Ex Libris Tulsi

Ex Libris Tulsi

  • Random Thoughts about Books

    I recently discovered Erik Rostad’s challenge to read the works of 200 great authors. I really admire this type of challenge, given the scope and also the timeframe he has given himself, which is 40 years. The commitment required to stay on task for that long is significant.

    One thing I love about these types of challenges is how the people who undertake them fit them into their already busy lives. Erik has generously outlined multiple times how his reading evolved over time, and the part that sticks out to me most is that he started writing in books.

    I am also relatively new to annotating books. I also felt in the past that books were too precious to be marked up with my pointless thoughts and musings as I tried to understand what they meant. But, in reality, books often do require a person to puzzle through them, and the only way to do that is to physically engage with the text in some way. Some people do write notes rather than annotate directly in the text, but this has never worked for me. Writing in books though allows me to feel like I’m actually having a conversation with the author.

    My relationship to books changed when I started annotating. Instead of seeing books as precious as material objects, I started to see them precious in terms of time. How long had it taken the author to write the book, how long have people been deliberating on it, and how much time I am investing into it, to engage with it and get as much as I can out of it? Books stop being beautiful, physical objects (although I do own some books for their beauty) and started being something else entirely.

    In my studies so far, I have found annotating directly in the text I am reading the most effective way for me to make notes in the moment, and then typing them up afterwards as a way to reinforce what I read. I think physically engaging with a text is a powerful thing, and it helps to assert ownership not only of the physical copy, but of the time you spent with it.

  • Review: No Friend to this House

    I recently finished Natalie Hayes newest novel, No Friend to this House, based on the myth of Medea. I have previously read the Argonautica by Apollonius of Rhodes, but have not read Euripides’ play Medea, so only had a loose understanding of what happens to Medea after the events of the Quest for the Golden Fleece conclude.

    Hayes’s novel is a feminist myth retelling, which is a genre I enjoy immensely. It’s interesting to see foundational myths retold to criticize the misogyny that is inherent to them. The character of Medea has appeared in a number of these retellings, most notably in Circe by Madeline Miller, but also Atalanta by Jennifer Saint. I had the sense from both versions that Medea was a tragic figure, but Hayes’s book also infuses her with vulnerability. Her Medea is powerful due to her sorcery skills and is favored by the goddess Hecate. However, she diminishes her power willing because of her love for Jason, something Hayes explores in her retelling.

    Jason, as traditional male heroes are often depicted in feminist retellings, is self-serving and egotistical. His success is due to favor of the goddesses Hera and Athena (referred to as “Athene” in this novel), who persuade Aphrodite to cause Medea to fall in love with Jason. Medea then helps Jason overcome the impossible tasks her father, King Aeetes of Colchis, sets for him to win the Golden Fleece. As a result, she must flee her home with Jason, and inevitably causes the death of her brother who pursues her to bring her home for punishment.

    There are many elements of Hayes’s retelling that are brought to the surface to examination. The first half of the novel centers of Jason’s journey to Colchis, and tells the stories of minor characters. Hayes’ novel depicts the the complexity and interwovenness of Greek Mythology, where background characters who appear in one myth resurface in another.

    Medea enters midway through the book. She is depicted as young, clever and sincere; a woman who is trying to carve a life out for herself that is not dictated to her by her overbearing father. Unfortunately, she falls into another toxic relationship, this time not due to a familial bond, but because she is struck by Eros’s arrow as part of a manipulation by Aphrodite, Hera and Athene who don’t see her as a heroine with her own journey, but a pawn in Jason’s story.

    The most interesting parts of the book to me were Medea’s travels in Greece where she struggles to fit into the new culture she finds herself in. This is not necessarily due to her inability to fit in but because the rules are different for her than they are for the people who grew up in the culture. Jason kills Medea’s brother in Colchis and it is seen as heroic, but Medea kills Jason’s uncle, the usurper who has taken Jason’s birthright, and is seen as barbaric in her actions. When Medea and Jason flee Argos for Corinth, Medea builds a community around her, aware of the fact that as an outsider, she needs acceptance and friendship to be seen as someone who belongs. Jason, on the other hand, doesn’t see the need to do this, and instead angles for more power by attempting to leave his wife and marry the princess Glauke. He declares his marriage to Medea invalid because she is not Greek by birth, proving that he has always seen her as an outsider, even though she has remained loyal to him and beared his children.

    I enjoyed this part of the retelling of the myth as it felt relevant in today’s culture where discussions of who belongs and who is an outsider is an ongoing conversation. The conclusion of the story is heartbreaking, but there is also happiness after tragedy for Medea and her surviving child. It reminded me of Andromache surviving the death of her husband and child, as well as her own slavery, and still managing to live out her life with a measure of peace and joy.

    , , , , , , ,

  • Consumption as an indicator of consciousness

    I’ve just finished reading Moby Dick, which I read as part of a Catherine Project seminar. It was very different to what I was expecting. I assumed it would be a straight-forward story about a young man on a whaling voyage captained by a man obsessed with getting revenge against a whale that took his leg. And while it was that, it was also a discussion on capitalism, the racial melting pot of America, and an exploration of the subject of ‘whales’ from many conceivable view-points: anatomical, how their social groups are formed, what they are worth from an economic standpoint, and who can claim legal ownership of them.

    While reading this book, it clarified an idea that had been formulating in my mind since reading The Odyssey, again as part of a Catherine Group seminar. Certain characters are seen as less ‘civilized’ as others due to their consumption habits. One of the main examples of this is the Cyclops, who eats a large number of Odysseus’s crew. The poem states that the Cyclops is an uncivilized being, in part due to the society it is a part of, where there are no ‘laws’ as such, but where a man makes the rules for his household, and where the households live in harmony, due to an abundance of natural resources. Odysseus observes that there is an island close by that could be colonized by the cyclops, and the fact they chose not to adds to their barbarism. However, it is the consumption of men, and act close to cannibalism, that truly distinguishes the Cyclops as uncivilized.

    In Moby Dick, there is a similar discussion of consumption and civility. Queequeg, a man who has come to the United States from an island nation, is called a ‘cannibal’ (although we are not provided with evidence of his cannibalism), and while his skills as a harpooner are respected, it is acknowledged that he is barbarian, due in part to his paganism, and in part due to his supposed consumption of human flesh. Indeed, when Captain Ahab ‘baptizes’ his harpoon which is meant to kill Moby Dick, he does it in the blood of ‘heathens’, cutting Queequeg and two other ‘pagan’ characters with the tip of the harpoon.

    Moby Dick takes the the discussion of consumption further than The Odyssey, by not only matching the supposed consumption habits of the characters to their level of civility, but criticizing society as a whole for separating itself from its consumption. Whaling, represented as a dirty and bloody business, produced whale oil, which was used in candles and other products used daily by many people in 1850s America. Ismael, the book’s narrator, calls out the reader, a presumed consumer of these products, for ignoring the realities of how whale oil is produced.

    While reading Moby Dick, I found myself musing on why it is important for people to understand how something is consumed. From a practical standpoint, maybe they will choose to consume more mindfully, but in most cases, people will not choose to abstain, or even cut down on their consumption in a meaningful way. I came to the conclusion that by forcing people to confront how the products they use came to be, it is narrowing the gap between the person creating the product, and the person consuming the product. There is mental separation that occurs when all you do is consume, that allows the consumer to assume they are better than the person doing the producing. When the reality of how what you use came to be is presented to you, it’s harder to pretend you are not part of the lifecycle of the product.

    I think consumption will be a theme I come back to continuously during my journey with the Classics. It feels something that is both timeless and timely in its relevance.

    , , , , , , ,