Somebody recently told me that this blog is too esoteric. This post is probably the extreme limit in that respect. But this week’s reading and beer were specially requested by Micah after he made a generous contribution toward the BeerAndTrembling education fund, so if you don’t like it, take it up with him. Or, even better, make your own contribution to BeerAndTrembling’s IndieGoGo Campaign and earn the right to pick your own reading or beer of the week or both.
[The following excerpt was lately discovered in the archives of the United States Classics Academy (USCA). It is evidently post-Homeric in origin, but there is no consensus as to its ultimate origin.]
Sing in me, O Muse, of the triple peals of thunder that echoed through Ilium as cunning Ulysses and Teukros, son of Telamon, breached the gates of Troy.
One night, seven years into the Daanan’s siege, Ulysses devised a plan for a two-man raid with stealthy Teukros, to the very heart of the walled city, to leave their marks on the castle’s central column. To do so, the two Argives would need to pass through several gates, and evade watchmen of uncommon military prowess.
But Artemis, goddess of the hunt, was displeased with Teukros. She had blessed many and more of his arrows on hunts beyond number, but before this daring raid, he had made her no offering. Therefore, she shrouded the moon with clouds and obscured the ground with fog, so that Teukros and cunning Ulysses could not tell which of Ilium’s twelve gates they approached, whether it was one of the six front gates or the six back.
[There is a large lacuna in the text at this point. It appears from later summaries that Ulysses had the better of the early exchanges with the Trojan guards, eventually setting up Teukros for an attack on the final gates. However, a remarkably accurate spear throw by Rhesus of Thrace scattered the Greeks. Rhesus then ran the Greeks all around the city before finally returning to a strategic defensive position.]
As was the old standard positioning in those days, godlike Lycophontes and Rhesus stood together near the third back gate, in the southeast corner of the city. Teukros, drew his mighty bow and reignited the stalled raid with an incredible, partly-obstructed shot at Rhesus. The shaft glanced harmlessly off of his shining armor, but accomplished its goal of unsettling the defenders.
[Another lengthy lacuna during which Teukros evidently led the attack, with the skirmish again circling most of the way around Troy.]
Teukros urged cunning Ulysses through the fourth back gate, and crossed through himself. As if to show his approval of the heroes’ bold feat, Zeus loosed a tremendous peal of thunder.
Teukros rushed mighty Ulysses onward, and through the penultimate gate before the castle’s central column. Rhesus, stationed by the gate, provided little obstacle for the Argive raiders. Teukros struck him a blow more deft than powerful, and sent him reeling. Teukros, with bow drawn to prevent any attacks from the rear, backed through the gate as Zeus again made the very ground quake with a mighty peal of thunder.
Within the city Rhesus, great Eioneus’ son, and godlike Lycophontes were divided. Brave Lycophontes was now the only one standing between the Argives and their objective, but was utterly incapable of stoping the Greeks as they rushed toward the last gate before the center of the castle. Out of deference for his elder, Teukros gave way for Ulysses to cross the final threshold first, and as he followed, a third and far the loudest peal of thunder enveloped the night.
Ulysses struck the castle’s central column with his sword to make his mark on the very heart of Troy. Teukros, to show his skill a final time, drew his bow again and loosed a shaft at the column. So straight was his shot that the arrowhead buried itself in a masonry joint and the feathered shaft stuck out from the column for all to see.
As victors, though victors only of a small game in the scheme of the monumental war, Ulysses and Teukros returned to their black-prowed ships for a well-earned bowl of wine. While they were out raiding, however, Telemonian Ajax had consumed all of their wine. Ulysses and Teukros would have to settle for beer.
Beer of the week: Red Stripe – When I drank this Jamaican lager regularly, the bottles were twelve ounces and had painted labels. Now the bottles are 11.2 ounces and the labels are plastic stickers. In those days, I also thought the beer was better. It is a very pale and clear lager, with an aroma primarily of adjunct grains. The flavor follows: adjunct grains with little hops to speak of, and a slightly sticky finish. Nostalgia isn’t what it used to be.
