Homer, Tragedy and Beyond. Essays in Honour of P.E. Easterling

Disclaimer: Professor P.E. Easterling was external examiner for my Ph.D. thesis (University of Glasgow, 1997).

Professor P.E. Easterling is renowned for combining first-rate scholarship with extraordinary humanitas towards both her colleagues and her students. As regards the latter, in particular, I know one when I see one, for they are invariably encomiastic of her kindness, encouragement, and unfailing support. Appropriately enough, therefore, this book is a tribute by thirteen of her most recent students, which started life as a colloquium in her honor, held at the Institute of Classical Studies in London in March 1999. No thematic or other unity has been attempted: the topics dealt with cover a remarkably wide range, from archaic epic to tragedy to palaeography — even to cinema. As pointed out both by the editors (p. v) and by Oliver Taplin, who supplied the Introduction (p. 2), this variety nicely reflects the diversity of Prof. Easterling’s own interests. The present reviewer is by no means qualified to pass judgement on such a variegated assortment of papers; part of what follows, therefore, will be offered by way of presentation rather than criticism.

The book starts off impressively with a tour de force of polymathy and acumen by Peter Gainsford. G. offers an approach of Odyssey 19 as narrative in which the traditional formal patterning of recognition scenes (testing, deception, foretelling, recognition), rather than proving conducive to the achievement of full formal closure, deliberately entertains the possibility of recognition never materializing. The narrative remains undecided, so to speak, among the multiple and divergent plot-lines provided by aoidic tradition, with the result that “the narrative is always in tension” (p. 3). Closure is deliberately postponed, although it is consciously alluded to and remains implicit in the formal patterning of story-telling. G. ably demonstrates how the recognition between Odysseus and Penelope is constructed as a thematically pertinent divergence from what are expected to be the standard formal features of recognition scenes. As an instance of false start, aoidic self-correction, and narrative backtracking, it is shown to provide “an interesting glimpse into the world of Homeric narrative as a performance act” (p. 11). Aoidoi continually (re)assess, modify, and adjust their narrative goals, and thus their performative act, according to thematic or aesthetic criteria. The distinct elements of narrative patterns are obfuscated, and the audience (despite its expectation of a clearly articulated pattern) is inveigled into perceiving the narrative as a seamless sequence. In the case of Odyssey 19, aoidic re-molding of formal structures and strictures seems to constitute a case of quasi-Derridean “différance” (although G. never puts it in such terms): the conventional or predictable configuration of the recognition scene, and the resulting set of meanings, is perpetually deferred precisely as a result of aoidic differentiation from the expected narrative “template”. I am aware that my simplified synopsis inevitably fails to do justice to G.’s complex and subtle thesis, which can be fully appreciated only by a close reading of his densely argued article.

Johannes Haubold examines two of the lesser-known Homeric hymns, namely 15 (To Herakles) and 20 (To Hephaistos). His aim is to “pay particular attention to the end of the poems and proceed by asking how that end is promised, put off, finally achieved and transcended in the course of the text” (p. 25). Offering a close reading of the hymn to Herakles, with particular attention to its formal features, H. argues that the hymn, by evoking Herakles’ status as a human sufferer, undermines its own character as prayer to a superhuman being; however, the potential disorder is eventually warded off by the poem’s closure which appropriately invokes Herakles as a god able to bestow excellence and bliss. In other words (although the terminology is never used by H.), this short poem is a “speech act” effecting (predominantly by its closing line) Herakles’ transition from the human sufferings of his epic past to the divine ὄλβος of his hymnic present. H. nicely brings out what has long been acknowledged as a typical trait of Herakles, namely his borderline status betwixt and between humanity and divinity.¹ Hephaistos, on the other hand, appears as guarantor of civilized order, both for humans and for the gods, in that he ensures their status as carefree dwellers of houses rather than caves, and (especially in the case of humans) as civilized doers of ἔργα rather than inactive animal-like entities. However, H.’s interpretation of this hymn (as of all Homeric hymns) as “epic with an end” disregards the significant fact that the hymn ends in a note of uncertainty: the invocation ἵληθι points unmistakably to the possibility of Hephaistos’ retracting his gifts to humanity, i.e. of his endangering the very order for which he is exalted in the hymn. The hymn’s ending line, that is, does not so much create closure as articulate the danger of its own dissolution as religious discourse; it thereby necessitates its regular reiteration as a means of ensuring the permanence of civilized order, which is not only described but also effected by the hymn qua speech act.

