Most books about the Roman Forum would tend to focus on the Roman period itself, but this rather fascinatingly did a suReviewed for The Bibliophibian.
Most books about the Roman Forum would tend to focus on the Roman period itself, but this rather fascinatingly did a survey through time — not only the classical Roman period origins of the Forum, but the transformations over the years since. The authors strongly feels the importance of seeing the Forum as a living place, somewhere that developed since the time of the Roman Empire, so he spends much time lovingly describing the churches built on the site as well. It’s an approach I definitely appreciate: it’s ridiculous to try and stop the clock of the Forum at the end of the Empire, or to think it was always just one thing throughout that period either. We can’t turn the clock back, so the Forum is best embraced for what it is, rather than attempting to freeze it in time.
I did find this book fascinating, but my one quibble is that the author is almost aggressively against archaeology. He complains frequently about excavation in the forum. And yes, some of it has been done destructively, and I do disagree with trying to tear down anything that was built since Constantine reigned (or whatever your chosen marker point might be). But at the same time, archaeology can be of great value, and I would also be sad if the Forum were to be barred to archaeologists....more
This book is kind of outdated in its information and definitely so in many of its attitudes, but nonetheless it remainsReviewed for The Bibliophibian.
This book is kind of outdated in its information and definitely so in many of its attitudes, but nonetheless it remains a bit of a classic. I think that’s mostly because of the author’s sheer enthusiasm for the people about whom he writes, their land and their customs. I studied Athenian democracy in excruciating detail for a Classics A Level, but Kitto manages to actually get excited about it, to show all the best things about it and the way the Greeks behaved and thought. It’s mostly about the Athenians, honestly; you can consider the two basically synonymous in this book — Kitto does talk about the Spartans, for instance, but with significantly less approval and interest.
Kitto’s style is mostly engaging due to his enthusiasm, but I do warn that he quotes extensively from various sources (rather than summarising them, he lets them stand for themselves to illustrate his points; this can get tiresome).
Just as a warning, though, if you were thinking of picking this up: though I do think there’s something charming about Kitto’s complete adoration of the Athenian people, he definitely held some less than charming opinions about the place of women and the treatment of slaves — he thought that most things were justified because it allowed the Athenians to have their genuine democracy (which just so happened to exclude much of the population)....more
I know The Odyssey pretty well, by necessity: I did Classical Studies for both a GCSE and an A Level. In fact, I got a Reviewed for The Bibliophibian.
I know The Odyssey pretty well, by necessity: I did Classical Studies for both a GCSE and an A Level. In fact, I got a little sick of Odysseus. Circe obviously isn’t all about Odysseus, and brings in a lot of other sources as well, but I do have to pause to note that it does wonderful things with Odysseus. It manages to give us both the good and the bad in Odysseus, the things that make him an attractive person and the things which mar him, and it really works. I was both invested in his relationship with Circe and in his safety, and yet still horrified at the bad sides of his character. The book also does a great job with Telemachus, making him more than just a chip off the old block: the descriptions of him are lovely, even as you know it’s Circe’s feelings tinting the whole narrative.
The story as a whole does a great job of synthesising the different sources and giving Circe a voice. It reminds me of someone else’s writing, and I can’t quite put my finger on what, but I suspect it’s actually Ursula Le Guin. In fact, the descriptions of Telemachus and the way Circe’s story ends clinch it: something about this book very much reminds me of Ursula Le Guin’s work, and that’s a pretty towering compliment.
I’m usually stingy with my five stars, but when I try to think about anything that would make me dock a star with this book, I couldn’t put my finger on anything. It’s not one of my favourites ever that you can pry from my cold dead hands someday, but it’s good and I think Miller’s done an astounding job. I found it engaging and felt like she gave Circe a voice that worked, and I would recommend it to others....more
This is a fairly in-depth examination of the Wall and the archaeology done around it to try and understand what it was Reviewed for The Bibliophibian.
This is a fairly in-depth examination of the Wall and the archaeology done around it to try and understand what it was used for and at what times. As such, it’s a lot of information that most people wouldn’t expect to hold in their heads after, unless they’re deeply interested in the topic. Which is pretty much exactly why I read this, back during my exam period. I really love reading books like this that sift through the archaeology, present possible conclusions and discuss what is most likely. I don’t expect to remember this or that about the forts — no one expects me to remember it — but all the same I learned about the Romans and the British of the period, and got to connect some dots in what I know.
