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Médée
Que n'a-t-on dit de Médée ! Que par amour pour Jason elle avait trahi sa patrie, tué son frère puis ses propres enfants. Pour Christa Wolf, la magicienne sanguinaire est simplement une femme qui a eu la naïveté de croire en l'utopie égalitaire de sa Colchide natale et qui, ayant découvert que le pouvoir reposait sur un mensonge, s'est efforcée d'instaurer des rapports plus justes entre les hommes. L'échec de son entreprise naïve mais généreuse, et l'audace qu'elle eut de contester le pouvoir masculin, ont fait d'elle un bouc émissaire que l'on a accablé de crimes imaginaires. En relisant le mythe antique, comme elle l'a déjà fait dans Cassandre, la grande romancière de l'ex-RDA, dont elle a toujours été la conscience critique et lucide, tire de l'histoire contemporaine une leçon qui mérite d'être méditée.
253 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1996
About the author
Christa Wolf
153 books423 followersNovelist, short-story writer, essayist, critic, journalist, and film dramatist Christa Wolf was a citizen of East Germany and a committed socialist, and managed to keep a critical distance from the communist regime. Her best-known novels included “Der geteilte Himmel” (“Divided Heaven,” 1963), addressing the divisions of Germany, and “Kassandra” (“Cassandra,” 1983), which depicted the Trojan War.
She won awards in East Germany and West Germany for her work, including the Thomas Mann Prize in 2010. The jury praised her life’s work for “critically questioning the hopes and errors of her time, and portraying them with deep moral seriousness and narrative power.”
Christa Ihlenfeld was born March 18, 1929, in Landsberg an der Warthe, a part of Germany that is now in Poland. She moved to East Germany in 1945 and joined the Socialist Unity Party in 1949. She studied German literature in Jena and Leipzig and became a publisher and editor.
In 1951, she married Gerhard Wolf, an essayist. They had two children. Christa Wolf died in December 2011.
(Bloomberg News)
She won awards in East Germany and West Germany for her work, including the Thomas Mann Prize in 2010. The jury praised her life’s work for “critically questioning the hopes and errors of her time, and portraying them with deep moral seriousness and narrative power.”
Christa Ihlenfeld was born March 18, 1929, in Landsberg an der Warthe, a part of Germany that is now in Poland. She moved to East Germany in 1945 and joined the Socialist Unity Party in 1949. She studied German literature in Jena and Leipzig and became a publisher and editor.
In 1951, she married Gerhard Wolf, an essayist. They had two children. Christa Wolf died in December 2011.
(Bloomberg News)
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 369 reviews
September 23, 2020
The political human being as a narcissistic monster who projects its crimes on the victim!
What a scary, scary tale. And how bizarre that I thought it was milder than Euripides and Seneca the first time I read it, a long time ago. It is brutally wild!
After her experience of the breakdown of East Germany, Christa Wolf wrote this novel retelling of the ancient myth of Medea in the early 1990s, after some years of depression and silence due to the shock of the loss of her country and the following witch hunt that hit her unexpectedly from an increasingly arrogant West German journalism and literary criticism.
Medea seems to be her catharsis, her way of writing herself out of the pain of not having a place to call home anymore. The old place - Kolchis in the novel - had crumbled and died in the brutal showdown of an all-powerful male ego. Her new home, Korinth, needs her to be a scapegoat to deflect from inherent problems in their own political power structures. The wild woman, refusing to bow to ambitious and vain men, is hunted down and put on trial for not being part of the danse macabre of "Realpolitik".
What is truth? Truth is what you can make people believe.
The honest living and breathing people, the outsiders and foreigners, learn the hardest possible way that there is no lie too blunt to be believed if it benefits the believer to make it an infallible truth.
Who killed Medea's children?
Does it matter as long as history is written by a homo politicus?
Medea, trying to live a real, seeing life, must accept her homelessness in a world of childishly egomaniac leaders supported by ruthlessly opportunistic and inhumanely indifferent advisers.
