Philoxenus of Cythera's dithyramb, Cyclops or Galatea, was a poem famous in antiquity as the source for the story of Polyphemus' love for the sea-nymph Galatea. The exact date of composition is uncertain, but the poem must pre-date 388 B.C., when it was parodied by Aristophanes in the parodos of Plutus , and probably, as we shall see below, post-dates 406, the point at which Dionysius I became tyrant of Syracuse . The Aristophanic parody of the work may well (...) point to a recent performance in Athens, perhaps the first, and it is hard to identify any more significant reason for mentioning the poem. Previous accounts of the poem have concentrated on two main points, its supposed satirical purpose, and the possibly dramatic nature of its performance, but there has been no attempt to consider these two points in relation to each other, or to assess in detail the value of the source-material. I argue that although there is some evidence to support the satirical reading of the poem, the main value of this tradition is that it reveals Philoxenus' comic treatment of his subject, and that while the Galatea motif has previously been considered the essential element in this comic treatment, it was probably a small part of the plot, perhaps only briefly alluded to. Finally I provide reasons for doubting the prevalent view that the performance included dramatic elements. (shrink)

Odysseus has just entered the acting area following the choral song, during which he witnessed the Cyclops butchering, cooking and then eating two of his companions. In these lines Odysseus seemingly presents himself as being at a loss for words, and claims that what he witnessed inside the cave is not to be believed. These are, of course, nothing more than rhetorical ploys, with frequent parallels in Euripides and elsewhere. When Odysseus says οὐ πιστά he means not that what (...) he is about to recount lacks credibility—he does, after all, expect the satyrs to accept his account as reliable—but that it surpasses the bounds of ordinary human experience. And the account that follows belies his apparent profession of being at a loss for words, since he is about to deliver what is in effect a messenger-speech of over fifty lines. Expressions of aphasia are common in Euripides, sometimes accompanied, as here, by lengthy exposition. Characters use such expressions to indicate that the circumstances in which they find themselves are beyond the power of language to convey. There is, therefore, something discordant in Odysseus immediately following his expression of aphasia by saying that what he has witnessed is ‘like stories’, especially when he is about to tell the story of the circumstances in which he finds himself. It is the purpose of this note to suggest that the words μύθοις εἰκότ’ have been universally misunderstood, and that Odysseus is here saying something quite other than that the events in the cave have a greater resemblance to stories than to reality. (shrink)

Journal Name: Philologus Issue: Ahead of print.

Odysseus describes Polyphemus preparing his meal. One expects an indication of the terrifying size of the ; and so , lonely though it is in L, should not be abandoned: compare Ar. Pax.73 . must mean bowls for blood. But the blood of the Greeks flows into the cauldron . It seems probable therefore that is a comic periphrasis for the cauldron. Hermann read 395 after 399 as.

L has …, P … Paley wanted to delete Subsequent editors did not take up the suggestion. J. Diggle on the other hand has proposed that was originally a gloss on ‘It would be no cause for surprise that a scribe who had never seen the like of Homer's should fuse the two versions by distributing the two in what he thought a fair and impartial manner.’ Diggle arrives at The metre is tidied up, the corruption explained. But would be (...) unique in Euripides. is the Euripidean Greek for ‘O dear one’. For ‘O dear Hector’ he writes. If he did want to create here by repetition a sense of there is no reason why he should not have written what is in L; compare Tro. 1081, Su. 278 and Andr. 530. (shrink)

A foot is lacking at the beginning of line. Perhaps add to go with ναυστολxs22EF, lost after the end of I. 12. Silenus expatiates on the μεxs22EFζονα πόνον of I. 10.