It’s perhaps not the most scintillating reading if you’re not pretty engaged and interested in the topic, but it’s interesting stuff and they make a good case for their ideas....more
There’s so much out there about the “Decline and Fall” of the Roman Empire, it’s kind of refreshing to have a book about the very origins. Most of it There’s so much out there about the “Decline and Fall” of the Roman Empire, it’s kind of refreshing to have a book about the very origins. Most of it isn’t new to me, though the boundaries between fact and imperial fiction can be; I have a GCSE and an A Level in Classics, so I was aware of the foundation myths of Rome, the rape of the Sabine Women, the seven kings, etc. It was nice to get more context for that, to know more about the actual grounding in fact — and to learn about Rome as a Republic, before the emperors, and to what extent it was ever democratic.
And of course, instead of focusing on why the Roman Empire fell, Beard focuses here on why it became great (while never glossing over the defeats and setbacks they suffered, which people can be prone to do). It was a hugely successful empire, beginning even before it was an empire, and Beard goes into a great deal of detail on why, how, who. Sometimes the details might be overwhelming, if you’re not that interested; it’s hard for me to judge, since I am interested.
The layout of the book is perhaps not intuitive, and people will wonder why Beard stops at Caracalla, when there was still life in the Roman Empire. But really, Beard isn’t writing just about the Empire, but about the Roman people, and what Rome meant to the world. What it still means; there are things we can learn even now about getting along. (Like absorbing each others’ religious beliefs, self-governance, becoming a citizen of the wider world as well as of our own countries…) Beard chooses to examine how Rome grew, how it became an empire; she stops before the decline, at the moment when Roman citizenship spreads across the empire.
Which is not to say that Beard thinks or states that the Romans were amazing or unproblematic or anything like that. There’s plenty of examination of the downsides and the faultlines; it’s just that Beard chooses to approach it differently to the typical post-Gibbon understanding, and is more interested in why it worked for so long than how it failed in the end....more
Oh, dear. The best I can say about Unborn is that it’s really easy to read. The style, though, just drove me instantlyReceived to review via Netgalley
Oh, dear. The best I can say about Unborn is that it’s really easy to read. The style, though, just drove me instantly to distraction. There’s something so lifeless about the narration, and the main character is just so completely detached — and it uses so much prior mythology, like Hades and Demeter and Ares, and then so much other stuff like Empties and Fallen and… it just felt like such a mash-up.
I’m going to be honest, I didn’t read very much of this. I knew I wasn’t going to enjoy it, and the guy going on and on about wanting to sleep with his sister (and/or other people saying he did) was just weird.
I enjoyed Mary Beard’s book on Pompeii, so when I spotted The Parthenon in a deal, I figured it’d be an interesting one. I actually expected it to be I enjoyed Mary Beard’s book on Pompeii, so when I spotted The Parthenon in a deal, I figured it’d be an interesting one. I actually expected it to be a bit more about the Greek context of the Parthenon, rather than going into the afterlife of the building — the use as a church and a mosque, the archaeology and tourism, even the literary responses to it, which is what it actually did. It seemed quite inconclusive about what the Parthenon actually was, though the evidence that might tell us about that is more scarce than you would think. It’s unsatisfying — it doesn’t have an altar, so it’s not a temple? But maybe it is? But?
Still, it is interesting to read about the history of the building as a church and a mosque, as well as a temple. I wasn’t even really aware of how much destruction the Parthenon went through: the iconic modern look is actually due to a lot of restoration.
It was very interesting to read the part about Lord Elgin and the issue of the British Museum’s possession of the marbles he took from Athens. On the one hand, it manifestly helped preserve the sculpture: that which remained in situ is in much worse state. But it’s also so… ugh, so imperial and condescending, to assume that Britain is the best guardian. Paternalistic. And while I like Neil MacGregor’s outlook on the British Museum (at least as expressed in A History of the World in 100 Objects), I’m still torn on the subject of the Elgin Marbles. I love the idea of a world museum, and I like the idea of it being in London — because I can conceivably take a weekend off and go there. That doesn’t mean it’s actually the best location, obviously. Just convenient to me. Not that I can think of anywhere notably better, either; I can’t think of a genuinely neutral, international space.
