This
is the first part of a trilogy of historical fiction books on the life of
Alexander the Great. It was originally
written in Italian by Italian author and classics professor Valerio Massimo
Manfredi in 1998, but it enjoyed such success that it was translated into
English in 2001.
Why
I Read This Book
As
with most books I read out here in Southeast Asia, the real reason I read it is because the selection is limited, and
I happened to stumble upon this book in a used bookstore. But there are of course a couple additional
reasons why I was predisposed to pick up this book after stumbling upon it.
1).
I’m interested in ancient history, and
2).
I like historical fiction
Although
I haven’t read a lot on the subject recently, in my teenage years, I was very interested in ancient history.
Although most of what I read back then was about the ancient Romans, and
I’m considerably less versed on the history of Ancient Greece. I was interested in Ancient Greece, but I
just never got around to reading much about it.
Alexander
the Great in particular is someone I know nothing about except for that very
general knowledge we all pick up in grade school.
And
yet, he is someone I’ve always been meaning to read more about. In this day and age of democratic values,
admiration for ego-mad bloodthirsty conquerors like Alexander the Great is
distinctly out of style. And yet, love
him or hate him, he’s one of the most important figures in world history. He is responsible for the spread of Greek
language and culture all across the Mediterranean. (For example he is the reason, for example,
that the New Testament was written in Greek instead of Hebrew, and
that the Greek princess Cleopatra was on the Egyptian throne.)
And
of course, the story of a Western army going so far into the mysterious East is
also fascinating as well. To me (like
most Americans) the Persian Empire and the city of Babylon are almost semi-mythical lands I’m
only vaguely familiar with from the Bible.
(They appear in the Old Testament only as mysterious Eastern Empires
that come into Palestine
bringing God’s wrath.) It’s fascinating
to think of Alexander the Great leading his Greek armies through these lands
and all the way to India!
So,
I was probably long overdue to read something about Alexander the Great.
And,
given my love for historical fiction, this struck me as the best way to do it.
Not
everyone likes historical fiction of course.
Many of my friends who like fiction can’t be bothered with all the
tedious history.
And
many of my friends who like history hate having to read through the
fiction. A common complaint I hear is: “It
bothers me not knowing which parts are true and which parts are made up. If I’m going to read something about history,
I’d rather just read a straight history book.”
I
had one friend, a fellow history buff, ask me why I prefer reading historical
fiction instead of straight history. I
struggled to logically justify it. I
suppose, like all of our likes and dislikes, its based on some sort of
gut-level attraction rather than a logical decision. “I don’t know,” I answered. “I guess because I like history, but I like
history best when it’s told as a story.
And if possible, I prefer it when the author uses the skills of a
novelist to bring the story to life.”
(Also, as I noted in a previous post, if my brain gets
involved in a story, it tends to remember what it learns in historical fiction
much better than straight history.)
Not
everyone feels the same way about this, and that’s okay. But there are a lot of other people who, like
me, enjoy historical fiction for one reason or another, and those of us who
like this thing can recommend books to each other.
The
Review
Such is my
love for the genre that I enjoy reading historical fiction even when it is
poorly written. (Sure, I’ll sometimes
complain in my book reviews about how bad the writing is (see here and here), but despite all my complaining, I still actually enjoyed
those books.)
This
book is a prime example of bad writing.
I enjoyed it anyway, but the writing style is just appalling bad.
Is
this the fault of the author or the translator?
I don’t know. But it’s bad.
I’ll
quote some examples to illustrate this.
Below is an example of how clumsily the plot exposition is put into the
dialogue:
[King
Philip] had taken possession of almost
all the cities the Greeks had founded on his coasts: Amphipolis, Methone, and Potidaea, participating in
the internecine struggles that tormented the Hellenic peninsula.
Parmenion had tried to warn Philip
of the danger of this policy and one day, during a council of war the King had
called in the palace armoury, he decided to speak up:
“You have built a powerful, united
realm, Sire, and you have given the Macedonians pride in their nation; why do
you seek now to become involved in the Greeks’ internal struggles?”