The Eleatic Stranger plays a central role in all reconstructions of Plato’s “Platonism.” This paper is a study of the literary form of the Sophist and Statesman and its significance for interpreting the Eleatic’s account of the nature of philosophy. I argue that the Eleatic dialogues are best understood through a comparison with the source-texts in the Odyssey that Plato used in their composition. I show that the literary form of the Sophist is a straightforward reworking of the encounter of (...) Odysseus and his crewmen with Polyphemus the Cyclops; and that the form of the Statesman is a somewhat more complex reworking of the narrative in which Odysseus and those loyal to him oppose Antinoös, leader of the Ithacan suitors. The comparison reveals that the Eleatic Stranger is no way Plato’s spokesman. On the contrary: by casting the Stranger in the role of Polyphemus and the Cyclopean Antinoös, Plato intends the Sophist and Statesman to be read as an explicit critique of the metaphysical and political doctrines that have since come to be identified as Platonism. In Plato’s characterization, the Eleatic Stranger is neither a philosopher nor a sophist. He is an intellectual—the sort of person who professes to be a philosopher and is often mistaken for one. (shrink)

ὣς φάτο, τοῦ δ’ ἤκουσε Μέδων πεπνυμένα εἰδώς·πεπτηὼς γὰρ ἔκειτο ὑπὸ θρόνον, ἀμφὶ δὲ δέρμαἕστο βοὸς νεόδαρτον, ἀλύσκων κῆρα μέλαιναν.So [Telemachus] spoke, and wise Medon heard him; for he had crouched down and was lying under a chair, and had wrapped around himself the newly flayed skin of an ox, avoiding grim death. (Od.22.361–3)Immediately following the death of the suitors, near the end ofOdyssey22, we witness three scenes of supplication in quick succession. The first and unsuccessful suppliant is Leodes, the (...) only suitor to survive, albeit briefly, theMnesterophonia. The second and third suppliants, respectively, are the bard Phemius and the herald Medon. Leodes pleads directly with Odysseus for his life, citing his previous conduct, that he had said or done no wrong to the women of the household. He also claims that he had actually attempted to keep the suitors' bad behaviour in check, an assertion corroborated by the narrator's own words (21.146–67). Odysseus rejects Leodes' plea and decapitates the prophet, putting a sudden end to his supplication (22.310–29). After this failed supplication, Phemius nervously considers either seeking refuge at the altar of Zeus Herkeios, located in Odysseus' courtyard, or directly supplicating Odysseus. He chooses the latter and also appeals to Telemachus as witness that he sang for the suitors only under compulsion (330–53). Telemachus intervenes and Medon, who overhears Telemachus' plea for mercy on behalf of Phemius and Medon, suddenly jumps up, throws off the ox hide under which he has escaped notice, grasps Telemachus by the knees, and asks the young man to vouch for and save him from Odysseus too (354–77). (shrink)

