CJ Online Review: van Steen, Theatre of the Condemned

August 14, 2012August 14, 2012 ~ David Meadows ~ rogueclassicist ~ Leave a comment

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Gonda van Steen, Theatre of the Condemned: Classical Greek Tragedy on Greek Prison Islands. Classical Presences. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 2011. Pp. xiv + 354. Hardcover, £71.00/ $125.00. ISBN 978-0-19-957288-5.

Reviewed by Betine van Zyl Smit, University of Nottingham

Theatre of the Condemned deals with a topic that has hitherto received little attention in work on the reception of Classical Greek Tragedy. The reason for this neglect is that it inevitably revives memories of painful episodes in modern Greek history, for it deals with the role of Classical Greek Tragedy in the lives of those imprisoned on the islands of Makronisos, Trikeri and Aï Stratis from the 1940s to the early 1960s. The defeated opponents of the Greek nationalists in the civil war in liberated Greece were confined to the islands in an attempt to eliminate their influence by removing them from society.

Gonda Van Steen’s pioneering work presents the context in which these political prisoners were held and the ways in which they used the study, creation and performance of plays as a means of education, a release from their plight, but often also as an opportunity to express covert resistance to the regime. As there was no systematic documentation of these activities, Van Steen has supplemented available information by interviews with survivors. One of the merits of this volume is the creation of a permanent record of many aspects of theatrical activities on the prison islands which risked passing into oblivion with the demise of the participants. Plays studied, written and produced on the islands included many later and modern works as well, as indicated by Van Steen, but her concentration is on Classical Greek Tragedy. She demonstrates that Greek prisoner theatre in some of its features predates the radical revisionism of Classical Greek Tragedy that was to become the trend in the West from the 1960s onward.

Van Steen singles out four tragedies that resonated particularly with the inmates and could be understood to reflect the complexities of their situation and continued resistance to the regime. These were Aeschylus’ Prometheus Bound, Sophocles’ Philoctetes, Aeschylus’ Persians, and Sophocles’ Antigone.

The portrayal of Prometheus as a stalwart hero, who suffers but remains defiant in the face of his abuser, is situated in the context of similar wider leftist and Marxist interpretations of the tragedy in twentieth century Eastern European literature. The eponymous hero of Philoctetes was also seen as epitomising the plight of the exiles: “he remains an exemplum of integrity and defines the concept of tragic heroism anew in—temporary—defeat and isolation” (71). Van Steen points out that in some cases the people she interviewed could not remember whether a play had actually been staged, but that even the process of rehearsal had given the participants the opportunity to experience the emotions evoked by their collective engagement with the play.

In a production of Persians on Aï Stratis in 1951 the exiles explored the effect of the recent military defeat of the Left. It was a counterpoint to the National Theatre’s productions of the tragedy which identified the modern communist enemy with the Persians of antiquity. This is just one example of many instances Van Steen adduces of the authority and prestige of Greek Tragedy being claimed by both the regime and the prisoners as endorsing their cause.

Another tragedy which often gives rise to conflicting interpretations is Sophocles’ Antigone where some champion Antigone’s cause as the noble defence of freedom, while others support Creon’s desire to maintain order and control as desirable. Van Steen discusses several versions of this play associated with the prison islands. The first was produced on Makronisos in 1948 (65–70) by a group of actors who had “repented.” Thus their performance was intended by the authorities to enhance the importance of patriotism. Van Steen shows that players and audience nevertheless interpreted the themes in their own way. The second Antigone discussed (108–13) is a reading of the play by female prisoners on Trikeri. The process, led by an interned actress, served both to educate and to raise awareness amongst the female prisoners who saw Antigone as exemplifying their own predicament. The third Antigone analysed is offered as an example of creative playwriting by an island inmate. Van Steen argues that its inclusion compensates for the lack of detail of other productions. It is in fact the only play from the prison islands that has been published. The full text of this adaptation of Antigone by Aris Alexandrou is included (172–230), as well as an English translation by Van Steen (239–306). This play, which has influences from Brecht and Anouilh, was not produced during the lifetime of the playwright, but first staged in 2003. Van Steen notes that Alexandrou’s version has “an expressly democratic subtext that undermined dogmatic leftism” (150). Her analysis of the play and its production is sensitive and illuminates the complexities of the political and social identities that were involved in the prison camps.

