Mythology by Edith Hamilton

We love stories.  We always have.  Expressing our thoughts and desires could be said to be one of the things that makes us uniquely human.  From pre-historic cave paintings to YouTube, human beings cannot help but to tell stories.

Many of the stories which we love today are taken from older civilizations, adaptations of the tales told ‘round the campfires of our ancestors.  The tale of Pygmalion has gone through numerous adaptations, including the immensely popular My Fair Lady, not to mention modern versions, done in Hollywood blockbuster style, of the entire Greek Pantheon.  Where do we go for the source, though?  We are unable to quiz the ancient Greeks, Romans, Phoenicians, Egyptians and countless other civilizations to whom we owe so much of our entertainment.  So we go…where?  To Edith Hamilton.

Mythology reads like a cross between a collection of fascinating short stories and a cliff notes version of some of the greatest epics ever told.  The book isn’t a classic page turner, there is no over-arching plot, but on any given day you can pick it up and read about ferocious battles, torrid romances, treacherous deceits…and that may all be in one story.  Outlining the greatest hits of Greece and Rome, even touching on the Norse Pantheon of gods and heroes, Hamilton manages to condense a great deal of historic storytelling into one book.  Anyone with an interest in mythology or storytelling, or that has a research paper to do, should find this one a fascinating read.

Find and reserve this book in the library.

Holy Bible, King James Version

In honor of the Grand Opening of our King James exhibit at Cameron Village tomorrow, we are re-posting this blog entry from last year.

In 1517, the German monk Martin Luther nailed his 95 theses to the church door in Wittenberg, Saxony, and the Protestant Reformation was born. According to Luther, it was faith alone that would bring salvation and he believed that people of faith could commune directly with the Most High through prayer and by reading the Bible. The Roman church’s version of the Bible (Vulgate) was in Latin, which most churchgoers did not understand, and the reformers made it a priority to make the Bible accessible to everybody.

In the 1380s, Englishman John Wycliffe had argued that the Good Book should be made accessible to people in their own tongue, an undertaking that landed him in court, and led to laws making translating or even reading the Bible in the vernacular a capital transgression (laws under which Wycliffe’s own body was dug up and burnt), and even though Henry VIII had broken away from Rome, he was outraged by the ideas of Luther. It was in other words still dangerous to  engage in Bible translations when William Tyndale began his project in the early 1520s. Tyndale knew eight languages, notably Greek and Hebrew, which were virtually unknown in England at the time. He also had a strong sense for wonderful phrases and knew the Bible inside out. And, as he saw it, Henry VIII’s divorce of Katherine was not sanctioned by the Bible – a notion that he made public. And that was his death sentence.

But the work outlived the man. In 1604, King James decided that one uniform translation should be produced, and well over 80 percent of the King James Version’s New Testament was in fact the work of Tyndale.

The Bible translation was built on a spare and simple vocabulary, and it was a Bible to be read out and listened to. The King James Version’s impact on the English language and literature is simply awe-inspiring – it has, e.g., contributed 257 idioms to English, more than any other single source – but as in any translation, there are aspects of the sources that are not captured (a fact the translators of 1611 recognized).

The challenges that come with a Bible translation are enormous. For one thing, Jesus spoke Aramaic, but his words were saved in Greek. Furthermore, the Tyndale translation was based on a rendering by Dutchman Erasmus, who in his turn partly used a single twelfth century manuscript that is one of the worst manuscripts available. Erasmus also turned to the Latin Bible of the Roman church, and thus translated that text back into Greek, thereby creating some textual readings that cannot be found in any surviving Greek manuscripts.

But none of this devalues the poetic power of the King James Version. And as Rowan Williams, the Archbishop of Canterbury and the head of the Anglican Communion, has pointed out, “a good translation will be an invitation to read again, and to probe, and reflect, and imagine with the text. Rather than letting me say: ‘Now I understand,’ it prompts the response: ‘Now the work begins.’ “

Find and reserve this book in our catalog.

Find out more about the King James exhibit.

The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller

This novel had a miraculous effect on me.  It made me regret that I didn’t pay more attention when studying The Iliad in school.

