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The Codrus Painter: Iconography and Reception of Athenian Vases in the Age of Pericles. By Amalia Avramidou. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 2011. Pp. xiii + 237. Hardcover, $65.00. ISBN 978-0-299-24780-5.

Reviewed by Judith M. Barringer, University of Edinburgh

The Codrus Painter (fl. c. 440–420 bc) takes his name from one of the 106 painted vessels, mostly kylikes, assigned to his hand or to that of one of his circle. The vase paintings are less noteworthy for their technical skill than for their often unusual subject matter, which, together with their mostly non-Attic provenance (when known), makes them remarkable. Avramidou addresses all these topics—style, subject, and provenance—in this volume derived from her doctoral dissertation. Like most dissertations, this is a book for specialists—graduate students and scholars. This monograph devoted to a single vase painter follows a long tradition although there has been markedly less of this type of study in recent years. Avramidou’s text offers a model of its kind.

The text begins with a review of the history of the “creation” or the “recognition” of the Codrus Painter and his oeuvre and the establishment of a chronology of his works. In this (perhaps overly) detailed treatment, every step in the process is articulated as one scholar after another recognized one set of works by the same hand, then refined the group. Avramidou then takes up precisely this issue, establishing the oeuvre, as—in true Beazley spirit—she offers a meticulous study and definition of the painter’s style and that of painters similar to him (“Near the Codrus Painter”). The author may be a fan of John Beazley, but to her credit she is not shy about challenging some of his attributions, as well as those made by other notable scholars. There follows a chronological ordering of the painter’s output; changes over time in shape, composition, and subject matter; and a comparison of the products of the Codrus Painter to that his contemporaries—the Eretria Painter, Aison, the Meidias Painter, and the workshop of Polygnotos—with regard to subjects, shapes, markets. The subsequent consideration of subjects is thorough, considering literary versions of mythological subjects, earlier and contemporary visual examples, changes in iconography, provenance, social and historical context, as well as the impact of current political events, drama and other visual media, such as public sculpture and wall painting. Avramidou seeks meaning from a unified reading of all images on any given vase, which is successful in most cases. Finally, the author devotes an entire chapter to the leitmotif throughout the text, the relationship between the Codrus Painter and the “Etruscan market.”

This last subject has become an overriding concern of scholars working on vase painting iconography and especially iconology in the last few decades. How did all those Athenian vases end up in Etruscan graves? Were they made for Attic “consumption” or solely for export to the Etruscan “market” and therefore for Etruscan tastes? Vase shape and subject matter are key matters in this debate. Avramidou ties the Codrus Painter’s choice of subject matter to current Athenian events so, for example, warriors’ departures are painted because of the frequency and familiarity of this event in contemporary Athenian life. Accordingly, such images served as models and exhortations for the Athenians as they prepared for war. Elsewhere, she explains the Codrus Painter’s choice of mythological themes as having connections with current politics: the appearance of Medea and Aigeus on the exterior of the “Codrus cup” (32; pl. 1c) refers to tension between Athens and Corinth prior to the outbreak of the Peloponnesian War. Likewise, the presentation of Aias to his father Telamon on another cup refers to Athens’ appropriation of Aias “as a figure proving the legitimacy of the Athenian claim over Salamis,” where Telamon had settled after his exile from Aigina (41–2). Such political readings of Attic vase paintings are problematic because of the provenance of the vessels (usually not Athens) and, more critically, the complexity of the interpretations and erudition required to decipher them. What is the chain of thinking required of an ancient viewer to get from Telamon’s reception of the baby Aias to Aias as a vehicle to justify Athens’ political claims to the island where his father was resettled? Some of Avramidou’s proposals stretch credibility: the images on the Cassandra cup “… invoke parallels with the upcoming Peloponnesian War and remind the viewer of the wrongdoings that occur in such conflicts” (49). If the war hasn’t happened yet, how can it invoke parallels? Here, the zealous interpreter seems blind to implausibility.