The fifth scene represented on the Shield of Aeneas describes Porsenna's siege of Rome and the resistance of the Romans, with the two classicexemplaof Horatius Cocles and Cloelia (Verg.Aen. 8.646–51):nec non Tarquinium eiectum Porsenna iubebataccipere ingentique urbem obsidione premebat;Aeneadae in ferrum pro libertate ruebant.illum indignanti similem similemque minantiaspiceres, pontem auderet quia uellere Cocles 650et fluuium uinclis innaret Cloelia ruptis.According to Roman mainstream tradition, at the beginning of the Republic, Porsenna, an Etruscan king of Clusium, tried to reinstate the exiled Tarquinius (...) Superbus by besieging Rome, but the heroism of Romans such as Horatius Cocles, C. Mucius Scaevola and Cloelia impressed him so much that he decided to give up the siege and make peace with his enemies. He then sent his army against the Latins and was finally defeated at the battle of Aricia by the joint forces of the Latin League and their allies from Cumae. However, there circulated also less flattering versions of the story: Tacitus (Hist. 3.72,Porsenna dedita urbe) hints at the fact that the Romans had in fact surrendered to Porsenna, and Pliny refers to a humiliating treaty imposed on them by the Etruscan king (HN34.139). (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Back in the Cave of the CyclopsPura Nieto HernándezIt is many years now since Denys Page (1955) demonstrated how the story of the Cyclops, as presented in book 9 of the Odyssey, is the product of a conflation of two distinct folklore themes that are well attested over a wide geographical area: on the one hand, that of the ogre-type giant who devours human flesh and is, in (...) the end, blinded, and, on the other hand, the "No-man" theme. In his study Page highlighted certain details in which the Odyssey differs from its possible sources: examples are the substitution of a wooden stake for the metal skewer as the instrument with which the hero blinds the monster, and the use of wine to put the giant to sleep.But the business of Polyphemus and the strange company of Cyclopes has posed other problems, which are very likely due to the number and diversity of themes that the composer of the Odyssey has skillfully woven together in this episode, and which relate the episode to the entire epic as we have it.1 We may note, in the first place, a topic that is all but obsessive in the poem: the exchange of hospitality gifts (xeinia), which is closely related in turn to the theme of food—how, when, and with whom one ought or ought not to eat—and to the respect due the gods (sacrifices, etc.). These and other themes may be subsumed under the opposition between nature and culture, which scholars have carefully studied,2 often arriving at the conclusion that the Cyclopes represent [End Page 345] one pole (the total absence of civilization), and the other pole—that of culture—is represented by the Phaeacians.3Another theme, no less central to the epic and which is raised in this episode as well, is that of revenge, and, in particular, revenge for an attack against a member of one's own family, since, in blinding Polyphemus, Odysseus arouses the wrath of the Cyclops' father, Poseidon, who attempts to avenge the harm the hero has done to his son. The episode of the Cyclops also puts on display the relationship between Odysseus and his companions, along with the special qualities that characterize the hero: his "cleverness," his ability to solve problems, his ambiguous identity, his capacity to be "reborn,"4 etc. The way these themes are intertwined, together with the poet's ingenious adaptation of folklore motifs, makes this episode not only unforgettable even to casual readers of the Odyssey but important for a complete understanding of the poem.The Cyclopes themselves, as Homer presents them in this episode, are problematic in various respects. One is the strange nature of the society (if this collection of creatures indeed forms a society) in which they live. It is described as a world that resembles the Golden Age, in which the earth yields its fruits continually and without toil, and yet the Cyclopes themselves seem wholly uncivilized: they live isolated from one another, have no assemblies, are unacquainted with justice, and, above all (as critics have particularly noted), they eat their guests.5 Again, their relationship with the gods is ambiguous, since they seem to live on the periphery of the divine world. Some scholars have seen a contradiction between 9.107, where we are told that the Cyclopes "trusted in the gods" and 9.274-77, which state clearly that the gods do [End Page 346] not matter to them.6 Another problem is that one of them—the only one with whom Odysseus has any contact and who is granted a name of his own (Polyphemus)—appears as the son of Poseidon. In other branches of the tradition (especially in Hesiod's Theogony) the Cyclopes are the sons of Heaven and Earth, or of Uranus and Gaia. That Polyphemus, and only he, it would seem, of this strange bunch is the son of Poseidon has been a source of some confusion.7In this essay, I reconsider these problems and offer some solutions which, while taking account of the possible conflation of several folktale motifs, nevertheless may enable a more global understanding of... (shrink)

Our only fully extant satyr play begins with the following address to Dionysus and his statue.

Despite the deep respect that readers continue to discover in the great twentieth-century texts of hermeneutics, the academic career and reputation of Gadamer's philosophical version has fallen into the shadows; it seems a long time since the heady days that it could claim universality as an intellectual koiné. This decline is a genuine shame, because at the peak of its reputation it held out the promise of returning the power of humanistic judgement to greater recognition against the domination of method (...) in an age of technique. Gadamer teased out the unreflective meta-logic of the Western traditions of prudence as an alternative paradigm and powerful antidote to our rationalist excesses. This paper offers one strategy for salvaging that effort and recuperating an important role for philosophical hermeneutics in the academy. (shrink)