“Parmenion is right,” said
Antipater. “Their conflicts make no
sense. They’re all fighting against one
another. Yesterday’s allies fight each
other tooth and nail today and whoever loses forms an alliance with his worst
enemy simply to spite the victor.”
“What you say is true,” admitted
Philip, “but the Greeks have everything we lack: art, philosophy, poetry,
drama, medicine, music, architecture, and above all else—political science, the
art of government.”
“You are a king,” objected
Parmenion, “you have no need of science.
It is enough for you to give orders and you are obeyed.”
“For as long as I have the strength,”
said Philip. “For as long as no one
slips a knife between my ribs.”
Parmenion did not reply. He well knew that no Macedonian king had ever
died of natural causes. It was Antipater
who broke the silence that had become as heavy as lead.
“If you are determined to put your
hand into the lion’s mouth then there’s nothing I can say to change your mind,
but I would advise you to act in the only way that has any chance of success.”
“And that would be?”
“There is only one force in Greece
stronger than all others, only one voice that can impose silence…”
“The sanctuary of Apollo at Delphi,” said the King.
“Or rather, its priests and the
council that governs them.”
“I know,” said Philip in
agreement. “Whoever controls the
sanctuary controls much of Greek politics.
These are difficult times, however, for the council: they have declared
a sacred war against the Phocaeans, accusing them of having farmed lands that belong
to Apollo, but the Phocaeans have taken them by surprise and appropriated the
temple treasure, using the money to pay for thousands and thousands of
mercenaries. Macedonia is the only power that
can change the outcome of this conflict.” (p.
24-25).
Is
that pretty clumsy or what?
One
of the things writers are supposed to try to avoid doing is put too much
exposition directly in the dialogue. It
sounds artificial (not like people actually talk) and it’s especially
artificial when the characters are telling each other things that everyone in
the room already know anyway—as in the above example.
In
historical fiction, in which there is a lot of historical backstory the
audience needs to know, it’s definitely a strong temptation for writers to
regress to this, but the above example is a particularly clumsy way of doing
it.
The
dialogue also sounds very artificial.
Valerio Massimo Manfredi (or possibly his translator) appears to have no
idea how people actually talk. Take, for
example, this section of Ptolemy talking to the young child prince
Alexander.
Ptolemy, almost fourteen, was quite stocky
and well developed for his age. The
first spots were appearing on his face together with a few wiry hairs, and he
had funny features dominated by a large nose and hair that was always
ruffled. His companions poked fun at
him, saying that he’d started growing nose-first, and this upset him no
end. He would lift up his tunic to show
off other protuberances that were growing no less rapidly than his nose.
Apart from these moments of excess
in his high spirits, Ptolemy was a good boy, very fond of reading and
writing. One day he let Alexander come
to his room and showed him his books. He
had at least twenty of them.
“So many!” exclaimed the Prince as
he went to touch them.
“Stop right there!” said Ptolemy as
he blocked him. “They’re delicate
objects: papyrus is fragile and it disintegrates easily; one has to know the
right way to unroll and roll them. They
have to be kept in a well-ventilated and dray place with a mousetrap nearby
because mice love papyrus and if they get hold of the scrolls—that’s the end of
that. They can polish off two books of
the Iliad or a tragedy by Sophocles in one night. Wait just a moment and I’ll get one for you.” He took out a scroll with a small red card.
“There. You see?
This is a comedy by Aristophanes.
It’s called Lisistrata and it’s my favourite. It tells
of an occasion when the women of Athens and Sparta were truly fed up
with all the wars that kept their menfolk away from home and they were all
desperate for….” he stopped when he saw Alexander’s face gaping. “Well, let’s skip that, you’re too young for
these things. I’ll tell you all about it
some other time, all right?”
“What’s a comedy?” asked Alexander.