The references (318-44) form a substantial bibliography for the topic.

Gonda Van Steen in this book sheds light on an important period in the recent history of Greece and in particular the part of Classical Greek Tragedy in it. Theatre of the Condemned contains scrupulous scholarship, sophisticated analysis and a huge amount of new material. Everyone who works on the reception of Greek drama should read it.

CJ Online Review: Faulkner, ed., Homeric Hymns: Interpretative Essays

August 9, 2012 ~ David Meadows ~ rogueclassicist ~ Leave a comment

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Andrew Faulkner, ed., The Homeric Hymns: Interpretative Essays. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 2011. Pp. xv + 400. Hardcover, £84.00/$160.00. ISBN 978-0-19-958903-6.

Reviewed by Marco Perale, University of Minnesota

This collection of essays is the result of a collaboration of leading scholars and young researchers in the field of archaic Greek literature and oral poetics. The term “collaboration” fits particularly well within the context of a fertile debate ongoing throughout the book. Contributions were coordinated by A. Faulkner, author of both a history of modern scholarship on the Homeric Hymns (1–25) and a chapter on the constitution of the collection (175–205).

Faulkner’s analysis focuses on the terminology employed in scholiastic and literary sources that refer to the hymns as a corpus. The collection dates back at least to the third century A.D., a terminus post quem given by the eighth hymn, here taken as a later Neoplatonic, rather than an Orphic, addition (p. 175–6). Faulkner persuasively illustrates the influence of specific passages from Demeter, Apollo, Hermes and Aphrodite on the Callimachean hymns (with the exception of Delos). On the basis of the probable allusion of Call. Iov. 4–8 to the first Homeric Hymn to Dionysus (A 2–6 West), he posits a knowledge by Callimachus of an ordered collection of hymns where Dionysus came first.

This idea is supported by M. L. West in his article on the fragmentary first Homeric Hymn (29–43, esp. 40–1). West’s contribution[[1]] complements his Loeb edition (Homeric Hymns, Apocrypha, Lives, Cambridge MA, 2003, 26–31), by providing a reconstruction of the mythical content of fragments A–D. With regard to the episode of Hera enchained on her throne by Hephaestus, particularly attractive is his hypothesis of a dependence of Alcaeus fr. 349 a–e on the first Homeric Hymn, which would make Dionysus the earliest hymn of the collection (33–4).

N. Richardson’s essay on the Homeric Hymn to Demeter (44–58) is conceived as an update of his 1978 edition in light of the subsequent contributions.[[2]]

M. Chapell’s lucid and well-grounded contribution on the Homeric Hymn to Apollo (59–81) presents itself as a refutation of Clay’s arguments in favor of the hymn’s internal unity and coherence, and consequently of its Panhellenic outlook (The Politics of Olympus, 18–19, 47–9, 92–4). Chappell conditionally accepts M. L. West’s theory (Homeric Hymns, 10–12) of a combination of an original Pythian hymn, to which the rhapsode Cynaethus of Chios added a new, much longer Delian section in conjunction with his performance at the festival on Delos celebrated by Polycrates of Samos in 523 (67–73).

The genesis of the conflation is reversed in G. Nagy (“The Earliest Phases of the Reception of the Homeric Hymns,” 280–333, esp. 288–91), according to whom Cynaethus would have augmented an original Homeric hymn by adding a rival Hesiodic hymn praising the Pythian Apollo at the Delia. Cynaethus would have subsequently “attributed” (ἀνατέθεικεν) the whole composition to Homer (schol. Pind. N. 2.1c = Hippostr. FGrHist 568 F 5). This interpretation of ἀνατίθημι is shared by West (Homeric Hymns, p. 10: “laid it to his credit”) and supported by parallels such as schol. Pind. P. 6.22 and schol. Eur. Hipp. 264.

