Review: "The Songs of the Kings" by Barry Unsworth

I have just finished reading The Songs of the Kings by Booker Prize winner, Barry Unsworth.  This is an eloquent and powerfully written novel that is quite thought-provoking on several levels.  The novel was published in 2003, and I have to wonder if there was an external motivation behind Unsworth's writing of the novel than simply writing a good story?  More on that in a moment though.  First, I think it will be useful to provide a brief bit of background on a few important aspects of Greek mythology that bear on the plot of the novel.

Okay, so I need all of you to dredge up and recall some of the bits and pieces of Greek mythology that you've run across in the course of your life.  First, the "Judgment of Paris", where Paris (son of Trojan king and queen, Priam and Hecuba) selects Aphrodite as "the most beautiful" among the three goddesses, Hera, Athena, and Aphrodite.  In return, Aphrodite rewards Paris (the sycophant that he is) with the ability to 'seduce' and carry off Helen of Sparta, the wife of Menelaus, king of Sparta, and the brother of Agamemnon, the king of Mycenae.  Second, as part of the agreement behind Helen choosing which suitor to marry, her father Tyndareus evoked a pledge from all of her suitors that they would rally and stand behind whoever her eventual husband was if there was ever any "future threat to the marriage".  The suitors--pretty much all of the Greek chieftains--so pledged, and Helen then selected Menelaus to be her husband.  Now, fast forward about ten-years, and along comes 'pretty-boy' Paris, and Helen elopes with him and off to Troy they go.  It is safe to say that this action probably qualified as a "threat to the marriage" of Helen and Menelaus.  Consequently, the Greeks rally their forces, under the command of Agamemnon, and set off to destroy Troy and 'rescue' Helen from the 'lecherous' clutches of Paris.  The Greek fleet sails to its initial rendezvous point on the east coast of Greece, to a little fishing village known as Aulis.  This is where Unsworth picks up the tale in The Songs of the Kings.

Unsworth's book is a story in five acts, and must be a nod to the structure typically utilized by the ancient Greek dramatists. The Greek fleet is trapped at Aulis by contrary winds and weather conditions, and the army, and its chieftains, are getting restless and losing their will to carry the fight to Troy.  In Unsworth's novel, we read of a cabal of the senior Greek leaders, instigated and led by Odysseus (he brings new meaning to the term "Machiavellian"), that begins to develop a conspiracy that will compel Agamemnon and Menelaus to irrevocably commit to the War with Troy.  Using intrigue, deception, selective interpretation and misinformation, the conspirators convince Agamemnon that Zeus requires the sacrifice of his eldest daughter, Iphigeneia; and that with her sacrifice, the weather conditions will change and the Greek fleet can set sail.  At first, as one can well imagine, Agamemnon is horrified at the thought of having to offer up his child as a sacrifice to the gods.  Odysseus and the other conspirators determinedly continue to brow-beat and cajole Agamemnon into doing the right thing for Greece and restoring its national honor.

The Greek leaders, in the novel, are really more like a gang of Wall Street CEOs, all trying to exert their own influence and power and looking to acquire more treasure, honor and glory.  Morality and principles mean little to nothing to most of them.  Unsworth's portrayal of Agamemnon, Menelaus, Odysseus, and Achilles is unflattering at best.  These are vain-glorious men who care little for anything or anybody if it doesn't benefit them in the long-run.  Unsworth satirically plays off of many of the personality traits that can be gleaned from Homer's portrayal in The Iliad and The Odyssey, or of the later Greek playwrights like Aeschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides.  For example, there is Agamemnon, the thuggish control-freak; Menelaus, the weak-willed cuckold; or Odysseus, the clever and manipulative talker; or Achilles, the sulking glory-hound dilettante; or the two Ajaxes, Big and Little, both just brutish homicidal maniacs.  The one character that sees through the conspiracy is Calchas, the foreign-born priest of Apollo.  He knows that this is all a terrible fabric of lies, but feels powerless to stand up to the conspirators.