“Haven’t you ever been to the
theatre?” asked Ptolemy shocked.
“Children aren’t allowed. But I know that it’s like listening to a
story, only there are real men with masks on their faces and they pretend to be
Hercules or Theseus. Some of them even
pretend to be women.”
“More or less,” replied
Ptolemy. “Tell me, what are your teacher’s
lessons about?”
“I can add and subtract, I know the
geometrical figures and I can distinguish the Great Bear from the Little Bear
in the heavens as well as more than twenty other constellations. And then I can read and write and I’ve read
Aesop’s fables.”
“Mmmm….” observed Ptolemy, carefully
putting the scroll back in its place. “Kids’
stuff.”
“And then I know the entire list of
my ancestors, both on my father’s side and on my mother’s side. I am a descendant of Hercules and of
Achilles; did you know that?”
“And who were Hercules and Achilles?”
“Hercules was the strongest hero in the
world and he carried out twelve labours.
Shall I tell you about them? The
Nemean lion, the Hind of Cery….Ceryne…” The boy couldn’t quite get his tongue
round it.
“I see, I see. You’re very good. But if you like I can read you some of the
beautiful things I have here in my study …. what do you think? And now, why don’t you run along and
play? Did you know there’s a boy who’s
just arrived here in Pella
and who’s just your age?” (p. 36-37)
Right….Show
me any kids who actually talk like this! The writing is so bad it’s embarrassing.
Also,
in his author’s notes (contained in the third volume), Valerio Massimo Manfredi
writes, “I have made use of a language
that is, overall, relatively modern—because the Hellenistic world was ‘modern’
in many ways.” Fair enough. There’s no sense in writing the dialogue of
the ancient Greeks like they were speaking Shakespearian English. But it is possible to go a little bit too
modern sometimes. If the ancient Greeks
come off using too much modern slang that will jar the reader even more, and
the British translator has occasionally opted for a modern British dialect that
will jar American readers. For example,
on page 284, when Alexander is surprised to meet his friends out in the
wilderness:
The last echo faded away over the icebound
lake and Alexander looked at the six men on horseback, motionless in the snow,
and his eyes filled with tears. Then he
turned towards Hephaestion and shook his head in amazement. “By Zeus!” he said. “It’s my lads!”
Really,
who thinks it’s a good idea to mix an archaic Greek expression like “By Zeus” with a modern British expression like “my lads”? Pick a style and stay with it!
…and
yet, for all that, in spite of all my complaints, I have to say I enjoyed this
book. And I plan to continue on to the
next book in the trilogy: The Sands of
Ammon.
What
can I say? I guess I’m just a sucker for
historical fiction. If the author knows
his stuff (and it seems like Valerio Massimo Manfredi does—being a classics
professor), I’m happy to stick with him.
The bad writing is forgiven because of the pleasure I get from learning
history in the form of a novel.
Other
Notes
* There are a lot of friends who follow Alexander around. I suspect they will become more important as
the trilogy progresses, but for now they are just a lot of names I have to keep
track of. Perdiccas, Lysimachus,
Seleucus, Leonnatus, Philatos, Ptolemy, Craterus, Hephastion, Eumenes,
Callisthenese, et cetera. They were all
briefly given some defining characteristic when Valerio Massimo Manfredi first
introduced them, but then they dropped out of the narrative for a while and
when they re-appeared I had completely forgotten who was who. (As I mentioned in another review, my Anglophile brain has a hard time keeping track of strange Greek names under the best of circumstances, but it doesn’t help that Valerio Massimo
Manfredi’s bland writing doesn’t make his supporting characters very
memorable.)
* There are 4 maps at the beginning of the
book—3 maps of Alexander’s conquests, and one map of ancient Greece. (For this first book in the trilogy, only the
map of ancient Greece
is of any use to the reader, but the publishers just got lazy and printed the
same set of maps for all 3 books.)
