I was listening to this in my car today. It seems appropriate right now:
Críosta ó cumhdaigh mé
Críosta coimhéad mé
Críosta coinnigh mé
Críosta an Rí
Críosta ó treorái mé
Críosta óteagasc mé
Críosta an Rí
It's even more beautiful with the music, but the words are pretty powerful also.
31 August 2006
29 August 2006
So now what?
Reading might have to drop pretty far down on the priority list for now. We just received confirmation this morning that my husband will be deploying for fourteen (yes, fourteen) months to a part of the world not presently known for drawing tourists in great quantities. To be honest, I feel a bit as though God just took my life and threw it against the wall. I was hoping that our time in Hawaii could be spent together. After all, we've been married for four years, and I think I've seen him maybe half that time. But I suppose there's a bigger plan here, something I can't see or understand. My husband was wondering if he's been doing something wrong all this time; why can't we just have a normal life? Maybe God doesn't want us to have a normal life, though. Maybe we're not the typical white picket fence, three kids and a dog, Americans. That's actually a little scary. What else are we're going to have to face in the future?
But I'm not complaining. There are so many people who have worse situations that I really can't complain. We're healthy; he has a job; and I have a family that's willing to open its doors to me when things like this happen.
All that aside, I'm still trying to finish The Count of Monte Cristo and Albion. I also have How the Scots Invented the Modern World, A History of Wales, and Inventing the Victorians. We're leaving in a little over a month: now that will be some marathon reading (if it even happens).
By the way, we would greatly appreciate anyone's prayers.
But I'm not complaining. There are so many people who have worse situations that I really can't complain. We're healthy; he has a job; and I have a family that's willing to open its doors to me when things like this happen.
All that aside, I'm still trying to finish The Count of Monte Cristo and Albion. I also have How the Scots Invented the Modern World, A History of Wales, and Inventing the Victorians. We're leaving in a little over a month: now that will be some marathon reading (if it even happens).
By the way, we would greatly appreciate anyone's prayers.
25 August 2006
A few changes
I decided to make some changes on the blog. The other template just wasn't doing anything for me. I realized that even I didn't like reading it, and that seemed like a sign. So, here's the new one. It's green; my website is green (www.bainbridgetutorials.com); we're green. It just seems to fit.
The Story of English, by Robert McCrum, Robert MacNeil, and William Cran (New York: Penguin, 2002)
Not to be confused with The Stories of English, by David Crystal (reviewed earlier). Although the titles and the topics are similar, the books have very different purposes. This book is based on a BBC series of the same title, first released in the 1980s, and presents the development of the English language as a series of vignettes. While Crystal's book is definitely a scholarly work, understandable to any reader but still very much an acquired taste, this is a book that any English speaker can easily appreciate. The authors are not linguistics, but rather journalists who saw this study as an opportunity to cover a topic very much in general interest. In the pursuit of understanding the language, they basically covered the globe, interviewing and recording different varieties of the language that they encountered. From Tangier Island to Singapore, they discovered that there is no truly pure English but that the language takes on a personality of its own in every part of the world where it is spoken.
What I liked about this book was the breakdown of chapters and topics. The authors made every effort to cover as many varieties of spoken and written English as possible, without spending too much time on each. As a result, they accumulated a rich tapestry of dialect that gives readers a tantalizing taste of different parts of the world. In particular, I liked the time spent on explaining both Irish and Scots English (and the separate influence of Gaelic), rather than trying to group all three together. I also liked their attempt to define the source of the accents that identify various English speakers. After all, the accents in America, Canada, Australia, New Zealand, etc., are all unique and must stem from a specific source. They do, and the authors take the time to try to explain the different regions of England that must have produced such accents. I was also fascinated--probably because I didn't expect to be--by their description of Black English and its influence on the American language, as well as by the growth and perpetutation of Indian English (that is, the English spoken in India, not the English spoken by Native Americans).