Reading of the week: Expert Croquet Tactics by Keith F. Wylie, Article 2. The First Break – In this book, probably the most authoritative text on croquet tactics ever written, Wylie “leave[s] behind the world of everyday croquet, with its missed roquets and blobbed hoops” to explore what the very best croquet players should do under ideal conditions. This particular section may explain some of what happened during the lacunae in the story above.
Question for the week: What was the final score in the game of Ulysses and Teukros v. Rhesus and Lycophontes?
This is the twenty-second in a series on The Harvard Classics; the rest of the posts are available here. Volume XXII: The Odyssey, Homer
Everyone has a memory or two that he’d rather not. But, as the saying goes, “some things cannot be unseen.” We are blessed and cursed with our powers of memory, but what would result from the ability to chose what memories we retain or erase?
On the tv show Arrested Development, there is a character who takes pills that he calls “forget-me-nows”. The pills are, in fact, Rohypnol: commonly known as roofies. He drugs himself to forget decisions that he regrets. Predictably, by wiping out his memories, he dooms himself to make the same mistakes again, unable to learn and grow from them.
In Homer’s Odyssey, Helen prepares a draught of nepenthe to help Menelaus and others forget their sorrow over comrades lost during and after the Trojan War, particularly the then-missing Odysseus. Nepenthe literally means “anti-sorrow”, but Homer tells us that it worked by bringing forgetfulness. The characters continue to reminisce, however, and ultimately resort to sleep to ease their sorrow. “But come,” says Telemachus, “bid us to bed, that forthwith we may take our joy of rest beneath the spell of sleep.” Perhaps the drug induced the sleep, and in sleep the heroes could forget their melancholy, but it is not clear at all that the nepenthe delivered on its promise of forgetfulness.
Nepenthe is also mentioned Poe’s The Raven. The narrator exhorts himself, “Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget the lost Lenore.” The raven predictably replies, “nevermore.” The narrator has no literal nepenthe, and, as is clear from the raven’s reply, none exists. He is doomed to remember his lost love. There is no nepenthe to forget sorrow and no balm in Gilead to cure a broken heart.
Whether we learn from our memories as GOB fails to in Arrested Development, or we put our memory aside only while we sleep as the characters of The Odyssey do, or whether our memories drive us mad as in The Raven, we cannot really cannot chose to forget. Our only real option is to turn our memories to our advantage, lest they destroy us.
Beer of the week: Tell Tale Heart IPA – Happy Friday the 13th! By all rights, this beer should be paired with Poe’s story The Tell Tale Heart. But that Poe is not included in the Harvard Classics, and I had no interest in sitting on this review for a year until I am through with this Harvard series. So here it is. RavenBeer makes a whole line of Poe-themed brews. This is an orangish IPA with a nice, creamy head. There are nice floral hops in the aroma and a well-balanced combo of malt and hops. Tell Tale Heart is a good East Coast IPA.
Reading of the week: The Odyssey by Homer, Book IV, lines 184 – 314 – After Helen has poured the nepenthe, she tells the company how Odysseus, disguised as a beggar, once sneaked into the besieged city of Troy.
Question for the week: What would you forget if you could?
This is the fourteenth in a series on The Harvard Classics; the rest of the posts are available here. Volume XIV: Æneid
DISCLAIMER: This blog post treats Greek and Roman mythology as interchangeable. There are, of course, reasons to differentiate between the two traditions. However, at least part of Virgil’s project was to co-opt Greek mythology for Roman purposes. So for the present blog post there is no need to differentiate between the Roman gods of his Æneid and the Greek gods of Homer.
Mothers are remarkable beings. Not least because even those who regard motherhood as primary to their identity are never merely mothers. Mothering requires a wide range of skills and tasks. Keeping a child alive (to say nothing of keeping it happy, healthy, well-fed, safe, etc.) is a tremendous feat which deserves special recognition.
The idea of mothers as multi-taskers is nothing new. Consider the goddess Venus. Venus is primarily thought of as a lover. But, like any mother who’s ever kissed a boo-boo, comforted a crying babe, or taken marriage vows, Venus is also a healer, a nurturer, and a wife. (And, like every mortal wife, she has not always been a perfect helpmate. But that is another post for another time.)