With such proposals in mind, one must question the intended viewers of the vase paintings when the vessels were found outside of Attika. Avramidou adopts a “polyvalent” approach: the vases and their decoration were intended for an Athenian audience, but were also legible in a different way to Etruscans who purchased them in Etruria. According to the author, the vases were produced so as “to evoke an Etruscan interpretation” (69) of Greek themes. The link between the Codrus Painter’s depiction of Themis’ augury and Etruscan recognition of the augury scene because of Etruscan practices works well (40) but other themes, such as the story of Erichthonios, are less convincing.

Likewise, claims about the Theseus cup—“The owner … advertised his own knowledge of Athenian culture and his potential connection to the Greek city” (39)—are hard to square with an Etruscan owner. To whom was such cultural sophistication advertised, and would it be recognizable? It is possible, even plausible, as some scholars suggest, that the Etruscans could not read the dipinti on Attic vases, and did not know the Greek myths, but simply wanted Attic products. On the other hand, if the vessels were intended for an Athenian owner, one must question how many people saw these images, which were (presumably) designed for use in the symposion.

A catalogue and numerous b/w plates follow the text. Most images are of good quality but there are some poor ones that do not help the author’s argument (e.g., pl. 17, 28a, 70, 72). Unfortunately, the numerous comparanda are rarely illustrated, making it difficult to follow the author’s points. The text is elegantly written although the organization sometimes is illogical, and some chapters, e.g., Chap. 11, could have been abbreviated (or presented as a table or chart) without losing anything. Nonetheless, this thought-provoking study raises the right questions and endeavors to answer them in intriguing, if not always convincing, ways.

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Latin Panegyric. Edited by Roger Rees. Oxford Readings in Classical Studies. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 2012. Pp. xvi + 430. Hardcover, £76.00/$150.00. ISBN 978-0-19-957671-5. Paper, £29.50/$55.00. ISBN 978-0-19-957672-2.

Reviewed by Eleni Manolaraki, University of South Florida

The Table of Contents of this volume can be found at: http://www.oup.com/us/catalog/general/subject/ClassicalStudies/ClassicalLanguages/Latin/?view=usa&sf=toc&ci=9780199576715

Edited by Roger Rees, this volume contains sixteen previously published essays spanning a century of international scholarship on the “Twelve Panegyrics”: Pliny’s gratiarum actio to Trajan and eleven Panegyrici for emperors from Maximinian to Theodosius. Rees provides a valuable resource for newcomers and veterans alike by threading together essential readings on imperial praise.

The volume consists of “Introductions” (three chapters, 3–74), “Pliny’s Panegyricus” (six chapters, 77–220), and “Gallic Panegyrici” (eight chapters, 223–386). These are followed by a bibliography (387–423) and a brief index (427–30). Words and phrases in the ancient and modern languages are translated, while numbers in brackets throughout indicate the original pagination of the essays.

The rich editorial introduction traces panegyric from Pindar and Thucydides to Mamertinus and Venatius Fortunatus, and surveys ancient and modern responses to praise-giving in various contexts (epinician, funerary, forensic, philosophical, etc). From the discovery of the XII Panegyrici Latini manuscript in 1433 to the present, recurrent research themes include the Classical, Hellenistic, and Republican models of the speeches, their intended audiences, the divergences between their original delivery and their written version, the relationship between panegyrist and emperor, and the panegyrist’s professed “sincerity.” Rees discerns a dominant, moralizing approach to panegyric and maps it onto shifting political landscapes and social sensibilities. A striking such example is the contrast between the enthusiastic reception of Pliny’s Panegyricus in early European royal courts and its condemnation by twentieth century criticism (15–16).

Rees’ introduction is followed by Mynors’ 1964 preface to the OCT edition of the XII Panegyrici, which clarifies and has since authorized the manuscript tradition. Pichon (1906) responds to the German scholarship of the late-nineteenth century, which postulated a single author for the unattributed Panegyrici. Drawing on paleography, stylistics, and autobiographical references in the speeches, Pichon establishes the Panegyrici as the product of diverse Gallic authors.