This book really emphasised that the problem of the Parthenon for us is one of cultural ownership, just as Pompeii can be seen as one of preservation. I wanted more about the Acropolis and the original purpose/usage of the Parthenon, but it seems we just don’t know. Which is kind of fascinating in itself…
Wha… what did I just read? I’d vaguely heard of ODY-C before I picked it up for my partner in Chapters, and I thought it sounded pretty cool: genderflWha… what did I just read? I’d vaguely heard of ODY-C before I picked it up for my partner in Chapters, and I thought it sounded pretty cool: genderflipped space-faring retelling of The Odyssey, done by Matt Fraction who is at least consistently entertaining, even if his humour isn’t always my thing and I’d rather worship at his wife’s altar, comic-wise.
The description on the front pretty much nails it: “A trippy, gender-flipped version of Homer’s Odyssey hurtling through space on psychedelic, science fiction wings.” Thanks, Wired. You said it so I don’t have to. And I guess there are people who love that kind of thing, but I don’t. The correspondences to The Odyssey weren’t actually close enough, for me; there’s this whole new backstory that changes everything. The backstory is cool, but… there’s so much going on here, I kind of wanted the familiarity of the original story to keep me with it.
The art is not a style I love, though it definitely fits the psychedelic nature of the comic, and some of it is pretty striking. Not a comic I’m going to keep up with, though — it’s just so completely not my thing in execution.
I don’t normally review short stories and such, but this one caught my eye and I love the cover, so why not? It’s available to read online, for free, I don’t normally review short stories and such, but this one caught my eye and I love the cover, so why not? It’s available to read online, for free, here; it’s not a long read, not even really a retelling, but a glimpse behind the scenes. A clever take on a piece of mythology we often take at face value. It answers one simple question.
Why does Penelope weave and unpick a funeral shroud for her husband to delay the suitors?
She’s a clever woman, and this puts her in an active role, taking a hand in her own fate and even her husband and son’s fate. The passive woman of the Homeric epic steps aside to reveal a woman who takes her own fate into her hands.
It helps that the writing is lovely. I can’t pick out a single line or passage: it’s mostly simple, with some of the imagery and phrasing from translations of Homeric verse, maybe a bit of Ovid. It hits just the right note. I do kind of want more, just because I really like the way Brennan interprets the story.
There were some aspects of this Beauty and the Beast reworking I found really interesting — mostly, the Greek mythology that was mixed in. It didn’t fThere were some aspects of this Beauty and the Beast reworking I found really interesting — mostly, the Greek mythology that was mixed in. It didn’t feel like a typical woodsy-castle-y faux-medieval-y setting, which was refreshing, and the references to the Kindly Ones — aka the Furies — worked pretty well for me. The complex relationship between Nyx and her sister was actually kind of interesting too; it’s not straightforward, because everything is not as it first appears, and neither of them are honest to each other.
But otherwise, there were a lot of aspects of this I just couldn’t get into. Both the relationships the main character had just felt off, despite the attempt to show a dichotomy between the two where one, to borrow Tolkien’s phrasing, ‘looks foul and feels fair’ and vice versa (except mostly acts/feels; they’re both handsome, as I recall). The romance tends to the insta-love trope, and given that Ignifex never makes himself really pleasant (unlike, say, T. Kingfisher’s Beast in Bryony and Roses).
There are some interesting aspects, as I said, but looking back at it as I write this somewhat belated review, it definitely never came together for me, and it didn’t really become memorable either.
This book moves away from Gen’s point of view even more and gives us a whole book with Sophos. The first time I read it, I really wasn’t a fan; SophosThis book moves away from Gen’s point of view even more and gives us a whole book with Sophos. The first time I read it, I really wasn’t a fan; Sophos was too often passive, too prepared to just let things slip by and become a slave, for rather nebulous reasons about it being easier. It actually worked better for me this time; I knew that the action was coming, so that probably helped, and I do love the interaction between Sophos and Eugenides. Once more it shows the difficulties for Gen in becoming a king: the fact that he can’t just have simple friendships, but must decide how to play at politics with his friends to his own and his queen’s advantage.
The first part still is rather wishy-washy, with Sophos just slipping into slavery and making no apparent effort to get out of it. As a narrator, he just doesn’t have the tenacity of Gen, and big chunks of the book are spent away from Gen, unlike in The King of Attolia. Still, this time I did think that the interaction between the two was worth the price of entry, and Sophos’ relationship with the queen of Eddis is also kind of, well, adorable.
If Costis’ narration in the previous book bothered you because it wasn’t really a book of action, there is more action here. Sophos has a kingdom to win back and defend, and he’s very much active in doing so. And we see more development of the relationship of the kings and queens of the area to their gods: Sophos learns something of what drives Eddis, revealed previously to Gen and the reader.
