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3.87 AVERAGE
3.87 AVERAGE
challenging
funny
fast-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
A mix
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
funny
lighthearted
reflective
fast-paced
I wondered when I read that Aristophenes was the first Greek playwright, and therefore possibly the oldest playwright in recorded history, why I didn't read him in high school. A few pages into Lysistrata and I figured it out. I am always surprised that I am continuously surprised by finding innuendo (if you can call it that in Aristophonenes) in the classics.
funny
relaxing
Plot or Character Driven:
A mix
Strong character development:
No
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
No
This review is of the translation by Paul Roche.
Paul Roche's translation is HILARIOUS. Not necessarily the most accurate, no, but absolutely delightful.
Paul Roche's translation is HILARIOUS. Not necessarily the most accurate, no, but absolutely delightful.
I enjoyed these for the most part and can see the comic talent in them. There were a few parts that made me laugh out loud. I wonder if I might like a more modern translation more. Birds was my favorite, then Lysistrata, Frogs, and maybe Wasps.
(This review is written after reading The Acharnians, The Knights, The Clouds, and The Wasps. I’ll read the rest after a break.)
These plays are guilty pleasures, but awfully important ones. Sure, you can analyze the elements of Old Comedy and how Aristophanes puts them to use, but it feels like you are spending more time analyzing the nice frame a painting is in, instead of the actual painting itself. The The Wasps and Old Comedy section on the Wikipedia page for The Wasps is so far from the joy and humor of everything about the play and its author to a frightening and almost pitiful extent. Its existence saddens me. The idea that this sort of extreme analyzation brings one any closer to the entity once known as The Wasps couldn't be more wrong.
It’s a shame that Aristophanes is not more widely read (I have not spotted a single Barnes & Noble in the state of Arizona that sells any plays by the man. Getting these plays—which were not for school!—involved a long trip to the lonely top floor of the Phoenix Burton Barr library to check them out). I believe it is more beautiful and important to know that people found poop jokes, dick jokes, and general nonsense to be entertainment twenty-five centuries ago, than anything any disconnected metaphysician had to say about the nature of the universe and human consciousness twenty-five centuries ago.
These plays are funny. The fact that human civilization is able to laugh— however guiltily it may be— at the same antics for over two and a half millennia, is important. In some shape or form. I can’t quite pin it down, but it feels comforting in a vague way. Maybe it makes us feel less lonely. This is beyond my scope.
Here are my thoughts on…
…The Acharnians
Aristophanes balances the seriousness of his politics (or, anti-politics) perfectly with the absurd.
It’s a wonder on how fourth-wall breaking started to be considered a modern phenomena, and how any example of it appearing in ancient literature has to be pointed out as being some great anachronism of the universe. Fourth-wall breaking, including long speeches to the audiences were expected in Old Comedy. It’s just what they did.
The gag involving Dikaiopolis offering the Boeotian merchant an informant in a trade looks like to me an extremely early precursor to a modern racist joke, where the multi-cultural crew of a sinking ship (sometimes falling airplane) is instructed to throw off something they have too much of in their country, which punchlines with the member of a majority group tossing off a member of a minority group.
…The Knights
Oh boy, Aristophanes has axes to grind! The incessant, bordering-on-cruel harassment of political enemies in this play is humorous in its sheer overabundance— can one man really be that pissed off? This play requires the most necessary footnotes carrying historical tidbits for the play’s enjoyment, but it is still rewarding. To have seen this play performed with a steaming, enraged Cleon in the audience would have been priceless.
…The Clouds
Ah, a favorite topic of mine: the mockery of philosophers! This is the most immediately funny play I’ve yet read.
While “those crazy rebellious kids” is a universal and timeless predicament, some of the arguments and complaints brought up in this play fall into Blue and Orange Morality. It’s interesting seeing how different conservatism looked back in Ancient Greece compared to what it means in America, today. The argument to remain a follower of the “Good Reason” is tempting, when it means you get your very own girls and boys for your personal pleasures...
