Thursday, July 19, 2018

T for Tiberius revisited


[This post is an annotated reposting of an entry from 2006. That entry is probably the most influential thing I’ve ever posted on Memorabilia Antonina, an early attempt to theorize how we look at reception of classics in science fiction. A few years ago I revisited this for the Once and Future Antiquity conference at the University of Puget Sound, Tacoma, in 2015, giving a paper about how I felt the models stood up, and what I thought were the challenges facing scholars in this field. For the publication arising from that conference, I planned to revise that paper, and include the original post. Unfortunately, due to space restrictions in the volume, it wasn’t possible to include the original post. However, I had done a lot of new commentary on that post, and with the encouragement of the editors, Brett Rogers and Ben Stevens, I present the annotated version of the post. For the broader reflection, I’m afraid you’ll have to wait until the publication of Once and Future Antiquities in Science Fiction, due in December. It’ll be worth the wait – I think it’s one of the best things I’ve ever written. And there’s a lot of other great stuff in there.

I have removed images and a lengthy quotation from Stephen Baxter’s Coalescent (2003), which was included in the original post as an appendix; but otherwise I have tried to present this as it was in 2006, only correcting typos, adding references and standardizing formatting. Where greater clarification or correction is needed, I have added [2018] notes. Other notes were in the original text. Several note references have been moved to the ends of their sentences.]

[Original preface: The following is a paper I delivered at the 2006 Classical Association Conference in Newcastle. I had to edit it down to fit a twenty-minute slot, and what follows is the full-length version, with some changes as a result of points made in the subsequent discussion. … Comments and corrections are warmly invited.]

This paper forms the introduction to a planned larger work looking at a number of different aspects of the way in which SF uses the Greek and Roman classics. I shall start with two parallel, interrelating introductions.

Introduction number one:
Studying the way that classical antiquity is received in modern works changes not only the way we look at those works, but also how we look at the source material. For instance, many of my thoughts on what Athenian dramatists were actually trying to say have been formed or amplified through observation of contemporary interpretations. Sometimes the insights are quite unexpected – it wasn’t until I read Ulysses, and saw what Joyce was trying to do, to find the exact combination of English words that conveyed the precise nuance that he desired, that I finally understood what Thucydides was trying to do with Greek. And so it is with SF.

Introduction number two:
I am aware that in looking at SF, I am in danger of being perceived to be engaged in the study of the ‘banal and quotidian’ that Charles Martindale condemned in the Reception debate at the 2005 Classical Association Conference in Reading.[1] The frivolous response to such a charge would be to say that I’m just using this as an excuse to read all the books and watch all the television and films I would read and watch anyway, and call it ‘research’; but that would be rather to denigrate my own work, and potentially that of everyone else working in reception. So instead I shall defend myself from such a charge in two rather more serious ways. First of all, SF is not intrinsically banal and quotidian. (I’m not going to argue this – it just isn’t.) Secondly, even if it was, it wouldn’t matter. Martindale’s objection, in my view, confuses aesthetic value with cultural significance. I have no objection to people making aesthetic judgements, and make plenty of my own. But any such judgement I or others might make is unrelated to whether the piece of work judged is worthy of study in terms of its reception of Classical ideas. Put simply, one can say that Gladiator is a poor film, but it doesn’t follow from such an opinion that Gladiator is not important. If most people are getting their experience of the ancient world through the banal and quotidian, then it is the banal and quotidian that must be studied.

Let us start then, as an example of how SF receives the classics, with Tiberius. Not the second Roman emperor, stepson and adopted son of Augustus, but arguably the single most iconic figure in all of SF, Star Trek’s James Tiberius Kirk.

Captain Kirk’s middle name took a long time to be established. Indeed, when he was first introduced, in the second pilot of Star Trek, ‘Where No Man Has Gone Before’, his middle initial is shown on a gravestone as ‘R’. This detail had been forgotten by the next time someone wanted to give Kirk’s middle initial, and so it became ‘T’. But what this stands for remained unknown throughout the original run of Trek.

That it is ‘Tiberius’ was finally established in 1974, in an episode of the animated series of Star Trek that followed the original: ‘Bem’, written by David Gerrold. Now, almost everything that happened in the animated episodes is considered non-canonical for subsequent Trek productions. That is, they are never referred to, and no attempt is made to avoid contradicting them. But, curiously, the detail of Kirk’s middle name does get into the Star Trek canon.[2] This suggests to me that it was series creator Gene Roddenberry’s notion, rather than writer Gerrold’s.[3]

In the novelization of Star Trek: The Motion Picture (1979), there is a preface made out to be by James Kirk himself. (The novelization is credited to Roddenberry, but reportedly is actually by Alan Dean Foster, so what we have here may be Foster pretending to be Roddenberry pretending to be Kirk.[4]) In that preface, Kirk shows his classical credentials by stating that he has come to be seen as a new Ulysses and that he is uncomfortable in the role. He also explains his name:

My name is James Tiberius Kirk. Kirk because my father and his male forebears followed the old custom of passing on a family identity name. I received James because it was both the name of my father’s beloved brother as well as that of my mother’s first love instructor. Tiberius, as I am forever tired of explaining, was the Roman emperor whose life for some unfathomable reason fascinated my grandfather Samuel.[5]

Anybody who has read Suetonius’s Life of Tiberius, or is familiar with I, Claudius or Tinto Brass’s 1979 film Caligula, will know that Tiberius was notorious for the quantity, variety, and invention of his sexual perversions.[6] Several questions therefore clearly arise. What exactly was it about Tiberius that so fascinated Samuel Kirk? Do Samuel Kirk’s interests, together with James being named after his mother’s ‘love instructor’ (whatever one of those is), explain the voracious heterosexual appetite of the grandson?[7] But above all, what was Roddenberry thinking?[8]

I’d now like to examine some theoretical models. Greco-Roman elements (or indeed elements from any historical culture) can be used in SF in a number of different fashions. What follows is a rough framework for discussion, and is not meant to be a rigid categorization of use of Classical elements, but a broad heuristic tool. It is a model, and like most models, breaks down when subjected to rigorous examination. And I remain firmly in the camp of those who would rather break the model than break the evidence.

Retellings
Straight retellings of mythological tales don’t really interest me for the purposes of this paper or for the larger work. These stories, such as Weight (2005), Jeanette Winterson’s recent reinterpretation of the Atlas myth, belong in the genre of fantasy rather than SF (where they do not, as David Gemmell’s bestselling Troy: Lord of the Silver Bow [2005] does, belong in historical fiction). Of course, the boundaries between SF and fantasy are frequently blurred, as anyone familiar with the works of China Miéville will know.[9] But I don’t have time to go into a detailed discussion of the definitions of both genres, which would in any case only be my definitions, and would not necessarily be recognized by everyone. Let me just say that, in my view, SF assumes a rational explanation to everything, no matter how fantastic it might seem or how pseudo-scientific that explanation might be, whilst fantasy assumes the irrational.[10] So, gods that are in fact super-powerful aliens are SF, gods that are gods belong in fantasy. And to this latter category we must consign, as well as retellings, new tales featuring mythological characters, such as the various different film and television series featuring Hercules, stories featuring new characters in a mythological past, such as Xena: Warrior Princess, tales of the fantastic set in historical antiquity, such as Gene Wolfe’s Latro in the Mist novels,[11] or even tales of the gods still walking amongst us, such as the episodes of Hercules: The Legendary Journeys, ‘Yes Virginia, There is a Hercules’ (1998) and ‘For Those of You Just Joining Us’ (1999), where there is no science fictional element.[12]

What are the truly science fictional uses?

Allusion

First is simple allusion, brief references to ancient history or literature that are not particularly central to the story being presented. This can manifest itself in titles, without carrying any deeper message. Stanley G. Weinbaum’s 1934 story ‘A Martian Odyssey’, that later gave its name to a collection of his stories from 1949, has little in common with Homer’s epic poem beyond both being about long journeys. The same appears to be true, at least on the surface, of Stanley Kubrick’s 1968 film 2001: A Space Odyssey.[13]

Such title allusion can sometimes be not to the Graeco-Roman originals, but to other receptions, such as when Eando Binder (Earl and Otto Binder) entitled their short story ‘I, Robot’ (1939), referring to Robert Graves’s classic 1934 novel I, Claudius. (The title was later stolen by Isaac Asimov’s publisher for the first collection of Asimov’s own robot stories in 1950, much to Asimov’s annoyance, as he preferred Mind and Iron.[14])

Allusions may be in the SF work in the form of names, such as James Tiberius Kirk, already mentioned; or the use of terms like ‘imperium’, as in Keith Laumer’s Worlds of the Imperium, where the Imperium is the name of the principal state in the story.[15] In the latter case, the name of that state may have inspired first-edition cover artist Ed Valigursky to put Roman-style helmets on the figures illustrated.[16]

More substantially, classical allusion may be used to comment on the situation in which the characters find themselves. One such may be found in an episode of the sequel to Star Trek, Star Trek: The Next Generation, ‘Best of Both Worlds’ (1990). Faced with the Borg, an implacable enemy that may destroy the Federation, Captain Jean-Luc Picard muses on whether this was how the emperor Honorius felt in 410 ce as the Goths descended upon Rome. The purpose of the allusion is not always so immediately clear. In Ken MacLeod’s novel The Stone Canal (1996), two drunk men sit by the Forth Estuary and talk about how this is where Rome stopped (a reference in keeping with the theme of the Newcastle conference, ‘On the Frontier’). The immediate significance of this isn’t apparent on first reading, though there does seem to be something of a meme in recent British literary SF of scenes with two blokes drinking and talking about the Roman empire – there is a similar scene from Stephen Baxter’s Coalescent (2003), though there it’s more obviously relevant, as the story begins in early fourth century ce Roman Britain.[17] This meme may go back to the American author Philip K. Dick, whose characters, as the SF critic Andrew M. Butler has shown, often muse on Rome – even before Dick’s (presumably drug-induced) visions of being himself transported back to the late first century ce.[18]

However, MacLeod is a man with interests in classical antiquity – he is well-versed in the Epicureans and Stoics, and the works of Lucretius and Marcus Aurelius – so the reference in his case is unlikely to be gratuitous.[19] As one reads The Stone Canal further, it becomes clear that the novel is very interested in the limits of empire, and that may be why MacLeod has included this scene.[20]

These allusions make important points about popular understanding of antiquity. Classicists know that Honorius was actually in his capital Ravenna at the time of the sack of Rome, but the writers of Star Trek clearly don’t.[21] Ken MacLeod probably does know that to say that Rome stopped at the Antonine Wall is an oversimplification that ignores the Flavian, Antonine, and Severan penetrations further into Scotland; but his characters, two drunk blokes talking shite, can’t necessarily be expected to have that knowledge.

