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A review by archytas
The Greek Plays: Sixteen Plays by Aeschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides by Mary Lefkowitz, Euripides, Aeschylus, James Romm, Sophocles
5.0
Many people have that thing you studied in high school that just clicked, that opened worlds and brought passion. For me, that was Greek drama. Something about the intensity, the poetry, the surprise that humanity could be so recognisable over millennia - that a poet living so long ago on the other side of the world could see into me. Fast forward a few decades, I finally travel to Athens, and to prep go looking for this love of my youth. I landed on this volume because of the emphasis on accuracy, context and the use of Greek words. I majored in Greek at uni, meaning I had read all of the plays in volume before, in original or translation, sand connecting to the Greek was important. I also re-read Thucydides, an unexpectedly tedious experience - so entered the book with the fear that the magic had gone.
I shouldn't have worried. From the opening lines of Aeschylus' Persians, I was hooked. These plays demand your attention. There is no need to elucidate meanings through stilted prose - characters lay their emotions out in articulate, raw, boastful verse that speaks straight to your own emotions. There is complexity for the reader/viewer aplenty, which comes from trying to sort through what it all means - who is right and who is not, and how can everyone be right when they are trenchantly opposed? The Gods appear onstage at times, but are often most powerful when absent: forces to which humans surrender, fight or adapt to (The Bacchae, in which Dionysus is remarkably human, is an exception not rule). This ensures a delicate balance of agency and inevitability, where serves somehow to place more emphasis, not less, on that agency.
It is a treasure to have so many plays in a single volume, all with decent translations. I took it to Greece with me, read Hippolytus as the plane descended, sat in the Theatre of Dionysus and read Medea's main monologue in the heat, returning to consume Oedipus at Colonus in a cooler early evening. I dipped into Eumenides while watching over Aeropagus Hill, and ran through Antigone tucked up in bed. My beloved Bacchae I left until last when I was home and processing. To adolescent me, the Bacchae was the greatest literary work ever. I read it over and over. I remember trying to explain how real the intensity of emotion, the tragedy, the stupid arrogance felt. As I got older, its glory faded, replaced by an appreciation for the shading of Antigone and the rest of Sophocles' Oresteia, of Prometheus Bound, and in Euripides work, the strong anti-war message of Trojan Women* and the possible feminist readings of Medea and Alcestis. To my pleased surprise, I rediscovered an appreciation for the Bacchae, without the same identification with emotion, but recognising the greatness of the structure, the mingling of ecstasy, despair, grandeur, pettiness, awe and the crash to reality. Sure Euripides is not subtle in his messaging, but he paints in a flurry of colours with detail that can be obscured if you don't take your time with it.
The extra detail here is mostly excellent. The short essays at the end cover key topics succinctly - and if you are thinking of taking this to Greece, the performance details help the imagining-how-theatres-actually-looked thing. But the footnotes - well - many of the footnotes are excellent, especially those relating to translation issues and meter. But many are just irritating, repeating definitions already given or just explaining very basic mythology (which was often clear from context in any case). If these had been distinguished between, it would have solved the problem, but I found myself continuously yanked out of the text uselessly, eventually being forced to choose between losing the interesting textual info or severely disrupted reading.
On the whole, however, I would highly recommend this volume to Greek drama newbies and oldies alike.
*One advantage at least of having just reread Thucydides was that I had the timeline of the Peloponnesian War fresh, and could appreciate the timing of the plays - and their undoubted critique of Athenia war atrocities - better.
I shouldn't have worried. From the opening lines of Aeschylus' Persians, I was hooked. These plays demand your attention. There is no need to elucidate meanings through stilted prose - characters lay their emotions out in articulate, raw, boastful verse that speaks straight to your own emotions. There is complexity for the reader/viewer aplenty, which comes from trying to sort through what it all means - who is right and who is not, and how can everyone be right when they are trenchantly opposed? The Gods appear onstage at times, but are often most powerful when absent: forces to which humans surrender, fight or adapt to (The Bacchae, in which Dionysus is remarkably human, is an exception not rule). This ensures a delicate balance of agency and inevitability, where serves somehow to place more emphasis, not less, on that agency.
It is a treasure to have so many plays in a single volume, all with decent translations. I took it to Greece with me, read Hippolytus as the plane descended, sat in the Theatre of Dionysus and read Medea's main monologue in the heat, returning to consume Oedipus at Colonus in a cooler early evening. I dipped into Eumenides while watching over Aeropagus Hill, and ran through Antigone tucked up in bed. My beloved Bacchae I left until last when I was home and processing. To adolescent me, the Bacchae was the greatest literary work ever. I read it over and over. I remember trying to explain how real the intensity of emotion, the tragedy, the stupid arrogance felt. As I got older, its glory faded, replaced by an appreciation for the shading of Antigone and the rest of Sophocles' Oresteia, of Prometheus Bound, and in Euripides work, the strong anti-war message of Trojan Women* and the possible feminist readings of Medea and Alcestis. To my pleased surprise, I rediscovered an appreciation for the Bacchae, without the same identification with emotion, but recognising the greatness of the structure, the mingling of ecstasy, despair, grandeur, pettiness, awe and the crash to reality. Sure Euripides is not subtle in his messaging, but he paints in a flurry of colours with detail that can be obscured if you don't take your time with it.
The extra detail here is mostly excellent. The short essays at the end cover key topics succinctly - and if you are thinking of taking this to Greece, the performance details help the imagining-how-theatres-actually-looked thing. But the footnotes - well - many of the footnotes are excellent, especially those relating to translation issues and meter. But many are just irritating, repeating definitions already given or just explaining very basic mythology (which was often clear from context in any case). If these had been distinguished between, it would have solved the problem, but I found myself continuously yanked out of the text uselessly, eventually being forced to choose between losing the interesting textual info or severely disrupted reading.
On the whole, however, I would highly recommend this volume to Greek drama newbies and oldies alike.
*One advantage at least of having just reread Thucydides was that I had the timeline of the Peloponnesian War fresh, and could appreciate the timing of the plays - and their undoubted critique of Athenia war atrocities - better.