In the 'second act' of the book, the conspirators have finally succeeded in convincing Agamemnon that he is really left with no choice, and that he must sacrifice his daughter for the national good.  He is told that in the long-run the poets will sing his praises for the courage he showed in reaching this difficult decision.  Unsworth even creates the character of a blind bard, or "singer", who the conspirators use to disseminate their lies and misinformation in his songs and poems that recites at the soldiers fires at night.  If a story is told a certain way long enough, it becomes true.  The conspirators understand the use of the media and religion in getting 'the facts' out there for the masses.  Now, the entire army knows that Agamemnon must sacrifice his daughter to propitiate the gods and create the favorable conditions necessary to prosecute the war.

Unsworth also takes the reader back to Mycenae in the novel's 'third act' and spends several chapters introducing and developing the characters of Iphigeneia and her maid-servant, Sisipyla.  After getting to know Iphigeneia, the reader can't help but become more and more horrified at the impending doom that seems to face this likeable young woman.  I need to mention too that Iphigeneia is also a priestess for the goddess Artemis (the twin sister of Apollo, and goddess of the hunt, wild animals, goddess of childbirth, and the protector of all young living things, animal and human).  Iphigeneia has been trained in this role by her mother, Clytemnestra, Agamemnon's wife and the Mycenaean queen.  The horror just continues to mount when a delegation from Agamemnon shows up in Mycenae with the news that Iphigeneia must travel to Aulis in order to be married to Achilles.  Of course, Clytemnestra and Iphigeneia think this is wonderful news, as Achilles, the son of a goddess (Thetis) is also the champion of the entire Greek army.  The reader knows though that this is all just a ruse to get Iphigeneia to Aulis.  I felt utterly helpless as I read about this lovely young woman happily packing her wedding trousseau and preparing for the trip to see her father and to meet her betrothed.

You'll have to read the 'last act' of the novel to find out how it ends.  There's an intriguing twist that had me holding my breath as I read the last 50 pages of the book.  Iphigeneia and her maid, Sisipyla, have arrived in Aulis, and the tension among all of the characters was palpable and thick enough to cut with a bronze sacrificial knife (pun thoroughly intended).  At this point in the book, that old adage "the train has left the station" really applies, as things said, and things done are virtually irrevocable at this stage in the plot.  This knowledge, on the part of the reader just adds to the theater and drama of Unsworth's tale.

As I read this brilliant little novel there were a couple of observations that jumped out at me.  First, this book could have been an almost line-by-line script for the Bush Administration's run up to the war with Iraq.  The twisting and manipulation of facts by Odysseus and the other Greek chieftains in the novel eerily reminded me of the "weapons of mass destruction" issue and all of the speeches given by the President and members of his administration as the case for war with Iraq was constructed.  Secondly, I think Unsworth is also telling the story of the dangers of religious and gender persecution here.  Remember that Iphigeneia is a priestess for the goddess Artemis--an archetypal 'Mother Goddess'.  The Greek army's chief priests all serve Zeus, the Father of the gods, and are vocal proponents of the patriarchal system that was becoming widespread across the Bronze Age Mediterranean region.  These priests needed to eradicate the last vestiges of the worship of the Mother Goddess and the female deities.  By labeling Iphigeneia as a "witch" and then publicly killing her as a priestess of Artemis powerfully symbolized asserting their strength and control.

After making these observations while reading Unsworth's novel, I wondered if I was simply over-reaching and reading more into this than Unsworth intended.  I immediately read Euripides' last known play, Iphigeneia at Aulis (probably written about 404-402 B.C.E.).  Upon finishing it, I have to say that it is my opinion that Unsworth has done a terrific job in his novel at portraying the pathos, drama, intrigue, and humanity depicted in Euripides' powerful play.  Unsworth's novel makes us a party to the conspiracy, makes us feel the overwhelming guilt of a father who knows he is doing wrong, and makes us, in a somewhat voyeuristic fashion, a witness to a victim unwittingly proceeding down the path to her Fate and Destiny.  This is a story about decision-making that spirals out of control and the far-reaching consequences that affected not only the primary protagonists, but the Mycenaean empire, Troy and the Trojans, and even reaches out and touches all of us in our own time--i.e., the Iraq War.  Like Sophocles' great play, Antigone, Euripides' play and Unsworth's novel are hard-hitting examples of people placed in extraordinary and desperate circumstances requiring moral courage and the adoption and adherence to principled positions.  The failure to find that courage or the failure to stand up in the face of tyranny or persecution can have devastating consequences.  This, ultimately, is the message of Euripides in his play, Iphigeneia at Aulis, and in Barry Unsworth's beautiful novel, The Songs of Kings.