Appropriation
A step up from allusion is appropriation, the depiction of a society or individual which has in some method consciously modelled itself upon Greco-Roman (or other historical) precedents. For examples of this I turn once again (but for the last time) to Star Trek. A non-classical instance is the episode ‘A Piece of the Action’ (1968), in which a planetary culture is encountered that imitates Chicago mobsters of the 1930s. ‘Plato’s Stepchildren’ (1968) provides a classical example. This episode was controversial in the United States because it reportedly featured the first depiction of an interracial kiss on network television, and was banned in the UK, probably because of a sado-masochistic whipping scene that suggests Jim Kirk may know more about his grandfather’s fascination with Tiberius than he’s letting on. But my interest in it is because it features a society that has allegedly modelled itself upon Plato’s ideal state. However, I doubt Plato ever envisaged his philosopher kings as being in addition super-powerful psychokinetics, and I also doubt that the episode’s writer, Meyer Dolinsky, had read much Platonic philosophy – certainly there’s little sign of it in the episode.[22]

Allusion aside, appropriation is far and away the most plausible form of reception of the classics in SF, as it is simply imagined societies and individuals doing what real historical cultures, such as Napoleonic France or Fascist Italy, did. However, it is also one of the least common. Nazis seem to be much more popular for this sort of story (q.v. Star Trek, ‘Patterns of Force’, 1968).

Interaction
More frequent is what I call, perhaps somewhat misleadingly (and not necessarily in honour of the 2005 Worldcon), interaction. This covers stories actually featuring the cultures or individuals (real or imagined) of the classical past, or some continuation of the same. The locus classicus for this sort of tale, of course, is the long-running BBC television series Doctor Who, a show based around the concept of travel in time and space. And indeed, the Doctor has on his travels visited Rome at the time of Nero, the Trojan War, and the pre-Hellenic Aegean in the age of Atlantis, and encountered displaced Roman soldiers and creatures of classical myth; and more such stories are to be found in spin-off novels and audio dramatizations.[23] But interaction can be seen elsewhere. There are two consecutive 1974 stories from ITV’s 1970s rival to Doctor Who, The Tomorrow People.[24] In the second, A Rift In Time, the Tomorrow People travel back to the Roman period (and inadvertently interfere in human history by bringing about the Industrial Revolution a thousand years too early, forcing them to go back and put it right). In the first, The Blue and the Green, more unusually, they find themselves up against entities which promoted the rivalry between factions in the Roman circus. For a literary example, Stephen Baxter’s Coalescent, already mentioned, concerns a secret society whose origins lie in fifth-century CE Rome. Or one might encounter a Princess who comes from among the Amazons, who have kept themselves sealed off from Man’s World for millennia (the origin of William Moulton Marston’s superheroine Wonder Woman).[25]

It is in these sorts of stories that I think one can start to see what SF can do that other forms of reception perhaps can’t as easily.

As an example, I take Helen of Troy. Casting Helen, the most beautiful woman in the world, is very difficult for a naturalistic stage, film or television production, since beauty is such a subjective concept. My favourite exemplar of this is Michael Cacoyannis’s film of Euripides’s Trojan Women (1970). Cacoyannis cast Irene Papas in the role, who was his wife, and therefore his idea of perfection in female beauty.[26] But she’s not mine, especially not when the same film features Vanessa Redgrave at her most radiant in the role of Andromache. When Doctor Who tackled the Trojan War, in a 1965 story called ‘The Myth Makers’, writer Donald Cotton solved this problem simply by never bringing Helen on screen, and thus her appearance always remains in the viewers’ imaginations. Now, it might well be said that any writer of historical fiction could pull the same trick, but I’m not sure that a non-SF treatment would think to exclude Helen in this way. More likely they would take the approach of Eric Shanower’s series of graphic novels Age of Bronze (1998 onwards), where Helen’s supreme beauty is a rumour spread by Odysseus to motivate the Greek army. This is a realistic approach, but for me lacks the elegance of Cotton’s trick. However, the trick is not unique to SF, as Hector Berlioz in the nineteenth century omitted Helen from the onstage cast of Les Troyens (1890), and it may well have been this which gave Cotton the idea.[27]

If the example of Helen is something that genres other than SF can do, then a convincing portrayal of the Greek gods is much more SF’s province. Nick Lowe has observed that almost all recent treatments of the Trojan War have excluded the direct involvement of the gods, either through eliminating them entirely or through segregating them from the principal human characters.[28] This is true not just of Wolfgang Petersen’s film Troy (2004), which was much criticised for this aspect (as well as others), but also of Shanower’s Age of Bronze and Gemmell’s Troy, and (as far as I am aware) of Lindsay Clarke’s The War at Troy (2004) and Valerio Massimo Manfredi’s The Talisman of Troy (2004).[29] According to Lowe, the only recent treatment of the Trojan War to successfully integrate the gods is Dan Simmons’s SF novel Ilium (2003; the sequel, Olympos appeared in 2005). There advanced technology takes the place of the divine power that seems to embarrass other writers interested in writing historical adventures; the gods’ Mount Olympos becomes Olympus Mons on Mars.[30]

Into this category I would also put stories dealing with alternate histories (or ‘counterfactuals’ for authors worried that they might otherwise be accused of writing SF), e.g. ones where Rome never fell.[31] The two characters in Baxter’s Coalescent are discussing what might have happened had the western Roman empire survived, and such a notion is at the heart of Robert Silverberg’s Roma Eterna (2003),[32] and of Sophia McDougall’s recent Romanitas (2005). In Silverberg’s collection of stories, the combined factors of the Jewish Exodus from Egypt ending in disaster, and a different emperor succeeding Septimius Severus, lead to the survival of the Roman empire past the twentieth century.

Alternate history, to my mind, makes us ask new questions of the ancient world. Classicists often look at, for instance, how the Roman empire worked, but less often, I feel, at questions of whether the Roman empire was a good thing or not. Would we want it to survive? Would we want to live in a state which, though it brought order and peace, was a slave-owning military dictatorship where freedom to criticize the government was severely limited? Looking at alternate histories prompt us to ask such questions, even if they were not always in the original authors’ minds.

Sometimes the connection between alternate history and scholarship can be even closer, and alternate history can take on the form of academic discourse, as in Neville Morley’s brilliant paper to the 1999 Classical Association Conference: ‘Trajan’s Engines’, a scholarly examination of technological feats the Romans never actually achieved.[33] So well done is this that some were fooled, and it still crops up in some online bibliographies of writing on Trajan.

Borrowing
My fourth category, borrowing, is much like appropriation, in that elements of classical antiquity are used to build an imagined society. The difference is that in this case only the author and audience are aware of the origins of features of the imagined culture    the members of the culture themselves are not, and cannot be, for there is no connection between them and Earth’s antiquity.

Sometimes this borrowing can be as minor as simply the use of nomenclature. Greek and Latin can be a reliable source of names that are sufficiently unfamiliar to a readership to be credibly alien, yet retain the ring of something that might actually be spoken, rather than something that an author has made up off the top of their head. This is especially the case where a name does not conjure a particular individual in the popular imagination.[34] M. John Harrison takes the Roman name of Wroxeter, Viriconium, for a fictional city at the centre of a sequence of what are strictly speaking fantasy stories, but ones with a strong SF undercurrent.[35] In the paper that formed the other part of the panel in which the current paper was presented, Amanda Potter commented on the use of names like Apollo, Athena, and Cassiopeia in Battlestar Galactica;[36] I would also note the use in that series of the Zodiac to denote the Twelve Human Colonies.

Another example came be drawn from the Planet of the Apes franchise. There the characters played by Roddy McDowall are called ‘Cornelius’ in Planet of the Apes (1968), Beneath the Planet of the Apes (1970) – though there the character was played by David Watson – and Escape from the Planet of the Apes (1971), ‘Caesar’ in Conquest of the Planet of the Apes (1972) and Battle for the Planet of the Apes (1973), and ‘Galen’ in the Planet of the Apes television series (1974). This is, it must be admitted, a slightly problematic case. Caesar appears in two films that take place in what was then the near future, when there would still presumably be access to Roman history. Though in the others knowledge of human history has been lost by the apes, it remains possible that some names might survive. However, this example does illustrate the way genuine Latin names can then be supplemented by ones with a pseudo-Latin feel, such as the orang-utan Dr Zaius in Planet… and Beneath…[37]

For an example where Classical sources have been used to help imagine an entire culture that can have no connection with those sources, we can go a long, long time ago to a galaxy far, far away. I am, of course, talking about Mike Butterworth and Don Lawrence’s classic comic, The Trigan Empire, which has been described by Neil Gaiman as ‘the story of something a lot like an SF Roman Empire on a distant planet’.[38] It is in fact a great deal more, and Butterworth and Lawrence used popular views of the Greeks, Mongols, and Saharan nomads to populate the planet of Elekton. But it is the SF Augustus, Trigo himself, and the Roman trappings of his empire, that are always remembered.

It is also the case that George Lucas’s Star Wars films (commencing in 1977 with Star Wars) take much of their political terminology (Republic, Empire, Senate, etc.) from Rome, and even the broad outline of the galaxy’s political history (the change from Republic to Empire). Some of this has come via the influential Foundation novels of Isaac Asimov, which helped establish the popular space opera trope of the Galactic Empire, and themselves draw upon two classically-related sources, Edward Gibbon’s Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire (1776-1788) and Thucydides’ History of the Peloponnesian War.[39] But not all of the Roman elements in Lucas’s work have come from Asimov. Lucas may not have consulted any classical sources or works on Roman history himself, but he is clearly familiar with cinematic interpretations of Rome’s past.[40]

This is shown if we move from the sublime to the ridiculous, which in this case means moving from Episodes IV-VI of the Star Wars series to the more recently made Episodes I-III.[41] In The Phantom Menace (1999), not only does the capital of the planet of Naboo draw its appearance partly from many reconstructions of ancient Rome, as well as being reminiscent of the modern city (and other cities such as Istanbul), but a triumphal sequence at the end is stolen shot-for-shot from Commodus’ arrival in Rome from Anthony Mann’s Fall of the Roman Empire (1964).[42]

This sort of reception in SF through a previous reception can also be seen in the Doctor Who story The Robots of Death (1976). The robot faces in that story derive ultimately from a Greek comic mask (itself presumably influenced by the archaic kouros).[43] But the production designer for Doctor Who has gone not to Greek originals, but to the appropriation of Greek objects by the Art Deco movement.