Diana Burton starts off wondering whether the tradition of a “grave of Zeus” in Crete represents a local aberration and ends up answering that it does not. In between, she examines the death of gods in a specific group of Greek myths, namely succession myths. I have found many things to admire in this paper, as well as a good deal to demur at. On the one hand, it is verbose and often proclaims the self-evident: thus, e.g., in pp. 44-45 B. takes 20 lines of text and 19 lines of footnotes to argue that Greek gods are immortal. On the other, it does make quite a few good points but fails to bring them together to form a coherent picture. For instance, after an examination of several possible ways of “killing”, i.e. rendering powerless, a god (imprisonment in Tartarus, fettering, deprivation of nektar and ambrosia), the fate of Typhoeus is singled out for special mention: Typhoeus was sentenced to eternal confinement underneath Mt. Aitna and, B. argues, was thereby rendered powerless by being transformed into a feature of the landscape. Now, B. does adduce convincing Near Eastern parallels to document her claim and brilliantly construes Typhoeus’ fate as an instance of imbalance between his anthropomorphic and his landscape components (the former being subjugated to the latter); nonetheless, she conspicuously fails to demonstrate the relevance of all this to the tradition of the “grave of Zeus”. True, Zeus’ power comes under attack on several occasions (by Typhoeus, by Metis, by Thetis), but, unlike the cases of Ouranos and Kronos, the threats against his sovereignty are never successfully carried out. The ‘deaths’ of Ouranos and Kronos, as B. herself is aware, “act as a catalyst in establishing the cosmos, and the order which controls it” (p. 53); Zeus, however, is the upholder of the present world-order and therefore can be threatened but not replaced. What is more, as Kallimakhos’ famous reaction shows (Hymn to Zeus, 7-10), the existence of a “grave of Zeus” suggests that Zeus is dead — not that he has been pinned in his grave, like Typhoeus, and thus transformed into a feature of the landscape.

Barbara Graziosi’s study of the Certamen Homeri et Hesiodi is in large part an essay on ancient Greek agonistics. Its central question is whether ancient Greek contests were ‘zero-sum’ games, in which one party’s gain automatically translates into the opponent’s commensurate loss. Her literary study of the Certamen is presented against a backdrop of poignantly contemporary references, from the controversial Research Assessment Exercise in British Universities to the ideological foundations of modern capitalism and free-market economy — both of which G. wryly questions.² Using the Certamen as a test case, G. advances the thesis that not all Greek contests were zero-sum games. The Certamen does not end in the annihilation of Homer by Hesiod; rather, it serves as an occasion in which the wisdom of both poets can be fully displayed as a result of their joint forces of poetic composition. G.’s paper is rigorously focused on detail and often provides insights into such subtle but cardinal topics as the context of epic performance and the technicalities of hexameter versification. To single out just one instance from her argumentation: a substantial part of the Certamen contains the so-called γνῶμαι ἀμφίβολοι, i.e. hexameters seemingly containing a complete thought which is either absurd or improper; the addition (involving enjambement) of a further line restores sense or propriety. G. very aptly points out that this part of the Certamen plays on the tendency of Homeric verse to structure itself in complete and self-contained units, to which a line may be added (by way of enjambement) further qualifying its meaning. G. here draws cleverly on the work of M. Parry,³ but could have also exploited profitably the Modern Greek parallels discussed briefly but suggestively by J. Kakridis⁴ and the succinct treatment of the ambiguities created by enjambement in Aristotle (Rhet. 1409b8-12) and subsequently in Demetrius (De eloc. 58).

