CONNECTICUT LIBRARIES
February 2006, Vol. 48, No. 2
As the credits rolled, I turned to my son and daughter-in-law and observed, "Without the gods, the Trojan War doesn't make much sense!" The film Troy was on my mind again when I heard about a new series of books that would retell ancient myths to contemporary audiences.In this modern age, we are uncomfortable with mythos--traditional stories of unknown origin that seek to explain phenomena of nature, customs and religious rites, or the origin of man.
In our world, logos (reason) rules. We ask questions of science and expect answers backed with fact. We ask "why" questions that science cannot answer, but we still demand factual explanations. We may regard anything unsupported with facts as false, and we might even call it a "myth." This was not always so. For much of human existence, myth provided "truths." Myth gave us guidance on how to live our lives and answered our questions about the meaning of life. Karen Armstrong's book reacquaints us with myth and introduces a series of short books by authors who retell and update well-known myths of the past.
Stone age humans painted drawings on cave walls. During ritual ceremonies presided over by shamans, the paintings helped initiate young males into the community of hunters. The rituals took participants to a psychological state that facilitated acceptance of the myths. Repetition of the rituals and myths throughout one's lifetime reinforced acceptance. Partnering myth with ritual continued through much of human history.
Every few years, I re-read a handful of books. I know the stories, the characters, and the endings. Why, then, do I read them again and again? I have assumed it was the desire to recapture the enjoyment I experienced when I first discovered them, or the hope that I would find new insights with each reading. A Short History of Myth convinces me that more fundamental factors are at work. Winterson's discussion suggests that I may be seeking meaning in the ups and downs of daily life and reinforcing that meaning through repetition. She tells us that twenty-first century Westerners seek from artists, authors, and their works the same "therapeutic" benefits that earlier generations received from holy men and myth.
One of the books I re-read is Homer's Odyssey. As a teenager, I was thrilled by the fantastic exploits of the ever-resourceful Odysseus. Now, I recognize that the myth provides its audience with a code of conduct and with "therapeutic" explanations for the many challenges that men and women face. Why are some people luckier than others? Sometimes, it is because they are wise and moral. But, sometimes, people are fortunate because a capricious god favors them. Some bad folks get their "come-uppins" when they violate the laws of men and gods. However, good people sometimes also suffer terrible fates. Why? Perhaps, they unknowingly injured the illegitimate offspring of one of the immortals. Today, we still struggle with why "bad things happen to good people."
In the Penelopiad, author Margaret Atwood presents a modern retelling of the Odyssey, focusing this time on the hero's faithful wife Penelope. Recall that Odysseus leaves Penelope and infant son Telemachus to join other Greek heroes in the war against Troy. It takes ten years to conquer Troy and it takes Odysseus another ten years to make his way back to family and kingdom. Meanwhile, Penelope is pursued by the "suitors," young princes who assume Odysseus has perished and that Penelope will choose one of them as her husband and ruler of Ithaca. While she craftily delays that decision, the suitors plunder Odysseus' wealth, eat his food, and bed his servants. Atwood ignores the justice meted out to the opportunistic suitors by Odysseus and brings to our attention a callous injustice. Odysseus hangs twelve of Penelope's maids. The maids, Atwood tells us, flirted (and more) with the suitors, at Penelope's suggestion, so they could spy on the young princes. Atwood educates us on the status of Greek women and servants. She skillfully weaves into the myth a chorus borrowed from Greek drama. However, like the film Troy, she leaves out the gods. Atwood's revisionist retelling gives us facts and historical perspective. It is entertaining and thought-provoking, not therapeutic.
Jeanette Winterson's Weight is more steeped in mythic tradition. Protagonists Atlas and Heracles are super-human. They converse with gods Zeus and Hera. Atlas and Heracles try to alter their fates, but accept their pre-ordained roles when they realize there is no escape. A modern element in this retelling is the introspection displayed by the titan and the demi-god. Denied a life on earth, Atlas meditates on life and existence, but from the outside looking in. Heracles, the archetypal one-dimensional "man of action," fumbles with the question "why?" and learns the meaning of genuine love. Winterson updates the myth several times, depositing us finally on familiar ground: a universe abandoned by myth, yet not fully understood by science. When steadfast Atlas departs, only unfathomable black holes fill the void he leaves.
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