While the thought of reading the Institutio oratoria might strike some as a slog (a possibility that Quintilian himself occasionally admits [e.g., Inst. 3.1.1-2]), Laura Loporcaro will disabuse readers of this prejudiced view; instead, she displays the many fruits that can be reaped from a careful, linear reading of the treatise. Rather than dwelling on the nuts and bolts of rhetorical theory or ancient education, Loporcaro turns her critical eye to Quintilian’s authorial persona and the features that make the Institutio a successful piece of didactic literature. Like a good piece of oratory, Reading Quintilian will instruct readers of many stripes and even delight those who enjoy the close reading of Latin prose (for the most zealous of Quintilian’s readers, I would not rule out the possibility of being moved). But more importantly, the book will spark new conversations and inspire future research on Quintilian and his place in Latin literature.
The book’s first chapter, “Setting the Scene”, opens with the Letter to Trypho and the preface to book 1, before examining the larger structure of the Institutio. Focusing on Quintilian’s “rhetoric of rhetorical theory”,[1] Loporcaro argues that the author’s apparent modesty ought to be understood as a cornerstone of a carefully constructed persona. The point remains important throughout the book, since Loporcaro argues that the author’s humility, which is effective within its own literary and cultural context, has sometimes led modern scholarship to overlook the literariness of the Institutio. The second half of the chapter, which follows the work of Don Fowler (2000) and Katerina Volk (2002) on didactic, examines the Institutio as mirroring a life journey. While the case is straightforward for the opening and closing books, where we meet the future student as an infant and then wave goodbye as he withdraws into retirement, Loporcaro argues that Quintilian also creates the effect of development and forward propulsion in the central books (e.g., through the claim that material becomes increasingly difficult and learning is cumulative). In this regard, Loporcaro sets out to define Quintilian’s ideal reader, who ought to read the work linearly—even though the Institutio remains amenable to other, less-than-ideal readers, who may choose dip in and out of the treatise. The chapter closes with the suggestion that the Institutio mirrors a Virgilian trajectory from the Georgics to the Aeneid. Even if scholars may have doubts about specific arguments in this section (Loporcaro is more speculative here),[2] much of value remains in these pages that invites further scrutiny on the presence of poetry in Quintilian.
Chapter 2, “In the Shadow of Cicero”, casts a welcome light on Quintilian’s complex attitude towards Cicero, adding nuance to recent scholarship on the orator’s early reception.[3] The previous discussion of Quintilian’s modesty helps Loporcaro demonstrate how criticism of Cicero’s wit and appropriateness may not be as lukewarm as it first appears; in fact, it has some real bite to it. After acknowledging Quintilian’s admiration for Cicero as the best example of Latin eloquence and a member of his quartet of core canonical authors (alongside Homer, Demosthenes and Virgil), the chapter examines how Quintilian diverges from and criticizes his esteemed predecessor. These departures not only reflect substantive differences concerning the technicalities of rhetorical theory but also provide Quintilian with a crucial opportunity to carve out space for his own literary project. Otherwise, how could he ever justify writing about rhetoric in Cicero’s wake? In this respect, we can better understand Quintilian’s repeated emphasis on the importance of elementary education: though not glitzy, the modest Quintilian does not turn his nose up at these apparently elemental considerations and indeed goes on to make plenty of hay from a lacuna in Cicero’s writings. The chapter, which is framed by suggestive—but ultimately underexplored—references to Quintilian’s Bloomian “anxiety of influence”,[4] teems with convincing close readings that show how Quintilian not only engages with Cicero explicitly, but also implicitly on an intertextual level. One particularly satisfying example is found in Loporcaro’s analysis of how Quintilian’s own portrayal of Cicero’s limitations is modeled on the Ciceronian portrait of Hortensius in the Brutus (pp. 93-95).
