Forms of Astonishment: Greek Myths of Metamorphosis. By RICHARD BUXTON.
Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 2009. Pp. xvi + 281. Cloth,
$100.00. ISBN 978–0–19–924549–9.
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CJ Online 2010.06.05
Although numerous scholars have written on metamorphosis, it seems fair to
say that no previous author has come to the subject with such expertise in
Greek myth, religion and thought as Richard Buxton. This is a learned book,
but Buxton covers difficult subjects easily; he is up-to-date on the major
bibliography, but he does not often let scholarly arguments get in the way
of his discussion. This approach is appropriate, because metamorphosis is a
topic that does not appeal only to classicists, and Buxton’s book will be
readily accessible to non-specialists: little Greek is quoted, and most
Greek words appear in transliterated form. All non-English quotations are
translated.
Forms of Astonishment shows how much is at stake in any discussion of
metamorphosis myths, because they are inextricably bound up with weighty
matters such as Greek religion, Greek cult, and Greek views of past and
present and the world around them. As the first half of the book shows,
these myths found their way into the work of a wide range of authors. But
Buxton’s book differs from other approaches to the topic by being an
attempt neither to uncover what metamorphosis “means” in any grand,
cultural sense, nor to make sweeping statements about “the Greeks”
generally; he also refuses to try to explain the “original meaning” of
such myths. A strength of the book is its focus on the variety of views of
such myths; we should assume neither that all Greeks believed these stories
nor that none of them did. The initial focus on context is especially
useful in making this point.
The first half of the book, five chapters on “Narratives and their
Contexts,” offers a breathless tour of metamorphosis in Greek literature
and art, providing a reminder of just how widespread such myths were, and
in what a broad range of contexts they could appear. Buxton’s quick
survey of all the metamorphoses in a work like Apollonius’ Argonautica,
for example, shows that the work contains more metamorphoses than one might
remember. This kind of reminder is especially necessary because of the
overwhelming influence of Ovid’s Metamorphoses. It is all too easy to
imagine that, in comparison with the Roman epic, Greek literature has
little to say about metamorphosis. True to his subtitle, however, Buxton
focuses almost exclusively on Greek literature and art, and his survey
supports the assertion that it would be reductive to suppose that Homer,
Aristophanes and Nonnus all use metamorphosis the “same” way.
The second half of the book is more ambitious and moves beyond individual
contexts to treat larger questions raised by metamorphosis, including what
such myths tell us about Greek conceptions of the divine, the landscape and
the relationship between humans, animals and plants. Metamorphosis, as
Buxton shows, was good for the Greeks to think with, and it is in turn good
for us to think with about the Greeks.
Chief among the book’s many strengths is its formulation of metamorphosis
as an “irruption of the divine” (passim). Such irruptions “are by
definition uncharacteristic of everyday life and ... therefore generate
astonishment” (p. 240). Buxton’s focus on this astonishment (almost
always the reaction to metamorphosis) is especially useful to modern
readers (perhaps especially classicists) who mostly associate metamorphosis
with Ovid’s epic poem, where it can seem at best commonplace and at worst
trite.
The emphasis on astonishment also calls attention to the fact that myths of
metamorphosis, more than most types, are a way of exploring key questions
about the place of humans in the world, and the astonishment they generate
reminds us that Greek religion was sometimes edgy (p. 252). Particularly
good is Buxton’s discussion of metamorphosis that affects the landscape,
since such myths reflect a belief that there is something uncanny about the
world around one, but that manifestations of the past also continue into
the present. Aetiological myths all serve the latter function to some
extent, but the idea of a divine presence behind such mundane objects as
plants and animals is, indeed, uncanny—and it would be wrong to brush
away such notions too quickly. The relation of such myths to these
questions explains their long-lasting popularity and their appearance in so
many genres. Succinctly put, the metamorphic tradition “stresses as a
living reality the interaction between myth, religion, and everyday
existence” (p. 230).
Buxton’s discussion of the role of the gods complements his formulation
of metamorphosis as “divine irruption.” I can summarize his conclusions
no better than he does in the last two sentences of the book: “The
metamorphic tradition expressed in narrative form the astounding,
destabilizing irruption of divinity, and the existence of remarkable
continuities between human life and the natural environment. Stories told
in this tradition were a way of articulating, and perhaps even partially
coping with, the astonishing strangeness of life’s outcomes” (p. 252).
Buxton’s focus on context means that he does not take a reductive
approach to metamorphosis, arguing that it serves as a kind of metaphor or
that metamorphoses all do generally the same kind of thing—the impression
given by some other approaches to the topic. At times, however, his
approach seems too conservative, and he appears overly reluctant to draw
conclusions. Though B. does argue against some commonly held positions, he
rarely adduces a new formulation to take their place. Those with a
long-standing interest in scholarship on metamorphosis will perhaps be most
interested in points at which he does take a (convincing) stand, e.g.
arguing that we should not attribute metamorphosis myths to the
“childhood of society” (pp. 72, 75, etc.) or consider
“shape-shifters” a meaningful category of them (pp. 175–7). One of
the most original parts of the book is Buxton’s discussion of
blood-related metamorphoses, which calls attention to the fact that those
who undergo such metamorphoses are usually young men (e.g. Hyacinthus,
Crocus, Narcissus) in their sexual prime who are somehow at odds with
heterosexual marriage. Their premature deaths occur when their “blood is
at is seminal height: even when shed, it remains powerful enough to
generate new life” (pp. 227–8). B.’s discussion of what metamorphosis
tells us about the anthropomorphic view of the Greek gods is similarly
engaging.
All surveys invite quibbling over what has been included or excluded. The
inclusion of Nonnus (pp. 143–53)—to whom B. devotes more space than any
author save Homer and Aristophanes—seems problematic, both because of the
likelihood that Nonnus was influenced by Ovid (although Buxton implies that
he disagrees with those who see such influence [p. 147]) and because of his
late date, which would seem to strain against Buxton’s assertion that he
is focusing on “just one culture” (p. 18). Nonnus is included because
B. sees metamorphosis as a focus of the Dionysiaca (p. 147), but in light
of this choice, works of Greek literature devoted solely to collecting
myths of metamorphosis are conspicuously absent. While Buxton does briefly
mention Hellenistic poetic collectors like Nicander and Boeus (“The
Collectors,” pp. 110–15), he does not address the numerous papyri that
list such myths. Does the systematic collection of such material thwart the
sense of astonishment or intensify it?
There are no absolutes in this book and no simple conclusions. This is
surely a wise (and almost inevitable) approach with such complicated
material, but one might have wished for more synthesis and finality. At
times, the book feels rushed, and the approach is at times too open-ended.
Buxton’s caution is understandable and even laudable. But his book will
leave many readers feeling unfulfilled or unsettled—although perhaps that
has much to do with the myths themselves, which offer no easy answers.
K.F.B. FLETCHER
Louisiana State University
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