Metamorphoses – Ovid

Metamorphoses
Ovid
Rome, c. 8
David Raeburn, translator, 2004

I was about three-quarters of the way through Metamorphoses when it struck me: rather than an epic poem telling a single story, it is an episodic epic. Epic in scope, certainly, from creation to Ovid’s present—and hinting at beyond. But the throughline, the connection, is not characters or plot (unless “history” is considered a plot) but rather transformations. Metamorphoses.

Ovid seems fascinated by changes, by all the possibilities of transformation of people or naiads into trees or beasts or birds. It almost seems as if there could be no birds if these transformations had not taken place. (Interestingly, there are multiple men named Cygnus that turn to swans—maybe use caution with that name choice?) Ovid also links the stories by leading one into the next; perhaps a character in one also appears in the following, or they hear the earlier story before acting in their own. Or they might narrate the next tale: Orpheus, after his failed attempt to regain Eurydice, performs an entire group of stories.

Many of the stories are familiar—Arachne, Orpheus, Narcisus, Icarus—and Ovid may be a large part of why we remember so many of them. But many are also familiar from other surviving texts: Iliad, Odyssey, Aeneid, Ajax, Medea. Ovid plays with his sources as he wishes, adapting to suit his purposes, perhaps focusing on a different aspect of the story than the source text. Here is not the abduction of Helen or the Trojan Horse, the death of Ajax or the 10 years of battle. But we do have lengthy monologues from both Ajax and Odysseus as to who is more worthy of Achilles’ armor.

Metamorphoses doesn’t merely recap its sources. It rewards knowledge of them. That is not to say that knowing the writings of Ovid’s predecessors is a prerequisite to read Metamorphoses—on the contrary (though some off-hand references may slip by). Rather, knowledge of the stories told elsewhere enriches the reading of Metamorphoses as the reader sees the same tale from different perspectives.

Although this was a reread for me, prompted by Tom’s (Wuthering Expectations) open invitation to join in his winter reading (I’m, ahem, a bit behind the times as usual), there was much I’d forgotten. Indeed, there is so much in Metamorphoses that it not only seems impossible to remember it all but to even take it all in to begin with. Yet, it is entirely readable (at least in the David Raeburn translation), going rapid pace from scene to scene, one story to the next. There is rarely any lingering. Though when there is, it is likely to be an especially violent and gory scene, often to almost a comic effect in the excess, while keeping an eye on the tragedy of the events. It is not clear to me if Ovid is parodying the literature of his day or if he just had a taste for gory excess—a taste that appears timeless for some, if horror-movie box-office receipts are any indication. Regardless, there is a certain morbid fascination, a “read behind my fingers” sense to the scenes.

I’d completely forgotten the inclusion of uniquely Roman myths and mythic history that fills the final books of the poem (as opposed to the Greek-myth-through-Roman-lens of the bulk of the epic). These are less familiar tales, perhaps retold less often. (Admittedly, the teachings of Ovid’s Pythagoras make less exciting story-telling.) And this is its legacy: Ovid retold the stories of earlier writers and later writers—Chaucer, Shakespeare, Boccaccio, and others—retold Ovid in turn. Though his popularity has ebbed and flowed over time, Ovid’s great epic seems an essential read for anyone wishing a fuller context for so many of the great writers that followed—as well as an “ah ha” moment for later stories read pre-Ovid.

Many thanks to Tom for the reread inspiration—the timing turned out perfect: The Canterbury Tales is currently on the book club docket, with stories sourced from, among other things…Metamorphoses.