Reviews
Even after finishing this, it is still puzzling to this casual reader why these two books were chosen to be collected in a single volume, when they were written by different authors, had different subject matter, and one is a novel and the other a play. The main thing they have in common, as the introduction seems to imply, is time of writing - they date to the period of Nero's reign and their themes seem to reflect the flavour, impressions and attitudes of the period. To this reader who knows nothing about Roman literature, the useful introduction provides background and history, situating these two works, their literary styles and themes among other authors and literary forms. The Satyricon reflects (and indirectly critiques?) an age of decadent excess and egotism, sexual exploits and swindlers, where troubles and tricks are ripe for hilarity. This is a world of reversals familiar to comedy, populated by stereotypes such as the rich whose 'humility' is a vulgar medium for their self-importance, pretentious literary types, jealous lovers, and respectable characters behaving badly. How familiar they seem, in fiction and real life! The plot is episodic with crises of fortune and romance (which happen every time) raised to the heights of melodrama, but what is modern (a coincidence of recognisable style and form surely) is personally not as interesting as what isn't. In the brief moments of brutality or the cornucopia of sexual encounters, acts and positions, The Satyricon shows a willingness to go to extremes, depicting them without pause, fanfare or surprise, almost as if they are part-and-parcel of everyday storytelling, with a playfulness that makes this reader wonder whether this book was meant to shock its contemporary audience or would they have just found it very funny. Especially in its central theme of sex (with boyfriends and girlfriends, mistresses, cult priestesses, prostitutes, servants and students) and impotence, its unabashed bawdyness (recalling a similar flavour in Chaucer's tales) would make audiences of modern staples as Game of Thrones and Californication blush. The Apocolocyntosis (literally, 'turning into a gourd') presents a caricature of the emperor Claudius, dramatising his ascent to heaven at his death, where he and the gods argue about his deification. Claudius is presented as a clod, an idiot obsessed with the law and scholarly pursuits, gambling and executing members of his family, a 'monster' who cannot walk right and in speech only makes noises not known to belong to any man (terrifying the mythological monsterslayer Hercules who encounters him for the first time). These faults and flaws, physical and in character, possibly rooted in his actions, rumours or stories of reputation have been repeated by other ancient historians. The introduction says this was written by Seneca in the context of his banishment to Corsica when Claudius was alive, and he had written supplicating pleas to return, so possibly this work represents a disavowal of those favourable sentiments and as a means of 'getting back' at Claudius. It also serves as propaganda to ingratiate himself with the new emperor Nero, who is so gilded in the text that it is positively sickening to read those passages. Caricatures are supposed to be mean but it can be difficult to read and want to read on, especially since this belongs to another world where it is acceptable to mock someone's disability. In terms of personal reception, it could be funnier and more enjoyable if it were not so cruel and purposefully so. There are more subtle instances worth appreciating, e.g. when Seneca shows a felicity for picking up on and deconstructing monarchic image-making. Claudius had opted to present himself as a member of Augustus' family and his reign as a continuity of the Augustan lineage to emphasise his legitimacy to the throne notwithstanding the strange circumstances of having arrived at that position, but in the final act of the play, the deified Augustus rejects this identification of Claudius with his legacy.