What a compulsively readable story Madeline Miller recreates from the famous epic.  The characters are famous, with names we recognize.  Achilles, son of a goddess and the greatest of all the Greek warriors.  Helen, another child of a god, whose beauty so enflames Paris he kidnaps her even if it means war.  Agamemnon, Odysseus, Hector, Menelaus, the centaur Chiron, Miller makes them all come alive in a way that was a revelation to me.

But the two characters I found the most fascinating were the least familiar.  The story is told from the point of view of Patroclus, beloved companion of Achilles.  He is mortal, the son of a king with none of the attributes valued by his father, and has been banned from his home for a childhood act.  But he does know how to love, and he will demonstrate this over and over again in his relationship with Achilles.

Thetis, the mother of Achilles, does not approve of Patroclus.  She has big plans for her son, will not brook any interference, and Miller makes her terrifying–Greek goddess as Tiger Mother.

The tension between Patroclus and Thetis, who both believe they are acting in the best interests of Achilles, is compelling.  The scenes of Achilles going to battle are dramatic and it doesn’t matter that you may already know how they will play out–Miller makes them exciting and fresh.

This is one of my favorite novels of 2012 .  Recommended for fans of historical fiction (especially readers of Mary Renault), Greek mythology and especially for anyone else who may have skated through the Iliad in high school or college.

Find and reserve this new book in our catalog.

Holy Bible, King James Version

In 1517, the German monk Martin Luther nailed his 95 theses to the church door in Wittenberg, Saxony, and the Protestant Reformation was born. According to Luther, it was faith alone that would bring salvation and he believed that people of faith could commune directly with the Most High through prayer and by reading the Bible. The Roman church’s version of the Bible (Vulgate) was in Latin, which most churchgoers did not understand, and the reformers made it a priority to make the Bible accessible to everybody.

In the 1380s, Englishman John Wycliffe had argued that the Good Book should be made accessible to people in their own tongue, an undertaking that landed him in court, and led to laws making translating or even reading the Bible in the vernacular a capital transgression (laws under which Wycliffe’s own body was dug up and burnt), and even though Henry VIII had broken away from Rome, he was outraged by the ideas of Luther. It was in other words still dangerous to  engage in Bible translations when William Tyndale began his project in the early 1520s. Tyndale knew eight languages, notably Greek and Hebrew, which were virtually unknown in England at the time. He also had a strong sense for wonderful phrases and knew the Bible inside out. And, as he saw it, Henry VIII’s divorce of Katherine was not sanctioned by the Bible – a notion that he made public. And that was his death sentence.

But the work outlived the man. In 1604, King James decided that one uniform translation should be produced, and well over 80 percent of the King James Version’s New Testament was in fact the work of Tyndale.

The Bible translation was built on a spare and simple vocabulary, and it was a Bible to be read out and listened to. The King James Version’s impact on the English language and literature is simply awe-inspiring – it has, e.g., contributed 257 idioms to English, more than any other single source – but as in any translation, there are aspects of the sources that are not captured (a fact the translators of 1611 recognized).

The challenges that come with a Bible translation are enormous. For one thing, Jesus spoke Aramaic, but his words were saved in Greek. Furthermore, the Tyndale translation was based on a rendering by Dutchman Erasmus, who in his turn partly used a single twelfth century manuscript that is one of the worst manuscripts available. Erasmus also turned to the Latin Bible of the Roman church, and thus translated that text back into Greek, thereby creating some textual readings that cannot be found in any surviving Greek manuscripts.

But none of this devalues the poetic power of the King James Version. And as Rowan Williams, the Archbishop of Canterbury and the head of the Anglican Communion, has pointed out, “a good translation will be an invitation to read again, and to probe, and reflect, and imagine with the text. Rather than letting me say: ‘Now I understand,’ it prompts the response: ‘Now the work begins.’ “

Find and reserve this book in our catalog.

Gilgamesh: a new English version by Stephen Mitchell

When the ancient Royal Library of Ashurbanipal was discovered in 1849, thousands of clay tablets and fragments were unveiled. Among its holdings was a work that today is known as The Epic of Gilgamesh (or just Gilgamesh), the oldest epic known to mankind, written perhaps 1,500 years before The Iliad.

Due to sometimes careless handling much of the library is irreparably jumbled, and despite new findings there is no complete version of the story. Despite this, it is a tale that continues to engage readers as many of the themes and events of the story surpass the era which gave birth to them – it is, in many ways, a timeless tale.

