With ‘Argo’, Mark Knowles has accomplished a feat that, before having cracked the spine of this volume, I hardly believed to be possible—breathing dazzling and vivid life into the mytho-historical world of the LH IIIB Aegean, Knowles has convinced me that I actually like Jason.
I’ve been on an ancient historical fiction/fantasy kick recently (having only recently finished grad school, following my time with the inconceivably dense and cruelly innumerous volumes that comprised the reading list for my comprehensive exams, I’ve considered these as purely fun, light beach reads for the summer—and I have so far come across a number of such epic/mythological retellings that didn’t at all suit my tastes), and picked up a copy of ‘Argo’ on a whim from a local bookstore. Having very little context for the reception and reviews of ‘Argo’ (I must admit, I expected a far higher Goodreads score! Major warning for this trilogy—the journeys to and from Colchis are separated by volume. ‘Argo’, the first entry, ends on somewhat of a cliffhanger, but I appreciated this choice, as I was ravenously hungry for more of Knowles’ work and glad to know a second volume had already been published), I had no serious expectations for this book, but felt that, had I any personal quibbles against the characterization of mythical personages, Jason would be the very last figure about whose portrayal I would have concerns. I do not subscribe to the Nietzschean distaste for Euripides, and have always been 100% team Medea.
I was, therefore, quite delightfully surprised by how riveted I was by Knowles’ narrative, how effectively his knowledge of Aegean Bronze Age material culture, seamlessly interwoven, was transmitted through his descriptions of costuming, customs, architecture, etc., and, most of all, how sympathetically and carefully he crafted his version of Jason.
I absolutely could not put this book down, and find it interesting how dichotomous the ‘Argo’ reviews left by my fellow readers are. I suppose this comes down to what readers are hoping for with books of this genre—I can imagine that the omission of the gods must have been a turn-off for some. I read Jennifer Saint's 'Ariadne’, to name a contrasting example, a few days ago, and, while I was glad I finished it (I did find some value in that read, I think), my experience with her novel bordered very closely on ‘hate reading’ (okay, silly point towards which to have such a vehemently ill reaction, but TWO coin metaphors?? In the Late Bronze Age? Please, why couldn't the moon and Cinyras' face shine like gold, like signet rings, like saffron?? Or like nearly anything besides a coin? I have no doubt in my mind that our earliest extant Lydian coin, dating to ca. 610—600, was not the first ever minted, but, even though Saint’s narrative is ripe with divine presence and intervention, this utterly transported me from her narrative... and such an easy fix!).
Saint's 'Ariadne', perplexingly, has a much higher average Goodreads score than does 'Argo', and I know that this largely is a matter of personal taste. In any event, with each chapter of ‘Argo’, I felt more intimately tied to the theatergoers of a Greece long past, as I, like them, though I know well the plot and cast of characters of the Argonautika, anxiously awaited the emergence of each new obstacle set against the motley crew on their voyage towards the Black Sea.
At first, I wasn’t sure how to feel about Knowles’ attempt to vaguely ‘historicize’ his retelling of Jason’s epic, having omitted from the manuscript tradition much of the divine aspect of the Argo narrative. I was strangely taken aback, almost offended, by the assertion that both of the Dioskouroi were wholly mortal. Still, this choice won me over quickly, and I found myself more intrigued by Knowles’ semi-realism, excited to read how he reviewed the archaeological record to illustrate plausible BA scenarios that might have led to later Archaic sympotic myth-making, than I might have been to read demigod heroes.
Here are just a few of my favorite details of BA ‘realism’ that permeate Knowles’ narrative (though there are far too many to name in this review, and I’ve probably forgotten a bunch already!!):
- The Prologue (!!): the introduction to Pelias and, with it, to the administrative function of BA tablets, to the working system of tribute (and of the tribute record), and to the ‘palatial complex’ at Iolkos (really sets the stage!)
- Throughout: the many descriptions of sailing (Knowles’ Argo may not look exactly like the ships seen in the ‘Flotilla fresco’ from Room V of the West House at Akrotiri, but it feels authentically BA, and the discomfort of the crew at the oars is palpable throughout), of architecture (these are lovely—not overly technical, but descriptions of cyclopean masonry, lintels, and light wells draw the reader into a satisfyingly prehistoric age), and of clothing (beautifully varied by region, and developed with much care as to the costuming of figures rendered in Helladic, Cycladic, and Minoan fresco)
- Throughout: the depiction of xenia, and of Aethalides’ diplomatic role on the Argo’s voyage (issues of language, translation, and cultural communication/miscommunication are dealt with believably, compel forward the plot, and drive home the significance of guest friendship in this historical setting)
- Part III, Ch. XI: Dascylius’ Herodotean description of the customs of the Tibareni (feels like a loose quote of Hdt. 2.35-36, describing Egyptian mores as directly antithetical to those of Greece)