The only downside to this book is that it is a little outdated. The version I read is the third version, but I don't think it's changed much since its original publication in 1986. As a result, the authors's discussion of "modern" slang is virtually obsolete, and they really fail to take the Internet into account at all. They mention that Robert Burchfield, who was at one time the chief editor of the OED, sees English on a path similar to Latin: it will eventually break up into individual languages, just as Latin broke up into Spanish, French, Italian, Romanian, and so forth. The authors seem to be in some agreement with this. In 1986, they might have been correct, but to be honest I think the advent of the computer age and the huge impact of Internet use will change this. It seems to me that we grow closer, not further apart in our use of English. It may all be a little different, but these differences will probably just remain regional distinctions. Spoken English will evolve, but I really doubt that English will literally become a mother language to a group of otherwise unintelligible languages. I've spent time browsing message boards, watching video, and listening to music on the web; many of the things I read, see, and hear are posted by people not in America or even in England but in many corners of the world. (I once read a post, in perfect English, from a person in Finland. If this person hadn't mentioned her location, I would have assumed she lived somewhere in middle America.) Through the Internet people pick up the stylistic distinctions of others, and these just get passed around. Far from separating us, the stylistic differences help us to better appreciate the differences of others. The only real language development from the Internet will be that of abbreviations that people use--such as the ridiculous list of letters. ASOFASDFIJLAKSJDLF. Is that supposed to mean something? I always feel a little out of the loop when I come across things like that.
Anyway...for the history alone, this book is excellent and not terribly difficult to read. It took me a while, but only because my schedule is pretty wonky (now there's a word that's become part of my vocabulary but certainly isn't American). I recommend it highly.
What I liked about this book was the breakdown of chapters and topics. The authors made every effort to cover as many varieties of spoken and written English as possible, without spending too much time on each. As a result, they accumulated a rich tapestry of dialect that gives readers a tantalizing taste of different parts of the world. In particular, I liked the time spent on explaining both Irish and Scots English (and the separate influence of Gaelic), rather than trying to group all three together. I also liked their attempt to define the source of the accents that identify various English speakers. After all, the accents in America, Canada, Australia, New Zealand, etc., are all unique and must stem from a specific source. They do, and the authors take the time to try to explain the different regions of England that must have produced such accents. I was also fascinated--probably because I didn't expect to be--by their description of Black English and its influence on the American language, as well as by the growth and perpetutation of Indian English (that is, the English spoken in India, not the English spoken by Native Americans).
The only downside to this book is that it is a little outdated. The version I read is the third version, but I don't think it's changed much since its original publication in 1986. As a result, the authors's discussion of "modern" slang is virtually obsolete, and they really fail to take the Internet into account at all. They mention that Robert Burchfield, who was at one time the chief editor of the OED, sees English on a path similar to Latin: it will eventually break up into individual languages, just as Latin broke up into Spanish, French, Italian, Romanian, and so forth. The authors seem to be in some agreement with this. In 1986, they might have been correct, but to be honest I think the advent of the computer age and the huge impact of Internet use will change this. It seems to me that we grow closer, not further apart in our use of English. It may all be a little different, but these differences will probably just remain regional distinctions. Spoken English will evolve, but I really doubt that English will literally become a mother language to a group of otherwise unintelligible languages. I've spent time browsing message boards, watching video, and listening to music on the web; many of the things I read, see, and hear are posted by people not in America or even in England but in many corners of the world. (I once read a post, in perfect English, from a person in Finland. If this person hadn't mentioned her location, I would have assumed she lived somewhere in middle America.) Through the Internet people pick up the stylistic distinctions of others, and these just get passed around. Far from separating us, the stylistic differences help us to better appreciate the differences of others. The only real language development from the Internet will be that of abbreviations that people use--such as the ridiculous list of letters. ASOFASDFIJLAKSJDLF. Is that supposed to mean something? I always feel a little out of the loop when I come across things like that.
Anyway...for the history alone, this book is excellent and not terribly difficult to read. It took me a while, but only because my schedule is pretty wonky (now there's a word that's become part of my vocabulary but certainly isn't American). I recommend it highly.
