Locus Classicus

Two worst words in the English language?

Computer problems.

Actually, no, that's a total lie and I shouldn't tempt fate by saying it. I take it back.

But still.

I have been offline for nine days!

I couldn't click back further than skip1000, and even when I deleted all my communities from flist, which I thought was a brilliant cunning plan, there was a tantalising lacuna of about two days. I'll never find out what happened.

I missed birthdays. Happy late ones, lapetite_kiki and svmadelyn.

I missed crises. Hugs and sympathy to all who need it.

I'm feeling a lack of Smallville love. Because this is the longest we've ever been apart, and instead of pining I've been cheating with Sports Night dvds. *sigh*poorwoobie!dan*sigh* I need clex porn, stat!

I'm feeling a mad, uncontrollable urge to write incredibly graphic Alexander/Hephaistion sex scenes. Just thought I'd throw that in there, for those of you who care about such things. It doesn't seem appropriate to write PWP in such a context, but that's what it is. I think the summer sun is getting to me. My bed might as well be in Babylon for the amount of *sleep* I get.

Really, I'm just feeling slightly strange.

But glad to be back in the bosom of lj.

Milky Way bars eaten furtively at desk: 5
Power Drinks skulled to stave off sleep: 2
Number of times sleep won the battle: 2
Moments of Incredible Trauma and Fear: 2
Moments of Productive Work: few and far between

Just another day at the chalk face, in other words.

Began by falling asleep on bus. Don't laugh, it's over an hour, at the crack of dawn. It was pitch black, and you couldn't see a foot in front of you through the fog. Fortunately, my regular driver is a good guy, and shook me awake when we got to my stop.

Drank power drink to wake up. Ate Milky Way bar from enormous collection with which I bribe boys and which I never touch. Ahem.

Graciously allowed my entire class to go to the library to finish research assignments. Fell asleep on couch in my office.

Went to faculty meeting. Accidentally traded laptops with colleague.

Booted up wrong laptop and died of shock when geography programme immediately started running.

Had small hysterical fit over whether Read Only disk with inappropriate content would launch itself when my otherwise virginal and pure as the driven snow laptop was turned on.

Ate Milky Way bar.

Remembered sheaf of hard-copy-slash-printouts-with-edits stuffed in case with laptop.

Grabbed additional Milky Way bar and sprinted for Geo Dept.

Found laptop untouched in hall and attributed miracle to Easter devotions.

Skulled power drink, tamed bed hair, braced self for next class.

Boy: "Ma'am, I googled Hephaistion last night and all I found was porn!"

Me: *dies of massive coronary*

Boy: "I wasn't looking, honestly, you know that, but there are these crazy people, and they..."

Me: *be cool, damn it! this is a coincidence, not your karma come home to roost. feign ignorance!*

Boy: "At first I thought they were gay men, but in fact I think they were *women*"

Me: *remembers sarcasm is best weapon of guilty conscience* "Exactly how much of this porn did you read before you remembered you had a Back button?"

Boy: *blushes charmingly and flees*

Ate Milky Way bar and pondered odds that anything of mine came up, and how identifiable it would be.

Remembered my cellphone, complete with Superman theme, has rung in class before and we've discussed my love of Smallville.

Ate last Milky Way bar.

Called it a day.

Sometimes I love my life, sometimes I wonder how I am, in fact, still alive.


In other news, I don't think Alexander is available on DVD as yet in America, and it *is* available in Britain and Scandinavia, supposedly exactly as it was in the theatre. But in France you can get a three disc set with both the director's cut, *and* the deleted scenes? What's up with that??? Stone has given up on English speakers, but the Gallic temperament understands him?

Still no time to update properly, but will be off for Easter next week, then it's two weeks till autumn vacation. God am I looking forward to it.

In the meantime, here's the latest challenge to my cool professional demeanour:

We were talking about the battle of the Hyphasis and how badly wounded Alexander was and how the army responded somewhat hysterically...

Me: "Try to imagine what must have been running through their minds."

Idiot!Boy: *does strange dance which would not look out of place to bow chicka bow soundtrack*
Idiot!Boy: "Gonna get some, gonna get some, gonna get some."

Me: What on earth?

Idiot!Boy: "I'm being Hephaistion. I'm getting lucky tonight. This is what's running through my mind."

Me: *deep breath*
Me: "Have I somehow failed to convey how seriously wounded Alexander is at this point?"

Idiot!Boy: "No, that's my point. He just has to lie there. This is my big chance to be on top."

Me: ?????????????????

Idiot!Boy: "Ordinarily I catch, but tonight I'm pitching. Yeah baby! Know what I'm talking about?"

Me: "So! How about those elephants???"

Never in my life have I met boys more singularly obsessed. Part of me really enjoys it, part of me wonders if I give off some vibe that says: "I pretend to be a serious academic, but really I'm a single woman who appreciates homoerotica. Harrass me!"