Gilgamesh is a king, a giant with superpowers, and an oppressor of his people in Uruk (present day Iraq). The citizens plead for help and the gods create Enkidu, his double, a second self. Learning of this wild man, a beast, really, who runs with the animals, Gilgamesh dispatches a priestess to find him and tame him by seducing him, and making love with the priestess awakens Enkidu’s consciousness of his true identity as a human being. When Enkidu hears of the king’s behavior he decides to confront the ruler, and the two battle each other. Gilgamesh defeats Enkidu and the two realize that they are meant to be the best of friends. Together they undertake dangerous tasks that incur the displeasure of the gods. Initially, they defeat Humbaba, the monstrous guardian of the cedar forests. Later they kill the Bull of Heaven that the goddess Ishtar has sent to punish Gilgamesh as he has turned her down and also abused her verbally. And then, disease descends upon Enkidu who dies and leaves Gilgamesh in tears.

The latter part of the epic focuses on Gilgamesh’s distraught reaction to Enkidu’s death, which takes the form of a quest for immortality. Gilgamesh attempts to learn the secret of eternal life by undertaking a perilous journey to meet the immortal flood hero, Utnapishtim. It is a hero’s quest, but (as it turns out) a queer one.

So the plot is cool, but what makes the story deeply engaging is the blend of myths, legends, and everyday observations. And the eye for the details of daily life is sharp, the imagery is powerful –the city streets are described as vividly as the supernatural powers of the heavens – and the interaction between humans is vibrant thanks to all the contradictions in behavior that these relationships give rise to.

Stephen Mitchell’s freewheeling version (based on a number of translations) is a good place to start, although his introduction could be sold at the Alkmaar cheese market in the Netherlands. Readers who would like to dig deeper can check out Andrew George’s translation, published by Penguin Classics. It is, as can be expected, serious and solid.

Find and request this book in our catalog.

The Red Pyramid by Rick Riordan

The gods walk amongst us. Or at least they do in Rick Riordan’s The Red Pyramid.  Following up on his success with his Percy Jackson series, Riordan offers a new look at the gods of old.  Carter and Sadie Kane are brother and sister that have grown up apart.  Carter traveled with his Egyptologist father while Sadie live with their grandparents in London.  But when their father blows up the Rosetta Stone in the British Museum and releases the ancient gods of Egypt, the two of them must come together and save their father and the world.

That’s some heady stuff to deal with. Throw in some magicians that want to kill you, a trip to the underworld and it sounds like a fun time. Carter and Sadie discover that they are descendants of the Pharaohs and have a magical touch as well.  Its going to take all they have to find who has kidnapped their father and save him.  Along the way they discover secrets about themselves and their past that they can’t escape.

Honestly, Riordan has created a magical world that entices both kids and adults.  I first encountered this world that mixes magical elements of classic mythology with today’s life in his series about Percy Jackson and the Greek gods of old.  I loved the Percy Jackson series, which led me to pick of The Red Pyramid.  Let me tell you, I was not disappointed. Riordan takes the idea that works well in his other works and adds depth.  There is more intrigue and action.  Characters have more depth and face greater struggles.  Riordan does a great job of creating characters that readers love and will want to follow through the next books.

Find and reserve this book in our catalog.

Promethea, vol. 1-5 by Alan Moore

Is Alan Moore, from Northampton, England, the most influential writer alive? Perhaps not, but for more than two decades, Moore has been a dominating force in his field – comics, or graphic novels – reaching millions of young, and not so young, minds.

In 1986, DC Comics began publishing Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons’s Watchmen. When the story reached its conclusion in 1987, the landscape of comics was forever changed. Traditionally, the world of comics had been dominated by straightforward, linear stories. A flashback here and there might disturb the steady flow of time, but not in any significant way, and therefore the chaos and multi-perspective of Watchmen was quite sensational.

Fundamentally, Watchmen is a story about the end of the world, a fear that may be as old as life itself, but it is also a hope that possibly has been around as long as reflective thinking. Again and again in his career, Alan Moore has returned to the end of days, and the theme is the centerpiece of another story by Moore: Promethea (vol. 1-5).