23 August 2006
How the Irish Saved Civilization, by Thomas Cahill (New York: Doubleday, 1995)
No sooner did I say that I might not be able to finish a book than I picked this up and decided to read it. And then I couldn't put it down. I carried it around with me for a day and a half, reading at every opportunity. I even stood there at the ballet rehearsals, while the director shouted at the girls who were out of line, blissfully reading this delightful book. I should mention that this is one of my favorite books of all time, largely I think because I didn't expect to like it as much as I did. I think I expected it to be a dry tome, or a painfully dull account of Irish history. Happily, it's neither of those things. I'm going to cheat a little bit and quote someone else's review here, because I like it:
"How the Irish Saved Civilization is a shamelessly engaging, effortlessly scholarly, utterly refreshing history of the origins of the Irish soul and its contribution to Western culture." (from Thomas Keneally, who wrote Schindler's List)
I couldn't have (and obviously didn't) say it better. What I like about this quote is that it brings up a couple of things I have to agree with. For one, this book is incredily easy to read, without sacrificing anything in the way of scholarship or research. Both times I have read it, I completed it in under two days. It's not a tough read. But that doesn't mean it's simplistic. Cahill covers quite a bit; he just doesn't spend endless time droning on about unnecessary details. In fact, I think he gives his reader the benefit of intelligence in understanding what he is trying to say, rather than saying the same thing again and again, or (even worse) using the elevated language of academia just to give his book a more high-brow tone. And he throws in delightful little personal notes along the way, which may not be the most scholarly thing to do, but it certainly adds to the enjoyment.
In addition to being easy to read, this book is refreshing, which makes it refreshingly appropriate for its description of the Irish people. Again and again, Cahill tries to make clear the Irish love of story and laughter, of song and mirth. This is not a dour group of people, and his style of writing seems to represent that perfectly. Even though the Irish have experienced some enormous tragedies in their history, they always seem to survive by finding the bright side of things. I'll admit I could only giggle when I read a brief poem written by ninth century Irishman John Scotus Eriugena to describe the passing of Hincmar, who was archbishop of Rheims and not a fan of the Irish during his lifetime:
Here lies Hincmar, crook. But savage greed aside,
He did one truly noble thing: he died. (Cahill's translation)
This is a good representation of the Irish in their dry humor, their clever wit (when asked once at dinner what separated an Irishman from a fool, Eriugena responded quickly, "Only the table."), and their ability to never take anything too seriously. That's a gift, I think, and one I haven't inherited from my Irish side of the family. It's also something that everyone could stand to cultivate a little.
So, what is this book about? Cahill's subtitle is "The Untold Story of Ireland's Heroic Role from the Fall of Rome to the Rise of Medieval Europe." In a nutshell, Cahill explains how the recently converted and very enthusiastic Christian Irish men and women saved Western Civilization by copying down for posterity the disappearing literature of ancient Greece and Rome and by infecting all of Europe with their contagious joy as they spread out in missionary work. Of course, Cahill starts the story at the very beginning by explaining the fall of Rome, the rise of early Christianity, the influence of St Augustine (and the contrast between him and the later St Patrick), and the pre-Christian lifestyle of the Irish. While many early churchmen looked askance at reading and perpetuating the pagan classics, the Irish merely saw fascinating stories--not unlike their own mythology--and eagerly copied them down. Occasionally, they would even make notes in the margin of their copying, recording their thoughts as they worked. For example, one scribe commented on his own sadness on copying down Hector's death at the hand of Achilles. This would be like someone writing, "I like what Jefferson put here," on the Declaration of Independence. Today, we gasp in astonishment at the very thought of such sacrilege, but the Irish didn't see it that way. They didn't consider their opinions any less valuable, so they didn't see anything wrong with making notes about them.
I like the book. I recommend it. Enough said. I also like Cahill's other books, although I don't think any of them has quite the lighthearted quality of this one. The Gifts of the Jews is a bit slower and more serious; Desire of the Everlasting Hills approaches pure lyricism in the way it is written; and Sailing the Wine Dark Seas is just as complex as the Greeks themselves. All of Cahill's book are very well written, but I think How the Irish Saved Civilization will always hold a special place in my heart. Just like the Irish.
