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nwhyte's review against another edition
3.0
http://nwhyte.livejournal.com/2491338.html
a work of classical literature, claimed by some as the first ever science fiction novel. Indeed, it does start rather well, with our hero unwittingly drawn to the Moon where he finds himself embroiled in a space war between the inhabitants of the Moon and the Sun over the colonisation of Venus (strictly Ἑωσφόρος, Lucifer) which seems very close to much more recent tropes of sf narrative. But apart from that particular shaft of forward thinking, it's a fairly standard odyssey tale of going to strange places, seeing strange things and meeting strange people, and I think it is better to let classical scholars hang onto it as a mildly imaginative outlier in classical literature than for sf fans to spuriously (and unnecessarily) claim classical legitimacy for the genre starting here.
a work of classical literature, claimed by some as the first ever science fiction novel. Indeed, it does start rather well, with our hero unwittingly drawn to the Moon where he finds himself embroiled in a space war between the inhabitants of the Moon and the Sun over the colonisation of Venus (strictly Ἑωσφόρος, Lucifer) which seems very close to much more recent tropes of sf narrative. But apart from that particular shaft of forward thinking, it's a fairly standard odyssey tale of going to strange places, seeing strange things and meeting strange people, and I think it is better to let classical scholars hang onto it as a mildly imaginative outlier in classical literature than for sf fans to spuriously (and unnecessarily) claim classical legitimacy for the genre starting here.
number9dream's review against another edition
4.0
The missing link between Ulysses and Alice in Wonderland. Would definitely recommend if you're a fan of over the top absurd journeys.
chalicotherex's review against another edition
2.0
Introduction for Writing History was okay. Some useful advice like 'don't confuse history with poetry' and 'no one likes when a writer sucks up to his patron too much–it's not history. Have you tried not having a patron?' Then True History is uses the prior criticisms to create a story to show how not to write a history. Then the last part is a dialogue between one Menippus and a friend. Menippus relates how he contrived a Daedalusesque contraption to do some flying of his own. He goes to the Moon and the Moon complains about all the philosophers (they end up there in the afterlife), so Menippus agrees to take the Moon's complaints to Jupiter, who comes up with a compromise. It's a terrible translation bordering on unreadable. Thanks a lot, Thomas Francklin, 1780. The worst is in True History, when the names of the fantastic creatures are given in transliterated Greek with minimal description and you have to go to the footnotes (not added until 1887!) to get an explanation. Though I did like learning the word pismire, an old word for anthill, from the words 'piss' (which apparently is what anthills smell like, according to the Oxford dictionary built into my kindle? I've never noticed, but then I try not to spend too much time around anthills; or maybe with the bad sanitation back in the day people used to piss in them and so they stank, and now they don't smell so bad because we have indoor plumbing) and 'mire', an old word for ant. So there you have it.
His tips for writing history aren't very useful almost two millennia on, but here he reminds us not to fall for Fake News:All this, however, with regard to style and composition, may be borne with, but when they misinform us about places, and make mistakes, not of a few leagues, but whole day’s journeys, what shall we say to such historians? One of them, who never, we may suppose, so much as conversed with a Syrian, or picked up anything concerning them in the barbers’ {40} shop, when he speaks of Europus, tells us, “it is situated in Mesopotamia, two days’ journey from Euphrates, and was built by the Edessenes.” Not content with this, the same noble writer has taken away my poor country, Samosata, and carried it off, tower, bulwarks, and all, to Mesopotamia, where he says it is shut up between two rivers, which at least run close to, if they do not wash the walls of it. After this, it would be to no purpose, my dear Philo, for me to assure you that I am not from Parthia, nor do I belong to Mesopotamia, of which this admirable historian has thought fit to make me an inhabitant.
Others there are who, from ignorance and want of skill, not knowing what should be mentioned, and what passed over in silence, entirely omit or slightly run through things of the greatest consequence, and most worthy of attention, whilst they most copiously describe and dwell upon trifles; which is just as absurd as it would be not to take notice of or admire the wonderful beauty of the Olympian Jupiter, {43} and at the same time to be lavish in our praises of the fine polish, workmanship, and proportion of the base and pedestal.
I remember one of these who despatches the battle at Europus in seven lines, and spends some hundreds in a long frigid narration, that is nothing to the purpose, showing how “a certain Moorish cavalier, wandering on the mountains in search of water, lit on some Syrian rustics, who helped him to a dinner; how they were afraid of him at first, but afterwards became intimately acquainted with him, and received him with hospitality; for one of them, it seems, had been in Mauritania, where his brother bore arms.” Then follows a long tale, “how he hunted in Mauritania, and saw several elephants feeding together; how he had like to have been devoured by a lion; and how many fish he bought at Cæsarea.” This admirable historian takes no notice of the battle, the attacks or defences, the truces, the guards on each side, or anything else; but stands from morning to night looking upon Malchion, the Syrian, who buys cheap fish at Cæsarea: if night had not come on, I suppose he would have supped there, as the chars {44} were ready. If these things had not been carefully recorded in the history we should have been sadly in the dark, and the Romans would have had an insufferable loss, if Mausacas, the thirsty Moor, could have found nothing to drink, or returned to the camp without his supper; not to mention here, what is still more ridiculous, as how “a piper came up to them out of the neighbouring village, and how they made presents to each other, Mausacas giving Malchion a spear, and Malchion presenting Mausacas with a buckle.” Such are the principal occurrences in the history of the battle of Europus. One may truly say of such writers that they never saw the roses on the tree, but took care to gather the prickles that grew at the bottom of it.