Chapter 3, “The Ideal Orator”, explores Quintilian in relation to a range of predecessors. Though the chapter begins with Cato’s famous maxim on the vir bonus dicendi peritus, the authors who make the most appearances are Cicero and Seneca the Younger. The chapter begins with the philosophical influences on Quintilian and argues that, despite his own assertion to write within a Ciceronian-Academic tradition, it is Stoicism that most profoundly infuses his thought. Accordingly, much is made of the parallel between Quintilian’s potential students and the Stoic proficiens. A notable strength of the chapter is Loporcaro’s attention to how Quintilian can misrepresent the authors whom he quotes, transforming his sources to better suit his own goals (e.g., pp. 120-121 and 130). Despite the importance of philosophy, the main theme of the rest of the chapter is Quintilian’s disparagement of philosophers, who are seen as idle and disingenuous prattlers pitted against the noble and active orator. Here Loporcaro zooms in on the potential problem that Quintilian, by impugning voluble philosophers, runs the risk of undermining the very value of oratorical speech. Alluding to Austin’s speech-act theory,[5] Loporcaro argues that Quintilian depicts the orator’s words as having real consequences, often by “doing things with metaphors”. In particular, she focuses on bodily and martial metaphors and makes new contributions to an aspect of Quintilian (e.g., rhetoric and masculinity) that has already been the subject of research.
Chapter 3 also builds on themes already explored in earlier chapters (and not yet given their due in this review). Loporcaro had argued that one of the work’s “unique selling points” (p. 28) is that Quintilian’s ideal orator is not a merely theoretical construct, but a very real possibility waiting to materialize. Indeed, Quintilian believes that knowledge is cumulative, with later generations building upon the successes of their forebears. And yet, Quintilian does not want to make any false promises to his readers and so employs what Loporcaro calls a “proleptic strategy”, meaning that his optimism about educating the perfect orator is tempered by provisos related to certain conditions outside of Quintilian’s control (natural endowment, hard work, outstanding teachers, etc.) that are necessary for reaching the zenith of eloquence. In this way, Quintilian seeks to anticipate complaints from unsatisfied “consumers” (p. 22). Put slightly differently, Quintilian continually reminds his reader that batteries are sold separately. Despite the prevalence of the “proleptic strategy” in Loporcaro’s book, I was left wondering whether she ultimately sees Quintilian as more optimistic about educating the perfect orator (thrust of chapters 2 and 4) or gloomy, as is implied by the parallel to Stoicism.
The final chapter, “Playing with Anachronism?”, opens with what Loporcaro calls “apotreptic exemplarity”, focusing on when and how flawed examples should be used in education: some books ought to be kept out of children’s reach but at a later stage can be handled with extreme caution. Here Loporcaro focuses on Quintilian’s criticism of archaizers and “modernists” (sometimes called “naturalists”), showing how he stakes out a middle ground, avoiding what is old and incomprehensible as well as what is overly flashy and attractive to those with childish and immature taste. Both groups lack iudicium and have lost sight of oratory’s prime objective: to convince with arguments rather than impress with supposed erudition (archaizers) or cater to bad taste (modernists). The treatment of “apotreptic” exemplarity is compelling but would be even stronger if situated within broader references to negative exemplarity, not only in rhetorical education (e.g., the famous examples of the three corrupt styles from Rhetorica ad Herennium 4) or (popular) philosophy (e.g. Horace’s finger-wagging father in Satires book 1) but also historiography. Likewise, engagement with some recent studies on exemplarity (e.g., Roller 2018 or Langlands 2018), would strengthen what undeniably remains a valuable analysis.
Seneca the Younger finally takes center stage in the book’s final pages. While the top-line conclusion that Quintilian’s judgment of Seneca is clearly negative may not come as a surprise, the analysis is engaging and demonstrates how linear readers of the Institutio will take Quintilian’s apparent evenhandedness towards Seneca with a heaping tablespoon of salt. The chapter culminates with a discussion of how Quintilian depicts Seneca as a problematic stylist and deficient teacher, who did not manage to educate Nero properly and even had to ghostwrite some middling speeches for his failed student. Seneca emerges as the “Neronian didactic antihero” (p. 207), serving as a foil to Quintilian, the successful teacher of Flavian Rome. For Loporcaro, the difference between Neronian and Flavian tastes is crucial for understanding what she calls “polemical anachronism”, meaning that the stylistic excesses of the modernists have been replaced by Quintilian’s new Flavian oratory. The feeling of transition simultaneously allows for a sense of urgency and pride in the present: the time has finally come to reach the pinnacles of oratorical excellence and eloquence.