"How the Irish Saved Civilization is a shamelessly engaging, effortlessly scholarly, utterly refreshing history of the origins of the Irish soul and its contribution to Western culture." (from Thomas Keneally, who wrote Schindler's List)
I couldn't have (and obviously didn't) say it better. What I like about this quote is that it brings up a couple of things I have to agree with. For one, this book is incredily easy to read, without sacrificing anything in the way of scholarship or research. Both times I have read it, I completed it in under two days. It's not a tough read. But that doesn't mean it's simplistic. Cahill covers quite a bit; he just doesn't spend endless time droning on about unnecessary details. In fact, I think he gives his reader the benefit of intelligence in understanding what he is trying to say, rather than saying the same thing again and again, or (even worse) using the elevated language of academia just to give his book a more high-brow tone. And he throws in delightful little personal notes along the way, which may not be the most scholarly thing to do, but it certainly adds to the enjoyment.
In addition to being easy to read, this book is refreshing, which makes it refreshingly appropriate for its description of the Irish people. Again and again, Cahill tries to make clear the Irish love of story and laughter, of song and mirth. This is not a dour group of people, and his style of writing seems to represent that perfectly. Even though the Irish have experienced some enormous tragedies in their history, they always seem to survive by finding the bright side of things. I'll admit I could only giggle when I read a brief poem written by ninth century Irishman John Scotus Eriugena to describe the passing of Hincmar, who was archbishop of Rheims and not a fan of the Irish during his lifetime:
Here lies Hincmar, crook. But savage greed aside,
He did one truly noble thing: he died. (Cahill's translation)
This is a good representation of the Irish in their dry humor, their clever wit (when asked once at dinner what separated an Irishman from a fool, Eriugena responded quickly, "Only the table."), and their ability to never take anything too seriously. That's a gift, I think, and one I haven't inherited from my Irish side of the family. It's also something that everyone could stand to cultivate a little.
So, what is this book about? Cahill's subtitle is "The Untold Story of Ireland's Heroic Role from the Fall of Rome to the Rise of Medieval Europe." In a nutshell, Cahill explains how the recently converted and very enthusiastic Christian Irish men and women saved Western Civilization by copying down for posterity the disappearing literature of ancient Greece and Rome and by infecting all of Europe with their contagious joy as they spread out in missionary work. Of course, Cahill starts the story at the very beginning by explaining the fall of Rome, the rise of early Christianity, the influence of St Augustine (and the contrast between him and the later St Patrick), and the pre-Christian lifestyle of the Irish. While many early churchmen looked askance at reading and perpetuating the pagan classics, the Irish merely saw fascinating stories--not unlike their own mythology--and eagerly copied them down. Occasionally, they would even make notes in the margin of their copying, recording their thoughts as they worked. For example, one scribe commented on his own sadness on copying down Hector's death at the hand of Achilles. This would be like someone writing, "I like what Jefferson put here," on the Declaration of Independence. Today, we gasp in astonishment at the very thought of such sacrilege, but the Irish didn't see it that way. They didn't consider their opinions any less valuable, so they didn't see anything wrong with making notes about them.
I like the book. I recommend it. Enough said. I also like Cahill's other books, although I don't think any of them has quite the lighthearted quality of this one. The Gifts of the Jews is a bit slower and more serious; Desire of the Everlasting Hills approaches pure lyricism in the way it is written; and Sailing the Wine Dark Seas is just as complex as the Greeks themselves. All of Cahill's book are very well written, but I think How the Irish Saved Civilization will always hold a special place in my heart. Just like the Irish.
22 August 2006
Trying to finish something...
I'm knee-deep in several long books right now, so I don't know when I'll post another review. I made the mistake of picking up The Count of Monte Cristo, as well as another book about linguistics, a history of Wales, a description of "the origins of the English imagination," and (my personal favorite) How the Irish Saved Civilization. I also made the mistake of committing to do a character part in Ballet Hawaii's Sleeping Beauty, which is now consuming a large part of my evenings. It's fun, but it's also a lot of sitting around while I wait to walk on stage and then stand around making a variety faces and gestures appropriate to what is happening in the story. All this to say, I have no idea when I'll get around to actually finishing a book. I may have to dredge up something from the past, just to save face.