Sometimes, I swear, the Devil *does* make me do it. I am *powerless* against him. He makes me read porn, he makes me dream dirty wrong dreams, and he made me write *this*.

For nerodi, whose uncontrollable squeeing helped convert me to the Leto-lust; for Patroklos_Ghost, to whom I owe email (it’s coming, I promise, I just want to make it a good’un); for everyone who loves both Alexander *and* Lex. And, y’know, Hephaistion and Clark too...

So... Lex and Clark went to see Alexander...

( When Worlds Collide )

Picked up my copy of Alexander the Great - the Hunt for a New Past by Paul Cartledge today, acquired by special order at some inconvenience and expense. Was less than impressed then, less than enamoured certainly, when I opened it randomly and the first paragraph to catch my eye, a pseudo sortes virgilianae, long standard operating procedure with me, was:

It is tempting, indeed, to say that the two greatest loves of his [Alexander's] life were both dumb brutes.

Huh???

I *hate* that sort of snobbish dismissal. Leaving romance entirely to one side - don't laugh, I *can* do it! - people with phenomenally gifted friends can actually be competent, nay even above average, individuals themselves. Opposites may attract, but like also attracts like, and I can't imagine geniuses enjoying primary affective bonds with morons.

Bucephalus was no Mr Ed, certainly, *g*, but Hephaistion was extremely good at what he did. Logistics and diplomacy were less revered in the ancient world than generalship, but they're both pretty damn important. I think it says something about our own biases that modern writers still tend to denigrate them. I think it also says something about smallness of spirit that it's easier to believe a powerful man would want a toady, and a chancer would latch onto a meal ticket, than that two intelligent, attractive, gifted individuals would be drawn to each other and form a lasting relationship.

I hope the rest of Cartledge's analysis is better than this!

I darkened my family church's door for the first time in years yesterday, for my youngest cousin's christening. Miraculously, I did not, in fact, burst into flames crossing the threshold.

Despite leaving home two hours early, I managed to get distracted at a friend's house by a dusty pile of old Blake's 7 zines she'd unearthed while shifting. Remember when fandom involved typewriters and the abuse of photocopying privileges? I was never really a B7 fan, but it was a lilac covered zine at K's house, twelve years ago, that provided my first, slightly shocked, introduction to the world of slash.

Anyway, at seven minutes to three I suddenly realised I was in trouble and made a break for it. I had to take off my stilettos so I could run. I stopped a few metres from the church so I could get my breath back and my shoes on, before walking in to face the wrath of the congregation. I found my uncle, my aunt, the baby, the godparents, the priest, and the devout old lady who is *always* there. And noone else. Good lord, I thought, this is a new low.

Everyone else shuffled in during the recitation of the catechism and the kissing of the icons, in a truly stunning display of Greek timekeeping. Now, I copped a telling off for my portrayal of Russian judges as a) less than scrupulously fair, and b) less than entirely good humoured, in my OlympicSwimmer!Lex AU piece, but in twenty eight years I've never met a Greek who could arrive anywhere on time. Some stereotypes are earned.

The service went well, though I found myself admiring the archangels Michael and Gabriel in less than religious fashion, and we moved on to the reception.

Where a fight broke out over the buffet, and heated words very nearly turned to blows, over... Would anyone care to wager?

Whether Alexander was a) gay, and b) Greek.

I know we've all been laughing at the antics of various lawyers, but a goodly portion of Greek male pride does seem to be invested in these issues. Having no such personal investment, I carried on eating my dolmades and observed the fracas from the ladies' side of the room. As far as I'm concerned, I'd already done my bit for the cause by being told off by my grandmother for wearing my Alexander pendant to church instead of my crucifix.

The child in question is, of course, the one that was going to be called Alexander solely to annoy me. The poor wee thing wound up Heracles Leonidas instead, and I really don't pity him considering his demonic brother Achilles (I swear he's secretly a Damian) did his best to set the church on fire during the service.

All told, I have to say it was a very enjoyable day, and by far the most entertaining family occasion I've been to in a long while.

I have desperate questions in need of answers, and can think of noone I'd rather ask. Questions one to three are a word association test of sorts - I want your first impulsive answer, not what you learned in CLAS 204 to be *correct*. Please feel free to expand/debate/challenge me in the comments, but give me your simple answer in the poll space. Likewise, anything at all that strikes your fancy can be tossed into comments, the more the merrier. Don't feel you have to write a book if you're pressed for time, but if you want to who am I to stop you?

If you want to refer anyone else who might be interested to this poll, I'd appreciate that too. Many many thanks for your time.

