It’s a reference to Oscar Wilde’s Salome To be exact the extreme popularity of the Strauss opera adaptation and the subsequent dances inspired by it like maud Allen and Loie fuller Led to the media starting with the New Yorker in 1908 to dub this phenomenon salomania thus the origin of my url
Money. You know what that is, the stuff you never have enough of. Little green things with George Washington's picture that men slave for, commit crimes for, die for. It's the stuff that has caused more trouble in the world than anything else we ever invented, simply because there's too little of it.
the ooother thing about salome is how in addition to how carefully jochanaan's visibility/audibility are managed you do get that with salome too with how what is fucked up about the dance is that you're asking a soprano to be looked at for 10 minutes and NOT to be heard. like the genius of salome as an opera scenario is that it ISN'T "sing for me, salome" (with reference points in a seduction aria like mon coeur s'ouvre a ta voix or a diegetically performed song like the doll song in tales of hoffmann) and that it IS "dance for me, salome." and I think this is maybe the trouble I'm having with stagings that have salome perform some kind of resistance to herod in the dance because visuality is obviously not the real place of expression in the opera. because it's a freaking opera. the place of expression and the place of whatever kind of resistance can happen is going to coincide with when she starts singing again
An extremely funny Byron bit: this translation of the first few lines of Euripides's Medea he sent in a letter to a friend in June of 1810.
"Oh how I wish that an embargo
Had kept in port the good ship Argo!
Who, still unlaunch'd from Grecian docks,
Had never passed the Azure rocks;
But now I fear her trip will be a
Damn'd business for my Miss Medea, &c. &c."
“It sucks that I understand Time Cube and as such cannot avoid becoming a genocidal dictator,” young Paul Atreides said to himself. “For me. Moral complexity is such a burden.”
CHAPTER 2
“Heard any good slurs for poor people lately?” asked the Baron Harkonnen homosexually, knocking back another shot of orphan tears.
“The fact that I will commit unspeakable genocide and lead a holy war across the galaxy is very bad,” said young Paul Atreides. “For me.”
“I too feel morally conflicted by my role in a ruthless eugenics program,” admitted his mother, the Lady Jessica. “Does that make me a bad mother? Who can say….”
At that moment the Duke Leto Atreides returned home from a grueling day churning out propaganda to convince his troops that he was worth dying for. His regal face was lined with deep moral complexities. “It’s tough when you’re me and everybody wants to fuck you so so bad,” he said. “But that’s the price I must pay for the future well-being of my ancestral house.” He sighed, deep and melancholy. When was the last time he’d thrown around the old pigskin with his boy? Would he ever get the chance again…?
That’s fully-manual ascetic space feudalism for you, he thought libertarianally.
Paul looked around the room and was struck by the sudden and horrific realization that he was the smartest person to ever live, and that even his own loving mother and father could never hope to understand Time Cube.
But that’s a problem for another day, Paul decided, not for the last time.
CHAPTER 2
“It’s a beautiful day to be grossnasty, don’t you think?” said the Baron Harkonnen homosexually as he surveyed the ravaged landscape beyond the window. Acid rain pelted against the glass and melted the flesh off the shrieking peasants below.
“Sure. Whatever,” said Feyd-Rautha, not looking up from his sketchbook, upon which he had scrawled the words ‘I love killing and maiming’ in large bubble letters.
“A-h-h,” said the Baron. “That was a trick question: every day is a beautiful day for being grossnasty. You must learn this lesson well, nephew, if you ever hope to get anywhere in life. Piter, what are you doing over there with that huge and evil brain of yours?”
The mentat violated the Hays Code six times in the few seconds it took him to reply. “I’m calculating a mathematically perfect slur for orphans,” he said in a gay voice. “Just as you requested.”
“Finally! A productive use of your time,” said the Baron, and flipped him off. Without a word, he snatched the pen from Feyd-Rautha’s hand and wrote ‘and oppressing the populace’ beneath the words the youth had already written. “There,” he said. “Much better.”
there’s a cultural obsession with labelling all female authors as unintelligent or otherwise only capable of accidentally stumbling into brief moments of genius in their works that we need to start pushing back against
at some point we need to confront why a work is solely defined by its flaws and not its merits, or why the discomfort it causes is viewed as a betrayal of the female sex at large (derogatory) as opposed to a clever and nuanced examination of a sensitive topic, especially when literary criticism is being deployed along very gendered lines
So, back when Dracula first released in 1931, it came with an epilogue where Edward Van Sloan (who played Van Helsing) basically reassured the audience that vampires exist. They apparently removed it out of fear it’d anger religious groups. After almost a century, it’s now available
"The rules of xenia are all but absolute: hospitality must be offered and must be accepted, and once accepted a permanent tie is created.