11 August 2006
By the Pricking of My Thumbs, by Agatha Christie (New York: Signet, 2003)
I'm a die-hard mystery fan. I gravitate toward mysteries as the proverbial moth to the flame. And I don't know why. After all the mysteries that I've read, you would think I'd grow tired of them. After a while, you would expect that I'd exhaust all the possible storylines, and every new mystery would seem old. But for some bizarre reason, this hasn't happened. I think it's because I'm quite stupid, and I never bother to guess the solution to the mystery before the ending. I rather like being along for the ride, I suppose. It's fun to be in suspense and to have the truth of if all unfold at the very end.
All this to say, I just found the Agatha Christie section of the library, and I was delighted to see that they carry books of hers that I haven't read. I know that I've worn out every Hercule Poirot and most of the Miss Marple stories. I've even started hunting down video productions of the books I've read. (And I still manage to be surprised at the endings.) So, when I saw By the Pricking of My Thumbs, I decided to give it a chance. It falls into the category of a "Tommy and Tuppence Mystery," none of which I'd read before. The premise of these never fascinated me like that of the prim Belgian detective or the fluffy old lady. But I enjoyed it in spite of my reticence. Christie's books are not exactly brilliant writing. She's an excellent story teller, but not necessarily a great writer. Her prose is occasionally weak, and she never really delves much into the depths of the human psyche. For that, no one comes even close to Dorothy Sayers, with The Nine Tailors or Gaudy Night coming to mind. (But those are for another review.) In spite of the weaknesses in actual writing, Christie's stories are easily digestible while still remaining suspenseful. She's careful to layer the stories with clues, but she never gives too much away. Of course, this is coming from someone who never figures it out until the end, so others may be of a different opinion.
Basically, this story follows Tommy and Tuppence Beresford as they solve yet another crime (or the potential for one). They go to visit Tommy's great aunt in the nursing home, and Tuppence meets a fascinating old lady who tells her a vague story about a child who died and was walled up behind a chimney. Tuppence is intrigued but doesn't worry about it until Tommy's aunt dies shortly after. They revisit the nursing home, and find among the aunt's things a painting that the strange old lady had given to the aunt. Tuppence is convinced that she has seen the house in the painting and becomes even more convinced that it is connected to what the old lady said to her. So, she sets out in pursuit.
There's no point in giving it all away, so I'll leave it at that. The only thing that spoiled this story for me was that I recently watched Judgement Day, one of the Midsomer Murders mysteries, and it had a similar ending. (By the way, the Midsomer Murders DVD series is really good if you like meaty mysteries set in placid English villages.) Also, I felt like Christie tried to wrap everything up too quickly at the end, as though the basic explanation is enough, when what I really wanted was more details about the mystery. That's a basic fault of Agatha Christie stories, so I have to expect that they won't be too terribly deep.
For a fun read that took me all of about three hours, I can highly recommend By the Pricking of My Thumbs or any of the other Agatha Christie books.
All this to say, I just found the Agatha Christie section of the library, and I was delighted to see that they carry books of hers that I haven't read. I know that I've worn out every Hercule Poirot and most of the Miss Marple stories. I've even started hunting down video productions of the books I've read. (And I still manage to be surprised at the endings.) So, when I saw By the Pricking of My Thumbs, I decided to give it a chance. It falls into the category of a "Tommy and Tuppence Mystery," none of which I'd read before. The premise of these never fascinated me like that of the prim Belgian detective or the fluffy old lady. But I enjoyed it in spite of my reticence. Christie's books are not exactly brilliant writing. She's an excellent story teller, but not necessarily a great writer. Her prose is occasionally weak, and she never really delves much into the depths of the human psyche. For that, no one comes even close to Dorothy Sayers, with The Nine Tailors or Gaudy Night coming to mind. (But those are for another review.) In spite of the weaknesses in actual writing, Christie's stories are easily digestible while still remaining suspenseful. She's careful to layer the stories with clues, but she never gives too much away. Of course, this is coming from someone who never figures it out until the end, so others may be of a different opinion.