Laced with welcome dashes of exhilarating humor, and retaining much of the freshness of oral delivery, Alan Griffiths’ paper on “The Genesis of Stories in Herodotus” provides a morphological analysis and comparison between widely separated Herodotean stories, which — in spite of their being apparently unconnected — turn out to be variants of basically the same underlying narrative structure. Such underlying patterns may surface in quite different forms, and to identify them means to (re)construct a “hintertext” (as G. calls it, p. 78), a “deep structure” of coherently arranged mythemes, which (in the case of the Herodotean stories examined by G.) derive from popular, non-literary narratives. This is no mere inquiry into the folktale motifs in Herodotus: G. deliberately disconnects his sample of five Herodotean stories from their immediate context, ignoring their chronological ordering, in favour of a synchronic examination. Such an examination does not aim at revealing the techniques of formulaic repetition or the author’s typical compositional routines; rather, it seeks to isolate and describe a story’s constituent elements or “motifs” regardless of their permutations, thereby revealing a complex, multi-nodal network of narrative units that may appear in various combinations and guises. This, as G. is aware (p. 88), is “literary archaeology”, i.e. is concerned not so much with Herodotus’ History itself as with its sources — a peculiar kind of Quellenforschung that is fully aware of its limitations and consciously eclectic in its methodology.

Katerina Zacharia, in a highly speculative but extremely interesting paper, explores the associations of the Tereus myth in Sophocles’ homonymous play with “kinship diplomacy”,⁵ namely the construction and political exploitation of mythical kinship relations between cities. Z. starts off in good old structuralist fashion by assembling all the extant variants of the Tereus myth, some of which make him king of Thrace while others present him as a Megarian or Phocian. However, she avoids the temptation of interpreting the Thracian variant as a product of Hellenic nationalism comfortably relegating the horrors of the Tereus myth to the barbarian realm of Thrace: after all, as she rightly points out (p. 97), both the child-murder and the cannibalism are the work of two Athenian princesses, Prokne and Philomela. Z. would rather see the Tereus myth as a malleable narrative capable of expressing the mutable and uneasy relations between Athens and Thrace in the 5th century: according to political expediency, one could bring up the element of violence (which would justify Athenian military opposition to Northerners) or the element of kinship (which would bolster Athenian claims on Thrace). Z. also interprets the Megarian variant of the myth as an expression of a similar political uneasiness, given the tense relations between Athens and Megara. All of this is exceedingly stimulating and admirably insightful, but one cannot help feeling that Z. should not have dismissed so perfunctorily (p. 92 n. 2) the reconstruction of the play by N.C. Hourmouziades⁶ — who does not, by the way, rely solely on Hyginus, as Z. misleadingly implies (l.c.). Hourmouziades’ reconstruction, far from being an idle exercise in philological creativity, brilliantly restores Tereus to his rightful position at the center of the play (which, after all, bears his name), and shows that the Thracian king is likely to have been a respectable tragic hero rather than a melodramatic adulterous monster. In this light, Z.’s argument may require some modification.⁷

Thalia Papadopoulou sets out to investigate the moral ambiguities of revenge in Euripides’ Herakles. Her investigation soon turns into a description of the process whereby Heracles, the rightful avenger, is gradually invaded by the very cruelty and lawlessness he is supposed to be fighting. Few would take exception with this point, and least of all Prof. Easterling herself, who has very perceptively remarked, with regard to the first stasimon of Sophocles’ Trachiniae, that “the contest [between Herakles and Akheloos] is described in terms which bring out the primitive violence of the scene, and there is no attempt to distinguish the glorious Heracles from his monstrous opponent Achelous”.⁸ My sole objection to P.’s treatment of the matter is that it scarcely advances our knowledge either of the nature of Herakles or of revenge ethics. That Herakles’ fighting with monsters (and, we may add, villains) on equal terms is a sign of his own animality has long been remarked by various scholars.⁹ And that the corner-stone of ancient Greek ethics, namely “help your friends and harm your enemies” is highly problematic has long been recognized — indeed, it has received a magisterial treatment, in connection with Sophoclean tragedy, in M. Blundell’s justly acclaimed book,¹⁰ which P. surprisingly neglects.