The Homeric poems provide a detailed guide as to the proper treatment to be accorded to the xenos. When Nestor and Odysseus come to Phthia on their mission of assembling the Greek army to go to Troy (//. xi 765 ff.), they find Peleus sacrificing in the aule of his palace, and they stand quietly waiting in the prothyra. Achilles (the youngest person present) sees them and jumps to his feet; he takes them by the hand, tells them to be seated, and puts food and drink (xeinia) beside them, "as is the xenos' right". After the food and drink come the questions.
This, the proper behaviour, is supported by a counter-example:
In Od. i 103 ff. Athena, disguised as the Taphian xenos, Mentes, comes to Odysseus' palace: she too stands quietly waiting in the prothyra—and is ignored. The suitors are playing at pessoi, and drinking and eating; Telemachus is sitting among them lost in misery and thinking about his father's return. Suddenly he sees Athena, and goes straight to the prothyra to take her by the hand and escort her into the palace. On seeing her, he is angry that a xenos should stand so long at the doorway, and in receiving her as a xenos should be received, indicates the importance of conferring timē upon the new arrival (note the linen cloth placed on the chair, and the footstool), and of diplomacy (Athena is placed at a distance from the suitors to avoid further embarrassment)."
Really enjoyed your Gilgamesh essay! I am curious about Ur III - I understand that this is the first time (we know of) that stories about Gilgamesh were written down. I'd love to know more context - why did this happen in Ur III? Did kings order the writing as a symbol/demonstration of their dedication to Gilgamesh? Was there any practical benefit to preserving the story in clay? Was writing stories already a Done Thing, or a side project scribes did around their day-jobs as accountants?
I'm glad you've enjoyed it! I'm still pretty proud of it, even if I couldn't explore some matters in quite as much detail as I wanted.
You've asked some interesting questions - I had to actually look quite a lot of up to give a hopefully satisfying answer, due to length you can find it under the cut.
According to Andrew R. George, the Ur III Gilgamesh tales were most likely originally orally performed in court for entertainment, presumably - as you have guessed - due to the royal enthusiasm for the legendary king (The Babylonian Gilgamesh Epic. Introduction, Critical Edition and Cuneiform Texts, p. 7).
As it is well known, the kings of Ur in the Ur III period - and Shulgi in particular - essentially treated Gilgamesh as their personal protective deity. He’s referred to as a “brother-friend” as well as a literal brother in royal inscriptions. It’s easy to see how that could lead to an interest in composition focused on him, and in writing them down for future use (ibidem, p. 108-109).
Piotr Steinkeller singles out Shulgi in particular, since he seemingly perceived Gilgamesh as a role model (History, Texts and Art in Early Babylonia, p. 143). However, it’s important to bear in mind that the motivation behind writing down individual texts, and their intended initial audience, are up for debate and need to be established on a case by case basis. In the case of the early Gilgamesh narratives, it’s possible the audience were just courtiers who would already be familiar with the performances they were based on; they weren’t necessarily straightforward political propaganda (ibidem, p. 173-174).
The Ur III interest in Gilgamesh wasn’t just limited to platitudes in poetry. Ur-Nammu left behind a dedication to “Gilgamesh of Enegi” (presumably to be understood as the king in his underworld role, judging from Enegi’s funerary associations). Evidence from the reigns of Shulgi and Shu-Sin might point to a cult in the new royal capital of Ur, in addition to offerings made in Uruk, Nippur and Girsu (The Babylonian..., p. 124-125).
It seems Gilgamesh's rank as a god was theologically elevated, too. For most of his history, in the realm of the divine he was a minor figure. However, a brief composition from either the reign of Ur-Nammu or Shulgi places him on the uppermost level of the pantheon, in the company of Enlil, Ninlil, Sin (strictly speaking, the double name “Nanna-Suen” is used), Inanna, Enki, Nergal, Ninurta, Nuska and Ninshubur (ibidem, p. 121-122).
Why exactly Shulgi et al. were so interested in a mythical king of Uruk, though? The simplest answer is that they wanted to form a connection between their dynasty and the cultural prestige of Uruk (Steven J. Garfinkle, The Kingdom of Ur in The Oxford History of the Ancient Near East Volume II: From the End of the Third Millennium BC to the Fall of Babylon, p. 127-128).