Basically, this story follows Tommy and Tuppence Beresford as they solve yet another crime (or the potential for one). They go to visit Tommy's great aunt in the nursing home, and Tuppence meets a fascinating old lady who tells her a vague story about a child who died and was walled up behind a chimney. Tuppence is intrigued but doesn't worry about it until Tommy's aunt dies shortly after. They revisit the nursing home, and find among the aunt's things a painting that the strange old lady had given to the aunt. Tuppence is convinced that she has seen the house in the painting and becomes even more convinced that it is connected to what the old lady said to her. So, she sets out in pursuit.
There's no point in giving it all away, so I'll leave it at that. The only thing that spoiled this story for me was that I recently watched Judgement Day, one of the Midsomer Murders mysteries, and it had a similar ending. (By the way, the Midsomer Murders DVD series is really good if you like meaty mysteries set in placid English villages.) Also, I felt like Christie tried to wrap everything up too quickly at the end, as though the basic explanation is enough, when what I really wanted was more details about the mystery. That's a basic fault of Agatha Christie stories, so I have to expect that they won't be too terribly deep.
For a fun read that took me all of about three hours, I can highly recommend By the Pricking of My Thumbs or any of the other Agatha Christie books.
Blue Like Jazz: Nonreligious Thoughts on Christian Spirituality, by Donald Miller (Nelson Books, 2003)
For my review of Blue Like Jazz, please see http://bookfest2006.blogspot.com/.
03 August 2006
The World of Odysseus, by M. I. Finley (New York: New York Review Books, 2002)
I recently read The Iliad for the first time and enjoyed it so much that I decided to indulge in some more Greek study. This book has been calling to me from the library shelf for a couple of weeks, and I finally gave in to the temptation, despite the fact that it promised to be dry, slow, and painfully erudite. It didn't disappoint me. This book is, in fact, dry, slow, and painfully erudite: it is also surprisingly interesting. I have to keep in mind, though, that I had a context for it, having just completed a piece of Greek literature that is heavily discussed in the book. So, I don't know that it would be quite so applicable at another time. All that to say, I can recommend it for anyone interested the ancient Greek life.
Finley approaches his subject from the perspective of sociology, rather than archeology. In fact, he isn't an archeologist at all and possibly makes the mistake of including a long-winded archeological critique of Troy excavations in one of the book's appendices. Despite his lack of archeological (and perhaps even historical) knowledge, he does have a fascinating point and one well worth considering. He attempts, first of all, to debunk the argument that The Iliad and The Odyssey reflect a Mycenaean world. Finley's opinion is that the poem cannot be read like history and even if archeologists and historians are more comfortable with the Mycenaean view, it simply doesn't make sense. He argues, instead, that the Greeks of the poems were a Dark Age people and that Homer was, more or less, fitting together bits and pieces of Greek history for the purposes of a good story. After all, Finley points out, we don't read Beowulf as though it literally happened; why should we read Homer the same way? On a side note, he also claims that the poems bear strong signs of having separate authors and that calling Homer the author of The Odyssey is just a courtesy, but I won't go into that.
The book itself is divided into five chapters, of which chapters two through five deal with specifically sociological issues. Finley's goal is not to find genuine history in the poems, but rather to find evidence of a way of life. He doesn't ask, "Did Agamemnon really lead a fleet of Achaean ships to Troy?" He asks, "What do the poems tell us about religion, culture, morals, and human relations?" In this, he is tremendously convincing. The reader has to bear in mind, of course, that Finley has no more proof for his arguments that Schliemann had for a massive Achaean assault on Troy, but his suggestions about Dark Age Greek life make sense. He pulls lines from the poems and then considers them within a sociological context to make his arguments. For instance, in his explanations about marriage and family life, he uses examples of conversations and descriptions to show the status of women in this world (his findings are hardly revelatory). He also goes to great lengths to explain that the hospitality and gift-giving in the poems do not necessarily reflect a flare for the generous. Instead, the Greeks used gift-giving to establish social relations and even create social obligations; you can't exactly go to war with the person who has just given you a fabulous pile of gifts. I particularly like Finley's point about how tangible gifts were necessary to represent the intangible, in connection with the Greek incapacity for seeing intangible qualities in any other terms:
"What tends to confuse us is the fact that the heroic worldview was unable to visualize any achievement or relationship except in concrete terms. The gods were anthropomorphized, the emotions and feelings were located in specific organs of the body, even the soul was materialized. Every quality or state had to be translated into some specific symbol, honor into a trophy, friendship into treasure, marriage into gifts of cattle" (p. 125).
