(no subject)
Much to my shame I read this nearly a month ago and have only just got around to writing a review.
Overall I liked the Golden Mean. It was, generally speaking, a quick and fast-paced read that never let you get too bogged down with what was happening. It also dealt with a period of Alexander’s life that isn’t often touched on in novels (Persia is so much more interesting to novelists) from the perspective of a man who, although famous, generally gets a brief footnote in Alexandrian history.
What I wasn’t entirely enamoured with was the style of writing. This was from a purely personal perspective but I felt at times that the author was trying to be just that little bit too clever with her jumping time frames and her sudden Aristotelian attacks of depression. Speaking of the depression: there is, to the best of my knowledge, absolutely no evidence that suggests Aristotle had some form of clinical psychosis. To that end, although it was an interesting trope to add, it nevertheless smacked, again, of the author trying to be clever. In my opinion it didn’t add to the story except to give the opportunity for the narrator to demonstrate he had other feelings apart from mild interest, curiosity and, occasionally, dislike.
I was also a little uncomfortable with the characterisation of Arrhidaeus. Within the primary sources we do get hints that he is mentally deficient (often with the added suggestion Olympias had something to do with it) but never once are we told he is a drooling, self-soiling idiot. Mentally deficient and completely mentally incapacitated are two very different things. Again, personal bias speaks here, but a far more convincing Arrhidaeus comes in Judith Tarr’s Lord of the Two Lands where Arrhidaeus is essentially stuck in childhood, but competent enough to at least dress himself. Speaking with my historical hat on, I very much doubt the army would have accepted him (even as a temporary) leader had he been as incapable as the Golden Mean suggests.
My final thought on characterisation comes in the form of Alexander. I had mixed emotions about this one. Quite frankly I felt Alexander was just too weird. The man (then boy) had to have had more that odd character quirk to get an army to follow him so devotedly, and yet within the Golden Mean, we just see this bizarre, paranoid, increasingly odd Alexander. I know he is meant to act as a foil to Lyon’s Aristotle - both so similar yet with different roles - but when you keep in mind the larger Alexander history for me it just didn’t work. What I did love was Alexander’s sort-of PTSD. I think it was an interesting choice to make and one I’d love to see explored more in fictional representations of him. We don’t hear of any cases of PTSD in the Classical world, largely because war is so celebrated. I think it is more than likely soldiers did suffer from it (we have atrocities now, but think how bad it must have been then) but it almost certainly wouldn’t have been tolerated. For Alexander to suffer from it was interesting from a Classicist perspective, if only because it is possible he could have suffered with it and could have got away with it because he was the prince. (Oh, and yay Hephaistion for looking after him.)
Where I felt Lyon really fell down on the Alexander characterisation, sadly within the frame of representing his PTSD was his fascination with mutilating corpses. (Especially, and particularly, the instance where he cut off the head of the actor to use on stage.) That was a no. I mean an insanely, hugely, big no. We have one instance of Alexander essentially mutilating a corpse and that is Batis, whose body he dragged around the walls of the city. That wasn’t about mutilation or a gory fascination with bodies, that was a direct imitation of Achilles and Alexander, furious after having to besiege the city for so long, clearly took it out on this would-be Hector. Besides, Batis was alive when they started. The mutilation of the body in the Greek world was a massive no-no. It’s why the Macedonians were so uncomfortable with the concept of mummification. They admired the whole and perfect body, and to destroy that, even in death and especially for a ‘good piece of drama’ would have been abhorrent.
Which brings me on to my final issue with the whole novel. Since, generally speaking, I know little of Aristotle’s life outside his works and Alexander’s life (although he was known to be something of a misogynist) I was reliant on the author to provide me with relatively accurate details of his life. Of course facts are fudged and changed in fiction - that’s understandable because although you are writing about someone once living you need, to a certain extent, to manipulate them to your purpose. So, generally speaking, I considered Lyon’s narrative of events to be relatively accurate if not entirely and assumed that she had researched well before writing. My doubts were ignited in a hurricane of alarm, however, when I read her ‘afterword’ for the characters. Firstly, she writes:
‘Hephaistion remained Alexander’s constant companion and died in battle scant weeks before Alexander himself.’
My initial reaction was to fling myself around the room gnashing my teeth because it takes one brief skim through of any given ancient source to know that Hephaistion died in bed in Ecbatana, nowhere near a battlefield, during a festival and after a protracted illness. He also died nearly a year before Alexander, not ‘scant weeks’. I am willing to give Lyon the benefit of the doubt on the ‘constant companion’ remark because certainly he played such an important part in Alexander’s life, but what should be remembered is that Hephaistion was frequently given regular missions away from Alexander dealing with logistics, peacekeeping and various tasks to stabilise Alexander’s campaigns. (There is a lovely story where Hephaistion is away and Alexander, who had been fishing, sent him some fish with his letter to say hello. I’m sure the fish were pretty rancid by the time they got to Hephaistion, but oh well.)
