rd. The world has turned again, and the days are slanting towards light.

[personal profile] leahbobet's post today reminded me I should take more note of happiness. Today I've had contentment, reading in a coffeeshop while twilight gathered to darkness outside; translating Homer with a pot of cocoa-vanilla rooibos beside my own fire; going to dinner with the parent and her boy in a fake-American bar & burger-joint despite cramps and teasing them gently.

And I have friends, hard as I find it to comprehend this. (And I find it very hard. Deep in my heart, there lurks a belief that one day you lot will realise I'm not very interesting and cease to tolerate my presumption. Imposter syndrome, can has!) But you guys (yes, you) have saved my sanity many times - if not, indeed, my life - and I thank you for it.

And soon I will be able to have new trousers, which makes me gleeful (I am awful hard on my trousers: they come to jujutsu and climbing and then they need surgery), and new shoes. I have many, many things to do, and hardly ever enough energy or time, but right at this moment I am happy.

And life is good.

I wish you happy, friends. I wish you joy, and grace, and all good things. For this year, and for every year to come.

Read more... )

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