It has been suggested that even before the Ur III period, Gilgamesh played a similar role in the royal ideology of Utu-hegal of Uruk. His reign directly preceded the rise of the dynasty of Ur, and it has been proposed that Ur-Namma and/or Shulgi was related in some way to him, either through blood or marriage. However, the only source to actually claim they were family is assumed to be a piece of propaganda, and only survives as a very late copy. It claims Shulgi was a son of a daughter of Utu-hegal (The Babylonian…, p. 109). It has also been proposed that a general (šagina) from Ur who left behind an inscription with a dedication to his “brother” Utu-hegal was in fact Ur-Namma. His name, which is not fully preserved, also starts with the element Ur-, for what it’s worth (Walther Sallaberger, Ur-Namma in RlA vol. 14, p. 424).
On the other hand, Walther Sallaberger suggests that Ur-Namma was inspired not by Utu-hegal, but rather by Gudea of Lagash. He argues that no close connection between the origins of the Ur III ruling house and their royal ideology and that of Uruk can be demonstrated, even if he claimed kinship with Ninsun (as did Gudea) and her son Gilgamesh. Some influence of Lagash on Ur during the reign of one of Gudea’s predecessors, Ur-Bau (also read as Ur-Baba or Ur-Bawu), can be detected, since he appointed his daughter Enanepada as the high priestess of Nanna in this city (Walther Sallaberger, Ur-Namma in RlA vol. 14, p. 424). As far as I’m aware, seeing the Second Dynasty of Lagash rather than Utu-hegal as a key influence on Ur-Namma is a minority position, though.
While the development of the Ur III enthusiasm for Gilgamesh might thus not be entirely clear, we do have a decent idea who was responsible for actually writing down the discussed compositions. According to Hartmut Waetzoldt, the people responsible for religious texts, hymns, as well as royal inscriptions and so on in the Ur III period weren’t regular “career scribes” who fulfilled administrative roles in everyday life, but rather specialists employed only for those purposes by the royal court, or by individual temples (Schreiber A. Im 3. Jahrtausend in RlA vol. 12, p. 261). It’s also important to bear in mind that in the royal court there were some people who could write without necessarily being writers by trade (ibidem, p. 255).
However, it seems safe to say that once a text was written down, scribes normally responsible for other tasks would be in charge of preparing copies if necessary - a dedicated “scribe of duplicates” (dubsar gabari) is only attested once (ibidem, p. 258).
As a final curiosity, it’s worth noting that the Ur III Gilgamesh ventures in the long run managed to create a tradition associating him with Ur, as opposed to Uruk. It’s represented by the first millennium BCE “letter of Gilgamesh”, which calls him “king of Ur, native of Kullab” (the latter being a district of Uruk), and by a bizarre partial rewrite of the epic postdating the Old Babylonian period in which Uruk is replaced by Ur, and on top of that Sin and Ea seemingly play the roles of Gilgamesh and Enkidu (Andrew R. George, The civilizing of Ea-Enkidu: an Unusual Tablet of the Babylonian Gilgameš Epic, p. 61).
Stephanie Lynn Budin succinctly dismantling the “Astarte is the predecessor/blueprint of Aphrodite” theory:
“In conclusion, Iron Age Aštart is in most ways identical to her Bronze Age counterpart. From the inscriptional evidence she is a goddess concerned with justice and the preservation of the royal family; she protects the dead; and, like Išhara, guards the oaths of kings, using her influence in battle to punish the wrong-doer. In many respects she is like Istar. As with her Bronze Age counterpart, only the iconography of Iron Age Aštart hints at sexual nature, being portrayed as a nude female both on terra-cotta plaques and on one inscribed bronze votive statue. The discontinuity between the literary portrayal of the goddess and her iconographic portrayal is, probably, due primarily to continuity between Ištar/Išhara and Aštart iconography in the LBA, and continuity between Bronze Age and Iron Age portrayals of this goddess. Thus, Aštart, as the western equivalent of Ištar, took part in Syrian Ištar's iconography. This rather awkward iconography then remained in continual use.
It is important to note how strong the differences are between Phoenician Aštart and Greek Aphrodite. As discussed in Chapter Two, Aphrodite is primarily a goddess of love and sex; Aštart is a goddess associated with justice and royalty; her erotic iconography is quite difficult to explain in light of her literary portrayals. To suggest that the Greeks adopted the Phoenician goddess and turned her into Aphrodite is not methodologically sound, as, apart from gender, these two goddesses had little to do with one another. Thus, for reasons of chronology and spread of cult as mentioned above, and the fact that Phoenician Aštart is simply not a good cognate for Greek Aphrodite, one must accept the fact that the Phoenician hypothesis is not viable.
This does, however, leave the question of how the two goddesses came to be associated with each other in the first place. Other than in iconography, Aštart is far closer in persona to either Athena or Hera.”
- Budin, Stephanie Lynn. The Origin of Aphrodite (p. 261). CDL Press, 2003.