The Songs of the Kings
By Barry Unsworth
Hardcover
Nan A. Talese/Doubleday, 2003, 341 pages.
From my personal collection.

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Recommended Additional Reading:

Iphigeneia at Aulis, by Euripides
The Greek Myths, by Robert Graves
The Oresteia, by Aeschylus
A Dream of Fair Women, Alfred Lord Tennyson (the 1842 version of the poem).

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Reviews: "Midnight Tides" and "House of Chains" By Steven Erikson

You're getting a 'two-fer' with this review.  I am on a roll right now reading Steven Erikson's "The Malazan Book of the Fallen" series of epic high fantasy, and I am presenting my review of the fourth and fifth novels in his ten-volume series.  What I am really trying to say is that you can't stop reading these books, and I am ever-so-thrilled that I still have five to go!

House of Chains is the fourth volume in Steven Erikson's monumental ten-volume series entitled, "The Malazan Book of the Fallen."  This book follows the first three in continuing to flesh out the world and characters that Erikson has so brilliantly created.

The first quarter, or so, of the novel tells the back-story of a character that we briefly met in the second book in the series (Deadhouse Gates)--that of the 'Toblakai' or as we come to find out, the great Teblor warrior, Karsa Orlong.  Again, it bears repeating that Erikson's professional training as an archaeologist and anthropologist has infused his characters and the fictional landscapes with a scent of authenticity that one rarely, if ever, encounters in fiction.

Following the fascinating recounting Karsa's story in the northern wilds of the continent of Genibackis, Erikson then focuses much of the remaining book on the Malazan 14th Army's efforts to defeat 'Sha'ik's Whirlwind' in the 'Holy Raraku Desert' on the continent of 'Seven Cities.  This is some epic military fiction, told from the perspectives of the Army Commander herself down to the squad-level grunts themselves.

The last two-hundred pages, as is typical for Erikson, proceed at break-neck speed, the action and pacing just relentless.  I am learning that Erikson is a big believer in 'convergence.'  When s**t starts happening, more and bigger s**t starts happening; and the next thing you know there are just major events leaping off of every page.  I truly defy any reader to set one these books down with anything under two-hundred pages remaining, it simply ain't possible.

Finally, one must always keep the 'First Eriksonian Law' firmly at the forefront as one reads--"Pay very close attention to every word read and event described."  The 'Second Eriksonian Law' is equally applicable--"Every word read and event described has meaning that may not be initially understood."  Those conversations, or actions of characters, or puzzling events that seem a little odd or inexplicable always seem to reappear as a 'light-bulb' moment later on when all then becomes clear (at least for that moment).  The bottom-line is that Steven Erikson really is an enormously clever writer, and his authorial use of the craft of foreshadowing is some of the best I've run across.  There just ain't anybody writing fiction like this guy!  House of Chains is a very worthy addition to this magnificent series.

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Okay, now having read the fifth volume in Steven Erikson's "The Malazan Book of the Fallen" series, Midnight Tides, I think Erikson has the set pieces all in place on the board now.  In finishing this novel I have to say that it truly feels like we have now been exposed to the landscapes, and most of the characters; and it now seems that the plot lines are all starting to slowly begin spiraling toward some form of a mega-convergence in the remaining four novels.  I, for one, can hardly contain myself and my excitement at what is to come!

Midnight Tides is set on the continent of Lether and tells the story of a major war that breaks out between the Tiste Edur (The Children of Shadows) and the Letherii peoples.  This is the first novel to address these peoples and this continent, and none of the characters from the previous novels, with the exception of just a few of the Elder Gods, are even present.  It doesn't matter a bit though.  Within 50 pages, the reader is completely enthralled with the new lands and the characters.  I would be completely remiss in not mentioning just a few of my new favorite characters; including Seren Pedac, Trull Senger, Brys Beddict, Shurq Elalle, Kettle, Iron Bars, and my absolutely most favorite characters in the series to date, Tehol Beddict and his 'man-servant' Bugg.  Oh Lordy, you will just salivate with joy at each and every appearance (and there are plenty, trust me) of Tehol and Bugg.  Seriously, some of the funniest stuff written!

