Ideas, they're everywhere
I'm taking a class called World Masterpieces. What we do is pretty much what it says on the cover: we read works that are considered masterpieces.
We'll end up reading Kafka and Voltaire, but, right now, we're in Greek drama. I've read the Orestia, Oedipus and I'm near the end of Medea. While Greek drama does stick with their conventions, and it all plays out pretty straight, it's nice to see where everything came from.
It's refreshing to see plot, action, character (though the Greeks wouldn't call it that) and story laid out so plainly. There are bits of dialogue that have jumped out at me. For one, in the Orestia, Clytaemnestra tells a servant to "bring me the man-axe." It's the sign that she's putting her man pants on and is going to take control of the situation. It's both amusing and quite interesting.
My other particular favorite bit of dialogue is from Oedipus at Colonus. It's the play that tells the fate of Oedipus, and where he actually gets a good deal at the end. The part of Oedipus' story that people don't usually know, is the rest of the prophecy. It states that a nation (city state) will win a great victory on the land where Oedipus' grave is buried. Oedipus decides to be buried on Athenian soil because it's king is respectful to him in spite of the stain that follows Oedipus.
Oedipus' son arrives and begs forgiveness for not taking care of him (what children were expected to do in ancient Greece, regardless of the what the parent, or brother in this case, had done).
This is part of Oedipus' response to his son's begging:
"But you, my brace of boys, you're no sons of mine!
And so the eyes of fate look down upon you now,
but not yet with the lightning that will strike
if those armies are really marching hard on Thebes.
Impossible--you'll never tear that city down. No,
you'll fall first, red with your brother's blood
and he stained with yours--equals, twins in blood.
Such were the curses I hurdled against you long ago
and now, again, I call them up to fight beside me!
You will learn, at last, to respect your parents--
I'll teach you to heap contempt upon your father
because he's blind and bore such ruthless sons.
These daughters never did such things, but you,
you and your pious supplications and your throne--
my curses have you in their power now,
if that Justice, declared from the first of time,
still shares the throne of Zeus with the everlasting laws.
You--die!
Die and be damned!
I spit on you! Out!--
your father cuts you off! Corruption--scum of the earth!--
out!--and pack these curses I call down upon your head:
never to win your mother-country with your spear,
never to return to Argos ringed with hills--
Die!
Die by your own blood brother's hand--die!--
killing the very man who drove you out!
So I curse your life out!"
It's some damning stuff that's all the more powerful because it's a man speaking to his son. While no one really talks like that today, it's still a good study for how someone who's eloquent can damn someone to hell. It's something good for me to keep in mind with my work.
The other thing that gave me some ideas is Children of Men, the movie from 2006 with Clive Owen. It's a dystopic film where children haven't been born in almost 20 years and things have fallen apart. The British government has cracked down on all immigrants and the country is run as a police state.
What I liked was the difference between the government buildings and the rest of London. The government buildings are clean, black and white--crisp really--while everything else is dingy and falling apart. Stark differences like that can tell a lot without a writer having to come out and say it.
The last thing that gave me something to think about happened in Modern Architecture. We were talking about the 19th century remodeling of Paris, France, where Napoleon III was intent on creating a modern city. The biggest change was the construction of modern, wide, straight roads through the heart of the city. These roads replaced the narrow, winding alleys that formed Paris' roadways.
Napoleon III's excuse was that it would help clean the city up, reduce traffic and so forth. But the reason he didn't give was that these wide roads would help in case of revolution (France's preffered way of changing governments). Wide streets are much harder to barricade. Troops can easily march down them without getting trapped and ambushed. Wide, long and straight streets also make it easier for troops to mow down large crowds without missing. A bit morbid, perhaps, but true.
That really gave me something to think about. How would Berlin look in my alternate 1960s? I can definitely see a lot of remodeling going on, but I hadn't thought about the advantages of wide avenues and multiple large crossroads.