Stealing
My next category is one step up from borrowingstealing. Here not just elements of the background or foreground have been taken from an ancient culture, but the story itself derives from a classical original. This approach is, of course, not unique to SF. Two non-SF examples are James Joyce’s Ulysses (1922), and the Coen brothers’ movie O Brother Where Art Thou? (2000), both of which take Homer’s Odyssey as their source text (though both depart from it considerably).[44]

In SF there is Brian Stableford’s Dies Irae trilogy (all 1971), which draws heavily upon the Iliad in its first volume and upon the Odyssey in its second. The Odyssey is again used in R.A. Lafferty’s novel Space Chantey (1968).[45] Robert Silverberg’s The Man in the Maze (1969) is a retelling of Sophocles’ play Philoctetes, even retaining Lemnos as the name of the planet to which his Philoctetes-equivalent has been exiled.

The use of the term ‘stealing’ is not necessarily meant to pass any judgement on the merit of works that take this approach. Some, such as Joyce’s novel, are high art. However, sometimes stealing (or indeed borrowing) seems to encourage a laziness in writing, a sense that all the work has already been done for the writer, so they needn’t bother. There are two Doctor Who stories from the late 1970s that exemplify this. One, ‘Underworld’ (1978), is a reworking of the Jason and the Argonauts myth; the other, ‘The Horns of Nimon’ (1979-1980), retells Theseus’s adventure in the Cretan Labyrinth. Neither is very good, and through the use of anagrams for names (for instance, Herick and Tala for Heracles and Atalanta in the first, and Aneth and Skonnos for Athens and Knossos in the second) come close to insulting the intelligence.[46] (I said earlier that reception studies allows one to revisit favourite works of art and media, but sometimes you have to watch ‘The Horns of Nimon’ again.)

Ghosting
At Nick Lowe’s suggestion, I have added a final category, ghosting. This covers stories where no direct influence of classical originals can be established, but where nevertheless there are strong hints of themes derived from antiquity. Once could in this category talk of the possible influence of the Jason myth upon 2001 – both are stories in which an adventurer goes beyond the limits of the known universe in order to recover wondrous artefacts. However, this category is inherently nebulous, and such connections can be difficult to establish. Moreover, one can start to see them everywhere, especially since, as most recently demonstrated by Simon Goldhill, western civilization is deeply rooted in the classics.[47]

That concludes my tentative framework. It oversimplifies, breaks down when applied to examples that cross the boundaries, and may be of little use to anyone else – but I find it useful for myself and for my work.

Given western civilization’s roots in the classics, it is inevitable that classical references will be found throughout SF, and no study can hope to cover them all. But I believe that looking at how the two areas interact can be valuable for both. For classics and SF are both areas that can be used to put a comforting distance between subject and audience.[48] It can be easier to comment on modern imperialism if you take as your background the Peloponnesian War or the far future.

It’s worth noting the differences, though. Edith Hall has pointed out to me that Joyce in particular (and others) uses the classics as a peg of familiarity in order to allow himself to write a more avant-garde literary work. Derek Walcott does something similar when he uses the Odyssey for his ambitious poem Omeros (1990). SF, on the other hand, tends not to do this, as the genre can often be conservative in terms of literary form, and is already attempting to get its readership to buy into novel ideas, and cannot always afford to load novel structure upon that.

Nevertheless, classics will continue to be received in science fiction[49] – and indeed my next reading matter is Stephen Baxter’s new novel Emperor (2006).[50]
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Winterson, Jeanette. 2005. Weight: The Myth of Atlas and Hercules (Edinburgh: Canongate Books).
Wolfe, Gene. 1986. Soldier of the Mist (London: Gollancz).
Wolfe, Gene. 1989. Soldier of Arete (New York: Tor).
Wolfe, Gene. 2010. Soldier of Sidon (New York: Tor).

Films, Television, and Audio
2001: A Space Odyssey. 1968. Dir. Stanley Kubrick, scr. Stanley Kubrick & Arthur C. Clarke. Performed by Keir Dullea and Gary Lockwood. USA/UK: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer.
Battle for the Planet of the Apes. 1973. Dir. J. Lee Thompson, scr. John Willaim Corrington & Joyce Hooper Corrington. Performed by Roddy McDowall, Claude Akins, and Natalie Trundy. USA: APJAC Productions.
Battlestar Galactica. 1978. TV. Prod. Glen A. Larson. Performed by Lorne Greene, Richard Hatch, and Dirk Benedict. USA: Glen A. Larson Productions.
Battlestar Galactica. 2003-2009. TV. Developed by Ronald D. Moore. Performed by Edward James Olmos and Mary McDonnell. USA: David Eick Productions and R&D TV.
Ben-Hur. 1959. Dir. William Wyler, scr. Karl Tunberg. Performed by Charlton Heston and Jack Hawkins. USA: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer.
Beneath the Planet of the Apes. 1970. Dir. Ted Post, scr. Paul Dehn. Performed by James Franciscus, Kim Hunter, Maurice Evans, and Linda Harrison. USA: APJAC Productions.
Caligula. 1979. Dir. Tinto Brass, scr. Gore Vidal. Performed by Malcolm McDowell. Penthouse Films International.
Conquest of the Planet of the Apes. 1972. Dir. J. Lee Thompson, scr. Paul Dehn. Performed by Roddy McDowall, Don Murray, and Ricardo Montalban. USA: APJAC Productions.
Dawn of the Planet of the Apes. 2014. Dir. Matt Reeves. Performed by Gary Oldman, Keri Russell, and Andy Serkis. USA: Chernin Entertainment.
Doctor Who. 1963-1989, 2005-. TV, UK: BBC.
Doctor Who, ‘The Romans’. 1964. TV. Dir. Christopher Barry, scr. Dennis Spooner. Performed by William Hartnell. UK: BBC.
Doctor Who, ‘The Myth Makers’. 1965. TV. Dir. Michael Leeston-Smith, scr. Donald Cotton. Performed by William Hartnell. UK: BBC.
Doctor Who, ‘The Mind Robber’. 1968. TV. Dir. David Maloney, scr. Peter Ling. Performed by Patrick Troughton. UK: BBC.
Doctor Who, ‘The War Games’. 1969. TV. Dir. David Maloney, scr. Terrance Dicks & Malcolm Hulke. Performed by Patrick Troughton. UK: BBC.
Bernard, Paul (dir.). 1972. Doctor Who,The Time Monster’. 1972. TV. Dir. Paul Bernard, scr. Robert Sloman. Performed by Jon Pertwee. UK: BBC.
Doctor Who, ‘The Robots of Death’. 1976. TV. Dir Michael E. Briant, scr. Chris Boucher. Performed by Tom Baker. UK: BBC.
Doctor Who, ‘Underworld’. 1978. TV. Dir. Norman Stewart, scr. Bob Baker & Dave Martin. Performed by Tom Baker. UK: BBC.
Doctor Who, ‘The Horns of Nimon’. 1979-1980. TV. Dir. Kenny McBain, scr. Anthony Read. Performed by Tom Baker. UK: BBC.
Doctor Who,The Council of Nicaea’. 2005. Audio. Dir Gary Russell, scr. Caroline Symcox. Performed by Peter Davison. Big Finish.
Escape from the Planet of the Apes. 1971. Dir. Don Taylor, scr. Paul Dehn. Performed by Roddy McDowall, Kim Hunter, and Bradford Dillman. USA: APJAC Productions.
Gladiator. 2000. Dir. Ridley Scott, scr. David Franzoni and John Logan and William Nicholson. Performed by Russell Crowe. USA/UK: Scott Free Productions.
Hercules: The Legendary Journeys, ‘Yes Virginia, There is a Hercules’. 1998. TV. Dir. Christopher Graves, scr. Alex Kurtzman & Roberto Orci. Performed by Kevin Sorbo. USA/New Zealand: Renaissance Pictures.
Hercules: The Legendary Journeys, ‘For Those of You Just Joining Us’. 1999. TV. Dir. Bruce Campbell, scr. Alex Kurtzman & Roberto Orci. Performed by Kevin Sorbo. USA/New Zealand: Renaissance Pictures.
I Claudius. 1976. TV. Dir. Herbert Wise, scr. Jack Pulman. Performed by Derek Jacobi. UK: BBC.
The Last Legion. 2007. Dir. Doug Lefler, scr. Jez Butterworth & Tom Butterworth. Performed by Colin Firth, Ben Kingsley, and Aishwarya Rai. UK/Italy/France/Tunisia: Dino De Laurentiis Company.
The Lieutenant. 1963-1964. Prod. Gene Roddenberry. Performed by Gary Lockwood, Robert Vaughn, and John Milford. USA: MGM Television.
O Brother Where Art Thou? 2000. Dir. & scr. Joel Coen & Ethan Coen. Performed by George Clooney, John Tuturro, Tim Blake Nelson, and John Goodman. USA: Touchstone Pictures.
Planet of the Apes. 1968. Dir. Franklin J. Schaffner, scr. Michael Wilson and Rod Serling. Performed by Charlton Heston. USA: APJAC Productions.
Planet of the Apes. 1974. TV. Prod. Stan Hough. Performed by Roddy McDowall, Ron Harper, James Naughton, and Mark Lenard. USA: CBS.
Planet of the Apes. 2001. Dir. Tim Burton, scr. William Broyles, Jr., and Lawrence Konner & Mark Rosenthal. Performed by Mark Wahlberg. USA: The Zanuck Company.
Rise of the Planet of the Apes. 2011. Dir. Rupert Wyatt, scr. Rick Jaffa & Amanda Silver. Performed by James Franco, Andy Serkis, and Freida Pinto. USA: Chernin Entertainment.
The Robe. 1953. Dir. Henry Koster, scr. Philip Dunne and Albert Maltz Performed by Richard Burton, Jean Simmons, Victor Mature, and Michael Rennie. USA: 20th Century Fox.
Salome. 1953. Dir. William Dieterle, scr. Harry Kleiner. Performed by Rita Hayworth and Stewart Granger. USA: Columbia Pictures.
Star Trek, ‘Where No Man Has Gone Before’. 1966. TV. Dir. James Goldstone, scr. Samuel A. Peeples. Performed by William Shatner and Leonard Nimoy. USA: Desilu Productions.
Star Trek, ‘Who Mourns for Adonais?’ 1967. TV. Dir. Marc Daniels, scr. Gilbert Ralston. Performed by William Shatner, Leonard Nimoy, and DeForrest Kelley. USA: Desilu Productions.
Star Trek, ‘A Piece of the Action’. 1968. TV. Dir. James Komack, scr. David P. Harmon and Gene L. Coon. Performed by William Shatner, Leonard Nimoy, and DeForrest Kelley. USA: Desilu Productions.
McEveety, Vincent. 1968. Star Trek, ‘Patterns of Force’. 1968. TV. Dir. Vincent McEveety, scr. John Meredyth Lucas. Performed by William Shatner, Leonard Nimoy, and DeForrest Kelley. USA: Desilu Productions.
Star Trek, ‘Plato’s Stepchildren’. 1968. TV. Dir. David Alexander, scr. Meyer Dolinsky. Performed by William Shatner, Leonard Nimoy, and DeForrest Kelley. USA: Desilu Productions.
Star Trek, ‘Bem’. 1974. TV. Dir. Bill Reed, scr. David Gerrold. Performed by William Shatner, Leonard Nimoy, and DeForrest Kelley. USA: Filmation.
Star Trek: The Motion Picture. 1979. Dir. Robert Wise, scr. Harold Livingston. Performed by William Shatner, Leonard Nimoy, and DeForest Kelley. USA: Paramount Pictures.
Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country. 1991. Dir. Nicholas Meyer, scr. Nicholas Meyer & Denny Martin Flinn. Performed by William Shatner, Leonard Nimoy, and DeForest Kelley. USA: Paramount Pictures.
Star Trek: The Next Generation, ‘The Best of Both Worlds, Part 1’. 1990. TV. Dir, Cliff Bole, scr. Michael Piller. Performed by Patrick Stewart, Jonathan Frakes, and Brent Spiner. USA: Paramount Domestic Television.
Star Wars. 1977. Dir. & scr. George Lucas. Performed by Mark Hamill, Harrison Ford, and Carrie Fisher. USA: Lucasfilm.
Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back. 1980. Dir. Irvin Kershner, scr. Leigh Brackett and Lawrence Kasdan. Performed by Mark Hamill, Harrison Ford, and Carrie Fisher. USA: Lucasfilm.
Star Wars: Return of the Jedi. 1983. Dir Richard Marquand, scr. Lawrence Kasdan and George Lucas. Performed by Mark Hamill, Harrison Ford, and Carrie Fisher. USA: Lucasfilm.
Star Wars: Episode I – The Phantom Menace. 1999. Dir. & scr. George Lucas. Performed by Liam Neeson, Ewan McGregor, Natalie Portman, Jake Lloyd, and Ian McDiarmid. USA: Lucasfilm.
Star Wars: Episode II – Attack of the Clones. 2001. Dir. George Lucas, scr. George Lucas and Jonathan Hales. Performed by Ewan McGregor, Natalie Portman, and Hayden Christensen. USA: Lucasfilm.
Star Wars: Episode III – Revenge of the Sith. 2005. Dir. & scr. George Lucas. Performed by Ewan McGregor, Natalie Portman, and Hayden Christensen. USA: Lucasfilm.
The Tomorrow People, ‘The Blue and the Green’. 1974. TV. Dir. & scr. Roger Price. Performed by Elizabeth Adare, Nicholas Young, and Peter Vaughan-Clarke. UK: Thames Television.
The Tomorrow People, ‘A Rift in Time’. 1974. TV. Dir Darrol Blake, scr. Roger Price. Performed by Elizabeth Adare, Nicholas Young, and Peter Vaughan-Clarke. UK: Thames Television.
The Trojan Women. 1970. Dir. & scr. Michael Cacoyannis. Performed by Katherine Hepburn and Vanessa Redgrave. UK/USA/Greece: Josef Shaftel Productions.
Troy. 2004. Dir. Wolfgang Petersen, scr. David Benioff. Performed by Brad Pitt, Eric Bana, and Orlando Bloom. USA/Malta: Helena Productions & Plan B Entertainment.
Troy: Fall of a City. 2018. TV. Created by David Farr. Performed by Louis Hunter, Christiaan Schoombie, and Jonas Armstrong. UK/USA: BBC/Netflix.
War for the Planet of the Apes. Dir. Matt Reeves, scr. Mark Bomback & Matt Reeves. Performed by Andy Serkis, Woody Harrelson, and Steve Zahn. USA: Chernin Entertainment and TSG Entertainment.
Xena: Warrior Princess. 1995-2001. Prod. Robert Tapert & Sam Raimi. Performed by Lucy Lawless. USA/New Zealand: Renaissance Pictures.