The story of the 'world war' between the Tiste Edur peoples and the Letherii Empire is loaded with pathos and drama.  Tears will be shed.  Also, there are some very powerful explicit and implicit moral messages within this story that have application for all of us in our lives today, regardless of what country we live in.  This story does tend make the reader stop and reconsider what patriotism means, and how it should be applied.

While at first blush it might be easy to question Mr. Erikson about the relevancy of this tale within the larger arc of "The Malazan Book of the Fallen", as we are on a completely new landmass with completely new characters--none of which has the slightest thing to do with the Malazan Empire.  Having said this though, the careful reader will continually ferret out clues and new information associated with issues and events that have been encountered in previous novels in the series.  In other words, I am suggesting that this is not only an incredibly well-written novel and engaging story in its own right, but is a very important portion of the larger 'Malazan' canvas that Erikson is carefully painting.

And did I tell you how much I love the characters of 'Tehol Beddict' and 'Bugg'?  Just thinking about these two will bring a smile to my face for the rest of my life!

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"The Odyssey" by Homer and "The Penelopiad" by Margaret Atwood

Well, you're gonna get a 'two-fer' tonight; a review of Homer's The Odyssey (translation by Robert Fagles), and Margaret Atwood's brilliant little novella, The Penelopiad.  Secondly, I am sharing this with the Literary Blog Hop at The Blue Bookcase.  These women are writing and promoting some very fine book reviews.  I encourage you to go their blog and have a look.  I have learned to truly love the cross-pollination that occurs on the world-wide-web; particularly when it comes to the books we read and our impressions.  Think about it for a moment, but where do we really learn about most of the books we read?  Yup, from other people.

Some of you may be aware, but I read Homer's The Iliad recently and loved it (my review here).  I figured that the smart thing to do was to go ahead and just follow it up with a reading of Robert Fagles's 1996 translation of The Odyssey.

Robert Fagles's translation is a modern and contemporary, yet extraordinarily lyrical translation that just seems to preserve the classical feel of Homer, i.e., it begs to be read aloud.  This puts the reader squarely in the midst of the Homeric oral tradition of the itinerant bard and the hexameter verse structure of this ancient epic poem.  Fagles has masterfully brought this feeling to his English translation.  Now it is time for a 'Warning' from the Management--If you haven't read The Odyssey before, and are truly concerned about plot spoilers, I suggest you toddle along and find another blog posting to read right now.

The Odyssey is a nearly three-thousand year old 12,000 line poem that tells the tale of the Greek warrior, Odysseus, and his return from Asia-Minor following the sack of Troy.  While it took the Achaean army ten years to defeat Troy, it takes Odysseus ten more years to return home to his island kingdom of Ithaka.  Suffice it to say that Odysseus has nearly every adventure that you're likely to imagine, and then some, during his journey before he reaches his home.  This is a rollicking good read with loads of action-packed hand-to-hand combat, scary monsters, femme fatales, and damsels in distress.

Intermingled with the story of Odysseus's macho-man Mediterranean cruise is the concurrent tale of his patient, but suffering, wife, Penelope, holding down the fort on Ithaka.  She is not only trying to raise their surly teen-aged son, Telemakus, but simultaneously fending off the less than honorable advances of the hordes of suitors who now assume that Odysseus is dead and want to take over his kingdom (and wife).

Meanwhile, during the course of all of his mad-cap adventures, Odysseus is called upon to use every ounce of his guile and inventiveness to outwit his foes and safely return to Ithaka to his wife and son and the host of suitors pursuing Penelope and looking to supplant him.  And deal with them he does.  Near the end of the poem Odysseus and Telemakus go on a premeditated spree of horrific violence and slaughter all of Penelope's dastardly suitors and her twelve palace maids.  It ain't pretty, folks; nope, not at all.  This is bloody in-your-face killing Homeric style, and a lot like today's video games.