A. Vergados’ study on the Hymn to Hermes (p. 82–104) anticipates his forthcoming long-awaited commentary, which will hopefully cast new light on the hymn’s numerous textual difficulties.[[3]] Vergados notes that the Hymn to Hermes lacks a proper epiphanic scene, an element which is shared by the longer hymns (although there is none in the Delian Hymn to Apollo). According to Vergados, the divine epiphany, while not narrated, is “enacted in the god’s performance” (86, 104): playing the part of a humorous and crafty inventor, the god establishes a special link with the audience through the alter-ego of the poet.

P. Brillet-Dubois (105–32) investigates the narrative structure of the Hymn to Aphrodite, recognizing a sequence of six scenes (divine motivation; preparation; journey; encounter; intercourse; aftermath) that mirrors the narrative of the Iliadic aristeia performed by Achilles, thus enhancing the cosmogonic and laudatory potential of the hymn. The scene of the preparation in Cypria fr. 5 might indeed precede the judgment of Paris,[[4]] but no element in the surviving fragments seems to point to an “indirect” intercourse following a seduction scene, where “Aphrodite substitutes Helen for herself as Paris’ lover” (110).

In his reading of the seventh Homeric Hymn to Dionysius (133–50), D. Jaillard analyzes words that are allusive of the Dionysiac thauma (but see Cassola on 7, οἴνοπα πόντον), concluding that the epiphanic motif, while being the object of the narration, also structures the narrative itself. The element of the divine scent occurring in 36–7 is not a prerogative of Dionysius (cf. e.g. Hermes, 231–2), but might be paralleled in P.Mich. III 139.2 = SH 906.2 (if the action in 11 is performed under Dionysiac frenzy). Jaillard’s interpretation of σχήματ’ Ὀλύμπου as “structures of the pantheon” (138) is doubtful, and differs from both West’s (ad Eumelus fr. 13) and Bernabé’s (ad Tytanomachia fr. 11.2).

O. Thomas focuses on the techniques of composition and the peculiar structure of the nineteenth Homeric Hymn to Pan (151–72), a hymn marked by two inset nymph-songs and lacking a central narrative. Thomas singles out a possible dependence of the second song on the beginning of the fourth Homeric Hymn to Hermes, which would provide a firm terminus post quem (165–7). The mention of the spouse (?) of Dryops at 34 is taken as a starting point for a discussion of the original place of composition (the region of Doris, from where the Dryopes were expelled, or the destinations of the diaspora: Ambracia, southern Euboea, or eastern Argolid).

W. D. Furley (“Homeric and Un-Homeric Hexameter Hymns,” 206–31), in agreement with N. Richardson (The Homeric Hymn to Demeter, 3–4) and in contrast with Allen and Halliday (xciv–xcv), confirms the theory of the Homeric Hymns as prooimia, preludes to epic recitations to be performed by rhapsodes in contests. The transitional formula “I will pass over to another song” occurring at the end of Hymns 5, 9 and 18 is differently interpreted by G. Nagy (327–9), who takes ἄλλον ἐς ὕμνον to mean “the rest of the [not “another”] song.” According to Nagy the hymnic salutation χαῖρε/χαίρετε activates the process of transition and guarantees a reciprocal pleasure between the poet/audience and the god, and, consequently, a successful reception of a piece of literature or an orally transmitted composition. This concept of reciprocal rejoicing is fully developed in C. Calame’s essay “The Homeric Hymns as Poetic Offerings: Musical and Ritual Relationships with the Gods” (334–57), which explains the Hymns as offerings made by mortals ritually “sacrificing” their songs, becoming the objectification of a poetic contract between gods and mortals.

J. Clay’s “The Homeric Hymns as a Genre” (232–53) closely follows the path of her Politics of Olympus, such that it can be seen as an expansion of that volume’s chapter “The Hymnic Moment.” Clay’s theory of a collection of texts portraying a mythological conflict leading to the re-distribution of power is challenged (although not rejected, see esp. 209, 225) by W. Furley, who stresses the importance of the authorial innovation and humanization of the ancestral divinities as elements of distinction for the creation of a genealogical and theogonic narrative. According to Clay, the Hymns, recounting the evolution of the Olympian order, can be considered as forming a “narrative genre” characterized by a marked epic (theogonic, Olympian and heroic) potential. This view is rejected by Nagy (332–3), according to whom the concept of “genre” is not applicable to the hymns before the age of Callimachus, when the hymnic prooimia finally became separated from what Nagy calls “the epic consequent,” the performance of an epic on a subject other then the god with whom the song started. Clay’s distinction between the Hymns and prayers (235–6) cannot be based exclusively on the absence of an opening address to the divinity in the second person, as Hymns 22, 24 and 29 do employ the Du-Stil (cf. Furley–Bremer, Greek Hymns, 1–4).