The apocalypse of Watchmen is, however, different from the end of the world scenario of Promethea. Where Watchmen takes place in a dystopia, Promethea is a search for utopia. In Watchmen, it’s a matter of mass destruction caused by the belief in the supremacy of one rigid idea or another. The apocalypse of Promethea is an issue of hope. And while Watchmen is dominated by fanatics and the bloody consequences of their convictions, Promethea is a story where different faiths and belief systems are merged into one tolerant and multifaceted way. Moore tries to share a simple idea: everything that is, is part of the same body – in the old Hindu saying, everything is everything. The name of the body may vary – the world, the universe, God, the Tree of Life, the Brahma, the Buddha, the Christ, the Way – but it’s still a matter of one body, albeit a body with “a thousand faces” (to paraphrase Mahatma Gandhi).

Although the message is simple, Alan Moore presents it in a complicated manner. At times, Moore is an example of imagination running wild. Sometimes his creations contain too many events and too little substance, and while Watchmen was a tight piece of art, Promethea might be considered obese at times. It has been accused of being too talkative, and perhaps the story would have turned into a tell-not-show nightmare if it hadn’t been for the mind-bending artwork of if J.H. Williams, et al.

What has been neglected is the possibility that the talking heads often can be found in the most carefully illustrated parts of Promethea, and that there might be precise reasons for all the talk. The word-flooded pages slow the reader down; it is not possible to just glance at an image, burn through a few words, and then move on. The pace of the comic and the perception of time itself change – time is stretched out as words and images create a radiating union, and this is the body, spirit, and soul of comic book storytelling.

Find and reserve this book in our catalog.

Bard: The Odyssey of the Irish by Morgan Llywelyn

St. Patrick’s Day may have just passed us a few weeks back, but that’s no reason not to rush out and read this great a book about how the Irish came to Ireland.  What? Weren’t the Irish always in Ireland?  Well, yes and no. But mostly no.  This epic historical fiction novel tells the story of Amergin, a bard, and his brothers: the sons of Milesios. This is the mythic tale of the migration of the Gaels from Iberia (modern day Spain & Portugal) to the western isle (Ireland), and how they vanquished the Tuatha de Danaan, to found the “Irish” race.

But, it’s fiction, isn’t it?  Yes, Historical Fiction is just as it sounds; a made up story based on known historical facts.  Some authors may take more liberties with history than others, but the best of them weave a highly engrossing story with actual people, places and events, seamlessly.  In the latest edition of the newsletter on her somewhat dated website Llywelyn says, “Each of my historical novels has been inspired and fueled by some specific quality of the Celtic nature which I wanted to explore. The books have been a conversation with the past: asking questions, seeking answers, then giving interested readers access to my discoveries and conclusions.”

I first read this novel way back in 1995 and quickly devoured as many books by this author as I could.  I loved (and still do) how Llywelyn combines history and story-telling, with a dash of fantasy, as well.  In fact, the bookstore for which I worked at the time kept her books in the Fantasy & Science Fiction section (although Wake County, perhaps more correctly, keeps them in general adult fiction).  If you’re interested in reading about Irish history, whether in fact or fiction, you might also try: Lywelyn’s many other novels, including Finn Mac Cool (which I reviewed when our blog first started), Frank Delaney’s Ireland: a Novel, and Thomas Cahill’s nonfiction book How the Irish Saved Civilization.

Find and reserve your copy of Bard: the Odyssey of the Irish in our catalog.

The Lost Gate by Orson Scott Card

I don’t often get a chance to read too many brand new books, but I was lucky enough to get an advance reader’s copy of Mr. Card’s newest book.  This book combines mythology, fantasy & magic, and a coming-of-age story, and is set in modern day America.   It’s sure to be compared to the Harry Potter series, the Percy Jackson series and to Neil Gaiman’s American Gods.

Danny North is a family outcast who’s been ridiculed and picked on his whole life. Not, as is the case with Harry Potter, because he can do strange and magical things, but because he can’t.  The North family, now settled in rural Virginia, is actually descended from the Norse gods, including Odin, Thor and Loki.  Fourteen hundred years ago, Loki stole all of the gates between our world, and that of Westil.  Travel between the gates of these two worlds is what gave the gods their immense power.  This is true for not only the Norse gods, but also the Greeks, Egyptians and all the other ancient gods.  Since the gates were stolen these families of gods have had their power diminish over the centuries.  There is now an uneasy truce between the families, and as part of the truce, the families have also killed anyone born with a talent as a gatemage (one who can magically control gates), which both ensures that no one family will ever increase their own power, yet keeps the magic of all the families very limited.  Somehow, Danny just might be the first person in over fourteen centuries to be able to solve that little problem; as long as he can survive his own family, that is.

