Rereading Mary Renault's trilogy of Alexander. Three novels, Fire from Heaven, The Persian boy, and Funeral games, make up this trilogy about the "greatest of the Greeks". Such fierce times, little quarter given, a culture that thrived on endless squabble. This is my battered old copy that I bought at the library booksale. I love Renault's writing; like Le Carre, she never compromises herself for the sake of some desire for popularity, and I think, understood the heroic ethos of ancient Greece better than any other writer. But don't read her novels if you are afraid of homosexuality. There is little explicit sexual writing, but she approaches the subject as the Greeks themselves would, as a natural fact, hardly worth reporting.
I was going to go to an outdoor performance of Twelfth Night this evening, but decided to stay home with Alexander instead. I can always watch Twelfth night on youTube, the lovely Trevor Nunn version.
"What country, friends, is this?
"It is Illyria, Lady."
"What shall I do, in Illyria?"
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