"Große schreckliche Kinder, Medea. Das nimmt zu, glaub mir. Das greift um sich."
What a brilliantly twisted interpretation of the old patriarchal myth Christa Wolf offers here. Her vision is crystal-clear, disillusioned, honest - and she will burn as a witch for her insolence - pointing out the weakness of men as a woman and a refugee.
This is Medea in her true colours! Scarier than the ancient version because she is the victim of a fake news factory, not the killer holding a knife (or a machine gun). She is the truth that is denounced as fake news by a scared yet powerful political animal.
Chapeau, Wolf! Wild woman you are!
What a scary, scary tale. And how bizarre that I thought it was milder than Euripides and Seneca the first time I read it, a long time ago. It is brutally wild!
After her experience of the breakdown of East Germany, Christa Wolf wrote this novel retelling of the ancient myth of Medea in the early 1990s, after some years of depression and silence due to the shock of the loss of her country and the following witch hunt that hit her unexpectedly from an increasingly arrogant West German journalism and literary criticism.
Medea seems to be her catharsis, her way of writing herself out of the pain of not having a place to call home anymore. The old place - Kolchis in the novel - had crumbled and died in the brutal showdown of an all-powerful male ego. Her new home, Korinth, needs her to be a scapegoat to deflect from inherent problems in their own political power structures. The wild woman, refusing to bow to ambitious and vain men, is hunted down and put on trial for not being part of the danse macabre of "Realpolitik".
What is truth? Truth is what you can make people believe.
The honest living and breathing people, the outsiders and foreigners, learn the hardest possible way that there is no lie too blunt to be believed if it benefits the believer to make it an infallible truth.
Who killed Medea's children?
Does it matter as long as history is written by a homo politicus?
Medea, trying to live a real, seeing life, must accept her homelessness in a world of childishly egomaniac leaders supported by ruthlessly opportunistic and inhumanely indifferent advisers.
"Große schreckliche Kinder, Medea. Das nimmt zu, glaub mir. Das greift um sich."
What a brilliantly twisted interpretation of the old patriarchal myth Christa Wolf offers here. Her vision is crystal-clear, disillusioned, honest - and she will burn as a witch for her insolence - pointing out the weakness of men as a woman and a refugee.
This is Medea in her true colours! Scarier than the ancient version because she is the victim of a fake news factory, not the killer holding a knife (or a machine gun). She is the truth that is denounced as fake news by a scared yet powerful political animal.
Chapeau, Wolf! Wild woman you are!
June 2, 2024
3.7/5
I was looking forward to this, reading about the one who had snakes for hair, until I realised the mistake I'd made!
Still, at least that eliminated any chance of me turning to stone, and Wolf's story, although not my first choice Greek mythology temptress, was pretty good.
I found this better than her other historical novel 'Cassandra', and not knowing the story of Medea beforehand (I really didn't!) made it more appealing to me than say to those who know Greek mythology like the back of their hands. Here, Wolf reveals the sorceress and murderer of her children as a victim of male arrogance and sexual insecurity, with her homeland a darker counterpart to the kingdom of Corinth, a self-aggrandizing state that brutally distorts truth to justify its imperialistic crimes.
There is a chorus of voices here: from the eponymous heroine and her weak-willed adventurer husband Jason, to the other important players in the unfolding drama of Corinth’s power struggle. As much as I did like this, it's nothing compared to her masterpiece 'Patterns of Childhood'. Wolf's strength undoubtedly lies with writing about her homeland, during and after the war. She was there, she lived it.
