“The matter of this book could be described in summary form as an extended demonstration that ‘gesture here’ is often implied on the manuscript page. We only need to be alert for the signs by which those gestures are indicated” (p. 4). In this neatly organized, well written, and lucid study of non-verbal communication in Archaic and Classical Greek Literature, Professor Alan Boegehold offers interesting and helpful insights into the understanding of passages in both poetry and prose where something is apparently missing that would have completed the thought. And that something is a gesture. “Although we cannot recover the gestures themselves in all their actuality, we may become better readers if we try to intuit their effect” (p. 5). This extra dimension that we are invited to consider when reading ancient texts is as necessary in some cases for understanding what is said as it is crucial for sensing what is meant. As the author warns, this is not a systematic review of all Archaic and Classical Literature, but a collection of examples whose “cumulative effect could nevertheless prompt readers and editors of the great ancient Greek texts to try while they read to imagine living, breathing presences whose words their authors saw being delivered with expressive movements of heads, eyes, hands, and torsos” (p. 10).
In Chapter One (Nonverbal Communication), Boegehold sets the groundwork for his study by reviewing descriptions of gestures and postures in ancient literature, depictions of these in sculpture and painting, and gestures used by people in modern Greece and the Mediterranean, insofar as these can reasonably be imagined to represent ancient practice. The survey begins with Iliad 1.527-28, where Homer specifically states that, in response to Thetis’ request for help, Zeus expressed his approval by nodding his head in a downward motion, a way of expressing agreement still employed in Greece, as is the opposite motion for signifying denial. Boegehold is particularly convincing where he has been able to match pictorial image with verbal description, as in the case of a red-figure painting by the Andokides Painter (Figure 17), which features two warriors opposite each other at a low table (pp. 25-26). One of the figures holds out his right hand with index and middle fingers extended, while the other two fingers are folded within the palm. This is precisely the same gesture ascribed by Quintilian (11.3.98) and Apuleius ( Meta. 2.21). Boegehold reasonably concludes that this slight movement of the arm localizes one who is about to speak, a motion particularly useful for actors; comparison to a photo of Ronald Reagan with Andre Gromyko in 1984 (unfortunately not provided) is a nice touch. Equally witty and persuasive is the photograph of an audience attending a lecture at Wellesley College, several of whom have assumed the Thinker’s pose (Figure 16), which is compared to the red-figure kylix on which Oedipus, hand under chin, ponders the Sphinx’s riddle (Figure 15).
In Chapter Two (Some Attic Red-Figure Scenes), Boegehold analyzes several scenes employing the methodology established in the first chapter. On Douris’ rendition of the vote for the arms of Achilles (Figure 22), he argues convincingly that Athena’s outstretched arm does not signify her support of Odysseus, who stands with arms raised in victory to her right, as has been argued, but that she is indicating the result of the vote. In support of this, Boegehold offers Euripides Iph. Taur. 965-66, where Orestes says “‘Pallas with her arm certified the counting of the ballots as equal
In Chapter Three (Homer), Boegehold introduces his discussion of the tendency to omit the apodosis of a conditional clause, when something like “it is well,” “it will be well,” or in one case “beware,” is to be understood; there are also cases where the protasis is to be supplied with a phrase such as “if you like.” Ancient grammarians called the first ellipsis anantapodosis; Boegehold employs the phrase “‘incomplete’ conditional sentence” and provides numerous examples throughout the book. For instance, at Il. 1.134-39 Agamemnon states: “Are you telling me to give her back? Well, if the great-hearted Achaians will give me a prize, fitting to my liking, so that it is of equal value —. But if they do not give
Six passages from Archilochus and two from Pindar are examined in Chapter Four (Archaic Poets). Boegehold reasonably imagines that Archilochus’ lively verse would have been accompanied by gestures that dramatize his statements. For instance, in Archilochus 89, when the poet states “I wish I could get to touch Neoboule,” he may have touched his own breast or he may have pointed when reciting “Glaukos, look: waves are troubling the deep sea” (Archilochus 103). The two passages taken from Pindar (N. 4.79-81 and O. 2.56-60) are further examples of “incomplete” conditional sentences. In the first case, I don’t sense that a gesture is necessary, though I would not necessarily exclude it. Pindar states: “But if you are telling me still to erect a stele / whiter than Parian stone for your mother’s brother, Kallikles,