Like many books, this volume would have benefited from another round of editing. However, mistakes are small and do not hinder comprehension or meaningfully detract from the book’s value.[6] The bibliography and referencing are good and thorough. Throughout the book, Loporcaro includes her own translations, which she accurately claims (p. 10 n. 2) are more literal than Russell’s elegant translation. Even if occasionally awkward in English, these translations do help the reader follow Loporcaro’s train of thought. That said, there are some places where translations are not as clear as they could be or strike me as problematic.[7]
Reading Quintilian is well-researched, rewarding and provocative. This review’s word limit has kept me from doing it complete justice. The book is studded with analyses of Quintilian’s artful prose and repeatedly demonstrates how he puts his own advice into practice. Finally, discussions of intertextuality and allusion permeate the book. Many of the proposed allusions are slam dunks, whereas others seem more tenuous, as Loporcaro often acknowledges. Accordingly, the book encourages us to think about intertextuality in prose more deeply. Overall, I am confident that readers will agree that Loporcaro has succeeded in demonstrating that reading Quintilian linearly and carefully is a worthwhile endeavor. My parting suggestion to readers is that they also read Loporcaro from cover to cover, since themes gradually build and meld over the book’s four chapters.[8]
References
Berno, F.R. and La Bua, G. (eds). (2022). Portraying Cicero in Literature, Culture, and Politics: From Ancient to Modern Times. Berlin.
Fowler, D. P. (2000). “The Didactic Plot”, in M. Depew and D. D. Obbink (eds.), Matrices of Genre: Authors, Canons, and Society, pp. 205–2019.
Gunderson, E. (2009). “The Rhetoric of Rhetorical Theory”, in Gunderson (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to Ancient Rhetoric, pp. 109–125.
Harsting, P. (1998). “Quintilian, Imitation and “Anxiety of Influence”, in T. Albaladejo, J. A. Caballero López and E. del Río Sanz (eds.), Quintiliano. Historia y actualidad de la retórica. Vol 3, pp. 1325–1335.
Langlands, R. (2018). Exemplary Ethics in Ancient Rome. Cambridge.
Pieper, C. and Pausch, D. (eds.). (2023), The Scholia on Cicero’s Speeches: Contexts and Perspectives. Leiden.
Roller, M. (2018). Models from the Past in Roman Culture: A World of Exempla. Cambridge.
Volk, K. (2002). The Poetics of Latin Didactic: Lucretius, Vergil, Ovid, Manilius. Oxford.
Notes
[1] The phrase comes from Gunderson 2009.
[2] For example, I was not completely convinced by the suggestion that there is a Virgilian katabasis in the prologue to Inst. 6 (cf. pp. 63-65).
[3] Unfortunately, several relevant articles, such as various chapters from Berno and La Bua (2022) as well as Pieper and Pausch (2023), are not directly engaged with (presumably the volumes were not fully available when the manuscript was turned in to the press).
[4] More could be made of this idea, which was initially proposed by Harsting 1998.
[5] As with Bloom, deeper engagement would have been helpful here.
[6] Many of the errors I spotted seem to result from previous rounds of editing (e.g., “to illustrate of the power” (p. 56) or “mostly only” p. 235). Sometimes punctuation can be confusing (“memories, in the future,” p.17). In several instances, footnotes seem to refer to things that had been cut from the main text (e.g., p. 135 n. 80 where the text refers to the work of Cassin, but the note cites Manzoni). Footnotes sometimes seem slightly misplaced or repetitive (e.g., p. 56 n.210, p. 135 n 119 or p. 159 n. 171).
[7] For places where clarity could be improved, see the translation of Sen. Ep. 88.2 (p. 117), where someone without Latin might think that Seneca is saying that students have learned useless material (rather than that they need to have already learned it). For a mistake, see the translation of Inst. 8.5.15 on p. 204, where the word felicitatem is rendered as “bad fortune”.
[8] That said, Loporcaro, like Quintilian, makes her book accessible to less dogged readers as well. The bare-bones introduction and conclusion provide a useful roadmap to the work. Chapters and sections also conclude with brief summaries. If there is anything that is not user friendly about the book, it is not including passages only mentioned in footnotes in the index locorum.