Even
just within ancient Greece,
the politics between all the different city-states is complex, and I could have
used several maps inserted throughout the book instead of just the one at the
beginning. But I’m wishing for the moon
here, because that’s way beyond the budget of a small cheap paperback like
this.
Somewhat
more unforgiveable is the fact many of the ancient Greek cities referenced in
the book are left out of the map. This
caused me a lot of frustration. As I was
reading, I kept going back to the map at the beginning of the book to try to
figure out where all these cities were, only to eventually discover that about
half the cities mentioned in the book don’t even appear on the map at the
beginning.
* Game of Thrones author George R.R. Martin has read this book, and
given it a mostly positive review on his website [LINK HERE]. (It appears George R.R. Martin has stolen my
idea about blogging his reading material).
George
R.R. Martin, however, refers to another historical fiction book about Alexander
the Great by Mary Renault, which he seems to think is the gold standard for any
historical fiction about Alexander the Great.
In
fact, since I’ve begun researching this book, I’ve encountered quite a few
other bloggers and commentators who have praised Mary Renault’s trilogy on
Alexander the Great over this one. It
could well be that I’m reading the wrong trilogy. (When I’m back in the States in a few days, I
might try to see if I can track down Mary Renault’s books.)
How
Historically Accurate Is This Book?
My usual
process when I read historical fiction is to first become interested in
characters and their stories through the magic of the novel, and then go back
later and try to research research the real histories.
I
wanted to find an actual biography of Alexander the Great to complement this historical
novel but, alas, despite searching through used bookstores here in Phnom Penh I couldn’t find
anything. (I may try to track down
something next week when I’m back in the states.) But for the moment, all I’m left with is Wikipedia.
The
information on Wikipedia contradicts the information in this historical novel
on several points.
So
which one is right? Not being an expert,
I have no idea. Historical fiction is
traditionally viewed as being allowed to take some liberties with the facts, so
it’s possible Valerio Massimo Manfredi might be fudging some of the
details. But on the other hand, I know
Wikipedia isn’t always a reliable source either. (I searched the Internet trying to find any
sort of expert commentary on the historical accuracy of Alexander: Child of a Dream, but I couldn’t anything.) So for the purposes of this blog post, I’ll
just simply note down the differences without comment*, and if someone more
knowledgeable than me ever reads this, maybe they could set me straight on some
of this.
When Alexander was ten years old, a trader from
Thessaly brought Philip a horse, which he offered to sell for thirteen
talents.
The horse refused to be mounted and Philip ordered it away. Alexander
however, detecting the horse's fear of its own shadow, asked to tame the
horse, which he eventually managed.
[13]
Plutarch stated that Philip, overjoyed at this display of courage and
ambition, kissed his son tearfully, declaring: "My boy, you must find a
kingdom big enough for your ambitions. Macedon is too small for you",
and bought the horse for him.
[18] Alexander named it
Bucephalas, meaning "ox-head". Bucephalas carried Alexander as far as
India. When the animal died (due to old age, according to Plutarch, at age thirty), Alexander named a city after him,
Bucephala.
[11][19]
In
this book, Alexander is older when presented with Bucephalas, and although
Alexander still performs the miraculous act of taming the wild horse, King
Philip had already bought the horse with the intention of giving it to
Alexander even before Alexander tamed it.
Alexander’s
campaigns against the Thracian Maedi, and Southren Thrace and the Illyrians, as described in Wikipedia, are completely absent from this book
At age 16, Alexander's education under Aristotle ended. Philip waged war against Byzantion, leaving Alexander in charge as regent and heir apparent.[13] During Philip's absence, the Thracian Maedi
revolted against Macedonia. Alexander responded quickly, driving them
from their territory. He colonized it with Greeks, and founded a city
named Alexandropolis.[27]
Upon Philip's return, he dispatched Alexander with a small force to subdue revolts in southern Thrace. Campaigning against the Greek city of Perinthus, Alexander is reported to have saved his father's life. Meanwhile, the city of Amphissa began to work lands that were sacred to Apollo near Delphi,
a sacrilege that gave Philip the opportunity to further intervene in
Greek affairs. Still occupied in Thrace, he ordered Alexander to muster
an army for a campaign in Greece. Concerned that other Greek states
might intervene, Alexander made it look as though he was preparing to
attack Illyria instead. During this turmoil, the Illyrians invaded
Macedonia, only to be repelled by Alexander.[30]
Alexander fled Macedon with his mother, dropping her off with her brother, King
Alexander I of Epirus in
Dodona, capital of the
Molossians.