Secondary scholarship
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Bondanella, Peter. 1987. The Eternal City: Roman Images in the Modern World (Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press).
Butler, Andrew M. 2007. The Pocket Essential Philip K. Dick. Revised ed. (Harpenden: Pocket Essentials).
Drew, Brian, 2014. ‘Exclusive: David Gerrold Talks Star Trek’s Legacy & Humor + Relationships w/ Roddenberry & Coon + More’, TrekMovie.com, https://trekmovie.com/2014/09/08/exclusive-david-gerrold-talks-star-treks-legacy-humor-relationships-w-roddenberry-coon-more/, 8 September 2014. Accessed 18 May 2018.
Gaiman, Neil. 2003. ‘Deja Late. Also Some Nudity’, Neil Gaiman: Journal, 30 December 2003. http://journal.neilgaiman.com/2003_12_01_archive.html. Accessed 18 May 2018.
Gaiman, Neil. 2005. ‘On Viriconium: Some Notes Toward an Introduction’, in Viriconium, by M. John Harrison (New York: Bantam Spectra), xi-xiv.
Gibbon, Edward. 1776-1788. The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire (London: Strahan & Cadell).
Goldhill, Simon. 2004. Love, Sex & Tragedy: How the Ancient World Shapes Our Lives (London: John Murray).
Graves, Robert (trans.). 2007 [1957]. Suetonius: The Twelve Caesars. Revised ed. (London: Penguin Classics).
Hammond, Martin (trans.). 2009. Thucydides: The Peloponnesian War (Oxford: Oxford University Press).
Hanley, Tim. 2014. Wonder Woman Unbound: The Curious History of the World’s Most Famous Heroine (Chicago: Chicago Review Press).
Hardwick, Lorna. 2003. Reception Studies (Oxford: Oxford University Press).
Keen, Tony. 2005. ‘Troy: A Reflection’, Academia.edu. https://www.academia.edu/1193533/Troy_A_Reflection. Accessed 18 May 2018.
Keen, Tony. 2006a. ‘The ‘T’ Stands for Tiberius: Models and Methodologies of Classical Reception in Science Fiction’, Memorabilia Antonina, 10 April 2006. http://tonykeen.blogspot.co.uk/2006/04/t-stands-for-tiberius-models-and.html. Accessed 18 May 2018.
Keen, Tony. 2006b. ‘Emperor by Stephen Baxter’, Vector: The Critical Journal of the British Science Fiction Association 250: 19-20.
Keen, Tony. 2006c. ‘Is 2001 an Odyssey or an Argonautica?’ ‘Concussion’, British National Science Fiction Convention, Glasgow, 16 April 2006. (Unpublished.)
Keen, Tony. 2007a. ‘Soldier of Sidon by Gene Wolfe’, Strange Horizons, 2 November 2007. http://www.strangehorizons.com/reviews/2007/11/soldier_of_sido.shtml. Accessed 18 May 2018.
Keen, Tony. 2007b. ‘A Secret Psychohistory: Appropriating Gibbon in Asimov’s Foundation’, ‘Science Fiction and the Canon’, Anglia Ruskin University, Cambridge, 24 March 2007. (Unpublished.)
Keen, Tony. 2010. ‘It’s about Tempus: Greece and Rome in “Classic” Doctor Who’, in Space and Time: Essays on Visions of History in Science Fiction and Fantasy Television, edited by David C. Wright, Jr., and Allan W. Austin (Jefferson, NC: McFarland), 100-115.
Keen, Tony. 2011. ‘Putting the Past into the Future: The Time’s Tapestry Sequence’, Vector: The Critical Journal of the British Science Fiction Association 265: 29-33.
Keen, Tony. 2012. ‘I, Sidious: Historical Dictators and Senator Palpatine’s Rise to Power’, in Star Wars and History, edited by Nancy R. Reagin and Janice Liedl (Hoboken, NJ: Wiley) 125-149.
Keen, Tony. 2015. ‘Mr. Lucian in Suburbia: Links between the True History and The First Men in the Moon’, in Classical Traditions in Science Fiction, edited by Brett M. Rogers and Benjamin Eldon Stevens, 105-120. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Keen, Tony, 2018. ‘Homer Beyond the Stars: 2001 as a Reception of the Odyssey?’ Classical Association Annual Conference, University of Leicester, 7 April 2018. (Unpublished.)
Lewis, David K. 1973. Counterfactuals. Oxford: Blackwell.
Lowe, Nick. 2005. ‘Little Iliads: Dramatising Homer from Rhesus to Troy’, Greenwood Theatre, London, 10 February 2005. (Unpublished.)
MacLeod, Ken. 2006. ‘Where I Get My Other Ideas From’, The Early Days of a Better Nation, 9 March 2006. http://kenmacleod.blogspot.co.uk/2006/03/where-i-get-my-other-ideas-from-couple.html. 29 April 2018.
Martindale, Charles A. 2005. ‘Reception and the Classics of the Future’, CUCD Bulletin 34.
Martindale, Charles A. 2006. ‘Introduction: Thinking through Reception’, In Classics and the Uses of Reception, edited by Charles Martindale and Richard F. Thomas, 1-13. Oxford: Blackwell.
Martindale, Charles A. 2013. ‘Reception – A New Humanism? Receptivity, Pedagogy, the Transhistorical’, Classical Receptions Journal 5: 169-183.
Morley, Neville. 2000. ‘Trajan’s Engines’, Greece and Rome n.s. 47: 197-210.
Potter, Amanda. 2006. ‘Pandora and the Pythia: Classics Meets 9/11 in the Current US TV Series Battlestar Galactica’, Classical Association Annual Conference, University of Newcastle-upon-Tyne, April 2006. (Unpublished.)
Potter, Amanda. 2018. ‘Greek Myth in the Whoniverse’, In Ancient Greece on British Television, edited by Fiona Hobden and Amanda Wrigley, 168-186. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press.
Rinzler, Jonathan W. 2007. The Making of Star Wars: The Definitive Story Behind the Original Film. London: Ebury Press.
Rogers, Brett M. 2015. ‘Hybrids and Homecomings in the Odyssey and Alien Resurrection’, In Classical Traditions in Science Fiction, edited by Brett M. Rogers and Benjamin Eldon Stevens, 217-242. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Rogers, Brett M., and Stevens, Benjamin Eldon (eds). 2018. Once and Future Antiquities in Science Fiction and Fantasy (London: Bloomsbury) (forthcoming).
Sandifer, Philip. 2013. A Golden Thread: An Unofficial Critical History of Wonder Woman. Eruditorum Press.
Shatner, William. 1979, Shatner: Where No Man. The Authorized Biography of William Shatner. New York: Grosset and Dunlap.
Silverman, David S. 2015. ‘Always Bring Phasers to an Animated Canon Fight: Saturday Morning’s Animated Trek Adventures’, In Gene Roddenberry’s Star Trek: The Original Cast Adventures, edited by Douglas Brode and Shea T. Brode, 153-164. Lanham, MD: Scarecrow.
Stableford, Brian. 1999 [1993]. ‘Proto Science Fiction’, In The Encyclopedia of Science Fiction, edited by John Clute and Peter Nichols, 965-967. Corrected edition. London: Orbit Books.
Stableford, Brian. 2016. ‘Proto SF’, The Encyclopedia of Science Fiction, 22 January 2016. http://www.sf-encyclopedia.com/entry/proto_sf. Accessed 28 April 2018.
StarTrek.com. 2003. ‘How do the Star Trek Novels and Comic Books fit into the Star Trek Universe? What is Considered Star Trek ‘Canon’?’ 7 October 2003. https://web.archive.org/web/20090302095452/http://www.startrek.com/startrek/view/help/faqs/faq/676.html. Accessed 29 April 2018.
Tescar, Kail. N.d. ‘The David Gerrold TAS Interview’, Star Trek: The Animated Series. http://www.startrekanimated.com/tas_david_gerrold.html. Accessed 27 August 2016.
Tomasso, Vincent. 2008. ‘The Gods Problem in Gene Wolfe’s Soldier of the Mist’, in Once and Future Antiquities in Science Fiction and Fantasy, edited by Brett M. Rogers and Benjamin Eldon Stevens (London: Bloomsbury, 2018) (forthcoming).
Turtledove, Harry. 1977. The Immediate Successors of Justinian: A Study of the Persian Problem and of Continuity and Change in Internal Secular Affairs in the Later Roman Empire During the Reigns of Justin II and Tiberius II Constantine (AD 565-582). PhD thesis, UCLA.
Winkler, Martin M. 2001. ‘Star Wars and the Roman empire’, In Classical Myth and Culture in the Cinema, edited by Martin M. Winkler, 272-290. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
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Woledge, Elizabeth. 2005. ‘Decoding Desire: From Kirk and Spock to K/S’, Social Semiotics 15: 235-250.