[Poll #360664]

ETA: I raced through this as a practice run, and inevitably there's a typo in the bit I can't edit - "story" in my answer to question four should actually read "legend"

He is Alexander too

also known as the Scenewich Project (not to be confused with the Scene Witch Project)

an arysteia/pseudonihilist coproduction


She was a great writer and had a magnificent vision, but let's face it, Mary Renault could be a little coy, and all too often she leaves us with a mere tantalising glimpse of a scene which deserves more loving attention. Hence this project. Its parameters: take a scene which MR glosses over or leaves out entirely, rewrite it, and sandwich it back into the whole. If the food metaphor seems a little inappropriate, I ask you to remember the immortal words of Aeschylos, namely that his tragedies were "small slices from the great banquet of Homer".

Individual offerings will be posted in our own journals, but will also be linked here for ease of reference. If you have a scenewich you'd particularly like to see, please feel free to leave a comment below suggesting it.

In chronological (rather than posting) order:

The Night Before
Around the time Philip is wounded in Thrace, Alexander and Hephaistion are still coming to grips with new developments in their relationship.

Illyria
Set during the Illyrian exile, following the debacle at Philip's wedding. Alexander celebrates his birthday.

The First Night
The night of Bagoas' arrival, Hephaistion and Alexander discuss Bagoas after he is dismissed from the King's tent.


This one isn't part of the project, but I love it and I don't want it to be banished to Alexandria Eschata (Alexandria the Furthermost, way off in the Afghan desert) so I'm linking anyway...

Philalexandreia
A pan shot of the Alexander/Hephaistion relationship.


Obligatory Disclaimer: The specific representations of Alexander and Hephaistion being referenced here are based on the Alexandriad by Mary Renault (Fire from Heaven, The Persian Boy, and Funeral Games). I'm thinking of including one scene from The Mask of Apollo too. Any and all quotes belong to MR, and are used with love and respect. Alexander and Hephaistion themselves, however, belong to the ages. And each other.

Considerable recent discussion of Mary Renault (as well as a growing sense of impending doom re "The Film") is making me nostalgic. So much so that I've just swum to the library through pouring rain to take out a battered old copy of Fire from Heaven. And why, pray, was this journey necessary when I own two copies myself? Because the hardcover is at my mother's, behind bulletproof glass as Pseudy wisely guessed, and the paperback I foolishly (generously? selflessly?) lent to a friend, who has since earned for himself the title of Slowest Reader on Earth. Looking at this ancient tome, however, I realised it was in fact the same copy I had out for the first time in 1989, and, like the first bite of a madeleine, it catapulted me back to MR's constant presence in my adolescent life.

1987: My first contact with MR was as a ten year old. I was helping Mum to rearrange her massive collection (I applaud its depth and breadth, but not her desire to group books by size and binding style. Eeeek!) and was immediately attracted to a paperback by the memorable name The King Must Die, which featured an eyecatching golden minotaur on the cover, together with various emblemata of wealth, decadence, sexuality and fertility. Mum instantly said I was too young for it and shifted it to another pile. Never put off by such amateurish measures, I returned after completing my homework, removed the book, and proceeded to read it secretly by night. No torches under the blankets for me - I used to avail myself of the fact that my parents left the bathroom light on all night for my sisters, and read sitting on the vanity after they'd gone to bed. The depiction of Theseus' strong sexual personality and his manly exploits, as well as the excesses of the mother religion, left me a little amazed, but a great love was born.

1988: Read The Lion in the Gateway, set during the Persian wars, which was actually written for children. Decided I preferred books written for adults!

1989: Started high school. The relative freedom granted by a bus pass and extended curfew led to a seditious habit - frequenting the massive Wellington Central Library, instead of the harmless Kilbirnie Branch Mum had always taken me to. At this point it was still in the old building, and still had a card catalogue. Rifling through the catalogue I found The Bull from the Sea, sequel to TKMD, but more to the point I found Fire from Heaven. The old library was so over-crowded by 1989 that only the newest books actually fit out on the floors, and the older ones were relegated to the stacks. Open Stack, where you could go yourself, and Closed Stack, a mythical place I'd never been. It was, in fact, down in the basement, and you had to ask a librarian to fetch your book for you. Summoning all my courage, I asked an old crone to go and get it for me. She looked amazed, as though young people never asked for material from Closed Stack (perhaps they didn't), and asked if I really thought I was up to reading it. I defiantly insisted I was, she fetched it, and the rest was history.

I finished it in a matter of days, and instantly returned to page one to read it again. Sometime during the second reading occurred that black day, the Athletic Sports, a day of shame for the non-physically inclined. I was immune, however, sitting on the embankment at Newtown Park, watching the hurdlers far below me with disinterest, and reading my book. Until A[censored], the school bully, appeared out of nowhere, asked what I was reading, insulted it, and threw it over the fence. Nothing daunted, I told her that her own inability to read was no concern of mine, and a legendary enmity was born. Needless to say, I hadn't realised yet how feared this young woman actually was. Either that, or Alexander's sense of invincibility had rubbed off. I retrieved the book, taped it back into its spine, and continued my worship. (I recognised it today by this tape job, and the remnants of a yellow sticker signifying that it once lived in Closed Stack.) A[censored] went on to make my life a misery for months.

