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pameladean's _Tam Lin_
Sunday, January 10th, 2010 09:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lethargic_manI recently watched Kenneth Branagh's Hamlet, then, finally (after the length of time I've been meaning to watch it), the next evening, the film of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead. (About which I could talk, but that's not the subject of this post.)
Remembering that inpameladean's Tam Lin the characters do similarly on two successive nights (only watching plays rather than films) and then discuss the plays, I dug the book out to have a read of the relevant part, hoping I might learn something about either or both of the plays as a result.
The novel (which I last and first read eleven years ago) retells the Scots ballad of Tam Lin, but set in an midwestern college in the early 1970s; and even just dipping into it made me painfully miss the world I'd been in as an undergraduate, so much so that when I came back from Limmud I picked up the book and started rereading from the beginning.
The protagonists are liberal arts students, whereas those I hung out with tended more to be scientists, and they live in a different culture and a different time to my undergraduate days, but the book really does capture for me what it was like to be an undergraduate at Cambridge, or at any rate, an idealised form of it. It probably also doesn't hurt that many of the jokes in the book I first heard on Usenet during my under- and post-graduate days (which is where I suspectpameladean heard them too).
I suspect half of my readership here is already familiar with this novel, and half have probably never heard of Tam Lin, but, rather than talk more about the book—and there's a lot more that could be said about it—I'd like to end by quoting a passage from the book, in particular forseilduksgata (whom I was interrupted by bentshing whilst talking about it on Friday night). If this passage delights you as much as it delights me, you should definitely read the book yourself:
Remembering that in
pameladean's Tam Lin the characters do similarly on two successive nights (only watching plays rather than films) and then discuss the plays, I dug the book out to have a read of the relevant part, hoping I might learn something about either or both of the plays as a result.The novel (which I last and first read eleven years ago) retells the Scots ballad of Tam Lin, but set in an midwestern college in the early 1970s; and even just dipping into it made me painfully miss the world I'd been in as an undergraduate, so much so that when I came back from Limmud I picked up the book and started rereading from the beginning.
The protagonists are liberal arts students, whereas those I hung out with tended more to be scientists, and they live in a different culture and a different time to my undergraduate days, but the book really does capture for me what it was like to be an undergraduate at Cambridge, or at any rate, an idealised form of it. It probably also doesn't hurt that many of the jokes in the book I first heard on Usenet during my under- and post-graduate days (which is where I suspect
pameladean heard them too).I suspect half of my readership here is already familiar with this novel, and half have probably never heard of Tam Lin, but, rather than talk more about the book—and there's a lot more that could be said about it—I'd like to end by quoting a passage from the book, in particular for
seilduksgata (whom I was interrupted by bentshing whilst talking about it on Friday night). If this passage delights you as much as it delights me, you should definitely read the book yourself:They passed the entrance to Forbes Tunnel on their left. Ahead on the same side was a very old block of Greek that had puzzled Janet for years. "Robin," she said, "what's this?"(Minor abridgement not marked.)
"First ten lines of The Iliad," he said.
"What does it say?" asked Christina. "Translate it for us."
"No, read it first," said Janet.
Robin cleared his throat, opened his eyes wide upon the peeling wall of the tunnel, and rolled out of his tidy beard huge assonant syllables in a rocky rhythm, punctuated with thumps where he came down hard on two syllables in a row. Christina was looking bored.
Robin finished, and after a small silence Nick began to applaud. "Shall I change my major?" he said.
"What does it mean?" said Christina.
Nick said, "Achilles' wrath, to Greece the direful spring Of woes unnumbered, heavenly goddess, sing."
"Don't give me these newfangled translations," said Robin. He closed his eyes. He said what came next in a much quieter voice than he had given to the Greek, but it made Janet's spine creep."Achilles' baneful wrath resound, O Goddess, that imposed"What was that?" said Janet.
Infinite sorrows on the Greeks, and many brave souls loosed
From breasts heroic; sent them far, to that invisible cave
That no light comforts; and their limbs to dogs and vultures gave:
To all which Jove's will gave effect; from whom first strife begun
Betwixt Atrides, king of men, and Thetis' godlike son."
Nick gave her a crooked and charming smile. "'Much have I travelled in the realms of gold,'" he said, "'and many goodly states and kingdoms seen.'"
His tone was rather sardonic, but it hardly mattered. Lost, thought Janet. He quotes Keats, too. Well, let's enjoy it, then. She said, "'Round many western islands have I been Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold.'"
Robin rattled, "'But never did I breathe its pure serene Til I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold,'" and began walking again. "We'll miss dinner," he added.
"That was Chapman's Homer?" said Janet, moving after him, but keeping her eyes on Nick, who came along too. "The translation Robin said?"
"Will you guys stop babbling and tell me what the damn Greek means?" said Christina.