[44] He continued to Illyria,
[44] where he sought refuge with the Illyrian King and was treated as a guest, despite having defeated them in battle a few years
In
Manfredi’s book, once again the Illyrian King is completely absent.
However, it appears Philip never intended to disown his politically and militarily trained son.
[44] Accordingly, Alexander returned to Macedon after six months due to the efforts of a family friend,
Demaratus, who mediated between the two parties.
[45][46]
In
Manfredi’s book, it was Eumenes who did the mediation.
In the following year, the Persian
satrap (governor) of
Caria,
Pixodarus, offered his eldest daughter to Alexander's half-brother,
Philip Arrhidaeus.
[44] Olympias and several of Alexander's friends suggested this showed Philip intended to make Arrhidaeus his heir.
[44] Alexander reacted by sending an actor,
Thessalus
of Corinth, to tell Pixodarus that he should not offer his daughter's
hand to an illegitimate son, but instead to Alexander. When Philip heard
of this, he stopped the negotiations and scolded Alexander for wishing
to marry the daughter of a Carian, explaining that he wanted a better
bride for him.
[44] Philip exiled four of Alexander's friends,
Harpalus,
Nearchus, Ptolemy and
Erigyius, and had the Corinthians bring Thessalus to him in chains.
[42][47][48]
The
marriage proposal fiasco is in Manfredi’s book, but nothing about Alexander’s
friends being exiled, or Thessalus in chains.
In 336 BC, while at Aegae attending the wedding of his daughter Cleopatra to Olympias's brother, Alexander I of Epirus, Philip was assassinated by the captain of his bodyguards, Pausanias.vi[›] As Pausanias tried to escape, he tripped over a vine and was killed by his pursuers, including two of Alexander's companions, Perdiccas and Leonnatus. Alexander was proclaimed king by the nobles and army at the age of 20.[49][50][51]
In
Manfredi’s book, there is nothing about Alexander’s companions being among
those who killed Pausanias.
Alexander began his reign by eliminating potential rivals to the throne. He had his cousin, the former
Amyntas IV, executed.
[52] He also had two Macedonian princes from the region of
Lyncestis killed, but spared a third,
Alexander Lyncestes.
Olympias had Cleopatra Eurydice and Europa, her daughter by Philip,
burned alive. When Alexander learned about this, he was furious.
Alexander also ordered the murder of Attalus,
[52] who was in command of the advance guard of the army in Asia Minor and Cleopatra's uncle.
[53]
This
is completely different in Manfredi’s book.
In Manfredi’s version, Alexander simply relieves Attalus of command, and
doesn’t order his murder. Instead
Attalus ends up being killed by his own troops when he tries to resist being
relieved of command. In Manfredi’s
version, Alexander saves Eurydice from his mother, but Eurydice gave up on life
and died from hunger. Also in Manfredi’s
version, Alexander explicitly orders that his cousin princes not be killed, but
one dies anyway in a hunting accident.
Alexander stopped at Thermopylae, where he was recognized as the leader of the Amphictyonic League before heading south to Corinth. Athens sued for peace and Alexander pardoned the rebels. The famous encounter between Alexander and Diogenes the Cynic
occurred during Alexander's stay in Corinth. When Alexander asked
Diogenes what he could do for him, the philosopher disdainfully asked
Alexander to stand a little to the side, as he was blocking the
sunlight.[59]
This reply apparently delighted Alexander, who is reported to have said
"But verily, if I were not Alexander, I would like to be Diogenes."[60]
In
Manfredi’s version, this conversation between Alexander and Diogenes takes
place earlier, before the death of Philip II.
