Black Ships by Jo Graham: A review

The fall and sacking of Troy and the founding of Rome happened more than 3,000 years ago and yet they still fire our imaginations. They certainly fired the imagination of Jo Graham and she decided to write a book that would be a retelling of Virgil's The Aeneid, the story of how Aeneas, the last prince of Troy, left that ruined city and sailed with a remnant of his people around the Mediterranean until they came to a place situated between seven hills. There he founded Rome.

Graham's story would be different though. It would be told by a woman.

The girl-child, Gull, was born in Pylos, the Hellenic kingdom of old Nestor, after the fall of Troy. Her mother had been a woman of Troy who suffered the common fate of women in war in the Bronze Age. (Actually, not much has changed in 3,000 years.) She was captured by the victorious Achaians (Hellenes), raped repeatedly, and finally given to King Nestor as part of his share of the booty. She would be his slave.

By the time she arrived in Pylos, she was pregnant by one of her Achaian rapists with Gull and her child was born there where she served as a flax slave, one who tended the flax that was turned into linen. As Gull grew she followed her mother in her chores, but one day an accident changed all that. Her leg was run over by a chariot and was broken, never to be straight and strong again. Gull's mother, fearing for her future as damaged goods, took her to a nearby shrine and gave her to the care of the Pythia. Thus, she became an acolyte of the shrine and grew up to be the new Pythia when the old one passed on.

In time, another attack on Troy brought Aeneas and his remnant to Pylos and there the new Pythia encountered the people of her mother and joined with them as they continued their peregrinations. Their voyages took them to Santorini (Island of the Dead), and on to Millawanda, Halicarnassus, Ugarit, Byblos, and on down to the Egypt of Ramses III. (In her author's note, Graham admits that this is a difference from The Aeneid which had Aeneas landing in Carthage and dallying with Queen Dido, but, in fact, Carthage was not founded until four hundred years later and so she substituted Egypt and an Egyptian princess.) The oracle Gull, now Pythia, tells us about all of these places and cultures. When they finally come to rest in Egypt, she feels at home there and is loathe to leave, and yet she must in order to serve her prince.

This is such a well-known story, but it is intriguing to see it through the eyes of a woman. Graham's Pythia is a remarkable narrator. I admit that I am a sucker for stories about this turbulent period in history when there was so much upheaval in the Mediterranean world. The old world was dying and a new one was being born. I am able to find enjoyment even in something that is poorly written about the period. But this, I thought, was very well done.

Poetry Sunday: Don't Hesitate by Mary Oliver

How about we share another Mary Oliver poem? After all, you can never have too many of those. In this one, the poet seems to acknowledge that it is often hard to simply live in and enjoy the moment, perhaps because we are afraid it can't last. She urges us to give in to that moment and fully experience the joy. Although "much can never be redeemed, still, life has some possibility left." Don't Hesitate by Mary Oliver If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy, don’t hesitate. Give in to it. There are plenty of lives and whole towns destroyed or about to be. We are not wise, and not very often kind. And much can never be redeemed. Still, life has some possibility left. Perhaps this is its way of fighting back, that sometimes something happens better than all the riches or power in the world. It could be anything, but very likely you notice it in the instant when love begins. Anyway, that’s often the case. Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid of its plenty. Joy is no...

Poetry Sunday: Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney

My mother was a farm wife and a prodigious canner. She canned fruit and vegetables from the garden, even occasionally meat. But the best thing that she canned, in my opinion, was blackberry jam. Even as I type those words my mouth waters! Of course, before she could make that jam, somebody had to pick the blackberries. And that somebody was quite often named Dorothy. I think Seamus Heaney might have spent some time among the briars plucking those delicious black fruits as well, so he would have known that "Once off the bush the fruit fermented, the sweet flesh would turn sour." They don't keep; you have to get that jam made in a hurry! Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney Late August, given heavy rain and sun For a full week, the blackberries would ripen. At first, just one, a glossy purple clot Among others, red, green, hard as a knot. You ate that first one and its flesh was sweet Like thickened wine: summer's blood was in it Leaving stains upon the tongue and lust ...

Poetry Sunday: Hymn for the Hurting by Amanda Gorman

You probably remember poet Amanda Gorman from her appearance at the inauguration of President Biden. She read her poem "The Hill We Climb" on that occasion. After the senseless slaughter in Uvalde this week, she was inspired to write another poem which was published in The New York Times. It seemed perfect for the occasion and so I stole it in order to feature it here, just in case you didn't get a chance to read it in the Times . Hymn for the Hurting by Amanda Gorman Everything hurts, Our hearts shadowed and strange, Minds made muddied and mute. We carry tragedy, terrifying and true. And yet none of it is new; We knew it as home, As horror, As heritage. Even our children Cannot be children, Cannot be. Everything hurts. It’s a hard time to be alive, And even harder to stay that way. We’re burdened to live out these days, While at the same time, blessed to outlive them. This alarm is how we know We must be altered — That we must differ or die, That we must triumph or try. ...

The Nature of Things

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