…The Wasps
This play reminded me of The Acharnians, in how in the former, one sets up a private marketplace on one’s home, free from the bumbling inefficient government’s intrusion, and how in the latter, a private court is set up on one’s home, free from the bumbling inefficient government’s intrusion. A wonderful cascade of nonsense falls after each alternative is set up— here, with a lawsuit of one dog on another (allegorical, of course), holding various inanimate kitchen utensils as witnesses. Unfortunately, without any sort of visual, the final third of the play is a little chaotic and hard to follow. I’ll try seeing if there is a good performance of this one floating around online.
Aristophanes arguments win a little too easily. Enemies give up, and the choruses (usually made out to be made up of stubborn straw men early on) are swayed to even their own disbelief halfway through each play. Aristophanes was probably a little over hopeful for the change he wanted to happen, knowing that history almost never followed the suggestions Aristophanes spoke so strongly about. Aristophanes was not the only ancient Anthenian with a straw man problem, however.
Speaking of unrelentless cruelty, Aristophanes has a running joke of constantly picking at Cleonymus (who apparently had made the mistake of dropping his shield and running away in fear in the middle of battle). It’s humorous to see how big of a deal Aristophanes is making of an event that seems rather tame to modern eyes, and how it can be brought up in the most irrelevant of situations mid-play. I look forward to seeing attacks on him in the remaining seven plays.
…The Translation
Oh dear. Aristophanes— as explained in Paul Roche’s introduction— is like the Shakespeare of Ancient Greece, when it comes to language creativity and manipulatioon. I’m always a sucker for translator’s woes and whines of their difficulties, but this is a special case. Aristophanes did coin the 171-letter whopper “Lopadotemakhoselakhogaleokranioleipsanodrimypotrimmatosilphio-
karabomelitokatakekhymenokikhlepikossyphophattoperisteralek-
tryonoptokephalliokigklopeleiolagōiosiraiobaphētraganopterýgōn” in his The Assembly Women, and credit must be given to any poor soul that dares attempt a crack at that one.
Paul Roche’s translation is one of those “written yesterday” translations, similar to the controversial Seamus Heaney translation of Beowulf— but far, far worse. In The Acharnians, the word “frigging” is used. “Frigging.” Even though plenty of characters drop the F-bomb frequently… ”frigging.” I’m under the assumption that some creative (and very modern) cursing is necessary to fit in with the meter and rhyme (or as close as you can get in the English language), but sometimes it’s downright distracting. I’m sure the translation does replicate the initial feel and shock of the bawdiness of the plays for the modern reader, but at the same time it really does detract from the flow. Roche leaves in many obscure Ancient Greek references, with explanatory footnotes underneath. Which is fine! Perfectly fine! It's very questionable when he doesn't do this. In The Knights, the Athenians are accused of “humming pop songs while they sit by their Ouija boards.” (pg. 103). …what? I’m completely lost to what this could’ve been in the original. It would have been infinitely better to just leave whatever obscure ancient things were being mentioned by Aristophanes in, and just explain them at the bottom. Mentioning a board game invented in 1890 is absolutely bewildering. Roche translates the humor of Aristophanes perfectly, and his plays are extremely readable, but at their worst, anachronistic and distracting on occasion. The flow is overall intact, but there's a big "WHAT?!" reaction waiting on at least every three pages. When translations are this easy and entertaining to read, I always begin to doubt the faithfulness to the source. Is the work I’m reading really the work of Aristophanes, or instead the work of some British guy? This edition is definitely for lighter reading moreso than scholarly study— there aren't even line numbers. Thankfully, after consulting Wikipedia plot summaries and numerous online resources, I can confirm that the Aristophanes I read is the same Aristophanes everyone else has read. Hurrah. But I was quite scared at first.
These plays are guilty pleasures, but awfully important ones. Sure, you can analyze the elements of Old Comedy and how Aristophanes puts them to use, but it feels like you are spending more time analyzing the nice frame a painting is in, instead of the actual painting itself. The The Wasps and Old Comedy section on the Wikipedia page for The Wasps is so far from the joy and humor of everything about the play and its author to a frightening and almost pitiful extent. Its existence saddens me. The idea that this sort of extreme analyzation brings one any closer to the entity once known as The Wasps couldn't be more wrong.
