The Mask of Apollo by Mary Renault, time, art, and mortality
I received Mask of Apollo as a Chanukah gift from JB. I'd heard of Mary Renault--even had her work recommended to me, given my interest in the ancient world--but never actually read any of her books until now. I'm sorry I waited but glad that I finally got around to it. This volume brings to life ancient Athens and Syracuse through the actor Nikoratos, his travels from city to city, and his encounters with Dion of Syracuse and Plato, with cameos by other luminaries of the era. It's a remarkable evocation of the time but especially of the people. It's a history lesson, a philosophy primer, a glimpse into the workings of the theater of the period. And it's a terrific adventure through friendship and war and love and loyalty. I finished the book last night and woke still thinking about it this morning, sorry that I couldn't personally meet some of the people in the book.
In a bit of serendipitous timing, papersky wrote a marvelous LJ entry about her learning to understand mortality and mourning the fact that there are people we'll never meet because they're dead. (You should go read the post, really.) Her post resonated with me this morning as a result of my experience of reading The Mask of Apollo. This tells you a couple of things: 1) Renault did a stunning job of creating her characters. 2) papersky herself is a rather marvelous and thoughtful writer (which should come as a surprise to no one who has met her or read her work). 3) I have a too vivid imagination for this sort of thing. I've experienced the sensation she's talking about, or at least something similar. In my response to her post, I wrote:
I remember going to the Louvre and walking among statues carved by Praxiteles, and thinking that I was looking at a statue carved by the hands of a man who died in the 4th century, that time had sent this statue forward so I could know the sculptor, at least, by his work--and thereby get a glimpse of his perspective. I remember feeling as if the room was turning over for a minute, thinking that all that stood between me and this sculptor was time, and how unfair it was that I couldn't talk to him about his work. I had a similar experience seeing Vincent Van Gogh's Sunflowers when I was in Amsterdam. I burst into tears standing in front of that painting. I think I scared the other woman in the gallery.
So here we are, victims, or perhaps students, of time and mortality. But art and storytelling help us meet those who have gone. Maybe we mourn the chance to meet them, but they send us messages through their work, and we keep them alive through our experience of the marks they left and the stories we learn and pass on.
In a bit of serendipitous timing, papersky wrote a marvelous LJ entry about her learning to understand mortality and mourning the fact that there are people we'll never meet because they're dead. (You should go read the post, really.) Her post resonated with me this morning as a result of my experience of reading The Mask of Apollo. This tells you a couple of things: 1) Renault did a stunning job of creating her characters. 2) papersky herself is a rather marvelous and thoughtful writer (which should come as a surprise to no one who has met her or read her work). 3) I have a too vivid imagination for this sort of thing. I've experienced the sensation she's talking about, or at least something similar. In my response to her post, I wrote:
I remember going to the Louvre and walking among statues carved by Praxiteles, and thinking that I was looking at a statue carved by the hands of a man who died in the 4th century, that time had sent this statue forward so I could know the sculptor, at least, by his work--and thereby get a glimpse of his perspective. I remember feeling as if the room was turning over for a minute, thinking that all that stood between me and this sculptor was time, and how unfair it was that I couldn't talk to him about his work. I had a similar experience seeing Vincent Van Gogh's Sunflowers when I was in Amsterdam. I burst into tears standing in front of that painting. I think I scared the other woman in the gallery.
So here we are, victims, or perhaps students, of time and mortality. But art and storytelling help us meet those who have gone. Maybe we mourn the chance to meet them, but they send us messages through their work, and we keep them alive through our experience of the marks they left and the stories we learn and pass on.