Barbara Goward provides an interesting and thoughtful synkrisis between Shakespeare’s “The Tempest” and Sophocles’ “Philoctetes” on the basis of scenic, structural and ethical similarities. The desert island is, of course, a key element in both plays, as is the plot of intrigue, but G. explores less obvious and far more exciting similarities, such as the strategy of narrative repetition as an agent of Aristotelian μεταβολή : Prospero’s re-staging, on the desert island, of the intrigue previously undertaken in Milan by his brother Antonio against him underlines his being again in control; in “Philoctetes”, by contrast, the multiplication, in a mise-en-abîme structure, of narratives concerned with fetching and/or abduction creates an acute sense of deadlock, because the audience are aware of the problems inherent in persuading the wounded hero to come to Troy. A second common theme identified by G. is that of μετάγνοια : Prospero’s educational experiment suceeds with Miranda but fails in the case of Caliban, who remains irrevocably bound to his sub-human nature. The situation in the Sophoclean play is more complex: Neoptolemos’ education (either by means of absorbing Odysseus’ rationalizations or by witnessing Philoctetes’ suffering) produces in him a radical change of mind; Philoctetes, on the other hand, quite unlike the monstrous Caliban, is disturbingly “a fully human hero, capable of moral choice but reduced to wild intransigence by the cruelty of his fellow men” (p. 139). Philoctetes’ steadfast imperviousness to new learning is, ironically, the result not of his insularity but of a series of dishonest attempts, on the part of the Greeks, to “educate” him. G.’s argumentation is pellucid, well thought-out, and full of perceptive observations. Nonetheless, I cannot help feeling that she has underestimated both the role of the oracle (as opposed to human conflict) in “Philoctetes” and the ambiguities of πειθώ. Richard Buxton has argued convincingly that in some contexts πειθώ, far from being opposed to δόλος, may actually become indistinguishable from it.¹¹ In this respect, G.’s insistence that Neoptolemus’ and Odysseus use of guile (or downright blackmail) does not qualify as persuasion, and that it constitutes a violation “of what we would call the ‘human rights’ of [Philoctetes]” (p. 142), betrays a readiness on G.’s part to foist modern Western values on a society whose ethical preoccupations were very different from G.’s own. True, Philoctetes is about the limitations of human learning, as G. maintains (p.146), but these limitations are played up against the backdrop of an ambiguously phrased, gradually revealed, and continually shifting oracle, whose importance cannot possibly be “overemphasized”, as G. has it (p. 145).