It’s a shame that Aristophanes is not more widely read (I have not spotted a single Barnes & Noble in the state of Arizona that sells any plays by the man. Getting these plays—which were not for school!—involved a long trip to the lonely top floor of the Phoenix Burton Barr library to check them out). I believe it is more beautiful and important to know that people found poop jokes, dick jokes, and general nonsense to be entertainment twenty-five centuries ago, than anything any disconnected metaphysician had to say about the nature of the universe and human consciousness twenty-five centuries ago.
These plays are funny. The fact that human civilization is able to laugh— however guiltily it may be— at the same antics for over two and a half millennia, is important. In some shape or form. I can’t quite pin it down, but it feels comforting in a vague way. Maybe it makes us feel less lonely. This is beyond my scope.
Here are my thoughts on…
…The Acharnians
Aristophanes balances the seriousness of his politics (or, anti-politics) perfectly with the absurd.
It’s a wonder on how fourth-wall breaking started to be considered a modern phenomena, and how any example of it appearing in ancient literature has to be pointed out as being some great anachronism of the universe. Fourth-wall breaking, including long speeches to the audiences were expected in Old Comedy. It’s just what they did.
The gag involving Dikaiopolis offering the Boeotian merchant an informant in a trade looks like to me an extremely early precursor to a modern racist joke, where the multi-cultural crew of a sinking ship (sometimes falling airplane) is instructed to throw off something they have too much of in their country, which punchlines with the member of a majority group tossing off a member of a minority group.
…The Knights
Oh boy, Aristophanes has axes to grind! The incessant, bordering-on-cruel harassment of political enemies in this play is humorous in its sheer overabundance— can one man really be that pissed off? This play requires the most necessary footnotes carrying historical tidbits for the play’s enjoyment, but it is still rewarding. To have seen this play performed with a steaming, enraged Cleon in the audience would have been priceless.
…The Clouds
Ah, a favorite topic of mine: the mockery of philosophers! This is the most immediately funny play I’ve yet read.
While “those crazy rebellious kids” is a universal and timeless predicament, some of the arguments and complaints brought up in this play fall into Blue and Orange Morality. It’s interesting seeing how different conservatism looked back in Ancient Greece compared to what it means in America, today. The argument to remain a follower of the “Good Reason” is tempting, when it means you get your very own girls and boys for your personal pleasures...
…The Wasps
This play reminded me of The Acharnians, in how in the former, one sets up a private marketplace on one’s home, free from the bumbling inefficient government’s intrusion, and how in the latter, a private court is set up on one’s home, free from the bumbling inefficient government’s intrusion. A wonderful cascade of nonsense falls after each alternative is set up— here, with a lawsuit of one dog on another (allegorical, of course), holding various inanimate kitchen utensils as witnesses. Unfortunately, without any sort of visual, the final third of the play is a little chaotic and hard to follow. I’ll try seeing if there is a good performance of this one floating around online.
Aristophanes arguments win a little too easily. Enemies give up, and the choruses (usually made out to be made up of stubborn straw men early on) are swayed to even their own disbelief halfway through each play. Aristophanes was probably a little over hopeful for the change he wanted to happen, knowing that history almost never followed the suggestions Aristophanes spoke so strongly about. Aristophanes was not the only ancient Anthenian with a straw man problem, however.
Speaking of unrelentless cruelty, Aristophanes has a running joke of constantly picking at Cleonymus (who apparently had made the mistake of dropping his shield and running away in fear in the middle of battle). It’s humorous to see how big of a deal Aristophanes is making of an event that seems rather tame to modern eyes, and how it can be brought up in the most irrelevant of situations mid-play. I look forward to seeing attacks on him in the remaining seven plays.