That's why I love dabbling in a little bit of everything, it leads to ideas that I've never considered. While they're small details, they can really make a story pop.
We'll end up reading Kafka and Voltaire, but, right now, we're in Greek drama. I've read the Orestia, Oedipus and I'm near the end of Medea. While Greek drama does stick with their conventions, and it all plays out pretty straight, it's nice to see where everything came from.
It's refreshing to see plot, action, character (though the Greeks wouldn't call it that) and story laid out so plainly. There are bits of dialogue that have jumped out at me. For one, in the Orestia, Clytaemnestra tells a servant to "bring me the man-axe." It's the sign that she's putting her man pants on and is going to take control of the situation. It's both amusing and quite interesting.
My other particular favorite bit of dialogue is from Oedipus at Colonus. It's the play that tells the fate of Oedipus, and where he actually gets a good deal at the end. The part of Oedipus' story that people don't usually know, is the rest of the prophecy. It states that a nation (city state) will win a great victory on the land where Oedipus' grave is buried. Oedipus decides to be buried on Athenian soil because it's king is respectful to him in spite of the stain that follows Oedipus.
Oedipus' son arrives and begs forgiveness for not taking care of him (what children were expected to do in ancient Greece, regardless of the what the parent, or brother in this case, had done).
This is part of Oedipus' response to his son's begging:
"But you, my brace of boys, you're no sons of mine!
And so the eyes of fate look down upon you now,
but not yet with the lightning that will strike
if those armies are really marching hard on Thebes.
Impossible--you'll never tear that city down. No,
you'll fall first, red with your brother's blood
and he stained with yours--equals, twins in blood.
Such were the curses I hurdled against you long ago
and now, again, I call them up to fight beside me!
You will learn, at last, to respect your parents--
I'll teach you to heap contempt upon your father
because he's blind and bore such ruthless sons.
These daughters never did such things, but you,
you and your pious supplications and your throne--
my curses have you in their power now,
if that Justice, declared from the first of time,
still shares the throne of Zeus with the everlasting laws.
You--die!
Die and be damned!
I spit on you! Out!--
your father cuts you off! Corruption--scum of the earth!--
out!--and pack these curses I call down upon your head:
never to win your mother-country with your spear,
never to return to Argos ringed with hills--
Die!
Die by your own blood brother's hand--die!--
killing the very man who drove you out!
So I curse your life out!"
It's some damning stuff that's all the more powerful because it's a man speaking to his son. While no one really talks like that today, it's still a good study for how someone who's eloquent can damn someone to hell. It's something good for me to keep in mind with my work.
The other thing that gave me some ideas is Children of Men, the movie from 2006 with Clive Owen. It's a dystopic film where children haven't been born in almost 20 years and things have fallen apart. The British government has cracked down on all immigrants and the country is run as a police state.
What I liked was the difference between the government buildings and the rest of London. The government buildings are clean, black and white--crisp really--while everything else is dingy and falling apart. Stark differences like that can tell a lot without a writer having to come out and say it.
The last thing that gave me something to think about happened in Modern Architecture. We were talking about the 19th century remodeling of Paris, France, where Napoleon III was intent on creating a modern city. The biggest change was the construction of modern, wide, straight roads through the heart of the city. These roads replaced the narrow, winding alleys that formed Paris' roadways.
Napoleon III's excuse was that it would help clean the city up, reduce traffic and so forth. But the reason he didn't give was that these wide roads would help in case of revolution (France's preffered way of changing governments). Wide streets are much harder to barricade. Troops can easily march down them without getting trapped and ambushed. Wide, long and straight streets also make it easier for troops to mow down large crowds without missing. A bit morbid, perhaps, but true.
That really gave me something to think about. How would Berlin look in my alternate 1960s? I can definitely see a lot of remodeling going on, but I hadn't thought about the advantages of wide avenues and multiple large crossroads.
That's why I love dabbling in a little bit of everything, it leads to ideas that I've never considered. While they're small details, they can really make a story pop.