Sphinx

Classical scholars do not, generally, have to worry much about the nature of the relationship between the critic and the living author; in the absence of a working time machine, Ovid is never going to have the opportunity to complain furiously about the post-modern nonsense being read into a perfectly straightforward set of poems about Roman festivals, or Euripides to include a critic character in one of his later plays, who comes to an unfortunate and embarrassing end in a sub-plot, in revenge for poor reviews. Yes, there are a few examples of modern authors taking exception to critics and scholars on behalf of their ancient brethren – Yeats’ The Scholars comes to mind, of course, with the old, learned, respectable bald heads making pedantic annotations on heartfelt love poetry – but generally this isn’t an issue, and we don’t tend to take such attacks (or those in Nietzsche’s Wir Philologen) personally. Working in the field of contemporary classical reception, however, does raise this issue: what is the correct distance to maintain between writer and commentator? how far should we leave the author to comment on his/her intentions, limiting ourselves to identifying interesting classical echoes (on the assumption that naturally the author will have placed them there deliberately) – and how far should we put ourselves in the more awkward position of pointing out errors or misconceptions, querying the ideological subtext of classical allusions and so forth? Is there any risk that we’re so grateful for the recognition and implicit endorsement, that a proper contemporary author still thinks the classical is worth evoking, that we neglect our critical faculties and duties?

Of course, the only reason I’m thinking about these questions in the first place is that I’ve spent most of the day with a stupid grin in my face, having received a letter from the great Peter Handke to say that he liked my article on Peter Handke and Thucydides…