Overall, it’s a weaker book than the others, but it stood up surprisingly well to the reread.
It’s been ages since I reread The Thief, but fortunately the two books don’t rely on each other too much. The Thief introduces Eugenides and the pseudIt’s been ages since I reread The Thief, but fortunately the two books don’t rely on each other too much. The Thief introduces Eugenides and the pseudo-Greek world he lives in (along with its other, less congruous features, like pocket watches and the real and tangible presence of gods); The Queen of Attolia goes on to develop the character and his place in the world. It does a skillful job of developing a character who starts off completely unlikeable, slowly unpicking the difficulties of being a queen in a man’s world, of hardening your heart so that you can live to fight another day. And it touches on disability and recovery and betrayal and love, and of course there’s still some political maneuvering, because the characters just can’t resist.
There’s one aspect of the book that, both times, threw me somewhat and made me doubtful that it could pull it off. It does, albeit awkwardly: more with a sense of hope and promise than a sense of security or surety (though that comes later, in The King of Attolia). Eugenides’ relationship with Irene, the Queen of Attolia, is an interesting one, marred by their shared past and the terrible things Irene did in the effort to secure her throne, and yet… perhaps not beyond hope. There are aspects of it that feel a little sudden, like Irene suddenly realising that she actually likes Eugenides, but at the same time, you can look back through the book and see it happening.
It’s certainly not, at least, insta-love, or an easy romance. It always acknowledges that these two people are very different, that they hold power over each other, that they’re playing at politics as much as they’re reacting to each other as people.
Oh, and the Queen of Eddis continues to be awesome, of course.
This is a book that definitely hasn’t suffered from rereading; it was probably more satisfying than I remembered, I think, because reading it a second time just allows you to see the way all the threads come together, the way everything falls into place.
Originally borrowed a review copy from Robert, then got approved for it on Netgalley, and then finally bought it, because I felt awful. It is not Jo WOriginally borrowed a review copy from Robert, then got approved for it on Netgalley, and then finally bought it, because I felt awful. It is not Jo Walton’s fault as a writer in any way; the book is fascinating, I just couldn’t sit still for it. I still don’t know why. I didn’t connect with it in the same way as I have some of Jo’s other books, but then I haven’t necessarily taken ages to read them because of that. There’s even stuff I love here: tons of classical references, as fun to spot as the books in Among Others; the awe and admiration of art; the role of the female characters and the ways they contribute to the city; loves that are not of the body but of the mind, and an understanding of different kinds of love…
The plot itself extends the thought experiment of Plato’s Republic. He came up with this thought experiment, and now the characters of the book actually try to live it; the book explores the ways they compromise on that, and the new light that sheds on the original ideas. (And Jo’s exploration is itself a thought experiment, in a way… oh, the meta.) The whole thing is, in a way, another Socratic dialogue: every character asks questions of the others, and together they try to make the Just City. Compromising the ideals leads to compromised results, and I think it’s up to the reader to figure out to what extent that is justified, to what extent the experiment is successful, to what extent a more positive result would even be possible.
It’s pretty optimistic about the human race, really. The children raised in that environment think in a way which is much more ‘just’ than if they had been raised outside it, that’s clear. I’d love to think that’s possible, and I don’t know if it is. And is it because they have been raised in an environment lacking in poverty and most injustice (negative influences), or because of the education they receive and the order of their lives (positive influences)?
If you finish this without a ton more questions, I’d be surprised. And Socrates would be very, very displeased (and so, I think, would Jo Walton).
On a character-and-plot level, I love the evolution of Apollo/Pytheas. I love his relationship with Simmea, the way that they work on agape, and the ways they fall short of that with other people around them. I’ve always thought agape a beautiful idea, and the way it’s explored here is interesting — mostly with Simmea and Pytheas, but with many other characters too. The way that they love each other and want to increase each other’s excellence, and how solidly and unshakeably they both believe that is beautiful.
There’s so much else I could say about this book, and so much else I’d like to say and can’t word. Suffice it to summarise with: it’s an interesting book, one which raises a lot of questions, which still has characters you can love and cherish as well. I recommend it.
