I never thought previously of the Theseus myth as a parable, but in your telling I see what should have been plain. It warns against the breaking of bonds with god(s) and the consequent infestation and defilement of the holiest places--the spiritual and ideational centres of the polity--by half-human monstrosities who consume children.
Not that this benighted old rubbish has anything to say about the condition of things today...
I read this before Part 1. For a moment I thought you were excerpting from Mary Renault's Theseus novel. (In my defense, I read it very, very long ago.) Nicely done!
More, please. Now Renault goes on my to-be-reread list.
One more thing: Do you know of the Theseus-Minotaur bronze in Sydney, on the Archibald Fountain? It might be the most powerful representation of the killing I've ever seen, with sympathy spared even for the Minotaur. I saw it first as a small boy and have never forgotten it as it appeared that day, in spite of having seen it many times since.
I stayed up much later than I should have reading this, and I'm excited for the next part! I think I know who to root for now, but I definitely can't guess what's going to happen.
"A hierophant of cargo" was an excellent way to round off the critique while weaving the monster into it. Bravo. I like* the image of the young people being logs to the fire too.
Your myth reminds me of De Civitate Dei. I'm not sure if you ever read it, but Augustine explains exactly why he wrote his book. When Rome was sacked for the first time in a thousand years, (Alaric and his Visigoths if memory serves.) the Romans blamed this on the Christian emperors having forbade the sacrifices to the traditional Roman pantheon who they saw as the protectors of the city.
Augustine wrote for the purpose of recasting that narrative as we would say.
Although there is much that I enjoy in your writing, as I read this I can't help but doubt that where you want to return to is somewhere that I want to go.
I never thought previously of the Theseus myth as a parable, but in your telling I see what should have been plain. It warns against the breaking of bonds with god(s) and the consequent infestation and defilement of the holiest places--the spiritual and ideational centres of the polity--by half-human monstrosities who consume children.
Not that this benighted old rubbish has anything to say about the condition of things today...
So good, thank you very much. Your story telling skill is superb.
I read this before Part 1. For a moment I thought you were excerpting from Mary Renault's Theseus novel. (In my defense, I read it very, very long ago.) Nicely done!
More, please. Now Renault goes on my to-be-reread list.
One more thing: Do you know of the Theseus-Minotaur bronze in Sydney, on the Archibald Fountain? It might be the most powerful representation of the killing I've ever seen, with sympathy spared even for the Minotaur. I saw it first as a small boy and have never forgotten it as it appeared that day, in spite of having seen it many times since.
I stayed up much later than I should have reading this, and I'm excited for the next part! I think I know who to root for now, but I definitely can't guess what's going to happen.
Great writing in the old heroic style, like Charles Kingsley for adults
I am utterly spellbound by this!
"A hierophant of cargo" was an excellent way to round off the critique while weaving the monster into it. Bravo. I like* the image of the young people being logs to the fire too.
Incomparable, again! Happy to give you a paradox. What a tale.
Your myth reminds me of De Civitate Dei. I'm not sure if you ever read it, but Augustine explains exactly why he wrote his book. When Rome was sacked for the first time in a thousand years, (Alaric and his Visigoths if memory serves.) the Romans blamed this on the Christian emperors having forbade the sacrifices to the traditional Roman pantheon who they saw as the protectors of the city.
Augustine wrote for the purpose of recasting that narrative as we would say.
Although there is much that I enjoy in your writing, as I read this I can't help but doubt that where you want to return to is somewhere that I want to go.