Section II, on the Panegyricus, variously explores Pliny’s laudatory ethics. Radice (1968) hesitantly endorses Pliny’s innovation in elaborating and publishing “stock themes,” and she claims the speech as a source for Pliny supplementary to his Letters. Braund (1998) identifies Cicero’s praise of Pompey and Caesar as nascent panegyrics influencing Seneca’s de Clementia and Pliny’s Panegyricus. Braund also underlines the normative function of Ciceronian and Senecan praise, now a guiding principle for reading Pliny and his Late Antique successors. Fantham (1999) detects in the speech oral formulae transmitting the oaths exchanged between Trajan, the senate, and the consuls; through ritualistic language Pliny solemnizes and authorizes his praise. Morford (1992) defends the respectability of the Panegyricus qua political contract; through hortatory eulogy, he argues, Pliny circumscribes imperial conduct and proposes a “working relationship” between emperor and senate. Bartsch (1994) shows that Pliny preempts senatorial criticism of his sincerity by declaring the coalescence of private and public “scripts,” by announcing the end of political role-playing, and by re-signifying formerly eviscerated political terminology. Hoffer (2006) illustrates how Pliny exploits the notional oxymoron of the “fortunate fall” in the Panegyricus and his letters to Trajan, to negotiate the transitional moment of Nerva’s death; human wisdom and divine providence collaboratively transform Trajan from subject into emperor, while he maintains both self-agency and no control over the succession. From Radice’s call to canonize the speech, to Braund’s calibrating its balance between affirmation and exhortation, to Hoffer’s non-judgmental appreciation of Pliny’s “Accession Propaganda,” the loosening of the moralistic stranglehold yields ever more sophisticated conversation on the Panegyricus.

Section III, on the Gallic speeches, is inevitably circumscribed by several unknowns. For most Panegyrici, authorship, chronological sequence, audience, and the role of the panegyrist in the imperial court are still matters of debate, and the controversy privileges historicizing rather than literary readings. These unknowns, however, also discourage the preoccupation with earnestness (or lack thereof) which shadows Pliny’s speech. Consequently, appreciation of the Panegyrici long predates the recognition of the Panegyricus as aesthetically and ideologically respectable.

In the earliest of these essays, Maguiness (1933) performs a combined stylistic–thematic analysis of select excerpts to surface their rhetorical skill. His essay is refreshingly unconcerned with the panegyrists’ honesty and even revels, among others, in their “ubiquitous tendency … to reconcile opposing actions or statements” (266). Verreke (1975) criticizes top-down views of the Panegyrici as either derivative from earlier Latin prose or as following Greek rhetorical precepts such as Menander Rhetor’s Basilikos Logos. For him, commitment to either approach dismisses the Panegyrici as imitative of “models” and of each other. MacCormack (1975) aligns oratorical and visual ekphrases of grandeur as they appear in motifs of imperial arrival (adventus), accession, and funerals. Lippold (1968), Blockley (1972), and Warmington (1974) examine speeches addressed to Theodosius, Julian, and Constantine respectively, all focusing on oratory as responding to immediate circumstances: Warmington compares Constantinian speeches to contemporary coinage as mutual reinforcements of ideology; Blockley tends to Mamertinus’ delicate negotiation of Julian’s predecessor; Lippold shows Pacatus’ renewal of traditional laudatory language in his praise of Theodosius. Along similar contextualizing lines, Nixon (1983) rejects the Panegyrici as bluntly propagandistic. He emphasizes instead their oral qualities and circumstantial nature, which belie their speculative function as imperial mouthpieces; the panegyrists and the court, Nixon argues, are more subtly connected through the Schools of Rhetoric at Gaul. Saylor-Rodgers (1986) defines the thematic significance of religious vocabulary for imperial portraiture; she traces continuities and permutations of this vocabulary across speeches, but she justly rejects an overarching linguistic “system” of divine attributes.

With their thematic variety, their chronological and geographical range, and their disparate methodologies, these wisely chosen essays highlight perennial questions emerging from a monarch’s praise and illustrate versatile and evolving responses to these questions. As for quibbles, a longer index tracing more than proper names across essays would have enabled readers to pursue thematic connections among the Panegyrici and their continuity with Pliny. Neither this nor the single typo I found (“emphasiszed,” 11), however, weaken what is surely an indispensable volume on Roman imperial laudatio.

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Highways, Byways, and Road Systems in the Pre-Modern World. Edited by Susan E. Alcock, John Bodel, and Richard J. A. Talbert. The Ancient World: Comparative Histories. Malden Mass., Oxford and Chichester: Wiley-Blackwell, 2012. Pp. xx + 289. Hardcover, £85.00/$140.95. ISBN 978-0-470-67425-3.