Ancient works tend to treat the destruction of Thebes as an excess and
one of the few misdeeds by Alexander. Although Thebes had traditionally
been antagonistic to whichever state led the Greek world, siding with
Persians when they invaded against the Athenian-Spartan alliance, siding
with Sparta when Athens seemed omnipotent, and famously derailing the
Spartan invasion of Persia by Agesilaus. Alexander's father Philip had
been raised in Thebes, albeit as a hostage, and had learnt much of the
art of war from
Pelopidas.
Philip had honoured this fact, always seeking alliance with the
Boeotians, even in the lead up to Chaeronea. Thebes was also perceived
as the most ancient of Greek cities with a history of over 1,000 years.
Plutarch relates that during his later conquests, whenever Alexander
came across a former Theban, he would attempt to redress his destruction
of Thebes with favours to that individual.
In
Manfredi’s book, Alexander actually doesn’t want to destroy Thebes, but he was outvoted by the council of
the League (a league of Greek cities Alexander was the head of), and Alexander
had no choice to go along with it.
Wikipedia
(and everything else I’ve found online about the destruction of Thebes) lays the blame for this clearly on Alexander and
says nothing about him being opposed to the destruction of Thebes or being outvoted on the council
So,
what to make of all of this? Assuming
Wikipedia is correct (and I know that’s a big assumption) some of these
differences are admittedly minor and nitpicky—stuff slightly being changed
around for dramatic purposes, et cetera.
But there also does seem to be a pattern of Manfredi altering history to
show Alexander as being kinder and gentler than he was in real life.
I
understand that in a historical novel, you have to keep your main character
somewhat sympathetic, or your audience will lose sympathy, and hence lose
interest. And I also understand the
tendency of all biographers to fall in love with their subject. But, look, no one was ever going to confuse
Alexander the Great for Gandhi. This was
a man who sacrificed the lives of thousands to serve his ego and his desire for
glory. It’s not inconceivable that he
could have had a ruthless streak in him, and might have killed off a few of his
rivals.
* Since
Wikipedia entries are in a constant state of flux due to constant editing and
revising, I should state that these quotes only represent Wikipedia as of this
writing.
Other
Reasons to Find the Story of Alexander the Great Fascinating
Okay, one
last addendum here. (This probably
should go under the “Why I Read this Book” section of the review, but I’m
burying it down here to avoid cluttering up the beginning.)
Alexander
the Great, who got as far as India with his armies, represents a rare case of a
figure influential in both Western and Eastern history. He occurs in many middle-Eastern religions:
he is referenced in the book of Maccabees, the book of Daniel, and apparently
in the Koran (W).
In
the book A History of Malaysia, the authors mention that the Malay kings trace their royal lineage
back to Alexander the Great. (It’s
almost certainly not true, but it’s fascinating that a connection with the
Greek conqueror would be claimed this far East.)
Also,
there appears to be a Cambodian connection to Alexander the Great’s
conquests.
In
Cambodia,
a derogatory word for Vietnamese is “Youn”.
(This word, and which Cambodian politicians are guilty of using it, pops
up in the papers every time there is any sort of racial tension here in
Cambodia, so it gets in the papers a lot.)
Theories on where the word came from are varied, but one theory is
that it comes from India, and was original “Ion” because it was the word the
Indians used to describe Alexander the Great’s Ionian Greek soldiers. It then became a generic word for foreigner, and
passed into the Cambodian language during the period when Cambodia was still under the influence of India. (See for example this article HERE suggesting this theory.)
All
of these are more reasons I wanted to read more about Alexander the Great, and
was predisposed to buy this book when I saw it in the bookstore.