This book discusses the decipherment of the Minoan script, Linear B. I didn’t know much about it before I started reading this; I’ve read pretty oftenThis book discusses the decipherment of the Minoan script, Linear B. I didn’t know much about it before I started reading this; I’ve read pretty often about Champollion’s work on hieroglyphs, though not in the detail given here, and it’s the kind of thing that always fascinated me as a kid. So I was intrigued by this right away, especially because it promised to bring the work of a more obscure female scholar into the foreground. Fox definitely wants to highlight the work of Alice Kober, who she seems to hold in great affection, but there is quite a lot of space dedicated to the discoverer of Linear B, Arthur Evans, and the man who ultimately deciphered it, Michael Ventris.
It’s a thorough explanation of the decipherment, so perhaps not for the faint of heart, and it never pretends that the contents of the tablets were expected to be (or found to be) particularly glamorous: it was obvious from the start that the tablets would prove to contain inventories, not great literature. The glamour is in the mystery, which for a long time was completely locked: the language wasn’t known, the script wasn’t known, and the contents weren’t known. It was very hard to get a grip on how to extract meaning. Arthur Evans never did; he seems to have locked onto what he thought the answers would be, and gone looking for evidence. Ventris did the same, initially. Kober, of the three, was the one who really began on the right track: she studied all sorts of languages to understand how languages in general work, and she did painstaking work on the statistics, until the facts began to emerge for themselves.
The book also includes the life stories of the three scholars, particularly Kober and Ventris. It was fascinating to read about Kober and her determination, and her career in academia in the 40s; the hopes and setbacks she experienced. I can understand Fox’s fascination with her. It sounds like she was a great teacher and a passionate person, for all that you can peg her for the dried-up-spinster stereotype.
Some of the technical details of the decipherment were a bit beyond me — statistics and anything to do with numbers just don’t stick in my head — but I enjoyed this anyway. It’s a thorough account, which shines some light on a deserving person (Kober) whose contribution has been neglected.
I enjoyed Mary Beard’s book on Pompeii, and I think I’ve read a couple of others, or at least seen her work cited. She’s always struck me as pretty leI enjoyed Mary Beard’s book on Pompeii, and I think I’ve read a couple of others, or at least seen her work cited. She’s always struck me as pretty level headed, unlikely to get carried away with conjectures, so I wasn’t really surprised by the fairly sceptical tone of most of these reviews (though I did begin to wonder if anyone, anywhere, could produce work she’d give the green light). It’s a little odd reading a book of essays that are adapted (I’m not sure how much they’ve been changed) from reviews of particular books: some of them seemed very disconnected from the books they purportedly reviewed, which worked fine in this context, but seemed a bit odd when she did start discussing the books.
It’s not just criticism of other people’s theories, although there’s a lot of it there: there’s a general survey of the literature, some discussion of issues that the study of the classics faces in general, some windows into little bits of history.
Mostly, though… it is a book about other books; a rather disparate collection, however much I might want more. The essays are fine, and I did enjoy reading it, but I didn’t feel like I really learned anything new. Just what not to believe!...more
This is a short ebook which summarises the written evidence about a curious event that happened in Athens in 415 BC. It might be tempting to dismiss tThis is a short ebook which summarises the written evidence about a curious event that happened in Athens in 415 BC. It might be tempting to dismiss the mutilated statues of Hermes as a drunken prank, but the people of Athens took it extremely seriously. It’s important to remember that at that time religion was a big part of life; it isn’t just like a gang going round and defacing images of Christ, which seems in poor taste but not (for most people) much of a threat. More like a nuisance. But people were executed for involvement with the mutilation of the Herms, and a related issue involving the Eleusinian Mysteries.
This is more summary of the evidence than analysis, but it’s accessible and (to someone like me who will dip into all sorts of random areas of knowledge, at least) interesting. It’s a mystery that still exercises the minds of classical scholars: why mutilate the Herms? Was it just a prank? Was it a political statement? To me, given the issues with performances of the Eleusinian Mysteries for the uninitiated that were happening at the time, it seems to be linked to a more religious than political kind of unrest, but of course the two were more deeply linked then…
All in all, I suspect Debra Hamel and other classicists are more likely to solve the mystery than people reading a short ebook on it, so perhaps I should keep my opinions to myself. But it is interesting to read about, and this ebook made it accessible for anyone, with plenty of information on where to follow up for those who want to go to the sources or read other analyses....more
Simon Baker's Ancient Rome: The Rise and Fall of an Empire is a good introduction to Roman history, covering various key points in the history of RomeSimon Baker's Ancient Rome: The Rise and Fall of an Empire is a good introduction to Roman history, covering various key points in the history of Rome. Probably not the same key points that someone else would choose, but he makes a decent case for the importance of each stop on the tour. Some people's reviews say that if you have the most basic grasp of Roman history, this is too simple: I wouldn't say so. I have a GCSE and an A Level in classical studies, but the effect was a very similar kind of 'tour' of Roman history that just picked out different stopping points. So there were some things I didn't know much about at all.