Reading The Odyssey will not only keep you enthralled from the first page to the last--and it is an amazing travelogue after all--but it will cause you to dip into your Bullfinch's or Hamilton's mythology too.  Reading The Odyssey is quite like peeling an onion--layer after layer--one story leading to the discovery of another related myth.  Also, do pay attention to the bits about Penelope and her defense of the homefront.  This will become important in the next part of this posting as I review Margaret Atwood's marvelous little novella, The Penelopiad.

If you haven't read Homer's great epic, The Odyssey, I simply can't recommend it enough.  I strongly suggest reading The Iliad first though.  They go together, like hand-in-glove.  I also strongly recommend reading the translations of Robert Fagles of both of these classic epic poems.  I recently read Richmond Lattimore's translations; and while very beautifully done, I truly believe that the Fagles translations are the renditions for our time.  For The Odyssey, I award five stars out of five, a genuine classic.

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Okay, now lets turn our attention to Margaret Atwood's 2005 novel, The Penelopiad.  At just under two-hundred pages, I read this novella in one sitting, and enjoyed it immensely!  Also, having just finished reading Robert Fagles' marvelous translation of Homer's The Odyssey, finding and reading The Penelopiad seemed more than serendipitous.  This is a retelling of The Odyssey from the perspective of Odysseus's wife, the 'patient' Penelope.  Atwood uses humor, pathos, and a significant dose of imagination and creativity to tell the story of Penelope and the twelve maids.  With one of the niftiest opening lines I've read in some time, this is an innovative piece of modern writing that finds Atwood cleverly reaching back to the ancient Greek dramatists as she structures the entire book as an ancient classical drama, with the interesting literary device of the 'Twelve Maids' providing the voice of the Chorus.  The Chorus of the Maids interjects quite frequently (eleven chapters) in the midst of Penelope's soliloquy (eighteen chapters) to share their perspective of Penelope, Odysseus, and the on-going events in the palace on Ithaka.  Some of these choral interludes include bits of funny poetic doggerel, a lyrical and well-written lamentation, a folk song, an idyll, a sea shanty, a ballad, a drama, an anthropology lecture, a court trial, and a love song.  I have to say that each of these choral interludes works very well in bringing to life these twelve, largely unknown, maids.

At first blush the reader might be tempted to dismiss this little book as nothing more than a light-hearted bit of fun that Atwood has at the expense of elements of Homer's great epic.  In my opinion, that would be a mistake though.  There's a lot going on in this book, and much of it doesn't manifest itself immediately.  I re-read it this morning on the train to the office, and I'm now even more in awe of Atwood's talent as a writer.  While acknowledging the patriarchal and male-centric tone of The Odyssey, Atwood in her The Penelopiad has brilliantly explored the feminine side of the Palace of Ithaka, as well as in Hades (the Underworld) where Penelope; her cousin, Helen-of-Troy; and the maids now all reside.  Atwood tastefully, but emphatically, uses her brief little tale to illustrate the double-standard that existed between men and women, not only that contained in the oral tradition of Homer's epics, but that of the ancient classical world.  After my recent reading of Homer, I found her use of a completely different voice and gender to tell the story of Odysseus' return to his home after twenty years, and the horrific violence he inflicts on 'the suitors', as well as the Twelve Maids, to be simply fascinating.  Also, while Homer goes to great lengths to highlight Odysseus as the "trickster", "dissembler", and "tactician", Atwood is equally successful in causing the reader to continually sift through Penelope's thoughts and statements for the kernels of Truth in her story, and in this task it is sometimes wise to pay attention to the Chorus.

Is The Penelopiad intended to be a feminist interpretation of Penelope, or The Odyssey?  No, I really don't think so.  This wonderful novella seems to be nothing more than Atwood's contribution to the Canongate Myth Series (a terrific series of books, by the way), and simply addresses the Odyssean mythology from the perspective of one female protagonist and a series of events that have received little scholarly or literary attention prior to this.  Having said that though, I found the book to be a very well written and cleverly constructed story by one of Canada's great living authors.  In sum, I thoroughly enjoyed The Penelopiad, and I'm quite glad that it has taken up a permanent home on my shelves.  For me, this book rates a solid four stars out of five.

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