In memoriam: Mira Balija PlanincEuripides's Hecuba is not one of the best-known tragedies. The story is vividly memorable, however. Troy has fallen. The Greeks have finished their killing and plundering and have begun their homeward journey. As soon as they cross the Hellespont and make camp on what some might call the European side, in Thrace, they bury Achilles. The Trojan queen, Hecuba, is enslaved, as are the only two of her daughters who remain alive, Polyxena and Cassandra, the latter (...) to Agamemnon himself. Her husband Priam was killed at Troy, and so too were all of their many sons—except one: the youngest, Polydorus, who years before had been sent for his protection, along with a substantial amount of Trojan... (shrink)

In Euripides’ Cyclops 82 f., the satyrs are supposed to order the “attendants” to drive the sheep of the Cyclops into his cave. The essay attempts to show that these attendants are identical with the mutes who represent the sheep. A comic effect is achieved by the fact that the same ‘sheep’ which a minute ago have obstinately refused to enter the cave, now obediently follow the order of the coryphaeus. If this interpretation is correct, Euripides in his (...) satyr play employed a stage convention that is typical of comedy. In addition I will argue that the extras, after their appearance as sheep, adopt the role of Odysseus’ companions and that therefore, since in the Homeric Kyklopeia there are 12 companions, we may assume that in the Cyclops there were 12 companions respectively sheep. The possibility that in the parodos each satyr interacted with one sheep strengthens the assumption that the satyr chorus – at least in the Cyclops – consisted of 12 members. (shrink)

This article studies the Cyclops' scene in the ninth book of the Odyssey in order to demonstrate how the hero's confrontation with the new world and its new rules reflects a fundamental conflict between the values of the heroic age and those of the post-war era. Applying the narratological tools of narration and focalization, the article delineates the hero's convoluted progress toward adaptation to a new reality where formerly privileged values must be replaced. What makes this path especially arduous (...) is the repeated thwarting of all attempts to establish dominance through colonization. The complex nexus of contrasting values culminates in the epic's eponymous hero relinquishing his acquisitive colonialism and drastically modifying his heroic values, thus elevating the humane values of self-restraint and rational conduct based on self-sufficiency to a plane above martial heroism. (shrink)

Imaginary worlds are extremely successful. The most popular fictions produced in the last few decades contain such a fictional world. They can be found in all fictional media, from novels (e.g., Lord of The Rings and Harry Potter) to films (e.g., Star Wars and Avatar), video games (e.g., The Legend of Zelda and Final Fantasy), graphic novels (e.g., One Piece and Naruto), and TV series (e.g., Star Trek and Game of Thrones), and they date as far back as ancient literature (...) (e.g., the Cyclops Islands in The Odyssey, 850 BCE). Why such a success? Why so much attention devoted to non-existent worlds? In this paper, we propose that imaginary worlds co-opt our preferences for exploration, which have evolved in humans and nonhuman animals alike, to propel individuals toward new environments and new sources of reward. Humans would find imaginary worlds very attractive for the very same reasons, and under the same circumstances, as they are lured by unfamiliar environments in real life. After reviewing research on exploratory preferences in behavioral ecology, environmental esthetics, neuroscience, and evolutionary and developmental psychology, we focus on the sources of their variability across time and space, which we argue can account for the variability of the cultural preference for imaginary worlds. This hypothesis can, therefore, explain the way imaginary worlds evolved culturally, their shape and content, their recent striking success, and their distribution across time and populations. (shrink)

Part I: Eros and tradition -- Alcibiades I and pederasty -- The symposium and Sappho -- Part II: Polis and tradition -- Republic 3 and the sirens -- Laws 4 and the Cyclopes -- Part III: Philosophy and tradition -- The Apology and Oedipus -- The Crito and Thersites.