Nikos Charalabopoulos, in his paper “The metatheatrical reader of Plato’s Protagoras”, challenges the dichotomy between context and content that underlies not only traditional studies focusing exclusively on the philosophical argument of Platonic dialogues but also those less conventional studies that consider the form of the dialogues to be as important for the creation of meaning as their content. C. seeks to supersede this dichotomy by arguing for a holistic interpretation of the dialogue form in Plato. The question he asks is not why Plato wrote dialogues (such a question is anachronistic to the extent that it stems from the assumption that the only legitimate form of philosophical writing is that of the treatise) but how his dialogues can be reintegrated into their historical context as samples of a dialectical relationship with dramatic poetry, arguably a dominant mode of public discourse and social self-reflexion in the fourth century. C. consequently examines instances of appropriation of dramatic or theatrical conventions in Plato’s “Protagoras”, and of explicit references to the world of the theatre. In a manner strongly reminiscent of Greek dramas, the “Protagoras” contains stage directions embedded in the text, while standard theatrical motifs (such as the beginning of the action before dawn, or the impatient knocking at the door) are alluded to and sometimes reversed as part of Plato’s appropriation of theatrical modes. Even theatrical terminology, such as χορός or ἔξοδος, may be seen to serve as textual markers introducing a (meta)theatrical dimension at nodal points in the plot (however, C. goes rather too far when he compares Socrates’ and Protagoras’ mutual change of views at the end of the dialogue with the reversal of fortune characteristic of many tragic heroes; the Platonic text does not afford scope for such a parallelism). The metatheatricality of the “Protagoras” may also take the form of explicit or allusive reference to specific dramas. Thus, the mention in 327d of a specific performance, namely Pherecrates’ “Agrioi”, which we are to assume was attended by the participants of the dialogue, is seen as establishing “a link between the pragmatics of the performance and that of the dialogue, suggesting a continuum that underlies these discourses” (p.168). C. identifies two more covert allusions, namely to the “Prometheus” (321a), and to Euripides’ “Hippolytos” (352d-e). The former is seen as integrating Protagoras’ anthropological myth into the context of traditional accounts of the origins of human society such as the one offered in the “Prometheus” (lines 228-54, esp. 231-2). The latter is construed as a possible (though by no means certain) reply to the traditional view, voiced by the Euripidean Phaidra (“Hippolytos” 380-7), that the hoi polloi act wrongly in spite of their knowledge of what is good — a view that Socrates famously held to be untrue. When all is said and done, C.’s paper raises more questions than it answers: no adequate interpretation is offered for this complex network of Platonic allusions to the theatre — as C. himself admits, “[t]he precise nature of this relationship needs to be examined further” (p.174). However, C.’s analysis is careful and balanced and appropriately brings up a dimension of the dialogue form in Plato that had been unduly underestimated.

Clement of Alexandria as a reader of Homer is the topic of Cornelia van der Poll’s paper. Clement’s apologetic writings, especially the “Protrepticus”, addressing probably a pagan audience with an interest in Christianity, deliberately adopts a rhetoric that combines quotations from pagan Greek poetry and from the Bible. Unlike other apologists like Tatian or Theophilus of Antioch, Clement is prepared to find edifying elements in pagan literature, although he is often prone (like other apologists, e.g. Theodoretus of Cyrrhus, we may add) to attribute them either to the Greeks’ “stealing” them from the Hebrews or to the revelation (partial, of course) of divine logos even to the pagans. In the “Protrepticus” Clement utilizes Homer as one of his principal subtexts, although the use he makes of it is far from consistent: drawing on a tradition of Homeric criticism consisting both of Homeromastiges and of allegorical interpreters often seeking to vindicate Homer, Clement is able to read Homeric poetry equivocally, i.e. both as a text celebrating the ridiculous gods of Greek religion and as a pagan authority corroborating the message of the Scriptures. In this he is aided by such devices as the (deliberate?) misconstruction of Homeric δαίμων as having the much later sense of “evil spirit”; the detection of inconsistencies or improprieties in the Homeric image of the gods (a practice as old as Xenophanes, 21 B 11 Diels-Kranz); the reduction of Greek gods to mere allegories of natural powers, i.e. to mere matter (although Clement at least once exploits the allegorical method in order to make Homer comply with the Bible); the moralizing reading of the Odyssey (especially of the Sirens’ episode) as symbolizing the soul’s voyage towards virtue; etc. All in all, Clement seems to implement an agenda of conveying his Christian message in a form familiar to an educated pagan audience (e.g. by embedding Homeric quotations in his text). He was not alone in this: the practice of subsuming the artes liberales under the all-encompassing Christian doctrine soon became a widespread trend in patristic literature.

On a much more technical note, Natalie Tchernetska identifies a scrap of a Cambridge Greek-Arabic palimpsest as belonging originally to a Greek Biblical manuscript which was copied in the 7th or 8th c. in the Middle East and was later recycled to copy Lives of Saints in Arabic. The identification is made on the basis of palaeographic similarities with the more substantial parts of the manuscript, which are preserved in Leipzig and St Petersburg.