Following Clay, N. Felson (“Children of Zeus in the Homeric Hymns: Generational Succession,” 254–79) highlights the dynamics between Zeus and the potentially subversive figures of Apollo and Athena in Hymns 3 and 28, concluding that the sons of Zeus channel their bellicosity to reinforce the order established by their father. Felson takes Hes. Th. 894 ἐκ γὰρ τῆς (i.e. Metis, spouse of Zeus) εἵμαρτο περίφρονα τέκνα γενέσθαι, “for it was destined that exceedingly wise children would be born of her,” as alluding to a potential future menace coming from the offspring of Zeus,[[5]] but περίφρων does not contain per se any idea of excess, the offspring of Metis being “wise,” “very thoughtful” by definition.

Some minor points: 56: a further reference to the Eleusinian hero Triptolemus, probably as the recipient of gift of corn, may be found in another anonymous hexameter text transmitted by P.Amherst II 16 recto (Oxyrhynchus, second century A.D.). — 74: “all over the fruitful earth” is not reflected in the Greek text. — 94 n. 43: read γοναί. — 106 n. 38: delete p. 31. — 107: the works by Porter, Podbielski, Lenz and Vernant are not cited in the footnotes. — 112: the motif of Aphrodite born from the foam is attested not only in the Hesiodic Theogony and in the sixth Homeric Hymn, but also in P.Köln VI 242 fr. 1.1–2, cf. 1.33, and Nonnus, D. 7.226–9, 13.439–43, 41.99–102. — 168: the Odyssean locus similis was already noted by Cassola, p. 575 (ad Hymn 19.17–18). — 180 n. 25: read 169–73. — 212–5: as a later example of theogonic cosmology, in addition to P. Derveni and Ar. Av. 685–703, one could have taken into account P.Oxy. XXXVII 2816 = SH 938. — 226: West’s reading is δρυ ̣δ̣ι̣ο̣. — 239: read ‘di una serie’. — 246 n. 54: the correct page is 136. — 303 n. 67: read “these expressions.” — 396: P.Oxy. 670 is also mentioned at pp. 9–10, 21, 32, 53, 243.

Overall, this is a detailed, learned, and exhaustive volume finally providing the scholarly community with a collection of essays on the Hymns successfully combining rigorous philological standards with a distinctive hermeneutical approach.

NOTES

[[1]] This chapter partially overlaps with West’s “The Fragmentary Homeric Hymn to Dionysus,” ZPE 134 (2001) 1–11.

[[2]] J. Clay, The Politics of Olympus (Princeton, 1989) 15–16, 267–70 on the couple Demeter–Persephone promoted by Zeus as official members of the Olympian society; H. P. Foley, The Homeric Hymn to Demeter (Princeton, 1994) 104–14 on the rape of Kore as paradigmatic of human marriage; K. Clinton, Myth and Cult: The Iconography of the Eleusinian Mysteries (Stockholm, 1992) 13–37, 96–9, 116–20); and R. Parker, “The Hymn to Demeter and the Homeric Hymns,” G&R 38 (1991) 1–17 on the cultic framework of the hymn, which may reflect some stage in the cult of Demeter at Eleusis or may be seen as providing an aetiological myth for the Thesmophoria.

[[3]] Just to mention a few: the apparent loss of textual material after lines 91 and 416; the cruces in 325 and 473 of Richardson’s edition; at line 48 for the unattested λιθορρίνοιο conjectured by West one could suggest λιπορρίνοιο “greasy-skinned,” the marrow having just being gouged out of the turtle.

[[4]] See already F. G. Welcker, Der epische Cyclus (Bonn 1865–82) II.88–91.