I liked this:The only business of the historian is to relate things exactly as they are: this he can never do as long as he is afraid of Artaxerxes, whose physician {55a} he is; as long as he looks for the purple robe, the golden chain, or the Nisæan horse, {55b} as the reward of his labours; but Xenophon, that just writer, will not do this, nor Thucydides. The good historian, though he may have private enmity against any man, will esteem the public welfare of more consequence to him, and will prefer truth to resentment; and, on the other hand, be he ever so fond of any man, will not spare him when he is in the wrong; for this, as I before observed, is the most essential thing in history, to sacrifice to truth alone, and cast away all care for everything else. The great universal rule and standard is, to have regard not to those who read now, but to those who are to peruse our works hereafter.
To speak impartially, the historians of former times were too often guilty of flattery, and their works were little better than games and sports, the effects of art.
An anecdote about longterm thinking, which Lucian says a is a good attribute of historians:Recollect the story of the Cnidian architect, when he built the tower in Pharos, where the fire is kindled to prevent mariners from running on the dangerous rocks of Parætonia, that most noble and most beautiful of all works; he carved his own name on a part of the rock on the inside, then covered it over with mortar, and inscribed on it the name of the reigning sovereign: well knowing that, as it afterwards happened, in a short space of time these letters would drop off with the mortar, and discover under it this inscription: “Sostratus the Cnidian, son of Dexiphanes, to those gods who preserve the mariner.” Thus had he regard not to the times he lived in, not to his own short existence, but to the present period, and to all future ages, even as long as his tower shall stand, and his art remain upon earth.
Thus also should history be written, rather anxious to gain the approbation of posterity by truth and merit, than to acquire present applause by adulation and falsehood.
Bird's-eye view:when after all, to me, who looked from above, Greece was but four fingers in breadth, and Attica a very small portion of it indeed. I could not but think how little these rich men had to be proud of; he who was lord of the most extensive country owned a spot that appeared to me about as large as one of Epicurus’s atoms. When I looked down upon Peloponnesus, and beheld Cynuria, {176a} I reflected with astonishment on the number of Argives and Lacedemonians who fell in one day, fighting for a piece of land no bigger than an Egyptian lentil; and when I saw a man brooding over his gold, and boasting that he had got four cups or eight rings, I laughed most heartily at him: whilst the whole Pangæus, {176b} with all its mines, seemed no larger than a grain of millet.
Myrmidon origin story gets even more sordid:recollect, if you please, the ancient Thessalian fables, and you will find that the Myrmidons, {177} a most warlike nation, sprung originally from pismires.
Two fantastic footnotes from the 1780 translation, with an update from the 1887 edition:{83a} Modern astronomers are, I, think, agreed, that we are to the moon just the same as the moon is to us. Though Lucian’s history may be false, therefore his philosophy, we see, was true (1780). (The moon is not habitable, 1887.)
{83b} This I am afraid, is not so agreeable to the modern system; our philosophers all asserting that the sun is not habitable. As it is a place, however, which we are very little acquainted with, they may be mistaken, and Lucian may guess as well as ourselves, for aught we can prove to the contrary.
His tips for writing history aren't very useful almost two millennia on, but here he reminds us not to fall for Fake News:
I remember one of these who despatches the battle at Europus in seven lines, and spends some hundreds in a long frigid narration, that is nothing to the purpose, showing how “a certain Moorish cavalier, wandering on the mountains in search of water, lit on some Syrian rustics, who helped him to a dinner; how they were afraid of him at first, but afterwards became intimately acquainted with him, and received him with hospitality; for one of them, it seems, had been in Mauritania, where his brother bore arms.” Then follows a long tale, “how he hunted in Mauritania, and saw several elephants feeding together; how he had like to have been devoured by a lion; and how many fish he bought at Cæsarea.” This admirable historian takes no notice of the battle, the attacks or defences, the truces, the guards on each side, or anything else; but stands from morning to night looking upon Malchion, the Syrian, who buys cheap fish at Cæsarea: if night had not come on, I suppose he would have supped there, as the chars {44} were ready. If these things had not been carefully recorded in the history we should have been sadly in the dark, and the Romans would have had an insufferable loss, if Mausacas, the thirsty Moor, could have found nothing to drink, or returned to the camp without his supper; not to mention here, what is still more ridiculous, as how “a piper came up to them out of the neighbouring village, and how they made presents to each other, Mausacas giving Malchion a spear, and Malchion presenting Mausacas with a buckle.” Such are the principal occurrences in the history of the battle of Europus. One may truly say of such writers that they never saw the roses on the tree, but took care to gather the prickles that grew at the bottom of it.
I liked this:
To speak impartially, the historians of former times were too often guilty of flattery, and their works were little better than games and sports, the effects of art.
An anecdote about longterm thinking, which Lucian says a is a good attribute of historians:
Thus also should history be written, rather anxious to gain the approbation of posterity by truth and merit, than to acquire present applause by adulation and falsehood.
Bird's-eye view:
Myrmidon origin story gets even more sordid:
Two fantastic footnotes from the 1780 translation, with an update from the 1887 edition:
{83b} This I am afraid, is not so agreeable to the modern system; our philosophers all asserting that the sun is not habitable. As it is a place, however, which we are very little acquainted with, they may be mistaken, and Lucian may guess as well as ourselves, for aught we can prove to the contrary.
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