Equally technical, but also a joy to read, is Felix Budelmann’s paper on a most interesting aspect of the history of metrical scholarship, namely the progressive dichotomy between sound/performance and text as foci of metrical analysis. B. points out, in a careful step-by-step demonstration, that the study of metre as we know it today (i.e. basically as patterns of longs and shorts printed on paper) is the outcome of a gradual shift of scholarly emphasis. Ancient metricians, down to Aristoxenus, take pains faithfully to describe the subtle varieties of rhythm in actual performance, and consequently treat ῤυθμός and μέτρον“as something one can hear or otherwise perceive” (p. 213). However, the influential Hephaistion (who may or may not have been continuing an older tradition) canonized the black-and-white division into short and long syllables, with the emphasis now being “completely on the written rather than the spoken or sung word” (p. 219). Although Hephaistion did not instantly obliterate alternative methods of analysis (as the example of Aristides Quintilianus shows), the influence of his Enchiridion on Byzantine metrical scholarship is amply evidenced: the metrical scholia and the metrical treatises of this period document an almost exclusive preoccupation with the written word and a concentration on syllables as units of metrical analysis. Rounded off by a valuable list of published Byzantine treatises on ancient Greek metre and an impressive bibliographical index, B.’s well-researched and masterfully argued paper paints a clear picture of Greek metrics without compromising its complexity. It will be a treat for specialists and non-specialists alike.

The book ends with a fine contribution by Pantelis Michelakis on screen adaptations of Greek tragedy. M.’s overview spans 90 years (1908-1998) of cinematic appropriation of Greek tragedy, from the film recordings of stage productions early in the 20th century to the avant-garde filmography of the late 1990’s. His main preoccupation is with the deployment of the landscape as a means for the politicization of Greek tragedy; his study thereby places itself in the context of the recent scholarly interest in 20th-century performances of Greek drama as reflections of issues of social, ethnic, or political identity.¹² Special emphasis is laid, naturally, on Michael Cacoyannis’ Electra as exemplifying the then-novel incorporation of landscape features (i.e. real-life settings and archaeological sites) into the filmic texture. (At the risk of sounding fastidious, I lodge a minor complaint about the lack of any reference to Mikis Theodorakis’ enthralling Electra soundtrack: his majestic use of such popular instruments as klarino and sandouri adds significantly to Cacoyannis’ emphasis on Greek folklore and is thus part and parcel with his cinematic vision of the Greek landscape.) M. then moves on to films that feature visually provocative landscapes, thereby seeking to challenge stereotypes about the classical past. Naturally, this section focuses on the virulently arid, asphyxiating landscapes of Pasolini’s “Edipo Re” and “Medea”, and on films that draw on Pasolini’s achievement (Michael Cacoyannis’ “Trojan Women” and “Iphigenia”, Demos Theos’ “Process”). In the following sections M. explores the antithesis between the dystopian civic landscape and the more ambiguous (rather, polysemous) forest in five more recent film-makers, namely Lars von Trier, Yiorgos Stamboulopoulos, Amy Greenfield, Jorge Ali Triana, and Liliana Cavani. M.’s well-crafted and captivating paper displays an extraordinary wealth of factual information that is matched only by his insightful analysis and crystal-clear argumentation.

The book is carefully and tastefully produced thanks to the editorial care of Budelmann and Michelakis, who presumably supplied also the General Index (pp. 259-60) and the Index of Passages Discussed (pp.261-62). The errors (inevitable in collective volume of 275 pages) are comparatively few and far between, although sometimes obtrusive and not always attributable to the press. Here is a selection: “Kerford” for “Kerferd” (p.30 n.42); “seemless” for “seamless” (p.38 n.77); p. 63: n. 33 should be on p. 64; ἀνάλκις for ἄναλκις (p.67); ἒν for ἓν (p. 67); “n.39,” for “n.39),” (p.85 n.42); “topology” for “typology” (p.87); “Solon” for “Croesus” (p.88); “Classical Deal” for “Classical Ideal” (p.112); “honore” for “onore” (p.146); “Quintino Claudio” for “Quintino Cataudella” (p.146); “Euridice” for “Eurydice” (p.177); “Attische” for “griechische” (p.178); χύλον for ξύλον (pp.192, 194); εἳς for εἷς (p.198); “Ruigh” for “Ruijgh” (p.215 n.28); “Choreoboscus” for “Choeroboscus” (p.218 n. 38, p.234 five times); “Damsceni” for “Damasceni” (p.239).