[[5]] Cf. already F.A. Paley, The Epics of Hesiod (London, 2nd ed. 1883) 265.

Reviews from BMCR

August 8, 2012 ~ David Meadows ~ rogueclassicist ~ Leave a comment

CJ Online Review: Munteanu, Tragic Pathos

August 8, 2012 ~ David Meadows ~ rogueclassicist ~ Leave a comment

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Dana LaCourse Munteanu, Tragic Pathos: Pity and Fear in Greek Philosophy and Tragedy. Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press, 2012. Pp. xii + 278. Hardcover, £60.00/$99.00 ISBN 978-0-521-76510-7.

Reviewed by Elizabeth Belfiore, University of Minnesota, Twin Cities

Munteanu’s book demonstrates admirably that new approaches can provide illuminating insights into much-studied topics. As she states in the Introduction: “The novelty of my study lies in recovering various cultural facets of the emotional responses to tragedy through a synthesis of sources, such as philosophical descriptions …, fragments of comic poetry, and dramatic scholia …, reports about the original tragic performances, and emotional expressions of the internal audiences (i.e. characters and chorus witnessing the suffering of others within drama). … In the treatment of each tragedy, most original are the assessments of the relationship between the emotional expressions of internal audiences and the likely and reported reactions of the external spectators” (2).

After a broad survey of issues concerning aesthetic emotions (Introduction), Part I provides some background on Indo-European drama, and studies the views of Gorgias, Plato, and Aristotle, whose ideas about catharsis are wisely relegated to an Appendix: “As the meaning of catharsis is perhaps unattainable, I have tried to turn to a more practical type of analysis of the emotions—which is an Aristotelian thing to do, after all” (250). Part II puts the theoretical ideas presented in Part I to good, practical use, by studying four plays, including one by each of the three major tragedians.

I found two key ideas, presented throughout, to be of particular interest and importance. First, Munteanu’s emphasis on the two audiences—internal and external—helps her to arrive at many original interpretations of entire plays and individual scenes, and insights into the possible responses of the original Athenian audience. She argues, for example, that Aeschylus’s Persians would have aroused in the external audience the kind of fear for the Persian army that the Queen expresses within the play, while descriptions of the army by the Chorus would have aroused fear of the enemy (Chap. 6). Prometheus Bound (Chap. 7) contains numerous appeals to pity, as Prometheus himself invites both audiences to watch and sympathize (169). Nevertheless, many of the internal responses are unlike those discussed by theorists (179–80), and the complicated responses of the internal audiences may have challenged contemporary ethical, political and religious ideas (164). Chap. 8 provides some excellent analyses of metatheatrical elements in Sophocles’ Ajax that arouse pity, and discusses ways in which the play exemplifies Aristotle’s views about tragic pity, while also going beyond Aristotle to suggest that this emotion can have the ethical benefit of sophrosynê (p. 202). I would, however, take issue with her statement that Odysseus’ pity for Ajax does not lead to direct action in this play (232–3). It could be argued that his pity leads him to help Ajax to gain burial after his death. Chap. 9 examines Euripides’ departures from the Aristotelian norm in his Orestes: “The dramatist . . . plays with the convention, suggesting infinitely more possible reactions to tragic events” (225).

Second, Munteanu focuses on the idea of seeing events in the mind’s eye, expressed in Aristotle’s injunction to the poet to bring the events “before the eyes” (Poet. 17, quoted p. 78): “Seeing with the mind’s eye, imagining, in Aristotle’s theory is the essential feature in the formation of pity: the emotion relies on one’s ability to relate to the suffering of another by envisioning a future or past similar misfortune with respect to the self. Aristotle prefers tragic plots that are so well designed that they can be imagined even without being directly seen” (231). She also calls attention throughout to the “frequent verbal references to seeing and sight” in the tragedies (231). Her detailed analyses of many specific examples help the reader to understand Aristotle’s ideas, and the powerful emotional effects of the tragedies. Her study will also enable readers to appreciate similar ideas in modern art forms, from what was called “the theater of the imagination” in the early days of radio, to this statement in Dickens’ David Copperfield (beginning of Chap. 55): “As plainly as I behold what happened, I will try to write it down. I do not recall it, but see it done; for it happens again before me.”