[1]     [2018: Subsequently published in Martindale 2005 and 2006: 11, and defended in Martindale 2013: 176-177.  For critiques, see Winkler 2009: 12-13, and Bakogianni 2017: 481.]
[2]     Technically not until mentioned on-screen in Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country (1991). [2018: On canon in the Star Trek universe, see StarTrek.com 2003, and Silverman 2015: 159.]
[3]     [2018: Gerrold has always claimed it was his idea, come up with at a Star Trek convention in 1973. However, his story has changed over the years. Originally he claimed that he took inspiration from the BBC series I Claudius (1976); but that was first broadcast two years after ‘Bem’. He later said that he had been reading a book on Roman history. An added factor is that the protagonist of an earlier Roddenberry series, The Lieutenant (1963-1964), also had the middle name ‘Tiberius’, something Gerrold claims to have been unaware of until 2014. Forty years on, whose idea the name actually was is probably irrecoverable. See Tescar n.d., Drew 2014, and Silverman 2015: 159, 163 n. 79. Silverman reports a third version of the story, where Gerrold got the name from reading Robert Graves’ novel I, Claudius (1934); this is probably a conflation of the first and second versions.]
[4]     [2018: This is probably untrue. Persistent rumour suggested that Foster, rather than Roddenberry, wrote the novelization. However, although Foster wrote the original story for Star Trek: The Motion Picture, and there is a precedent for this practice – in that Foster had ghost-written the novelization of Star Wars, which was published as by George Lucas (1976) – Foster denies writing the Star Trek: TMP novelization, and David G. Hartwell, who edited the book, insists that it was written by Roddenberry; Ayers 2006: 236.]
[5]     Roddenberry 1979: 5.
[6]     [2018: Suetonius’ Life of Tiberius is available, e.g. in Graves 2007 [1954]: 104-144.]
[7]     Writers of ‘slash’ fanfiction featuring the unspoken love between Kirk and Spock (of whose work Roddenberry was presumably aware) might take such a statement as evidence that they were right all along. [2018: On Kirk/Spock, see Woledge 2005. Roddenberry himself responded positively to an interview question that compared the relationship between Kirk and Spock to that between Alexander and Hephaestion; see Shatner 1979: 147-148.]
[8]     [2018: It is worth noting that there is a tradition in Hollywood movies that is far more sympathetic towards Tiberius than that in Suetonius or Robert Graves; this can be seen in The Robe (dir. Koster, 1953), Salome (dir. Dieterle, 1953), and Ben-Hur (dir. Wyler, 1959), and more recently in The Last Legion (dir. Lefler, 2007).]
[9]     [2018: E.g. Perdido Street Station (2000).]
[10]    [2018: I expand on this definition in Keen 2015a: 110.]
[11]    Soldier of the Mist (1986) and Soldier of Arete (1986), both set in the early fifth century BCE. [2018: Subsequently followed by Soldier of Sidon (2007), on which see Keen 2007a. See also Tomasso 2018.]
[12]    Where there is a science fictional element, however, such as in the Star Trek episode ‘Who Mourns for Adonais?’ (dir. Daniels, 1967), or the use of gods in superhero comics, which are inherently science fictional milieus, then, of course, I am interested. [2018: As discussed in the new chapter, I am now no longer as dismissive of fantasy as I was. And superhero comics blend the science fictional and the fantastic in an indiscriminate fashion.]
[13]    I discuss deeper Homeric themes in 2001 in Keen 2006c [2018: See now Rogers 2015: 217-222, and Keen 2018].
[14]    I agree with the publisher – I, Robot is a much better title. [2018: See the introduction to Asimov and Greenberg 1979.]
[15]    Since classical names have been given to the planets, constellations and many stars, such names abound in those sections of SF that deal with space exploration. Similarly, Greek and Latin are hardwired into the language of science, and therefore into the language of science fiction. But one cannot cover these in detail as classical receptions in their own right – that way madness lies.
[16]    It should be noted that Laumer gives a fin de siècle/Edwardian feel to his descriptions of the Imperium, and Valigursky may actually be referencing c. 1900 imitations of Roman attire. Incidentally, Damon Knight’s cover quotation on the 1962 edition, ‘A major new idea in time travel …’, is quite curious, as the novel contains no time travel whatsoever. [2018: Though it is concerned with alternate time lines. Another Laumer novel with classical resonances is Galactic Odyssey (1967).]
[17]    Coalescent: 372-373.
[18]    Butler 2007.
[19]    As revealed in MacLeod 2006, his Guest of Honour speech to the SF convention Boskone.
[20]    [2018: In conversation and personal correspondence, MacLeod has confirmed that this is indeed the case, with one of the characters, Reid, having a respect for the British empire, while the other, Wilde, is happy to see empires fall. The allusion is linked to the basic premises that underlie MacLeod’s Fall Revolution quartet, of which The Stone Canal is the second part: that the fall of capitalism and its replacement by socialism will resemble the passage from the Roman empire into the early medieval period, and that the collapse of the Soviet empire presages that of the USA. (The other novels in the quartet are The Star Fraction, 1995, The Cassini Division, 1998, and The Sky Road, 1998.) My thanks to Ken MacLeod for responding to my queries.]
[21]    [2018: Or do not care.]
[22]    Rather more knowledge of Plato is shown in the 1972 Doctor Who story ‘The Time Monster’ (dir. Bernard, 1972), where minor characters have the names of Platonic dialogues. [2018: See on this now Keen (2010: 107-108).]
[23]    The stories referred to are ‘The Romans’ (dir. Barry, 1964), ‘The Myth Makers’ (dir. Leeston-Smith, 1965), ‘The Time Monster’ (dir. Bernard, 1972), ‘The War Games’ (dir. Maloney, 1969), and ‘The Mind Robber’ (dir. Maloney, 1968). [2018: On these, see now Keen 2010: 100-106, and Potter 2018, 169-175.] For relevant spin-off stories, see, e.g. Christopher Bulis’s novel State of Change (1994), set around the time of Cleopatra, or the Big Finish audio story The Council of Nicaea (2005).
[24]    [2018: In both, the screenplay is by the show’s creator Roger Price.]
[25]    [2018: Marston and Peter 2016. The first Wonder Woman comics were published in 1942. On Wonder Woman, see Sandifer 2013 and Hanley 2014.]
[26]    [2018: It is not true that Cacoyannis was married to Papas, and I am not sure why I thought it was. That Papas represented a certain type of ideal beauty to Cacoyannis, however, I still believe.]
[27]    [2018: Helen has to be made peripheral for this device to work, not easy if telling the story from her departure with Paris onwards.]
[28]    In a paper (Lowe 2005) delivered immediately prior to a performance of the pseudo-Euripidean Rhesus.
[29]    For my own views on the relationship between Troy and Greek myth, see Keen 2005. Manfredi was first published in Italian in 1994.
[30]    [2018: Note now, however, Troy: Fall of a City (dir. Farr, 2018), which does include the gods, whilst at the same time telling the whole cycle.]
[31]    [2018: On counterfactuals, see Lewis 1973.]
[32]    Sic. I assume the corruption of the Latin is a publisher’s doing rather than Silverberg’s.
[33]    Published as Morley 2000.
[34]    I owe this observation to Dr Eleanor OKell.
[35]    The sequence began with The Pastel City (1971). The stories are collected in Viriconium (2000, reissued in 2005 with an introduction by Neil Gaiman).
[36]    Potter 2006.
[37]    The Roman references are continued in Tim Burton’s ‘re-imagining’ of Planet of the Apes (2001), where the ape city is ruled by a Senate. [2018: And also in Rise of the Planet of the Apes (dir. Wyatt, 2011), Dawn of the Planet of the Apes (dir. Reeves, 2014), and War for the Planet of the Apes (dir. Reeves, 2017), where the name ‘Caesar’ is again used.]
[38]    Gaiman 2003. [2018: The series ran from 1965 to 1982, with other artists in the later years. The Lawrence-drawn stories are collected in Butterworth and Lawrence 2004a-b, 2005a-b, 2006a-c, 2007a-b, and 2008a-c.]
[39]    Asimov’s novels: Foundation (1951), fixup of stories originally published in Astounding Science Fiction (1942-1944); Foundation and Empire (1952), stories in ASF (1945); and Second Foundation (1953), stories in ASF (1945). Gibbon is published 1776-1789. For the classical roots of the Star Wars series, see Winkler 2001. [2018: And see now Keen 2012. For Thucydides, see Hammond 2009.]
[40]    [2018: See Bondanella 1973: 233-237.]
[41]    [2018: The comment about moving from the sublime to the ridiculous is unscholarly and I would not now endorse it.]
[42]    It is known that during the making of Star Wars, before the special effects sequences had been filmed, Lucas used footage from WWII air combat films cut with what he had shot to illustrate how the final film would appear [2018: see Rinzler 2007: 25]. I suspect the same technique was used for the triumphal scene in Phantom Menace, with Lucas recutting Mann’s film to show Industrial Light and Magic what he wanted from this CGI sequence.
[43]    This observation is also owed to Eleanor OKell.
[44]    One could also mention poetic reworkings of classical authors, such as the anthology After Ovid (Hofmann and Lasdun 1995) or Maureen Almond’s transpositions of Horace into twentieth century Teesside (2004).
[45]    Stableford (1999 [1993]: 966) notes at least five SF versions of the Odyssey. [2018: See now Stableford 2016.]
[46]    Compare also Asimov’s transparent lifting of Belisarius as ‘Bel Riose’ in Foundation and Empire (1952). [2018: Bel Riose is discussed in Keen 2007B. On ‘Underworld’ and ‘Horns of Nimon’, see now Keen 2010: 108-110, and Potter 2018: 175-178.]
[47]    Goldhill 2004.
[48]    For the use of Classics in this way, see Hardwick 2003: esp. 98-113.
[49]    Not least because of those SF and fantasy writers who have Classical backgrounds - e.g. Adam Roberts has a degree in English and Classics (https://pure.royalholloway.ac.uk/portal/en/persons/adam-roberts(0cf8af32-e487-402e-ac87-b80e3cf7c735).html, accessed 18 May 2018),  Juliet McKenna one in Classics (http://www.julietemckenna.com/?page_id=5, accessed 18 May 2018), and Harry Turtledove wrote a Ph.D. in Byzantine history (Turtledove 1977).
[50]    [2018: Baxter’s novel is reviewed and discussed in Keen 2006b and 2011a.]
[51]    My thanks to Edward James for providing pagination in old SF journals,


