Again, the star rating is not exactly for this kind of reading.
This is a very readable blank verse translation of a medieval epic apparently well-known in Greece, but little heard of elsewhere. It might most profitably be compared to The Song of Roland, both for its era and the exaggeration of its exploits -- whenever either hero single-handedly bests a group of his adversaries, you need to move the decimal of the body count leftward about three places for anything like realism. Tales of a time when men were men, and proved it by bashing each others' heads in with unalloyed enthusiasm.
Literally in our hero's case, as his favorite weapon was the mace, though he uses a sword now and then to cut horses in half, when he isn't ripping lions apart with his bare hands. I suspect one of Digenis Akritis's literary ancestors is Hercules, and a descendant, Superman; it's that kind of physical power-fantasy. No Wily Odysseus here. This being drawn from a cycle of tales that had their origin in popular oral recitation, this points interestingly to desires, longings, and anxieties on the parts of those early audiences.
The translator talks about assorted efforts to connect Digenis with various real people, with about as much luck as doing the same for Robin Hood or the Knights of the Round Table. The stories take place somewhere in the 800s, on the eastern borders of the Byzantine Empire (Anatolia, etc.), but weren't first written down till the 1100s or so; only copies of copies survive to try to piece together the whole.
The tale starts when our hero is no more than a gleam in his father's eye; the first two chapters are about the cross-cultural romance of his parents, apparently a Syrian lord and a Cappadocian lady, hence the moniker Digenis meaning "two-blood" for their offspring. "Border lord" might well be equated to "marcher lord", for a lot of the same reasons. The later parts also spend a lot of time on our hero's main romance, including an exciting abduction, and wedding (with two other short episodes devoted to later adulteries, just in case anyone might fear his devotion to his lady-love was unmanly.) It continues to the couple's death at a young age, he of something the translator picked, weirdly, to call "lumbago" (!) but which was probably something like tetanus, very likely all things considered, and she, in the same hour, of melodrama. (Much like Padme.)
Just chock full of little bits to make a modern reader blink. Both hero and heroine start their adventures in their very early teens -- like, twelve, a la Romeo and Juliet -- though in balance neither makes it past about twenty-five. We find "Women In Refrigerators" is far from a modern narrative invention, despite a distressing lack of refrigeration, in a scene where the hero's kidnapped mother is sought for by her brothers, among other places, in a scene of a mass murder of other female prisoners because, as their captor casually explains with a sigh, "they would not do as they were told". Or in a long list of glamorous wedding presents, probably as palatable to the original audiences as vicarious news coverage of the lives of the rich & famous is today, where is found, sandwiched between horses, hawks, pearls, hunting leopards, icons, and silks, "His wife's first brother gave him ten young men / Castrated, handsome, and with lovely hair / All clad in Persian garments made of silk / With fine gold sleeves that came up to their necks."
We never do find out what happens to these guys, nor any of the many other nameless companions, soldiers, bandits, servants, and slaves called up and summarily disposed of by the narrative like security personnel on the Enterprise.
Fascinating stuff on so many levels.
Ta, L.