…The Translation
Oh dear. Aristophanes— as explained in Paul Roche’s introduction— is like the Shakespeare of Ancient Greece, when it comes to language creativity and manipulatioon. I’m always a sucker for translator’s woes and whines of their difficulties, but this is a special case. Aristophanes did coin the 171-letter whopper “Lopadotemakhoselakhogaleokranioleipsanodrimypotrimmatosilphio-
karabomelitokatakekhymenokikhlepikossyphophattoperisteralek-
tryonoptokephalliokigklopeleiolagōiosiraiobaphētraganopterýgōn” in his The Assembly Women, and credit must be given to any poor soul that dares attempt a crack at that one.
Paul Roche’s translation is one of those “written yesterday” translations, similar to the controversial Seamus Heaney translation of Beowulf— but far, far worse. In The Acharnians, the word “frigging” is used. “Frigging.” Even though plenty of characters drop the F-bomb frequently… ”frigging.” I’m under the assumption that some creative (and very modern) cursing is necessary to fit in with the meter and rhyme (or as close as you can get in the English language), but sometimes it’s downright distracting. I’m sure the translation does replicate the initial feel and shock of the bawdiness of the plays for the modern reader, but at the same time it really does detract from the flow. Roche leaves in many obscure Ancient Greek references, with explanatory footnotes underneath. Which is fine! Perfectly fine! It's very questionable when he doesn't do this. In The Knights, the Athenians are accused of “humming pop songs while they sit by their Ouija boards.” (pg. 103). …what? I’m completely lost to what this could’ve been in the original. It would have been infinitely better to just leave whatever obscure ancient things were being mentioned by Aristophanes in, and just explain them at the bottom. Mentioning a board game invented in 1890 is absolutely bewildering. Roche translates the humor of Aristophanes perfectly, and his plays are extremely readable, but at their worst, anachronistic and distracting on occasion. The flow is overall intact, but there's a big "WHAT?!" reaction waiting on at least every three pages. When translations are this easy and entertaining to read, I always begin to doubt the faithfulness to the source. Is the work I’m reading really the work of Aristophanes, or instead the work of some British guy?
Spoiler
Who, sadly, passed away two years after this was published— the NYTimes obituary makes no mention of his work with Aristophanes, but does however comment on his repeated exploration of “the almost unbearable immediacy of the human experience,” an honor reserved for only a select deserving few in this world.
The plays were great, but some of the translations were awful. I'm not entirely sure who gets the credit for my rating, so I'll just split the difference.
The most offending translations, I think, were from Mosas Hadas (it's hard to remember since there were eleven plays by 4 different translators -- (Rogers, Webb, Hadas, & Lindsay)), but I think Hadas, the editor of my particular edition, was the worst offender. All of them attempted to translate in verse, which I appreciate, but that requires the translators to make broader interpretations, some of which were more successful than others. I should have taken notes while reading, but the most memorable example is from Hadas' translation of Clouds: "Chewing tobacco, revival meetings, chatauquas, Hoopskirts, fascinators, antimacassars!" I defy anyone to read that line and think, 'Ah, good old Ancient Greece.'
The real problem is that, while I will walk away with the general idea of the plays, I will have to reread each one (with different translators) if I actually want to get a sense of the real 5th & 4th century Greece, and any thoughts about Ancient Greece I might entertain now are potentially fraught with error. I resent that.
The most offending translations, I think, were from Mosas Hadas (it's hard to remember since there were eleven plays by 4 different translators -- (Rogers, Webb, Hadas, & Lindsay)), but I think Hadas, the editor of my particular edition, was the worst offender. All of them attempted to translate in verse, which I appreciate, but that requires the translators to make broader interpretations, some of which were more successful than others. I should have taken notes while reading, but the most memorable example is from Hadas' translation of Clouds: "Chewing tobacco, revival meetings, chatauquas, Hoopskirts, fascinators, antimacassars!" I defy anyone to read that line and think, 'Ah, good old Ancient Greece.'
The real problem is that, while I will walk away with the general idea of the plays, I will have to reread each one (with different translators) if I actually want to get a sense of the real 5th & 4th century Greece, and any thoughts about Ancient Greece I might entertain now are potentially fraught with error. I resent that.