Thursday, August 24, 2017

Gods in The Bowlers?


On Monday I went to Tate Britain's 'Queer British Art' exhibition. It's a bit of a curate's egg. The Victorian room, which is what I went for, is splendid (though inevitably made me miss my late colleague Rosemary Barrow, especially the presence of Evelyn de Morgan's Aurora Triumphans - Rosemary was a big de Morgan fan), but after that the exhibition loses its way. There are nice bits - Angus McBean's portrait of Beatrix Lehmann (which I recently saw used by John J. Johnston in a talk on archaeology in Doctor Who), some of Aubrey Beardsley's illustrations for Lysistrata, Ethel Walker's The Excursion of Nausicaa - but it doesn't really hang together, there's an awful lot of reaching and this-perhaps-can-be-read-as-queer-ing, and the final room of David Hockney and Francis Bacon just made me think they had an extra room and didn't know what to do with it. It feels like the 'queer' rooms of half-a-dozen different exhibitions, all stuck together.*

There is, of course, a lot of Classical Reception, especially in the first room, but also elsewhere. As is usual these days, I was particularly looking out for images of Minerva. There's one in Frederick Leighton's Daedalus and Icarus, or at least there's what is obviously a statue of Minerva viewed from behind.

I thought that I'd found another in William Blake Richmond's 1870 painting The Bowlers (illustrated above), a painting that was scandalous at the time for the amount of nude and semi-dressed males and females it contained. There is a figure I noted in armour and Corinthian helmet. But then I realized that this figure was among one of the groups of males, and males and females are clearly segregated in the painting. So this is simply a figure dressed in Greek armour.

And then I looked again at the other male figures around this one (see the detail). The figure getting ready to bowl has the winged helmet of Mercury. That behind wears the vine leaves of Bacchus. The hooded figure at the back looks reminiscent of someone, though I'm not sure who (Hades?). So could the armoured figure be a form of Minerva after all? I'm not sure - I certainly haven't been able to find any commentary on this online. But I'm definitely going to see if Rosemary said anything about it.

* On the other hand, 'The Art of Ray Harryhausen', also on at the Tate, is a rather splendid little free display, that puts ideas in my head that I can use for teaching, and is highly recommended, especially for students taking modules on Classics and cinema.

Saturday, June 03, 2017

What is myth?

(This was originally prepared in 2013 for students taking the Open University module A330 Myth in the Greek and Roman Worlds. It represents my personal opinions, not those of the  OU Module Team, and is not part of the official module materials. I’ve now moved it over here because I’m leaving the OU, and want to continue using this in my teaching. I’ve made some minor amendments.)

The question I want to address briefly here is ‘what is myth?’ This is, of course, a pretty fundamental question for most courses on mythology, including the Open University module A330 Myth in the Greek and Roman Worlds, and it does get addressed in the A330 Course Introduction (Emlyn-Jones and James, 2011, pp. 8–10). But after that, students on that course, or indeed on many other courses on myth, may find that the question gets slightly forgotten. This is because, in a lot of ways, it’s really quite a hard question. And the reason for this is that myth is one of those things where everybody knows what it is—but when it comes to seeking a hard-and-fast definition, that turns out to be a lot more difficult than you might expect.

As the Open University Course Introduction says, there are lots of different meanings for the word ‘myth’ (Emlyn-Jones and James, 2011, pp. 8–9). If you own a copy of the Open University publication The Arts Good Study Guide (Chambers and Northedge, 2008; a text, incidentally, which I recommend to anyone studying an Arts or Humanities course), you will find in there a section on ‘Some myths about exams’ (pp. 285–290). Of course, the authors are not talking there about a heroic struggle of a legendary figure to pass the examination for a course in mythology. They are instead using ‘myth’ to describe something that is commonly believed about exams, but is not (in the opinion of the authors) actually true. But this is not what we mean when we speak of ‘the myth of Heracles’—because no-one actually believes that the story of Heracles is literally true.

The word ‘myth’ comes, of course, from the ancient Greek word μῡθος or muthos (sometimes transliterated as mythos). As students on the OU module Myth in the Greek and Roman Worlds learn in Block 4 (Emlyn-Jones in James et al., 2011, pp. 112–113, 189–192), this originally simply meant ‘the spoken word’, and was contrasted with logos, the written word. Gradually, the meanings of both terms shifted, so that from its basic meaning, muthos came to mean a spoken story, such as, for instance, Homer’s Odyssey, recited by a rhapsode. That led to muthos having connotations of the made-up, and hence the irrational and the false, whilst logos in consequence represented the rational and the true. And as part of that, muthos came to represent, for the Greeks, what we would now describe as ‘mythology’.

But for a long time, ‘myth’ wasn’t the term that post-Classical scholars used. They preferred the Latin term fabulae, which means ‘stories’, or ‘tales’ (and later became the standard Latin term for a dramatic performance). The Greek term muthos only came into favour with the work of the German scholar Christian Gottlob Heyne (1729-1812), who found fabulae too slight for the weight he wanted to place on mythology, and so started using the Greek term muthos (also, as Morales, 2007, p. 57, notes, he wanted to use the contrast between muthos and logos to advance his case that the Greek myths belonged to a primitive stage of humanity, as opposed to the rationality of the eighteenth-century Enlightenment). From there muthos passed into English-speaking scholarship as ‘myth’.

But still, what is a ‘myth’? Mark Morford and Robert Lenardon, in their textbook Classical Mythology, do advance a definition in their first chapter. They say:

classical myth is a story that, through its classical form, has attained a kind of immortality because its inherent archetypal beauty, profundity, and power have inspired rewarding renewal and transformation by successive generations.

(Morford et al., 2015, p. 26)[1]

Is that definition acceptable? Well, for a start, it is, as Morford and Lenardon state, only a definition of a classical myth; it won’t do as an overall definition of ‘myth’, which has to encompass all the other mythologies, such as Norse, Chinese, Sumerian, etc. But even if we removed the specific reference to the Greek and Roman world, will what Morford and Lenardon say work as a definition of myth? I think problems remain. For one thing, this definition really only covers the famous and often retold myths. There are, however, many stories that are obscure, and rarely retold, such as Ovid’s tale of the crow in Metamorphoses, Book 2 (549–595). Are we to remove those stories from mythology, because they haven’t ‘inspired rewarding renewal and transformation’? I think not.

Another course on Greek and Roman mythology, run as an online MOOC by Peter Struck of the University of Pennsylvania for Coursera, adopted the following definition of myth:

a traditional tale with secondary partial reference to something of collective importance… told by someone for some reason.

