To All the Books I’ve Read Before II
Heartfelt letters to some of my most cherished companions
The Aeneid
Dear Aeneid,
I must start our reunion with the admission that you were by no means my type. My extremist hometown friends warned me about books like you and how your amusing stories of polytheistic battles could somehow convert me to the state religion of the Ancient Romans. Eventually, as a rebellious teenager I began to question their logic and scarf down mythology like a child who had been denied sweets. I’ll be honest that our first meeting seemed to only confirm my suspicion that we were not right for each other. Luckily, I stuck it out and exchanged my copy for a different translation at the library. Robert Fagle made all the difference in making your poetry ooze like Lazian honey.
You came during my senior year like a childhood friend I grew up with but never truly knew. For one, you taught me so much about where I came from. I used to be apathetic about answering the infamous “Where are you really from?” The answer is a melange of country towns in Italy, France, and Ireland all abandoned by my ancestors for America. When I google images of the hamlets listed on my family documents, I see nothing but overgrown cobblestone and a brief article on Al Capone’s ancestors. While my Greek and Norweigan friends got to claim that fables and legends coursed through their blood, but all I knew I had was The Godfather; hardly a heroic tale.
You, however, allowed my imagination to run wild. Sicily was no longer the mafia island that let the rest of Italian-America get searched at the airport; it was the land where man-eating cyclops roam to tend to their beloved sheep. Who could have known that my ancestors lived a day’s journey from Cumae, where the oracle Sybil (of Sybil Treylawney fame) dwells? Of course, they lived even closer to Lake Avernus, where the worthy could descend into the underworld and check on their loved ones. Forget the American excuses for pizza; in your story pizza served as a sign from the Gods that our hero had made it to his homeland. Aeneid, I am the first to admit that you are utterly full of yourself and Roman culture. Your father Virgil is essentially getting paid to convince me that the Romans are some superior race made excellent by their pietas and gravitas. Now, I definitely can’t agree with you that Italians are perfect, but I can’t help but smile at the thoughts you put into my head of legends sloshing through my veins and heroics acetylating my histones. Reading you was an excellent start to meeting other myths from around the world. Even if I don’t participate in a certain culture, I delight in seeing the ancient magic that runs through their veins, as well.
Cultural appreciation was not your only purpose, my dear. I read you at a time when I was considering my options for the next chapter of my life after high school. You let me watch Juno and Jupiter argue about an everyman’s fate at the same time I felt like I was putting my future and economic security in the hands of faraway admissions officers. Luckily, you were able to help me realize that even the Romans felt like they had little control over their lives or their sanity. They did, however, have to learn sometimes to accept their fate. Your story of Aeneas and his many twists and turns were meant to help the Romans realize that life is less about what they accomplished and more about the people they loved.
Hopefully, you still have your translator with you, and I do hope you find another nice girl or boy to take on adventures. Best wishes!
Ellie Rose Mattoon
Translation really does matter when reading The Aeneid. I enjoyed Robert Fagles’ translation, which you can find here
