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336 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 2007
Have special pity for anyone translating an ancient Greek text. So-called Greek 'colour words' have no direct English equivalents. Worse, they don't refer to colours, relating more to a texture, consistency and quality, with colour a small, often irrelevant, part of the whole meaning. The sea is the colour of wine, but so are sheep. Honey, sap and blood are all chloros which, as far as we can tell, is a sort of yellow-green.And then later:
William Ewart Gladstone (1809-1898), four times British Prime Minister under Queen Victoria, and a great classicist, was unequivocal in his criticism of Homer's colour palette: 'Although this writer has used light in various forms for his purposes with perhaps greater splendour and effect than any other poet, yet the colour adjectives and colour descriptions of the poems are not only imperfect but highly ambiguous and confused... we find that his sense of colour was not only narrow, but also vague, and wanting in description.'Then, on the next page,
Perhaps the Greeks - or Greek writers - did not consider colour very important. Seven hundred years after the composition of the Iliad, in the third century AD, Heliodoros managed to write a sixty-thousand word romance, the Aethiopica, without once using the words red, green or blue. This same lack of interest has been encountered recently; in 1971 a team of Danish anthropologists went to Polynesia to study colour perception among the islanders. But in one village, they were told, 'We don't talk much about colour here.'As if "colour" is like "fight club" - something of which one does not speak. I love that. But as someone who is just as fascinated by the different colors in the world as I am about eyeballs, I wonder how any culture could not be interested in colors.