One thing that is a little disappointing is the transitions between each chapters. It isn't really made clear how the transitions between the different time periods were made -- it goes straight from Constantine, for example, to the attacks on Rome by Alaric, without covering the intervening time at all. Even a little timeline at the start of each chapter would've helped.
Still, Simon Baker's prose is pretty readable and accessible. If you're not especially interested in the topic, I still wouldn't recommend this, as despite the six turning points it uses, it's still a 400 page volume. A Very Brief Introduction it ain't.
All in all, for me it was okay, but I'll be donating my copy to the local library rather than keeping it....more
I'm really not sure what to think of this. It reminds me of John M. Ford's The Dragon Waiting, somehow; something about the style, the density of it aI'm really not sure what to think of this. It reminds me of John M. Ford's The Dragon Waiting, somehow; something about the style, the density of it and allusiveness. I'm sure I missed some things by not being aware of the Vergil stories, not picking up on all the mythological references properly -- and I have a pretty good background in that sort of thing, since I took Classics.
It's a slightly different style than expected, too, I think. It slides seamlessly between scenes without any transition, it slips from direct speech into reported speech -- it doesn't make things easy. I quite liked the writing style, for the most part, but I wouldn't like it to be a common one, if that makes any sense.
The story itself... it's a quest narrative, but the quest is more about knowledge than action, at its heart. It's about making a magical object, in a context where magic isn't easy, isn't a shortcut as it can be in other fantasy works. It's a long slow process, like any other way to make something, and it requires sacrifices and effort. It's an interesting take on it.
I wasn't overwhelmingly fond of the portrayal of women -- Cornelia, Phyllis and Laura seemed pretty nebulous, and the love aspect was just flung in there -- but The Phoenix and the Mirror was something a little different to my usual fare. It just wasn't as good as I'd hoped....more
I originally entered the LibraryThing Early Reviewers draw for this and didn't get it, so when I spotted it on Netgalley I picked it up right away. AnI originally entered the LibraryThing Early Reviewers draw for this and didn't get it, so when I spotted it on Netgalley I picked it up right away. Antigone is a figure who always fascinated me: her burning passion for her duty, her righteousness, her tragedy... but also the sense that this was a sort of teenage rebellion against authority; the worry that she was acting more for her own sake, to be a symbol, than for her brothers.
This collection of art and poetry was apparently originally created in the 70s. I'm no particular judge of art (but I know what I like, as people say), and the art didn't really appeal to me. The poetry felt fragmentary, hard to connect with the figure of Antigone at times and then at other times perfectly clear. There are some bright, sharp images that I really liked; at other times I was ambivalent....more
It’s amazing the range of opinions you can find on Augustus Caesar. Some think he was the saving of Rome, a morally upright man who revitalised his coIt’s amazing the range of opinions you can find on Augustus Caesar. Some think he was the saving of Rome, a morally upright man who revitalised his country. Others think of him as a traitor, and a hypocritical one at that. I don’t know exactly what I think; I guess I probably think that he was a complex person who ultimately did what he thought best, like most of us. This book goes with the latter view, with a fairly sympathetic eye. It took me a while to decide whether I really enjoyed it: it’s slow-paced, and sometimes the timeline is difficult to follow, as people are writing from one point in time about an earlier point in time, but then the next letter might be from the earlier point in time, but portraying the next set of events. Did that make sense? It sort of does in context, but it can make it a bit more difficult to follow.
I did enjoy Williams’ decision to examine a central issue of Augustus’ life: his moral reforms, and then the fact that his own beloved daughter fell afoul of them. He had her banished from Rome, for all that he spent a great deal of her life watching over her and guiding her in a way many men didn’t bother with for daughters. And Williams does some interesting things with unreliable narrators: we get several different perspectives on the same people and events. Was Julia kidding herself, or was Augustus right — did she plot against her father?
It is rather slow, as I said, and the epistolary format combined with the complex timeline doesn’t help. I enjoyed it as a sort of thought experiment, but I’m not sure how much I enjoyed it as a story, if that makes sense.