Reviewed by Cornelis van Tilburg, Leiden University

This volume contains 14 contributions concerning roads in pre-modern societies all over the world, dating from the second millennium bc until the 19th century ad, thus covering a period of ca. 4000 years. In the Introduction, the editors state that they were forced to make a selection; it was impossible to include all contributions concerning pre-modern road systems. There are two contributions concerning the Chinese road system and even three concerning the Roman network, but contributions discussing, e.g., Russia, Crete, the Carolingian and Aztec Empires are lacking.

At first sight, the order of the articles is unclear. They seem to be placed neither chronologically, nor geographically. The majority of the contributors are working at American universities and for some reasons they have chosen to start exactly on the other side of the world: India. The journey around the world goes eastward from here: via China and Japan to Meso-America and South America, crossing the Atlantic Ocean and, then in order, the Sahara Desert, the Persian Empire, Egypt, the Roman Empire and, finally, the Holy Land. The sequence of the last contributions especially—8 to 14—is strange. The other part of this volume suggests a journey from west to east—so why not at first the Sahara Desert, and then Europe, Egypt, the Holy Land and, finally, the Persian Empire, to the boundaries of India, the theme of the current first article? In that case, the circle of the earth might have been closed.

Starting at the first article and travelling through the entire volume, the reader meets many types of road systems. Empires with a central capital—the Persian, Roman, Chinese and Japanese Empires—have an extended road system of well-built roads, staging posts and lodges. Civilizations where a central capital is absent are not equipped with a long-distance road system: India, the Maya area and the Southwestern part of (nowadays) the United States. Some articles do not discuss roads at all, but routes, like the article on Masonen: the theme of this contribution is the caravan route system in the Sahara Desert. The last article (by Silverstein) does not discuss roads or routes, but Jewish social networks. In the present volume, only inter-urban and inter-regional road systems are discussed; roads and streets inside cities are not mentioned at all.

Not only do the different articles show different types of roads, but the scientific approach of the articles also differs. On the one hand, some articles discuss the routes, the histories and the archaeology of the roads widely; the article by Vaporis contains a large number of beautiful pictures of the Japanese road system. On the other hand, the information in some other articles concerning the roads themselves is scarce, but they focus on the interaction of the roads and their landscapes (Julien) and on even more abstract aspects like Hinduism (Neelis) and the road gods in China (Nylan). In some articles, roads are even mentioned as metaphors. The main goal of this book is to compare not only different road types but also the backgrounds and functions of roads.

Talbert points out rightly that we have to be careful not to consider, study and research roads too much from our modern point of view, i.e., considering roads as concentrated means of communication. Road maps, for example, were unknown in any pre-modern society, as far as we know. Moreover, traffic in former times cannot be compared with traffic nowadays (see, e.g., my Traffic and Congestion in the Roman Empire (London: Routledge, 2007)).

Because of the divergent points of view in the articles included, a comparison between different road systems is almost impossible. In some articles (Nylan on China, p. 35 and Vaporis on Japan, p. 91), the road systems are actually compared with the Roman road systems, but it is difficult to compare, e.g. the Chinese and Maya road systems. All articles, however, are equipped with sufficient bibliographies.

The volume would have profited from an overview—or appendix—providing all measures (linear, cubic etc.). On p. 15 (Neelis), it is said that “every eight kos I have had wells excavated.” What is a kos? Another example: p. 36 (Nylan) speaks about “30 zhong of grain.” How much is a zhong? Even in the endnotes of these articles an explanation concerning the different measures is lacking.

The layout of the volume is well done; the number of typographical errors is low (e.g., Neelis, p. 15, mentions Hultszch but in the bibliography it is Hultzsch). A useful index with many cross-references is added. The title, however, Highways, Byways and Road Systems, suggests that byways are also discussed, but according to the index, there are only three references to “byways,” all in India. A subtitle like Constructions, Functions and Metaphors would have given a more accurate indication of the book; as it is, the reader first encountering the book’s cover might expect a merely archaeological and historical approach.

In short, the articles offer good starting-points for further research, and they provide as well good and elaborate bibliographies, but more uniformity would have been helpful.