This really stuck with me, because it so represents the emptiness of Greek life. As fascinating as the poems are, they can leave a sour taste in the mouth. Who really wants a way of life that is completely governed by things that have to be touched in order to be real? This was a long way from the idea that "a man's word is good enough." The Greeks would have needed a few head of cattle to vouch for that word apparently.
To avoid becoming as long-winded as Finley, I'll cut the review short. Suffice it to say, this is a great book if you're interested in another take on Greek life. It's useful, although beware that it has its weaknesses. Again, Finley isn't a historian or an archeologist, so he is approaching his topic from a purely sociological perspective. This is a perspective that is almost impossible to verify with hard facts, so you have to simply take it with a grain of salt. Nevertheless, it's worth the time and isn't long (under 200 pages), so it won't require much time to read.
Finley approaches his subject from the perspective of sociology, rather than archeology. In fact, he isn't an archeologist at all and possibly makes the mistake of including a long-winded archeological critique of Troy excavations in one of the book's appendices. Despite his lack of archeological (and perhaps even historical) knowledge, he does have a fascinating point and one well worth considering. He attempts, first of all, to debunk the argument that The Iliad and The Odyssey reflect a Mycenaean world. Finley's opinion is that the poem cannot be read like history and even if archeologists and historians are more comfortable with the Mycenaean view, it simply doesn't make sense. He argues, instead, that the Greeks of the poems were a Dark Age people and that Homer was, more or less, fitting together bits and pieces of Greek history for the purposes of a good story. After all, Finley points out, we don't read Beowulf as though it literally happened; why should we read Homer the same way? On a side note, he also claims that the poems bear strong signs of having separate authors and that calling Homer the author of The Odyssey is just a courtesy, but I won't go into that.
The book itself is divided into five chapters, of which chapters two through five deal with specifically sociological issues. Finley's goal is not to find genuine history in the poems, but rather to find evidence of a way of life. He doesn't ask, "Did Agamemnon really lead a fleet of Achaean ships to Troy?" He asks, "What do the poems tell us about religion, culture, morals, and human relations?" In this, he is tremendously convincing. The reader has to bear in mind, of course, that Finley has no more proof for his arguments that Schliemann had for a massive Achaean assault on Troy, but his suggestions about Dark Age Greek life make sense. He pulls lines from the poems and then considers them within a sociological context to make his arguments. For instance, in his explanations about marriage and family life, he uses examples of conversations and descriptions to show the status of women in this world (his findings are hardly revelatory). He also goes to great lengths to explain that the hospitality and gift-giving in the poems do not necessarily reflect a flare for the generous. Instead, the Greeks used gift-giving to establish social relations and even create social obligations; you can't exactly go to war with the person who has just given you a fabulous pile of gifts. I particularly like Finley's point about how tangible gifts were necessary to represent the intangible, in connection with the Greek incapacity for seeing intangible qualities in any other terms:
"What tends to confuse us is the fact that the heroic worldview was unable to visualize any achievement or relationship except in concrete terms. The gods were anthropomorphized, the emotions and feelings were located in specific organs of the body, even the soul was materialized. Every quality or state had to be translated into some specific symbol, honor into a trophy, friendship into treasure, marriage into gifts of cattle" (p. 125).
This really stuck with me, because it so represents the emptiness of Greek life. As fascinating as the poems are, they can leave a sour taste in the mouth. Who really wants a way of life that is completely governed by things that have to be touched in order to be real? This was a long way from the idea that "a man's word is good enough." The Greeks would have needed a few head of cattle to vouch for that word apparently.
To avoid becoming as long-winded as Finley, I'll cut the review short. Suffice it to say, this is a great book if you're interested in another take on Greek life. It's useful, although beware that it has its weaknesses. Again, Finley isn't a historian or an archeologist, so he is approaching his topic from a purely sociological perspective. This is a perspective that is almost impossible to verify with hard facts, so you have to simply take it with a grain of salt. Nevertheless, it's worth the time and isn't long (under 200 pages), so it won't require much time to read.
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