Turning to Tragedy in Chapter Five, Boegehold argues that faith in particles alone as a way of interpreting the tone of an utterance is too limited. He counters that “by imagining the actors’ non-verbal communications, [we] can answer questions that have been raised in the past, and for which traditional philology has not provided fully satisfactory answers” (p. 53) . Representative examples from Aeschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides are offered, one of which I shall briefly examine. At Agamemnon 1060-61, when Cassandra does not respond to Clytemnestra’s order to enter the palace, she states “But if, because you have no understanding of Greek, you are not receiving my words… / instead of speaking, make an indication with your barbaric hand” (p. 55). The first part of the sentence is treated as another “incomplete” conditional sentence (though this is not necessarily so if we read
Aristophanes provides the focus for Chapter Six. The first suggestion, that actors would have made a gesture of some sort to signal a quotation or parody, unsupported by ancient testimony, is not compelling, particularly since a shift to the stricter meters of tragedy, for instance, and the use of elevated vocabulary should suffice to signal the allusion. Moreover, it is hard to imagine what kind of gesture would be employed. Rather than a specific gesture (like our four-fingered dramatization of quotation marks), a slight change in the speaker’s voice or stance would suffice, though even this may not be likely given the brevity of many of the allusions. A stronger case is made in this chapter for the act of shaking out one’s clothes as a gesture accompanying a curse, something the Greeks still do, as Boegehold points out. The examples cited ( Acts 18.6, Esdras 2.15.13, and Lysias 6.51) clinch the point. I would be cautious, however, about identifying every act of shaking clothes as a curse. The instances cited on p. 76 (e.g., when the Clouds shake off the mist from their bodies at Clouds 287-90 or when the old men who have been doused at Lysistrata 401-02 act similarly) do not require a curse to make sense. Wet clothes sometimes need to be shaken dry.
Oratorical gestures are examined Chapter Seven. Appealing to Alcidamas ( On Sophists 13), Boegehold begins with the proposition that the most effective speeches in court are those which are articulated naturally, sometimes offending against basic rules of syntax, and accompanied by gestures. This must have been the case, with or without the help of Alcidamas, but some of the examples offered are problematic. For instance, Antiphon 6.23: “I told him to go with all the witnesses he wanted to the people who were present — I named each one — and question and test them, those who were free in a manner befitting free men, who for their own sakes and for the sake of the truth would tell the truth of what happened, and the slaves, if he thought upon questioning them they were telling the truth
Turning to Historians in Chapter 8, Boegehold argues that elliptical sentences, particularly in Herodotus and Xenophon, can be better understood by the gestures which would have been used in oral performances. This line of thinking raises a broader question regarding the reading public, which I am not prepared to engage. I would hazard to say, however, that an interpretive performance should not be necessary for a reading audience intimately familiar with the body language that typically accompanies certain ellipses. In any event, Boegehold has identified more interesting examples of “incomplete” conditional sentences and embedded quotations. With regard to Herodotus 9.60 and 5.20, the combination
In his brief conclusion, Boegehold recapitulates the basic thesis of the book: particles alone cannot bridge the verbal gaps found in Greek prose and verse; often a gesture is needed to complete the thought. Although I may disagree with some of the author’s readings, I nonetheless feel that this an important book. Reading ancient Greek literature without allowing for the use of non-verbal communication can, as Boegheld has shown, reduce lively colloquial scenes to static and lacunose tableaux or even lead to misconstructions of the text. By examining, and then inviting us to imagine, formulaic ellipses with the help of ancient testimony and works of art as well as the persistence of certain gestures in specific contexts, Boegehold shows us how to assume a more dynamic approach when reading ancient texts, one that fills in some of the gaps and exposes some of the action inherent in oral communication among the Greeks.