I was also concerned by her reliance on Diogenes Laertius as her apparently primary source for Alexander. Diogenes is writing even later than the Alexander historians. He disliked Alexander intensely and none of his material is considered remotely reliable (although the amusing harangue about Hephaistion’s thighs will, of course, live on in infamy). I fail to see why out of all the source material Diogenes was her choice for information (although it might explain some of the Alexander characterisation).
Her final note on Alexander is also alarmingly dismissive and summarises so much that it essentially becomes incorrect. She states:
‘[Alexander’s] behaviour became increasingly erratic; he drank heavily, suffered fits of violent rage followed by crippling depression and guilt and refused to go home. He took two wives, and died in Babylon of a stomach ailment at the age of thirty-two.’
No, Alexander’s behaviour did not become ‘increasingly erratic’. Alexander’s behaviour changed to adopt and adapt with the people he conquered. He may have drunk heavily, but so did all of the Macedonians and quite frankly I doubt he drank more than anyone else (Arrian even says he was a light drinker but because he took so long over each cup it gave the impression he was drinking constantly). He didn’t have mood swings as described above - if he did he would very much have been unable to lead an army, let alone an army to constant victory. Lyon is probably describing the one instance where Alexander is extremely upset over his actions (the death of Cleitus) but one moment in a life of otherwise does not suggest constant fits. There was also not a refusal to go home, just not a need. Babylon was the centre of his operations, and sensibly so. It was the centre of the empire. To try and rule from Macedon would have been like trying to clutch at straws. As for the stomach ailment… all I can say is that’s a new one. I’ve heard a lot of suggestions before, but not that one. It’s been suggested Hephaistion died of a ruptured intestine, so maybe that’s where she got it from.
Although I think I’ve complained a lot about this novel (mostly from a Classicist perspective) I genuinely did enjoy it. The characterisation was iffy; I’m now completely unsure about the Aristotelian facts (but this has only served to encourage me to go away and look them up fro myself) and I’m not sure the author ever really got to grips with the ancient world beyond a shallow look at life outside of her character, but nevertheless it was an interesting story told from an interesting (and unused before now) perspective. For that alone it is worth a read.
Overall I liked the Golden Mean. It was, generally speaking, a quick and fast-paced read that never let you get too bogged down with what was happening. It also dealt with a period of Alexander’s life that isn’t often touched on in novels (Persia is so much more interesting to novelists) from the perspective of a man who, although famous, generally gets a brief footnote in Alexandrian history.
What I wasn’t entirely enamoured with was the style of writing. This was from a purely personal perspective but I felt at times that the author was trying to be just that little bit too clever with her jumping time frames and her sudden Aristotelian attacks of depression. Speaking of the depression: there is, to the best of my knowledge, absolutely no evidence that suggests Aristotle had some form of clinical psychosis. To that end, although it was an interesting trope to add, it nevertheless smacked, again, of the author trying to be clever. In my opinion it didn’t add to the story except to give the opportunity for the narrator to demonstrate he had other feelings apart from mild interest, curiosity and, occasionally, dislike.
I was also a little uncomfortable with the characterisation of Arrhidaeus. Within the primary sources we do get hints that he is mentally deficient (often with the added suggestion Olympias had something to do with it) but never once are we told he is a drooling, self-soiling idiot. Mentally deficient and completely mentally incapacitated are two very different things. Again, personal bias speaks here, but a far more convincing Arrhidaeus comes in Judith Tarr’s Lord of the Two Lands where Arrhidaeus is essentially stuck in childhood, but competent enough to at least dress himself. Speaking with my historical hat on, I very much doubt the army would have accepted him (even as a temporary) leader had he been as incapable as the Golden Mean suggests.
My final thought on characterisation comes in the form of Alexander. I had mixed emotions about this one. Quite frankly I felt Alexander was just too weird. The man (then boy) had to have had more that odd character quirk to get an army to follow him so devotedly, and yet within the Golden Mean, we just see this bizarre, paranoid, increasingly odd Alexander. I know he is meant to act as a foil to Lyon’s Aristotle - both so similar yet with different roles - but when you keep in mind the larger Alexander history for me it just didn’t work. What I did love was Alexander’s sort-of PTSD. I think it was an interesting choice to make and one I’d love to see explored more in fictional representations of him. We don’t hear of any cases of PTSD in the Classical world, largely because war is so celebrated. I think it is more than likely soldiers did suffer from it (we have atrocities now, but think how bad it must have been then) but it almost certainly wouldn’t have been tolerated. For Alexander to suffer from it was interesting from a Classicist perspective, if only because it is possible he could have suffered with it and could have got away with it because he was the prince. (Oh, and yay Hephaistion for looking after him.)