March 21, 2023
The Medea who dominates the popular imagination is monstrous, a woman who went against nature and slaughtered her own children in an act of vengeance and jealousy. That image of Medea has its roots in Euripides’s famous drama, although his play is more nuanced, more ambiguous in its portrayal of Medea and what might have driven her actions. However, Euripides’s Medea is still, undoubtedly, a killer, a woman who’s committed murder more than once, well before she kills her sons. Christa Wolf picks up on some of Euripides’s themes but her Medea draws from earlier instances of the character. She’s radically different, entirely innocent of any crime. Instead, she’s a healer and a visionary who longs for a better, more just world.
Wolf’s Medea is an outsider, she’s left home in Colchis for a life with Jason of Argonauts’ fame - the supposed hero she encountered during his quest for the golden fleece. Her choice is largely dictated by her revulsion for her father, Colchis’s king, who’s responsible for the murder of Medea’s younger brother. Medea’s accompanied by a group of her followers. Their journey ends in Corinth where Medea and her people are immediately regarded with suspicion, not least because they’re “brown-skinned.” Unlike Colchis, Corinthian society is strikingly materialistic, founded on the spoils of colonialist projects, a place where the pursuit of wealth is paramount. In Colchis women commanded respect and held positions of authority but in Corinth it’s only men’s opinions that count. Here Medea is positioned as dangerous and disruptive, a “wild woman,” who’s too outspoken, too independent, insistent on confronting issues Corinthians would prefer to ignore. Then Medea uncovers a terrible secret that has the power to tumble Corinth’s king, that and Jason’s preening ambition ultimately lead to her downfall.
It’s a challenging novel to represent because it’s so intricate, so open to multiple interpretations. Wolf’s novel came out after the reunification of Germany and from some angles Corinth works as a stand-in for capitalist West Germany, and Colchis for East – although Wolf’s perspective is less clear-cut than that. Wolf was uneasy about the growing dominance of the capitalist, consumerist West. She’d hoped for an enlightened, socialist future, a truly democratic East Germany. So, reunification left her feeling politically displaced, just like Medea. And, like Medea, Wolf had been the object of speculation and suspicion, stemming from questions about her integrity after revelations about former links to the Stasi. So, in some ways Medea also operates as a stand-in for Wolf. Medea also dreams of a future, better world, one with none of Colchis’s or Corinth’s failings, where gender and social inequalities are erased.
Medea and her people are dismissed as “savages” who insist on clinging to bizarre beliefs and customs, and forced to live in communities on the fringes of Corinthian society. Their situation reflects events in Germany while Wolf was developing her narrative, a time punctuated by a series of appalling racist attacks on immigrants by members of the far-right, which also recalled Germany’s broader history of racist discrimination and the scapegoating of specific groups. In Wolf’s story Medea is the ultimate scapegoat, someone who can be held responsible for a recent series of earthquakes and outbreaks of plague that threaten to overturn Corinth’s leaders. The fact that she’s a fiercely independent woman adrift in a rabidly misogynistic culture adds to the desire to crush her by those in power.
Wolf’s narrative is polyvocal, composed of a series of interior monologues voiced by an array of characters each playing a part in Medea’s journey, with Medea at their centre. It’s a dense, atmospheric, beautifully fluid piece, with each character filling in aspects of Medea’s story as it unfolds. It’s quickly made clear that this is a society riddled with intrigue, in which political expediency and personal greed trump truth or justice, where rumours and conspiracy theories are useful tools for the demolition of anyone or anything that threatens the status quo. It’s a gripping, thought-provoking novel, tense, complex, quietly devastating, and still remarkably relevant.
Wolf’s Medea is an outsider, she’s left home in Colchis for a life with Jason of Argonauts’ fame - the supposed hero she encountered during his quest for the golden fleece. Her choice is largely dictated by her revulsion for her father, Colchis’s king, who’s responsible for the murder of Medea’s younger brother. Medea’s accompanied by a group of her followers. Their journey ends in Corinth where Medea and her people are immediately regarded with suspicion, not least because they’re “brown-skinned.” Unlike Colchis, Corinthian society is strikingly materialistic, founded on the spoils of colonialist projects, a place where the pursuit of wealth is paramount. In Colchis women commanded respect and held positions of authority but in Corinth it’s only men’s opinions that count. Here Medea is positioned as dangerous and disruptive, a “wild woman,” who’s too outspoken, too independent, insistent on confronting issues Corinthians would prefer to ignore. Then Medea uncovers a terrible secret that has the power to tumble Corinth’s king, that and Jason’s preening ambition ultimately lead to her downfall.
