I once got into a heated discussion with science-fiction writer Steven Barnes about whether or not it was appropriate to have women in the armed forces assume combat duties (which was beginning to happen at that time). The topic rated its own panel discussion at the convention, and it all started when Barnes declared that âany civilization that puts its baby-makers on the front lines is not going to survive.â I then pointed out that âbaby-makersâ have been on the front lines of virtually every conflict throughout history â they just weren't allowed to carry weapons.
I do hope Mr. Barnes has read (or will read) Pat Barker's âThe Silence of the Girls', which centers around the ending days of the Trojan War but is told mostly from the viewpoint of a Trojan woman, captured when her city fell and awarded as a prize of war to Achilles.
Briseis was the daughter of one king and the wife of another, both orphaned and widowed when her city fell to the Greeks. Her rank, youth, and (according to legend) beauty made her a worthy trophy for the vain and high-tempered Achilles. Equally desirable was Chriseis, the young girl who was studying as an Apollonian priestess under the ministrations of her father, a priest, and who was awarded to Agamemnon. (Sorry about the Briseis/Chriseis name similarity. Blame it on Homer.) Chriseis' father, having survived his city's fall, comes to ransom back his daughter, and when the offer is refused a horrible plague strikes the camp. Agamemnon finally agrees to give the girl back, and sure enough the plague ceases. Only now he has no bed-warmer, and decides he is entitled by his kingly rank to take Briseis from Achilles. Remember back up there where we said âvain and high-temperedâ? He does not take this insult well, and there is a falling-out that nearly changes the course of the war.
Readers familiar with the tale know where this is all going. Readers who have never been exposed to the world's first grand soap opera don't really need all the gory details to become intrigued by this character-driven novel.
Briseis deals with her captivity and sexual subjugation with a calm, remote manner. As distasteful as the whole thing is, it's what happened to the women of vanquished Trojans and she doesn't see much point in fussing about it. She also realizes that being the chattel of a powerful man is preferable to being an enslaved woman with no specific owner, and she does nothing to upset that particular apple cart. What she chafes under is simply the fact of slavery.
For a novel with the reality of rape at its core, âThe Silence of the Girls' is remarkably tame. There are no detailed descriptions of any specific sex act, and Achilles' relationship with Patroclus (long presumed to be his lover as well as his friend) is acknowledged in passing. Among the captive women there is a practical, matter-of-fact attitude and even an occasional joke about how to best accommodate the preferences of their owners and how to use their sexuality to better their social standing among the captive population. When it comes to the dialogue among warriors and the drinking songs of the troops, the language get considerably rougher. Who knew bronze-age Greeks had such an affinity for the F-bomb?
Which brings up one of the few quibbles the reader might have with the book. The dialogue is sometimes jarringly contemporary. Lines like âare you all right, mate?â and âyou couldn't bloody well wait for itâ seem incongruous coming from a 1250 B.C. mouth. Yet what is an author to do? Too many times, when writing about this saga, authors have used mock-Shakespearean language or stilted, contraction-less patois that strips all personality, all reality, from the characters. In the end, one must simply acknowledge that Barker is a 21st-Century British author who has chosen to write the dialogue in 21st-Century British vernacular.
For this reader, that was overbalanced by the ways in which Barker has approached the brawling, petulant, meddling gods of the era.
While Briseis remains skeptical of the gods' powers, she nonetheless doesn't challenge them directly. When plague strikes the camp, she has long observed the increase in the rat population that preceded it. When Achilles' mother, Thetis, is referred to as a sea goddess, she withholds judgement. But when the viewpoint shifts to Achilles, his belief in the gods' powers is undeniable. The narration presents supernatural visitations from Thetis as perfectly normal occurrences, and the magical armor she brings him for the final battle of the war is as real to Achilles as the weapons from which it protects him.
Overall, this is a thought-provoking work that takes on the horrors of war as it impacts victor and vanquished, warrior and bystander alike.
I do hope Mr. Barnes has read (or will read) Pat Barker's âThe Silence of the Girls', which centers around the ending days of the Trojan War but is told mostly from the viewpoint of a Trojan woman, captured when her city fell and awarded as a prize of war to Achilles.
Briseis was the daughter of one king and the wife of another, both orphaned and widowed when her city fell to the Greeks. Her rank, youth, and (according to legend) beauty made her a worthy trophy for the vain and high-tempered Achilles. Equally desirable was Chriseis, the young girl who was studying as an Apollonian priestess under the ministrations of her father, a priest, and who was awarded to Agamemnon. (Sorry about the Briseis/Chriseis name similarity. Blame it on Homer.) Chriseis' father, having survived his city's fall, comes to ransom back his daughter, and when the offer is refused a horrible plague strikes the camp. Agamemnon finally agrees to give the girl back, and sure enough the plague ceases. Only now he has no bed-warmer, and decides he is entitled by his kingly rank to take Briseis from Achilles. Remember back up there where we said âvain and high-temperedâ? He does not take this insult well, and there is a falling-out that nearly changes the course of the war.
Readers familiar with the tale know where this is all going. Readers who have never been exposed to the world's first grand soap opera don't really need all the gory details to become intrigued by this character-driven novel.
Briseis deals with her captivity and sexual subjugation with a calm, remote manner. As distasteful as the whole thing is, it's what happened to the women of vanquished Trojans and she doesn't see much point in fussing about it. She also realizes that being the chattel of a powerful man is preferable to being an enslaved woman with no specific owner, and she does nothing to upset that particular apple cart. What she chafes under is simply the fact of slavery.
For a novel with the reality of rape at its core, âThe Silence of the Girls' is remarkably tame. There are no detailed descriptions of any specific sex act, and Achilles' relationship with Patroclus (long presumed to be his lover as well as his friend) is acknowledged in passing. Among the captive women there is a practical, matter-of-fact attitude and even an occasional joke about how to best accommodate the preferences of their owners and how to use their sexuality to better their social standing among the captive population. When it comes to the dialogue among warriors and the drinking songs of the troops, the language get considerably rougher. Who knew bronze-age Greeks had such an affinity for the F-bomb?
Which brings up one of the few quibbles the reader might have with the book. The dialogue is sometimes jarringly contemporary. Lines like âare you all right, mate?â and âyou couldn't bloody well wait for itâ seem incongruous coming from a 1250 B.C. mouth. Yet what is an author to do? Too many times, when writing about this saga, authors have used mock-Shakespearean language or stilted, contraction-less patois that strips all personality, all reality, from the characters. In the end, one must simply acknowledge that Barker is a 21st-Century British author who has chosen to write the dialogue in 21st-Century British vernacular.
For this reader, that was overbalanced by the ways in which Barker has approached the brawling, petulant, meddling gods of the era.
While Briseis remains skeptical of the gods' powers, she nonetheless doesn't challenge them directly. When plague strikes the camp, she has long observed the increase in the rat population that preceded it. When Achilles' mother, Thetis, is referred to as a sea goddess, she withholds judgement. But when the viewpoint shifts to Achilles, his belief in the gods' powers is undeniable. The narration presents supernatural visitations from Thetis as perfectly normal occurrences, and the magical armor she brings him for the final battle of the war is as real to Achilles as the weapons from which it protects him.
Overall, this is a thought-provoking work that takes on the horrors of war as it impacts victor and vanquished, warrior and bystander alike.