The novel also alternates chapters with the story of the people and kingdoms of Westil, which is more like a typical medieval-type Fantasy world.  Many of the inhabitants can perform one form of magic or another, although some cannot.  There is political intrigue with plots, conspiracies, scheming and murder.  Even those with magical powers are not immune, and one of the main characters, Wad, ponders that “magery doesn’t change the fact that ultimately the only way to stop a man is to threaten to kill him … or kill him outright.”  The King of Iceway is married to a woman from the land of Gray, after a great war between their nations.  The Queen has never been trusted by the Iceweigians, and amidst the plots and counter-plots the threat of war depends upon her being able to sire an heir.  This is no easy task when the king spends all of his “free time” with his not-so-secret mistress.  Watching all of this is Wad, a young man who is actually very, very old, although he can’t quite remember that other life he once had.

My only teeny-tiny complaint is that I wish the book didn’t end quite so abruptly.  Perhaps the first few chapters of the next book would have added something to the ending of this book.  But, that just means I’ll be eagerly awaiting the next in Mr. Card’s new Mithermages series!

So, will Danny be able to restore the lost gate to Westil?  And what will the state of affairs in the kingdom of Iceway be in if he gets there?

Find and request The Lost Gate in our catalog to find out.

Little, Big by John Crowley

This book came to me via a friend’s recommendation.  The branch where I work didn’t have a copy on the shelf, so I requested it from another library; when it arrived on my desk a few mornings later, the “SCI-FI/FANTASY” sticker on the spine had me worried.  I am not interested in reading tales about magickal heroes hailing from unpronounceable places spelled with unnecessary apostrophes.  But, my friend has excellent taste, so I chose to place more stock in her judgment than the generalities of cataloging.

What a beautiful novel; I now count it among my favorites.  The ‘SCI-FI/FANTASY’ classification is apt, but misleading.  The supernatural elements of Crowley’s novel are vague, and unfold so naturally that you hardly notice them–that is, until you try to describe the book to someone and find yourself saying things like “well, I guess in a nutshell it’s an American family saga involving New York City and fairies and a lady wizard and an undead emperor, but I SWEAR IT’S NOT WHAT YOU THINK.”

Allow me a moment on my soapbox to rail and rave about the Problem of Genre.  On one hand it’s lovely for us Librarians to have these genre designations–i.e., “you read Fantasy novels?  Well, here’s our Fantasy section!”–especially if you’ve decided that a particular genre (ahem) is lame and would prefer to avoid it at all costs.  But the latter gets at my problem with genre: certain conceptions and expectations are set up by genre designation(s), however these expectations don’t necessarily encompass the quality intrinsic to certain books, and so when a particularly compelling novel has been labeled this-or-that genre you’re just as likely to spend considerable energy explaining why this book transcends genre stereotypes or whatever. Energy that was supposed to have been saved by said genre designation in the first place.

So. Anyway.  Little, Big is about a man who falls in love with a woman.  They marry and cohabitate with her unusual family in an incredibly weird house, where incredibly weird things happen regularly.  But the weirdness inherent in the town, family, and home feels utterly natural.  Crowley lulls you into a waking dream, so that, as when you really dream, you passively accept elves, talking fish, improbable inner-city farms, characters with freaky destinies, and so on.  Also, literary nerds will feel smug at the abundant references to A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Mother Goose, Thornton W. Burgess, Alfred Hitchcock, Lewis Carroll, John Keats, Renaissance thought, and classical mythology. If you aren’t interested in literary references, no matter: Crowley’s tale is utterly absorbing whether or not you notice them, especially once he introduces a fascistic politician obsessed with eradicating all things fantastical.

The title points at the nature of experience and time–it’s both about reality vs. mythology and Relativity.  I suppose another way of putting it is that fable can ring as true as the quotidian, even if there is no way to verifiably explain the verso side of the looking glass; life is short or long, depending.  The novel’s culmination, where contemporary America becomes interrelated with fable and myth, is so breathtakingly heartbreaking that I cried for hours.

Check out or reserve a copy.