The generally very high quality of the essays contained in this volume is not only a worthy token of gratitude for Pat Easterling’s scholarly achievement but also a measure of her excellence as a teacher and supervisor. Much as one may quibble about minor points here and there, the fact remains that Homer, Tragedy and Beyond is an assortment of thought-provoking, well-argued papers — a χορεία of grateful pupils celebrating with its scholarly polyphony the successful conclusion of their teacher’s distinguished career.

Notes

1. In this respect, H. could have profitably used, e.g., G.S. Kirk, The Nature of Greek Myths (London 1974) 206-209; idem, “Methodological Reflexions on the Myths of Heracles”, in B. Gentili & G. Paioni (eds.), Il mito greco: Atti del Convegno Internazionale Urbino 7-12 maggio 1973 (Rome 1977) 286, 291; M.S. Silk, “Heracles and Greek Tragedy”, Greece and Rome 32 (1985) 6-7, 11.

2. The shallowness of modern Western misrepresentations of classical culture as a bulwark of political, economic and moral conservatism has been eloquently exposed by Page duBois, Trojan Horses: Saving the Classics from Conservatives (New York 2001).

3. See his “The Distinctive Character of Enjambement in Homeric Verse”, Transactions of the American Philological Association 60 (1929) 200-20 (= M. Parry, The Making of Homeric Verse [ed. by Adam Parry], Oxford 1987, 251-65).

4. See his PROOMHRIKA OMHRIKA HSIODEIA (Athens 1980) 133-34.

5. Z. borrows the term from C.P. Jones, Kinship Diplomacy in Graeco-Roman Antiquity (Cambridge, MA 1999).

6. N.C. Hourmouziades, “Sophocles’ Tereus”, in J.H. Betts, J.T. Hooker & J.R. Green (eds.), Studies in Honour of T.B.L. Webster, vol. I (Bristol 1988) 134.

7. Z. is extremely well-read, as her impressive bibliography shows. However, she has omitted a few important works which could have reinforced several of her minor points. Such works are: B.F. Cook (ed.), The Rogozen Treasure: Papers of the Anglo-Bulgarian Conference, 12 March 1987 (London 1989) for the Rogozen treasure in Bulgaria (p.99); C. Patterson, Pericles’ Citizenship Law of 451-50 B.C. (New York 1981) for the interpretation of the disputed Periclean law (p.103). Moreover, Z.’s point about possible cultic connections between Megara and Boeotia (p.97) might have gained weight from citing A. Schachter, Cults of Boiotia (BICS Suppl. 38, London 1981-).

8. P.E. Easterling (ed.), Sophocles: Trachiniae (Cambridge 1982) 134. Her remarks were partly anticipated by D. Wender, “The Will of the Beast: Sexual Imagery in the Trachiniae”, Ramus 3.1 (1974) 10.

9. Apart from the studies by G.S. Kirk cited here in n.1, see also e.g. G. Murray, Greek Studies (Oxford 1946) 113-26 passim; K. Galinsky, The Herakles Theme (Oxford 1972) 46-52; C.P. Segal, Sophocles’ Tragic World: Divinity, Nature, Society (Cambridge, Mass. & London 1995) 58, 87.

10. M.W. Blundell, Helping Friends and Harming Enemies: A Study in Sophocles and Greek Ethics (Cambridge 1989).

11. R.G.A. Buxton, Persuasion in Greek Tragedy: A Study of Peitho (Cambridge 1982) 64-66. Of interest is also M.C. Hoppin, “What Happens in Sophocles’ ‘Philoctetes’?”, Traditio 37 (1981) 18-19.

12. See e.g. the recent monograph by G.A.H. Van Steen, Venom in Verse: Aristophanes in Modern Greece (Princeton 2000), reviewed in BMCR 2001.08.05 ( http://bmcr.brynmawr.edu/2001/2001-08-05.html).