Less convincing is Munteanu’s account of the “proper pleasure” of tragedy, a kind of pleasure that in some way derives from the painful emotions of pity and fear (103ff.). She provides some good correctives to views (including my own) that tend to emphasize cognitive pleasure at the expense of emotion. Her ideas, however, could be better explained and supported. She identifies the “proper pleasure” of tragedy with what Aristotle calls a “supervening completion” (108ff.), but fails to provide adequate discussion of this highly controversial concept. Moreover, her statement that “the ‘proper pleasure’ of tragedy is cognitive” (131) might appear to support the very views she opposes. Finally, although Munteanu gives a good account of the pleasure of mourning as involving memory of the past (117ff.), she neglects passages in ancient sources that could be used to support her own views about the importance of non-cognitive responses. For example, in Homer, mourning often seems to be the satisfaction of desire (eros), like the desire for food or sex (e.g. Il. 24.227), and Plato writes of the tragic poet who “fills up” that part of the soul that “is starved for weeping … being of such a nature as to desire (epithumein) such things” (Rep.10.606a; see my Tragic Pleasures, Princeton, 1991, 228–9).

Finally, I note a few problems and errors.

(1) The argument is sometimes hard to follow, attempting to cover too much in too short a space. Chap. 1, on Indo-European ritual, is not sufficiently detailed to be very useful, and Chap. 3, on Plato, covers too many dialogues and subjects in too little detail. In particular, more careful analysis could have been given to important passages in Rep. 10.

(2) More attention could have been paid to relevant work on narrative theory. For example, Munteanu does not cite Irene de Jong’s important study (Narrative in Drama: The Art of the Euripidean Messenger-Speech, Leiden, 1991), which contains (108–14), good accounts of the reactions to messenger speeches of “internal addressees” and “external addressees.”

(3) There are a number of careless errors. For example, the header on p. 103, “Proper pleasure as a species of mimesis” should read “as a species of the pleasure of mimesis,” as p. 105, bottom, indicates: “tragic hedonê does appear to belong to the larger category, the hedonê of mimesis.” The capitals in the Greek quotation on p. 195 are confusing, and are not in the text of Lloyd-Jones and Wilson, the date of which is incorrectly given in the bibliography.

(4) The translations by the author are sometimes inaccurate or poor. For example, τοῦ θρηνώδους (Rep. 10.606a8-b1) is confusingly translated as “this mourning” in the long quotation (64), but accurately translated at the bottom of the same page as “the ‘grieving part’.” Important phrases are sometimes omitted from translations, e.g. διὰ μιμήσεως (71), αὐτῆς (79–80), and μᾶλλον (91). ὢ πόποι is translated by the unfortunate phrase “Oh wow” (126).

Although Tragic Pathos is not always easy to read, it well repays careful study. Munteanu opens up important new ways of approaching old problems, and a broader perspective on ancient texts. Her book has important implications for further studies of literary, philosophical, and political issues, both ancient and modern.

CJ Online Review: Foster, Wagner’s Ring Cycle and the Greeks

August 8, 2012August 8, 2012 ~ David Meadows ~ rogueclassicist ~ Leave a comment

posted with permission

Daniel H. Foster, Wagner’s Ring Cycle and the Greeks. Cambridge Studies in Opera. Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press, 2010. Pp. xx + 377. Hardcover, £58.00/$99.00. ISBN 978-0-521-51739-3.

Reviewed by Robert Rabel, University of Kentucky

Mark Twain famously quipped that Wagner’s music is better than it sounds. On the other hand, Nietzsche (sometimes) loved the music but came to detest the composer. Few listeners and critics are neutral regarding the man and/or his music, and both subjects continue to attract critical attention. The relationship between Wagner and the Greeks has received especially close scrutiny these days. Here, Daniel H. Foster offers an exciting and original view of the relationship between Wagner’s Ring Cycle and Greek literature.