1990-92: At some point I discovered that our school library possessed almost a complete set of the works of MR, which freed me from the Closed Stack crone, and proceeded to check out each in turn. I hated The Persian Boy with all the passion of a Hephaistionista scorned, but loved Funeral Games, despite the tears it induced. My embarrassment and mortification at having my name read out in the overdues notices every month for the same book led to my first act of Literary Larceny - I threw Fire from Heaven out a second storey window to an accomplice waiting on the tennis courts below - her price: the book she loved with equal passion. I did eventually return it when I managed to track down my own copy, a year or so later.

In this period I also read MR's non-fiction work, The Nature of Alexander, which remains my favourite biography, though I now realise she was too much in love with him herself to truly write as an objective historian. This only bothers me when I have my professional hat on though, and affects me as a fan-girl not at all.

I also dazzled and amazed my family, and pleased myself immensely, by managing to get many more questions right than the contestant who competed for Mastermind (a very serious quiz show where you had to specify an area of knowledge) as an Alexander expert. Yay me! Thanks Mary, I owe it all to you.

1993: Infamously, I was accused of plagiarism this year, my last at high school, for writing an essay on Alexander that was *too* good. The evil harridan who marked it threatened me with all kinds of dire punishments, and an absolute banishment from the Halls of Academe. I was in tears of frustration and humiliation, but refused to back down. Two classmates testified that they'd seen me writing it while sitting on the bleachers overlooking the netball courts with no books in sight, which only made her angrier. "Seventeen year olds don't write like this!" she insisted. I eventually won the day by reproducing much the same essay under exam conditions. Looking back with the benefit of hindsight, and ten years tertiary study, I think MR's influence on the piece in question must have been massive - I knew her almost off by heart by then, like Alexander and the Iliad. That wasn't really what Ms H meant, though. She took exception to my writing style almost more than to the content. I look back on said style in horror, and fail to see how she could have been impressed - the essay contained the truly immortal (hideous! horrendous!) line that the burning of Persepolis must have acted as "a powerful palliative to the pride of the erstwhile vanquished". Shoot me now!

1994: Chose to double major in Classics and Ancient Greek at varsity based almost entirely on a Renault knowledge base. Never, ever, regretted it.

1995: Commenced reading the modern (non-historical) novels of MR. Didn't like the first couple much, but then I found The Charioteer and a new adoration was born, as well as my first modern OTP. I grew increasingly irate at the fact that I was the only person to have taken it out since 1968, but was still constantly fined for returning it late. Contemplated a new act of Literary Larceny, but was fazed by the impressive security at the new public library. This went on to become, in fact, the very first book I ever ordered from the brand new, slightly frightening, Amazon.com.

And so on, to infinity.


Apart from a deep and abiding love for a set of books, my all-time greatest OTP, a thesis topic, and a career, I also thank Mary Renault for one seemingly small, but in fact enormous, contribution to my world view and my life. The simple truth is, my family, for all that I love them, are a product of their culture, class and upbringing. In short, they are, en masse, homophobes. Among other failings. I like to think my education, open and enquiring mind, and general character might have led me away from that anyway, but I can still pinpoint the first time I read Fire from Heaven as the moment this future me was set in stone. In the afterword MR addresses the fact that there's no hard and fast evidence for Alexander and Hephaistion's physical relationship, and comments, "those whom the thought disturbs are free to reject it." (Like the palliative atrocity it's burned into my memory forever.) I'm proud to say that my response was "What kind of idiot would be disturbed by a love story?" (This despite being a naive enough twelve year old that I *missed* the sex scenes in Fire from Heaven the first two times I read it.) And that's my battlecry to this day: "What kind of idiot is disturbed by love?" Dubya and friends, I'm looking at you. With a great deal of scorn, and no respect whatsoever.

I swear, it took me longer to write these thousand words than the ten thousand I got done on my thesis in the last fortnight. Every single word is so important when every single word counts. I made it though, ten chapters of exactly one hundred words each, and I'm just squeaking in under the deadline too. At 3am this morning I didn't think I would... Ah, time management.

Oh, if it wasn't obvious, this is of course for TimIan's Tower of Drabbleon Challenge. Bless you Ian, what a brilliant idea.

This piece was inspired by the drabble I wrote for the Wednesday 100 Alternate Universe challenge. A rose by any other name, and I think it's fairly clear who's who. The original drabble was the last one.


( Philalexandreia )