Before Odysseus and his companions cross over to the land of the Cyclopes, they land on an island, which is described in unusual length and detail . It is inhabited only by wild goats; no hunters disturb them. It possesses neither flocks nor cultivated land, sown or ploughed, since no men live there. The Cyclopes, while nearby, have no ships, nor are there shipwrights who might build ships on which men travel to every city. The island could be made to (...) flourish, for the soil is rich and would bear all things in season. In addition, it contains well-watered meadows, good for vineyards, and a fine protected harbour which requires no mooring. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Ephraim Chambers’s Cyclopædia (1728) and the Tradition of CommonplacesRichard YeoIn the fifth volume (1755) of the Encyclopédie in his entry on “En-cyclopædia,” Denis Diderot forecast a time in which the sheer number of books would require a division of intellectual labor. Some people, he said, will not do much rea ding but rather “devote themselves to investigation which will be new, or which they will believe to be new.” (...) The majority, unable to produce anything of their own, “will be busy night and day leafing through these books, taking out of them the fragments they consider worthy of being collected and preserved.” 1 Although Diderot set this prospect in the future, he believed the signs were already visible and offered his encyclo-pædia as a response. Part of this image, however—the selection of passages from a range of authors—was already a familiar one. Re commended by the Ancients, it was widely practised during the Renaissance by the educated elite who kept commonplace books for recording quotations on various themes from Classical authors. Even the epigram from Horace on the title page of the Encyclop édie suggests this lineage: “What grace may be added to commonplace matters by the power of order and connection.” 2In the classical period, the Latin term, locus communis, referred to a general argument capable of being used in different situations. In his Institutiones Oratoriae Quintilian discussed the notion of copia verborum in connection with the ability of a good orator to produce copious illustrations [End Page 157] and embellishments from particular ideas. Renaissance writers thought this facility was enhanced by a record of similar ideas in the same place in a notebook. This practice had been followed in the medieval period, but it became more systematically taugh t as part of rhetoric from the sixteenth century. Commenting on this, R. R. Bolgar wrote:The whole purpose of the Humanists in transmogrifying Greek and Latin literature into a series of notes was to produce a body of material which could be easily retained and repeated. They made titanic efforts to remember the contents of the note-books the y compiled. 3Quintilian’s work, and more immediately, that of the German humanist, Rudolph Agricola, influenced Erasmus in his De Copia, first published in 1512 as De Duplici Copia Verborum ac Rerum Commentarii Duo. This offered advice on how to collect words and passages under various topoi or loci (places) as a means of storing extracts from books that could later be brought together and embellished in either writing or conversation. The set of ideas or themes grouped under one “Head” wer e known as “common-places,” and the notebooks kept for this purpose were commonplace books. 4 These were also called “copie” books in the sense of collections enabling copia, or free flow of material for oratory. Versions of this practice continued into the nineteenth century: figures such as John Milton, George Berkeley, Robert Southey, R obert Burns, and David Thoreau kept commonplace books, some of which were subsequently published. Some of these included less than elevated content: Kenneth Lockridge has uncovered a string of misogynist remarks and anecdotes in the commonplace book of Th omas Jefferson. 5In the only major study of the commonplace tradition, Sister Joan Marie Lechner analyzed its status in Renaissance rhetorical training from the sixteenth to the early seventeenth century, identifying some confusion and [End Page 158] tensions, partly as result of dissatisfaction with the “doctrine of places” taught by classical writers, and also because “commonplace” had come to refer both to a “locus or seat of arguments” and a “speech-within-a-speech.” 6 Her work shows that commonplace books were kept as aids to recall reading and as storehouses (thesauri) of topics and phrases suitable for speeches and conversation, as recommended by Erasmus and other writers. However, Lechner noted a new need pa rtly satisfied by the commonplace collections, which was that they accommodated Renaissance passions for “accumulating universal knowledge.” Thus, in her words:The commonplace book with its encyclopaedic array of topics or places was thought of as a compend of knowledge displayed in a systematic pattern... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Reviewed by:The Meaning of Meat and the Structure of the Odyssey by Egbert J. BakkerSusan A. CurryEgbert J. Bakker. The Meaning of Meat and the Structure of the Odyssey. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013. xiv + 191 pp. Cloth, $90.Meat-eating in the Odyssey is a risky business. Inextricably intertwined with song itself in the context of the aristocratic feast, meat-eating in excess becomes a weapon of the Suitors in (...) Ithaca as part of a three-year effort “literally to eat Odysseus’ house to ruin” (xi). In the “Otherworld” through which Odysseus and his Companions venture, meat and meat-eating are further problematized: there is too much or not enough of it; what they come across is forbidden; one may become meat oneself, filling the belly of another.This book traces the theme of meat in the Odyssey through a series of case studies that reveal a web of associations between Odysseus’ account of his adventures in the Otherworld and the poet’s account of events in Ithaca. Using a variety of approaches (narratological, folkloric, anthropological, philological), Bakker investigates the numerous “paradigmatic relationships” existing between the “matrix narrative” of the Odyssey, the aoide\, and the epos, the “embedded utterance” or part of the poem narrated by Odysseus himself (3). The theme of meat also allows Bakker to bring the related topics of dining and hospitality, sacrifice and hunting to bear on his exploration of the interconnections, thematic and linguistic, of the aoide\ and the epos. Although this book is weakest where Bakker roams farthest from meat, it nevertheless contains some choice cuts. In particular, he provides fascinating analyses of the Cyclops and Circe episodes and of hunting in the Otherworld (chaps. 4 and 5).We must begin with the “Epilogue: On ‘Interformularity,’” because, for passionate advocates of a particular school of thought on the composition of Homeric poetry, understanding Bakker’s approach to repetitions and allusions within the Odyssey is a prerequisite for accepting the claims he makes throughout the preceding chapters. Bakker favors an approach to the Homeric poems that involves the integration of intertextuality and orality, which he terms “interformularity.” Rather than randomly repeated traditional formulas, Bakker suggests that the repetitions and allusions within the Homeric poems are the result of “a poet’s judgment as to the (degree of) similarity between two contexts” (159). In other words, Bakker argues for meaningful repetition. Situations and similarity of situations determine the appropriate utterance; when similar situations evoke the same utterance or the same utterance gives rise to a similar situation, the language of the utterance becomes formulaic. [End Page 485]Because each of Bakker’s chapters is, for the most part, a separate case study, each will find its own audience beyond Homeric scholars generally. The first chapter, “Epos and Aoide\,” and the second, “Nostos as Quest,” will appeal to fans of intertextuality and folklore motifs, respectively. In the first chapter, Bakker defines and describes, as noted above, the epos and aoide\ of the Odyssey and makes two crucial points regarding the relationship between these on which much of his overall argument depends: first, epic is itself a ravening genre insatiable in its swallowing up of so-called “minor” genres; and, thus, second, the epos does not occupy a secondary position vis-à-vis the aoide\, but “competes with its ‘container,’ shaping the narrative tension within the Odyssey” (3).The second chapter is concerned more with structure than with meat. Bakker, following Anna Bonifazi (“Inquiring into Nostos and its Cognates,” AJP 130.4 [2009]:481–510), extends the definition of nostos to include the idea of survival as well as homecoming. He also discusses the role of quest as “an essential and versatile narrative building-block” (20) and adjusts Vladimir Propp’s quest sequence to accommodate the narrative of Odysseus’ wanderings. Most importantly, this chapter lays the groundwork for the two most significant contributions of Bakker’s study: first, the “Wanderings provide essential exemplars for the crimes committed in Odysseus’ house in his absence”; and second, meat is “a catalyst of crime and transgression” throughout the Odyssey (35).Although more focused on meat, meat-eating, dining, and cattle culture in Homeric society, “Meat in... (shrink)