• 2013.03.45:  Maria Wyke, Caesar in the USA.
• 2013.03.44:  Emmanuelle Raymond, Vox poetae: manifestations auctoriales dans l’épopée gréco-latine. Actes du colloque organisé les 13 et 14 novembre 2008 par l’Université Lyon 3. Collection du Centre d’études et de recherches sur l’Occident romain – CEROR, 39.
• 2013.03.43:  Kay Ehling, Gregor Weber, Konstantin der Grosse zwischen Sol und Christus. Zaberns Bildbände zur Archäologie.
• 2013.03.42:  Pierluigi Leone Gatti, Nina Mindt, Undique mutabant atque undique mutabantur. Beiträge zur augusteischen Literatur und ihren Transformationen. Vertumnus, Bd 8.
• 2013.03.41:  Elise A. Friedland, The Roman Marble Sculptures from the Sanctuary of Pan at Caesarea Philippi/Panias (Israel). American Schools of Oriental Research Archaeological Reports No. 17.
• 2013.03.40:  Sandrine Dubel, Sophie Gotteland, Estelle Oudot, Éclats de littérature grecque d’Homère à Pascal Quignard : mélanges offerts à Suzanne Saïd.
• 2013.03.39:  Daniel J. Geagan, Inscriptions: The Dedicatory Monumnts. The Athenian Agora 18.
• 2013.03.38:  Roger Scott, Byzantine Chronicles and the Sixth Century. Variorum collected studies series, CS 1004.
• 2013.03.37:  Ergün Lafli, Eva Christof, Michael Metcalfe, Hadrianopolis I: Inschriften aus Paphlagonia. BAR international series, 2366.
• 2013.03.36:  Gocha R. Tsetskhladze, The Black Sea, Greece, Anatolia and Europe in the First Millennium BC. Colloquia antiqua, 1.
• 2013.03.35:  Beatrice Lietz, La dea di Erice e la sua diffusione nel Mediterraneo: un culto tra Fenici, Greci e Romani. Tesi. Classe di lettere, 8.
• 2013.03.34:  Eugene Afonasin, John Dillon, John F. Finamore, Iamblichus and the Foundations of Late Platonism. Ancient Mediterranean and medieval texts and contexts; Studies in Platonism, Neoplatonism, and the Platonic tradition, 13.
• 2013.03.33:  Roslyn Weiss, Philosophers in the ‘Republic’: Plato’s Two Paradigms. Ithaca;
• 2013.03.32:  Stanley Ireland, Menander: the Shield (Aspis) and the Arbitration (Epitrepontes). Aris and Phillips classical texts.

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Reading Herodotus: A Guided Tour through the Wild Boars, Dancing Suitors, and Crazy Tyrants of The History. By Debra Hamel. Baltimore and London: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 2012. Pp. xxiii + 329. Hardcover, $60.00/£29.45. ISBN 978-1-4214-0655-8. Paper, $29.95/£15.50. ISBN 978-1-4214-0656-5.

Reviewed by Emily Baragwanath, University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill

Herodotus’ famous volume can be bewildering indeed for lay (not to mention professional Classicist) readers, and Hamel sets out to provide “a ‘good parts’ version of The History, … a loose retelling of Herodotus’ account, with obscure references explained and the boring bits left out” (3). Hamel frankly admits the subjectivity of such a project, and that her own interests “tend to the scatological, sexual, and sophomoric” (4). Taking us from Croesus (Ch. 1) through to Plataea, Mycale, and Sestus (Ch. 13), the shape of the book follows closely that of the original, with just occasional divergences from the sequence of Herodotus’ presentation. “Psammetichus and the Antiquity of Egypt,” 2.2 (67–8), for example, is held back until the middle of the chapter dealing with the Egyptian logos; the Arion digression (1.23–4), with its brief mention of Periander, is saved up until the end (107–8) of a chapter that retells the stories of Polycrates and Periander (Herodotus Book 3). Herodotus’ complicated Ionian revolt narrative is clearly and engagingly retold, with its connections to the later War well brought out. Ethnographic material receives shorter shrift than the historical narrative, but there is coverage of the more sensational, e.g. prostitution of the Lydians (33), or “Gilded Skulls and Merry-Go-Rounds: Scary Scythian Customs (4.16-82)” (138–40).