According to Foster, Wagner conceived the Ring through the lens of an Hegelian-inspired theory of the development of Greek literature, so that much about the four operas can be explained in terms of their gradual movement through four stages followed in the development of literature: epic, lyric, tragedy, and comedy, the last of which Wagner believed to be implicated in the downfall of Greek civilization. In this Hegelian system, each stage in the development retains something of the prior stage and anticipates what is to come later. The first two operas create German national identity in two Greek-inspired epic stages. Das Rheingold exudes the epic flavor of cosmogony through its musical metaphor for the creation of the world. As in Hesiod, the opera also features two brothers, Mime and Alberich, who are at odds over an unfair distribution of wealth. Die Walküre then ushers in Siegmund as an epic hero. Siegfried, the third opera, deals with a hero’s search for freedom and identity and thus mimics the historically later Greek search for individualized personhood characteristic of the lyric age. Siegfried, the son of Siegmund, is uncertain about his parentage and begins the opera concerned that he might share a bloodline with his guardian Mime. In the end, Siegfried kills him. Just so Foster claims, “Wagner’s German hero must kill the Jew” (149). This identification of Mime with the Jewish people may be something of an overstatement. True, Wagner was anti-Semitic, but I am not aware that he ever explicitly identified any of his characters with the Jews, but I may be mistaken. In creating Mime, however, Wagner was perhaps thinking of his (Jewish) rival Mendelssohn. Siegfried only starts out as a lyric figure. After vanquishing the dragon and drinking its blood, he begins the transformation into a tragic hero, a process brought to fruition in Götterdämmerung. Foster considers the fourth opera as both tragedy and comedy.

Foster avoids the pitfalls characteristic of scholarship that seeks out parallels between an artist’s work and something in the past and makes claims for the presence of unmediated, direct influence. (Teresa Rondon Rota’s The Classic in Wagner: A Search for the Ring of the Nibelung in the Iliad is an extreme example of such scholarship.) Foster has a more nuanced version of reception studies. His interest is focused not on Wagner and his relationship with ancient sources but on the whole nineteenth-century German Zeitgeist through which antiquity was mediated and presented to him. Wagner was fired by scholarship on the Greeks as much as by their literature. In addition to studying the works of philosophers and scholars like Hegel and Karl Otfried Müller, Wagner authored a number of theoretical works. Foster demonstrates that Wagner’s theoretical writings do not always accord perfectly with his musical practice. For example, in his writings Wagner extols Greek tragedy and criticizes the role of Greek comedy in the dissolution of the Athenian state, but, Foster says, “the finale to the Ring is anything but a straightforward approval of the one and disapproval of the other” (195f.).

The analysis of Götterdämmerung as tragedy and comedy leaves me unsatisfied. In terms of comedy, Foster sees the opera as a kind of “Aristophanic parody.” He compares the conflagration at the end of Götterdämmerung to the conclusion of Aristophanes’ Clouds, though in the opera not even the gods escape the “cosmic bonfire” (233). Few critics, he says, have even glimpsed the joke (220f.). I have enjoyed three productions of the Ring Cycle, but I have never glimpsed the joke, nor have I even once thought of Aristophanes while sitting through Götterdämmerung. Foster argues that elements of New Comedy are also present in that characters in such comedy are often converted to a new order rather than banished from it (248). Viewing the conclusion of Götterdämmerung as a kind of Greek tragedy seems to me equally problematic because the fall of Valhalla and the demise of the gods resemble nothing to be found in Greek tragedy—except for possible intimations in the Prometheus that Zeus might eventually be overthrown.[[1]] (Novelist John Gardner once said that he loved German mythology because in the end the gods lose.)

Fans of Wagner will find this book a stimulating enterprise likely to change the way they look at Greek influence on the Ring Cycle. Even those who, like Mark Twain, think Wagner’s music is better than it sounds will read the book with enjoyment and profit—and without the pain of having to listen to how the music sounds.

NOTES

[[1]] For possible connections between the Ring and Aeschylus’ Prometheus, see Hugh Lloyd-Jones, Blood for the Ghosts: Classical Influences in the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries (Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 1983), 140–1. Foster has very little to say about the Oresteia, which is surprising given the extent of Aeschylean influence others have discerned in the Ring Cycle: see, for example, Michael Ewans, Wagner and Aeschylus: The Ring and the Oresteia (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1982).

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