The Romans regarded the goddess as Venus Genetrix, “Venus the Mother.” Her son was the Trojan hero Aeneas. Aeneas escaped the fall of Ilium and led the remnants of his people to Italy. When the Trojans established themselves in that new land, the groundwork was laid for the eventual rise of Rome.
This great project, however, would not have succeeded without the love and attention of Aeneas’ mother. In his final battle against the native Italians, Aeneas is badly wounded. Although he has an arrowhead lodged deep in his flesh, Venus will not let his injury prevent him from fulfilling his destiny:
“But now the goddess mother, mov’d with grief,
And pierc’d with pity, hastens her relief.”
She goes to work healing him with herbal medicine and divine skill.
“Stanch’d is the blood, and in the bottom stands:
The steel, but scarcely touch’d with tender hands,
Moves up, and follows of its own accord,
And health and vigor are at once restor’d.”
Aeneas’ recovery allows him to return to the fray, slay the Italian foe, and establish the colony that is to become Rome.
And this is not the first time that Venus came to the aid of her beloved son. During the battle for Troy, Aeneas was nearly killed by Diomedes, son of Tydeus. Again the goddess came to his rescue.
“Aeneas sprang from his chariot armed with shield and spear, fearing lest the Achaeans should carry off the body. He bestrode it as a lion in the pride of strength, with shield and on spear before him and a cry of battle on his lips resolute to kill the first that should dare face him. But the son of Tydeus caught up a mighty stone, so huge and great that as men now are it would take two to lift it; nevertheless he bore it aloft with ease unaided, and with this he struck Aeneas on the groin where the hip turns in the joint that is called the “cup-bone.” The stone crushed this joint, and broke both the sinews, while its jagged edges tore away all the flesh. The hero fell on his knees, and propped himself with his hand resting on the ground till the darkness of night fell upon his eyes. And now Aeneas, king of men, would have perished then and there, had not his mother, Jove’s daughter Venus, who had conceived him by Anchises when he was herding cattle, been quick to mark, and thrown her two white arms about the body of her dear son. She protected him by covering him with a fold of her own fair garment, lest some Danaan should drive a spear into his breast and kill him.”
Although Venus is not a warrior like Minerva or Mars, she descended to the field of battle and was even wounded by Diomedes for the sake of her child. So great is the goddess’s love for her son. And to whom did Venus turn to heal her own wound? Her mother, of course.
“Venus flung herself on to the lap of her mother Dione, who threw her arms about her and caressed her.”
So cheers to the comforters, healers, lovers, and heroes whom we call “mother” for short.
Beer of the week: Two Hats Pineapple – To trot out a tired metaphor, mothers wear many hats. And so, this reading is paired with the new Two Hats beer. This is advertised as a “crisp light beer with natural pineapple flavor.” The marketing for Two Hats is aimed at young drinkers. The tag-line is “Good, cheap beer. Wait, what?” Advertising copy also includes “Quit wine-ing!” and “Beer for people who are ‘meh’ about beer.” Clearly, they are trying to recapture early twenty-somethings who have turned to wine and spirits over beer. And, although the name “Miller” does not appear on the can, this is a product of the MillerCoors family, brewed by the Plank Road Brewery division of Miller.
As much as I hate the advertising and transparent attempt to appeal to “millennials,” I think it is actually a decent alternative to flavored seltzer. Two Hats is very, very pale in color and smells of pineapple. The amount of pineapple flavor is actually about right, but the beer itself is too light. This tastes more like a flavored seltzer than a beer. There is a bit of malt in the finish, but not quite enough to balance out the pineapple. Basically, this comes across as an alcoholic La Croix, which is fine if you want alcoholic flavored seltzer rather than a beer.