As the back cover of the book promises, the experience of reading it is rather “like reading Herodotus while simultaneously consulting a history of Greece and a scholarly commentary on the text.” There is much helpful parenthetical explication of historical background (e.g. on the importance of burial to the ancient Greeks, in the discussion of Arion) as well as lengthier treatments of such historical cruces as whether the False Smerdis was really false, or why the 300 Spartans were chosen from among Spartans with living sons. Just occasionally I noted an inaccuracy (e.g. twice “Herodotus says” of 3.80—which is not authorial statement but character speech), or wondered at the interpretation (would a Spartan combing his hair really be as jarring an image to a Persian spy as “a marine checking his lipstick before battle would be to us” (233)? It would perhaps be more jarring to non-Spartan Greeks of Herodotus’ audience than to the well-coiffed Persians).

With glances out to fifth-century literary works (Bacchylides’ Ode on Croesus on the pyre, Aeschylus Persians) and forward to the Macedonian conquest of Persia and beyond, Hamel opens up a broad historical and cultural perspective. She includes much wondrous comparative material that the Father of History himself would doubtless have appreciated, for example on Vlad the Impaler (whose grim techniques are compared to Astyages’: 45), on the fascinating modern reception of Herodotus’ account of Amasis’ fart (76), and on other people reputed, like Pheretime, to have died by worms. We hear even of a genus of earthworm named Pheretima (296 n. 1). In some instances, the retelling becomes too glib or reductive, e.g. the dramatization of the Spako-Mitradates’ story (39), which elides its power; the rather odd interpretation of Spargapises’ suicide (as having killed himself rather than “face his scary mother again”: 50—which robs the narrative of much of its pathos), or the paraphrase of Amasis’ letter (“Amasis, that is, wanted Polycrates to keep throwing stuff away in order to offset the successes he was enjoying in other respects”: 99–100).

Hamel interjects the occasional comment on Herodotus’ storytelling art (e.g. 32: Herodotus’ presentation of Croesus’ confrontation with Apollo), and useful remarks on some important patterns that have an explanatory role as well as helping his text cohere (e.g. the wise advisor, king, transgression of physical boundaries). But the lay reader could have done with more appreciation of the formidable skill with which Herodotus controlled and wrestled into narrative form such an extraordinary array of material (especially to counter occasional disparagement: “not particularly interesting”: 50; “doesn’t make a lot of sense”: 157)—and more on the principles on which he based his efforts.

Hamel frequently points to probable historical inaccuracies, and alerts readers more generally to the thorny question of the historicity of the stories Herodotus preserves. Herodotus’ Gyges’ narrative is employed as a test case: four alternative versions of Gyges’ accession, preserved in authors from Plato to Justin, bring out how Herodotus has molded his account, “dropping details and introducing dramatic elements and making use of stock narrative motifs. … Herodotus’ account …, then, cannot be taken at face value” (13). But Hamel stops there: no guidance is offered about the processes Herodotus might have followed in shaping his text, about whence and why traditional patterning arises and replaces a more literal truth, and what the narrative effect might be; and we get no sense of Herodotus’ text as a literary work shaped under the influence of rhetorical concerns and narrative predecessors (most crucial among them, Homer).

Markers of epistemological uncertainty already pervaded Herodotus’ account, in explicit authorial comments, and also in the extraordinary prominence of the so-called “source-citations”—which an abbreviated retelling necessarily elides. It’s also quite possible that Herodotus wanted readers to have to wrestle somewhat with the complications of his Histories and its numerous story strands. And Herodotus deemed everything in his History interesting. Even an engaging “best parts” abbreviation, like this one, cannot help but go against the grain of these important qualities of Herodotus’ text.

Herodotus’ text is also pan-Greek (or perhaps even international) in its orientation, whereas Reading Herodotus felt destined purely for local American readership, with such linguistic mannerisms as “offed themselves” (= “killed themselves,” 83), “D’Oh” (31, 95), “a defeat off of the Peloponnese” (250), and (numerous times), “the guy who.”

To lay readers I will continue to recommend Herodotus himself first and foremost in an accessible edition that includes a good introduction and commentary—for example Oxford World Classics or Penguin.