(Struck, 2012a)

Struck is drawing his definition from that offered by Walter Burkert in Structure and History in Greek Mythology and Ritual:

myth is a traditional tale with secondary, partial reference to something of collective importance.

(Burkert, 1979, p. 23)

Burkert's definition has been very influential; but it is a pretty vague sort of definition, one which covers a lot of ground. It’s certainly better than the heavily value-weighted definition of Morford and Lenardon. But even Struck's course had to throw out this wishy-washy definition when it came to looking at Ovid’s Metamorphoses, a work OU students study in some depth in Myth in the Greek and Roman Worlds. Struck replaced his original definition with this definition of mythology:

a clump of stories, probably untrue, about ancient characters that may or may not have actually existed, with some deeper truths in them, or not. But they’re surely fun to hear.

(Struck, 2012b)

The problem is, of course, that any mythology includes a whole range of different stories, created for different purposes. There are aetiological myths, myths that explain the origins of a feature of the natural world. This sort of story used to be familiar to children through Rudyard Kipling’s Just So Stories (1902), which explain various features of animals, such as ‘How the Leopard got its spots’, and ‘How the Elephant got its trunk’. Ovid’s Metamorphoses is full of such stories, as anyone who reads that work will find out—one example from Book 2 (401–531) is the myth of Callisto, explaining the origins of the constellation of the Little Bear, and why that constellation never sinks below the horizon (from a Mediterranean perspective).

Then there are myths that probably have their origins in actual historical events, such as those myths concerning the Kings of Rome (though too much assumption of a historical background behind a myth such as that of the Trojan War brings its own problems).

And there are myths that are just funny stories, with no particular object beyond that. An example of this might be the story of Iphis and Ianthe in Metamorphoses Book 9 (666–797), a humorous tale about a girl raised as a boy.

And this is just to cover a few types of myth.

In their first chapter, Morford and Lenardon (2015, pp. 3–39)[2] advance a possible method of rationalizing this complexity. They address the manner in which some scholars have divided mythology into ‘true myth’, which concerns the gods, ‘legends’ or ‘sagas’, which have a historical basis, and ‘folktales’, those stories intended as pure entertainment. They add a couple of subcategories of folktales: ‘fairy-tales’, those folktales with a high moral and/or magical content; and ‘fables’, for stories in which animals are the principal characters, best-known from the tales of Aesop, such as ‘The Hare and the Tortoise’. They make no distinction between ‘legends’ and ‘sagas’, though one could argue that ‘legends’ should be individual stories, and ‘sagas’ longer linked stories around a central character or event (such as the Trojan War).

There are several problems with this rationalization. One is the unnecessary importation of the term ‘saga’, a specific term from Norse literature, into the study of Greek mythology. Another is that not everyone uses terms in the same way—for example, J.R.R. Tolkien, in his 1939 essay ‘On Fairy-Stories’ (in Tolkien 2012), clearly includes in the category of fairy-stories the sort of high fantasy/mythology he had been writing since the 1910s, and which would soon be published in The Lord of the Rings.

But the biggest problem for this rationalization is the one that Morford and Lenardon themselves identify (2015, p. 4)[3]—that few actual myths can be fitted neatly into these categories, and most include different elements taken from different categories.

This is a natural product of the constant retelling of the stories. A story intended to explain some element of the world around the original storyteller will then be retold for a contemporary purpose by an Athenian tragedian, or as an entertainment by Ovid. A mythology is built out of ‘true’ myths, legends, folktales, fairy-tales and beast fables, so it is important to know that some people make these distinctions—a former colleague of mine amongst the Open University Associate Lecturers, for instance, distinguished between the story of Aeneas, a myth of the foundation of Rome, and the story of Romulus, a legend of the foundation of Rome. But trying to categorize all mythological stories is fraught with problems, and I will continue using the general term ‘myth’—and should I use other terms such as ‘legends’, I don’t mean anything specific by this.

I'm still no closer to a precise definition of myth. But perhaps I shouldn’t be looking for one. In fact, there are a lot of concepts that resist easy definition in this way. As part of my scholarly portfolio, I do some work as a science fiction critic. Science fiction critics get very exercised about how to define science fiction. One famous definition was offered by the critic Damon Knight in 1956, in a work called In Search of Wonder. He says:

… it will do us no harm if we remember that [science fiction] means what we point to when we say it.

(Knight, 1996, p. 11)

That sounds like an enormous cop-out—it doesn’t try to tell you what science fiction is, it just tells you that you’ll know it when you see it. But in fact it’s the only definition that makes any sense. Most of us have a fair idea of what the core of science fiction is, but we’ll always be arguing about works on the edges of the genre. And those arguments will always undermine any attempt to more precisely define what we mean by ‘science fiction’.

The same thing happens in other genres. Let’s look at western movies, for instance. Everyone knows that The Searchers (USA, John Ford, 1956) or Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid (USA, George Roy Hill, 1969) are westerns. But if one adopts a definition that says, for example, that westerns are set on the American frontier between the American Civil War and the end of the nineteenth century, one ends up excluding movies such as Red River (USA, Howard Hawks, 1948), which begins in 1851, a decade before the Civil War. Even if one stretches the chronological boundaries, to, say, from the Texas Revolution of 1835 to the start of the First World War in 1914 (or US participation in 1917), one excludes Bad Day at Black Rock (USA, John Sturges, 1955), set in the late 1940s, yet often included in lists of the best westerns ever.

To borrow a term from semiotics, science fiction, westerns, and mythology are all ‘analogical’ modes of communication, where meaning is articulated through proportion, expression and gradation, as opposed to ‘digital’ modes, where clear-cut definitions are employed. This means that there is general consensus about the core of such concepts, but there are grey areas at the edges, where interesting discussions can be had. As a mythological example of a grey area, one can consider the degree to which the emperor Augustus not only employs mythological imagery, but becomes himself, through the writings of Virgil and others, a mythological character. The same thing happens to Julius Caesar at the end of Ovid’s Metamorphoses (15.745–870). Can one therefore talk about the ‘myth of Augustus’ or the ‘myth of Caesar’? Obviously people do, but generally they mean the image that Caesar and Augustus presented of themselves, not Caesar or Augustus as mythological characters with the same status as Odysseus or Heracles.

So I can’t provide a definition of myth. But you may have noticed that one word has recurred through these discussions. That word is ‘story’, and I would certainly assert that the principal feature of myths is that they are stories.

If no single definition of myth is universally applicable, it follows, as Morford and Lenardon say (2015, p. 3),[4] that no single theory of myth explains the entirety of myth. This hasn’t, of course, stopped proponents of various theories asserting that their theory explains everything, whether that be Bronislaw Malinowski and the functionalists, who argue that myths legitimized aspects of society, or the Freudians and their idea that myth represents the collective unconscious of humanity. Many of these are ideas that can be useful for understanding individual myths—well, perhaps not Freud, but that’s an argument for another time (for a partial takedown of Freud, see Morales, 2007, pp. 74–79)—but they don’t explain everything. Familiarity with theories of myth is an important part of any course on myth. But inevitably, those theories must be used with caution.

I’ll end by saying something about what myth is not. Myth is not something that exists independently of the texts, literary or visual, in which it is recorded. This may seem obvious—of course we can’t experience myth except through reading or looking at images. But it is surprising how much the idea persists that the representations of myth are reflections of some concept that is referred to as the ‘original myth’, rather as Plato theorized that everything we experience is a manifestation of an ideal concept.

However, there is no ‘original myth’, at least not in any sense that is meaningful to us. Of course, there will have been a time back in the mists of prehistory when the story of Odysseus was first told. But we cannot recover that moment, or the form that the story took at that telling. We can talk about the earliest versions recorded, but even those are the products of countless earlier retellings that we no longer have access to.

We can also talk about ‘dominant’ versions. These are the versions that become the ones that people first think about when they consider a myth, and which later versions engage with and react against. These are not necessarily the same as the earliest surviving versions. For the story of Odysseus, Homer’s Odyssey, the earliest surviving version, is also the dominant version. But for the story of Oedipus, the dominant version is in Sophocles’ play Oedipus Rex, and this differs significantly from the earliest surviving version, which is again that of Homer’s Odyssey. Sometimes these dominant versions are called ‘canonical’, but that implies that these versions are correct, and versions that differ are wrong. This is not, in my view, an idea that is useful.

Because there is no one ‘right’ version of a myth, it is impossible to treat sources for myths in the same way as one might treat historical sources. Many students trained on historical courses will be used to taking various sources, and fitting them together like a jigsaw, to create as true a picture as possible of the event. But in myth, that simply can’t be done. We have a collection of jigsaw pieces, yes, but each piece comes from a slightly different jigsaw. If those pieces are forced together, the picture created is inevitably a distorted one.

So this leads to a final comment: what do you mean when you talk about, for example, ‘the myth of Hippolytus’? Do you mean an embracing concept that includes all the variations on that myth? Or do you mean the version in Euripides’ play Hippolytus, which is the dominant version? Or do you mean a composite version that has been put together for the Penguin Dictionary of Classical Mythology (Grimal, 1991, p. 204), or some other reference work? You’ll have effectively grasped hold of the essential concepts of courses on myth when you are able to mean the first, rather than the other two.

Reference list

Burkert, W. (1979) Structure and History in Greek Mythology and Ritual, Oakland, CA, University of California Press.

Chambers, E. and Northedge, A. (2008) The Arts Good Study Guide, 2nd edn, Milton Keynes, The Open University.

Emlyn-Jones, C. and James, P. (2011) A330 Myth in the Greek and Roman Worlds: Course Introduction, 2nd edn, Milton Keynes, The Open University.

Grimal, P. (1991) The Penguin Dictionary of Classical Mythology (trans. A. Maxwell-Hyslop; ed. S. Kershaw), London, Penguin Books.

James, P., Hughes, J. and Emlyn-Jones, C. (2011) A330 Myth in the Greek and Roman Worlds. Block 3: Ovid and the Reception of Myth; Block 4: Myth and Reason in Classical Greece, 2nd edn, Milton Keynes, The Open University.

Kipling, R. (1902) Just So Stories, London, Macmillan & Co.

Knight, D. (1996), In Search of Wonder: Essays on Modern Science Fiction, 3rd edn, Chicago, Advent.