Reading of the week: The Æneid by Virgil – At the end of this excerpt, Aeneas has a moment with his own son Ascanius. “Thou, when thy riper years shall send thee forth / To toils of war, be mindful of my worth;” / he tells him, “Assert thy birthright, and in arms be known, / For Hector’s nephew, and Æneas’ son.” Aeneas doesn’t bother to mention Ascanius’ mother or grandmother. Typical.
Question for the week: What have you done for your mother lately?
A popular Thanksgiving tradition is to go around the table, listing the things for which those present are thankful. It can be a very powerful exercise to actually compose such a list. Lists create a sense of scale and the cumulative effect of each item listed tends to compound the others.
Take, for example, the catalog of ships in The Iliad. Several pages of that text are dedicated to listing all of the ships, along with the numbers of their fighting men, that came to the Trojan shores. The seemingly ceaseless recital of the Greeks emphasizes the scale of the conflict. During the battles, the narrative follows individuals as they engage in one-on-one combat. And this is why the catalogue of ships is so important. Without that list to establish the scale of the armies, one could be mislead into thinking of the war as a series of encounters between a handful of individuals rather than between mighty hosts. The knowledge that the Greek and Trojan armies are quite large gives a sense of scale to the dramatic face-offs between the individual heroes.
So this Thanksgiving, give some thought to the vast number of the world’s blessings and how that great list gives context to each individual blessing.
Beer of the week: Saranac Pale Ale – Saranac, New York is about 300 miles from the site of the fabled first Thanksgiving. In American terms, that’s rather close enough to count as local. This beer has a solid malt body with just a bit of hops bitterness to back it up. Saranac Pale Ale makes for a really good beer for a casual drink.
Reading for the week: The Fourth Book by François Rabelais, Chapter 4.LIX – Some would argue that there is virtually no way to stay awake through the entire catalogue of ships, especially in the drowsy afterglow a large meal. This list is probably more appropriate for Thanksgiving. Rabelais was a master of writing lists, and this particular excerpt is the menu of the Gastrolaters, a people whose god is the stomach and whose religion is eating.
Question for the holiday: In certain cases, shorter lists arguably indicate greater importance. A short list of experts in a field may indicate a higher level of expertise. A short list of friends may indicate more intense or close friendship than a longer list. Are there certain sorts of blessings for which this is also true?
It is easy, though incredibly naive, to reduce the effects of alcohol to the intellectual plane. It is clear as day that drinking affects the way that we think. Our inhibitions are lowered; our capacity for reason is retarded; all at the same time, our ideas become unreasonably clear and inextricably confused. Alcohol’s greatest virtue and greatest danger is its ability to affect our mental processes.
But we recognize the effects of alcohol most markedly in their physical manifestations. Our cheeks flush. We stagger. We slur our words. Our physical coordination fails us. Even as alcohol robs the mind of its greatest power (reason), it robs the body of it’s purely animal capabilities.
Descartes wrote “I think, therefore I am.” But by reducing existence to the intellectual plane, he initiated an entire line of thought dedicated to the idea that physical existence is completely ancillary to “real” existence. Humans, however, are both corporeal and spiritual. Recognition of this essential duality is evident in Plato’s scheme to educate leaders both physically and intellectually in The Republic. It is also evident in Homer’s casting of Odysseus as both athletic and cunning.
Because man’s greatness stems from both intellect and physique, the “beer gut” is all the greater shame. Moderate consumption of alcohol may have beneficial effects, both physical and psychological. But excess is dangerous in both directions.
Beer of the week: Bone Shaker Brown Ale – This New Hampshire brew from Moat Mountain is orange-brown with a quickly fading head. The aroma is somewhat musty and is a bit reminiscent of Triscuit crackers. The flavor carries on with the cracker notes from the smell. The body of this ale is fairly thin. I don’t think that this is a great beer, but I will certainly drink it again.
Reading of the week: Iliad by Homer, Book XXIII, 653-749 – At the funeral games for Patroclus, “Odysseus of many wiles, he of guileful mind” wrestled to a draw with Ajax, the strongest of the Greeks (except for Achilles.)
Question of the week: To what extent is alcohol consumed for its physical, rather than its psychological effects? Can the two even be distinguished?