At the close of the Cyclops adventure Odysseus piously sacrifices to Zeus the ram that has carried him out of Polyphemus' cave. Yet the god spurns his offering and ponders instead the destruction of Odysseus' ships and their crews :These lines need explaining, as they present two difficulties, one formal, the other thematic. How can Odysseus know what Zeus is pondering? As a first-person narrator Odysseus assumes temporarily the role of the epic poet, yet without being given the latter's (...) omniscience. He retains therefore the restricted perspective of an epic character which precludes any precise knowledge of supernatural processes. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:American Journal of Philology 127.1 (2006) 137-140 [Access article in PDF] Derek Collins. Master of the Game: Competition and Performance in Greek Poetry. Hellenic Studies 7. Washington, D.C.: Center for Hellenic Studies, 2004. Distributed by Harvard University Press, Cambridge, Mass. xx + 267 pp. Paper, $19.95. Collins states the purpose of his book clearly in the opening paragraph of his introduction (ix): "to offer a detailed examination of the (...) competitive performance of Greek poetry from the late archaic to the classical period. Its central argument is that the basic response pattern called "capping" is a pervasive competitive performance technique common to tragic and comic stichomythia, dramatic representations of lament, forms of Platonic dialectic and dialogue, the sympotic performance of elegy, skolia and related verse games, as well as the rhapsodic performance of epic." In order to fulfill this ambitious purpose, Collins divides his book into three parts: drama, symposia, and epic. An introduction, two appendices (one on ritual aischrologia and the other a brief survey of comparative typologies), bibliography, and indices complete the volume.Collins focuses on specific elements within these genres: stichomythia in Aeschylus, Aristophanes, Euripides' Cyclops, and Plato's Euthydemus occupy part 1. Part 2 is based on skolia, Aristophanes, and a selection of poets—Xenophanes, Heraclitus, Solon, and Anacreon—who offer a sympotic perspective on rhapsodes and competition. In part 3, Collins' evidence for the competitive and creative nature of rhapsodic performance ranges from scholiasts through Homer, the Certamen, Polybius, and inscriptions. Collins has brought together a very wide range of material, complete with translations, which he discusses in a way that I often found convincing and, even when I did not, found stimulating to consider.Collins bases much of his discussion on capping, enjambement, and word play, specifically riddles and puns. He offers a brief definition of capping, the fundamental concept of his work (ix): when two (or more) speakers or singers perform, "one participant sets a topic or theme in speech or verse to which another responds by varying, punning, riddling, or cleverly modifying that topic or theme." Without giving a detailed definition of enjambement, Collins shows its importance for the speaker who must respond to a line already sung by the first performer and argues that enjambement should be seen as a mark of a singer's creativity, his ability to adapt the material given him by the first singer. Collins applies the terms "pun" and "riddling" somewhat too loosely, I think, to many of the passages from tragedy that he discusses. If we understand a pun to be word play based on a word with more than one meaning or based on two different words that are similar in sound, then I am not certain why the image [End Page 137] of famine as an ally of the Greeks, in the words of Darius (Aeschylus, Persians 490–91) should be considered one (9). And what is riddling about the exchange between Talthybius and the elder coryphaeus (Agamemnon 538–50; pp. 15–16)? These passages seem to me simply to be ambiguous. Collins' discussion of puns and riddles in symposia is more convincing (124–29).Collins' reading of the exchange between Euripides and Aeschylus in Aristophanes' Frogs (1198–1248), in which Aeschylus caps Euripides' prologues with the tag ("he lost his little bottle of oil"), is particularly valuable, because he does not limit himself to one approach or perspective. He shows the many grammatical and metrical subtleties of the exchange, its links to other genres, and the possibly sexual jokes (33–43). We can imagine everyone in the audience finding something to laugh at in this scene.Collins conceives of symposia as occasions for amusement, intellectual discussion, and even for violence, if drinking or teasing get out of hand. He suggests that symposiasts and rhapsodes have more in common than we might imagine if we look only at what the symposiasts say about themselves or at the metrical and philosophical differences between the two kinds of performances (85, 135–46). Whether the antagonism toward rhapsodes expressed by oligarchs at symposia has any... (shrink)