Morales, H. (2007) Classical Mythology: A Very Short Introduction, Oxford, Oxford University Press.

Morford, M.P.O. and Lenardon, R.J. (2007) Classical Mythology, 8th edn, Oxford & New York, Oxford University Press.

Morford, M.P.O., Lenardon, R.J. and Sham, M. (2011) Classical Mythology, international 9th edn, Oxford & New York, Oxford University Press.

Morford, M.P.O., Lenardon, R.J. and Sham, M. (2015) Classical Mythology, international 10th edn, Oxford & New York, Oxford University Press.

Struck, P. (2012a) ‘Week 1 Lecture 4: Ideas on myth from the modern era’, Greek and Roman Mythology [Online]. Available at https://class.coursera.org/mythology-2012-001/lecture/8 (Accessed 15 September 2014).

Struck, P. (2012b) ‘Week 10 Lecture 4: Ovid—Background and themes’, Greek and Roman Mythology [Online]. Available at https://class.coursera.org/mythology-2012-001/lecture/94 (Accessed 15 September 2014).

Tolkien, J.R.R. (2012) The Monsters and the Critics and Other Essays [ebook reader], London, HarperCollins.



[1]      In the 9th edn (Morford et al., 2011) this text can be found at p. 25, and in the 8th edn (Morford and Lenardon, 2007) at p. 29.

[2]       8th edn (2007), pp. 3–39; 9th edn (2011), pp. 3–36.

[3]       8th edn (2007), p. 4; 9th edn (2011), p. 4.

[4]       8th edn (2007), p. 3; 9th edn (2011), p. 3.

Saturday, May 06, 2017

2017 SFF Masterclass - places still available

Please share.

JOIN US AT THE ELEVENTH SCIENCE FICTION FOUNDATION MASTERCLASS IN SCIENCE FICTION CRITICISM!



Three days of extremely enjoyable discussion and exchange of ideas and in the delightful environment of the Royal Observatory Greenwich, the Masterclass is highly valued by past students. Places are still available on a first come-first served basis. Applications welcomed from Past Masterclasses students.

To apply please send a short (no more than 3,000 words) piece of critical writing (a blog entry, review, essay, or other piece), and a one page curriculum vitae, to masterclass@sf-foundation.org.

For more details, see: http://www.sf-foundation.org/node/228

Saturday, April 01, 2017

2017 Science Fiction Foundation Masterclass in Science Fiction Criticism - Applications open

Applications are now open for the 2017 Science Fiction Foundation Masterclass in Science Fiction Criticism. The 2017 Masterclass, the Eleventh, will take place from Friday 30 June to Sunday 2 July. We are delighted to have once again secured at the Royal Observatory Greenwich as a venue.
The 2017 Class Leaders are:
Nick Hubble (Brunel University)
John J. Johnston (Egypt Exploration Society)
Stephanie Saulter (author of Gemsigns and sequels)
Price: £225; £175 for registered postgraduate students.
To apply please send a short (no more than 3,000 words) piece of critical writing (a blog entry, review, essay, or other piece), and a one page curriculum vitae, to masterclass@sf-foundation.org.
Applications received by 24 April 2017 will be considered by an Applications Committee. Applications received after 24 April may be considered if places are still available, on a strictly first-come first served basis.
Past Masterclass students are encouraged to apply again (though we will prioritise applications from those who have not been previous students).
Information on past Masterclasses can be found at http://www.sf-foundation.org/masterclass. Please direct any enquiries to masterclass@sf-foundation.org.
Tony Keen, SFF Masterclass Administrator

Sunday, February 19, 2017

A National Gallery tour

[This is a post I originally put on my OU blog on 25 August 2010. I'm reposting it here so non-OU students and colleagues of mine can see it (back then I didn't have such things). Obviously, some of the paintings not on display then now are, and vice versa. And these days my route would be slightly different, including Bronzino's An Allegory with Venus and Cupid, and Lastmann's Juno discovering Jupiter with Io.]
At the beginning of this month I took my last group of students round the National Gallery in London as a post-exam treat. I've been doing this for a long time, and I hope that students appreciate it. The intention was to have a look at some paintings related to the Classical world, with one eye on A330 Myth in the Greek and Roman Worlds. [These were students who had done the module on Exploring the Classical World, and might be tempted to the follow-on module.]
Anyway, the tour went as follows:
I began chronologically at the end, with Room 34: Great Britain 1750-1850. I began here simply because it seemed to make most sense in terms of the Gallery's layout, from the main entrance. I had come here for J.M.W. Turner's Ulysses Deriding Polyphemus - Homer's Odyssey. Turner didn't do a lot of Classical landscapes, but this one always appeals to me. I'm never quite sure if the Cyclops can be seen in this painting (is he the dark shape above the ship? or are those just rocks?), but there's lots of details you can point out, such as the almost-invisible horses of the sun, or the Trojan War depicted on the ship's flag (I nearly got in trouble from the attendants for getting too close when pointing that out). It's nicely placed next to The Fighting Temeraire.
We passed swiftly through Room 33: France 1700-1800, pausing only briefly for Psyche showing her Sisters her Gifts from Cupid. We paused only slightly longer in Room 32: Italy. There we looked at Dido receiving Aeneas and Cupid disguised as Ascanius and, on the opposite wall, Perseus turning Phineas and his Followers to Stone. With regard to the latter, I talked about how many of the mythological scenes depicted in post-Renaissance painting are derived from Ovid's Metamorphoses. In that context, I should really have discussed The Fall of Phaeton, but I didn't.
In Room 30: Spain, we stopped at The Toilet of Venus. Here we talked about how, in this commission for the Marqués del Carpio, Diego Velázquez was able to use the cloak of making the painting mythological essentially to allow him to depict a real naked woman, in a manner that would otherwise be unacceptable - if not for the addition of wings to the boy, this would have been considered wholly immoral. Even then, it was probably not displayed publicly. And it has remained controversial, as shown when a suffragette slashed it in 1914. I also find it interesting that when Manet, to all intents and purposes, showed us the other side of this image in Olympia, whilst he stripped away much of the mythological associations, he left her with a Classical name.
Room 29: Peter Paul Rubens, has paintings that we could have looked at, including two versions of The Judgement of Paris. Instead, we headed for Room 12: Titian and Venice 1500-1530 [this has now moved to Room 2]. The key piece here is Bacchus and Ariadne. I really liked talking about this painting, because there is so much one can get out of it. It crystallizes the moment that Ariadne ceases to care about Theseus, who has abandoned her (Theseus was, frankly, a bit of a [four letter word], at least in this instance). This is symbolized by making his ship very small, and placing it on the opposite side of Ariadne from where she is looking. But there is so much more: Ariadne's crown set in the sky as stars, the chariot of Bacchus in the form of a sarcophagus, thus symbolizing resurrection, the sly nod to the Sistine chapel in Bacchus' arm. (I'm grateful to Chris Wilson for pointing that out in a previous National Gallery trip that he led, and which he is repeating for the London Region Arts Club on Sunday October 17.)
We also went across the intersection to Room 10: Venice 1530–1600 [now Room 6], for Titian's unfinished The Death of Actaeon. Here, once again, one can see the influence of Ovid's Metamorphoses. Though the transformation into a stag is in the earliest versions of the myth, there are other versions (in vase painting, etc.) in which the transformation appears not to take place, and it is Ovid's terrifying description in Metamorphoses 3.138-255 of Actaeon being torn apart by his own hounds, unable to communicate with them, has become the dominant version. Unfortunately, Titian's companion piece to this painting, Diana and Actaeon, is not currently on display - it's jointly owned with the National Galleries of Scotland, and spends five years at each institution, so at the moment it's in Edinburgh. [It is now, of course, in London.] (Charles Martindale has an interesting discussion of Titian and Ovid, including these paintings, in Redeeming the Text, pp. 60-64.)
From there it was off to Room 19: Nicholas Poussin, principally for two treatments of essentially the same subject, A Bacchanalian Revel before a Term of 1632-1633, and The Triumph of Pan, from 1636. We compared the two paintings, and also compared them with the same artist's The Adoration of the Golden Calf, and Titian's Bacchus and Ariadne. I feel that the revel in the earlier painting looks like mostly harmless fun, whilst that in the later one has the air of an event about to get out of control.
From there, it was into the Sainsbury Wing for the mediaeval paintings. Actually, there was only one room we were interested in, Room 58: Paintings for Florentine Palaces. When we arrived, another tour group was already there, so we listened to their guide talk about A Satyr Mourning Over A Nymph. When they departed, we went to look at Antonio del Pollaiuolo's Apollo and Daphne [the National Gallery now attributes this to his brother, Piero], which depicts the climax of the Daphne myth (scroll down), the point where the nymph Daphne is being transformed into a laurel bush to save her from the god Apollo's amorous intentions. The Penguin translation of the Metamorphoses, which is a set book for A330, has on its cover Bernini's sculpture of the same moment, in which Daphne is being transformed from arms downwards, as in this painting, but also from her legs upwards. The Bernini is probably a better encapsulation of frustrated desire, but it's interesting to compare this to the earlier (by about 150 years) painting (which, incidentally, is used - though for some reason reversed - as the cover for the Penguin edition of Arthur Golding's Elizabethan translation, which Penguin has in print as a classic of English literature).
Unfortunately, the painting that I would have like to conclude with, Botticelli's Venus and Mars, is not currently on display in this room, being shown in the exhibition Close Examination: Fakes, Mistakes and Discoveries, next to a painting that was bought together with Venus and Mars in 1874, and considered at the time to be another Botticelli, though it patently isn't. What I like about Venus and Mars is the contrast between Mars and Venus. The former is asleep, clearly exhausted after a bout of lovemaking. Venus, on the other hand, is wide awake, with a rather inscrutable look on her face. I wonder if she is going through the experience of women through the ages, the post-coital thought, "was that it?"
This, of course, doesn't get close to covering all the paintings in the National Gallery's collection that have mythological subjects, or even all the ones on display (I tried and failed to spot Claude's Landscape with Aeneas at Delos as we passed). The Gallery used to publish a useful Pocket Guide on Myths and Legends. This covers some of the most significant mythological paintings in the collection, including some, though not all, of the ones I mention above. It no longer appears available through their online ship, but you can get it at Amazon, though their stock is almost exhausted. [Now it's via Amazon Marketplace.]