Where I felt Lyon really fell down on the Alexander characterisation, sadly within the frame of representing his PTSD was his fascination with mutilating corpses. (Especially, and particularly, the instance where he cut off the head of the actor to use on stage.) That was a no. I mean an insanely, hugely, big no. We have one instance of Alexander essentially mutilating a corpse and that is Batis, whose body he dragged around the walls of the city. That wasn’t about mutilation or a gory fascination with bodies, that was a direct imitation of Achilles and Alexander, furious after having to besiege the city for so long, clearly took it out on this would-be Hector. Besides, Batis was alive when they started. The mutilation of the body in the Greek world was a massive no-no. It’s why the Macedonians were so uncomfortable with the concept of mummification. They admired the whole and perfect body, and to destroy that, even in death and especially for a ‘good piece of drama’ would have been abhorrent.
Which brings me on to my final issue with the whole novel. Since, generally speaking, I know little of Aristotle’s life outside his works and Alexander’s life (although he was known to be something of a misogynist) I was reliant on the author to provide me with relatively accurate details of his life. Of course facts are fudged and changed in fiction - that’s understandable because although you are writing about someone once living you need, to a certain extent, to manipulate them to your purpose. So, generally speaking, I considered Lyon’s narrative of events to be relatively accurate if not entirely and assumed that she had researched well before writing. My doubts were ignited in a hurricane of alarm, however, when I read her ‘afterword’ for the characters. Firstly, she writes:
‘Hephaistion remained Alexander’s constant companion and died in battle scant weeks before Alexander himself.’
My initial reaction was to fling myself around the room gnashing my teeth because it takes one brief skim through of any given ancient source to know that Hephaistion died in bed in Ecbatana, nowhere near a battlefield, during a festival and after a protracted illness. He also died nearly a year before Alexander, not ‘scant weeks’. I am willing to give Lyon the benefit of the doubt on the ‘constant companion’ remark because certainly he played such an important part in Alexander’s life, but what should be remembered is that Hephaistion was frequently given regular missions away from Alexander dealing with logistics, peacekeeping and various tasks to stabilise Alexander’s campaigns. (There is a lovely story where Hephaistion is away and Alexander, who had been fishing, sent him some fish with his letter to say hello. I’m sure the fish were pretty rancid by the time they got to Hephaistion, but oh well.)
I was also concerned by her reliance on Diogenes Laertius as her apparently primary source for Alexander. Diogenes is writing even later than the Alexander historians. He disliked Alexander intensely and none of his material is considered remotely reliable (although the amusing harangue about Hephaistion’s thighs will, of course, live on in infamy). I fail to see why out of all the source material Diogenes was her choice for information (although it might explain some of the Alexander characterisation).
Her final note on Alexander is also alarmingly dismissive and summarises so much that it essentially becomes incorrect. She states:
‘[Alexander’s] behaviour became increasingly erratic; he drank heavily, suffered fits of violent rage followed by crippling depression and guilt and refused to go home. He took two wives, and died in Babylon of a stomach ailment at the age of thirty-two.’
No, Alexander’s behaviour did not become ‘increasingly erratic’. Alexander’s behaviour changed to adopt and adapt with the people he conquered. He may have drunk heavily, but so did all of the Macedonians and quite frankly I doubt he drank more than anyone else (Arrian even says he was a light drinker but because he took so long over each cup it gave the impression he was drinking constantly). He didn’t have mood swings as described above - if he did he would very much have been unable to lead an army, let alone an army to constant victory. Lyon is probably describing the one instance where Alexander is extremely upset over his actions (the death of Cleitus) but one moment in a life of otherwise does not suggest constant fits. There was also not a refusal to go home, just not a need. Babylon was the centre of his operations, and sensibly so. It was the centre of the empire. To try and rule from Macedon would have been like trying to clutch at straws. As for the stomach ailment… all I can say is that’s a new one. I’ve heard a lot of suggestions before, but not that one. It’s been suggested Hephaistion died of a ruptured intestine, so maybe that’s where she got it from.
Although I think I’ve complained a lot about this novel (mostly from a Classicist perspective) I genuinely did enjoy it. The characterisation was iffy; I’m now completely unsure about the Aristotelian facts (but this has only served to encourage me to go away and look them up fro myself) and I’m not sure the author ever really got to grips with the ancient world beyond a shallow look at life outside of her character, but nevertheless it was an interesting story told from an interesting (and unused before now) perspective. For that alone it is worth a read.