It’s a challenging novel to represent because it’s so intricate, so open to multiple interpretations. Wolf’s novel came out after the reunification of Germany and from some angles Corinth works as a stand-in for capitalist West Germany, and Colchis for East – although Wolf’s perspective is less clear-cut than that. Wolf was uneasy about the growing dominance of the capitalist, consumerist West. She’d hoped for an enlightened, socialist future, a truly democratic East Germany. So, reunification left her feeling politically displaced, just like Medea. And, like Medea, Wolf had been the object of speculation and suspicion, stemming from questions about her integrity after revelations about former links to the Stasi. So, in some ways Medea also operates as a stand-in for Wolf. Medea also dreams of a future, better world, one with none of Colchis’s or Corinth’s failings, where gender and social inequalities are erased.
Medea and her people are dismissed as “savages” who insist on clinging to bizarre beliefs and customs, and forced to live in communities on the fringes of Corinthian society. Their situation reflects events in Germany while Wolf was developing her narrative, a time punctuated by a series of appalling racist attacks on immigrants by members of the far-right, which also recalled Germany’s broader history of racist discrimination and the scapegoating of specific groups. In Wolf’s story Medea is the ultimate scapegoat, someone who can be held responsible for a recent series of earthquakes and outbreaks of plague that threaten to overturn Corinth’s leaders. The fact that she’s a fiercely independent woman adrift in a rabidly misogynistic culture adds to the desire to crush her by those in power.
Wolf’s narrative is polyvocal, composed of a series of interior monologues voiced by an array of characters each playing a part in Medea’s journey, with Medea at their centre. It’s a dense, atmospheric, beautifully fluid piece, with each character filling in aspects of Medea’s story as it unfolds. It’s quickly made clear that this is a society riddled with intrigue, in which political expediency and personal greed trump truth or justice, where rumours and conspiracy theories are useful tools for the demolition of anyone or anything that threatens the status quo. It’s a gripping, thought-provoking novel, tense, complex, quietly devastating, and still remarkably relevant.
April 6, 2021
Medea: selvaggia, straniera.
Il capro espiatorio
Sei diversi personaggi, sei voci che si danno il cambio nella ricostruzione, compiuta da Christa Wolf, del mito di Medea.
Apre e chiude, naturalmente, Medea stessa; segue Giasone, poi, Agamede (un’ex allieva di Medea), Acamante (astronomo e consigliere alla corte di Corinto), Leuco (aiutante di Acamante), Glauce: (figlia del re Creonte, promessa sposa a Giasone).
Medea è la prima.
Rivolgendosi alla madre tinge in modo nostalgico il racconto.
C'è del rimpianto nelle sue parole: il tempo rende incomprensibile la passione smodata che le fece intraprendere il viaggio lasciando la sua patria.
Dal momento in cui salirono sulla nave, i colchi furono chiamati profughi.
Un vocabolo che non conoscevano e che, da quel momento in poi, li rende “altri”.
L'approdo a Corinto rincara il divario della diversità.
Non solo l’aspetto (la pelle scura, i capelli “di lana”) ma anche le usanze. I due popoli si differenziano in molte cose ma è proprio la condizione della donna a saltare all’occhio: le donne greche sono suppellettili domestiche a cui viene annientata ogni volontà.
Un divario profondo soprattutto nel momento in cui le diversità non trovano un terreno neutrale in cui dialogare.
Le voci che seguono dipingono la spaccatura sempre più profonda tra i due popoli.
Un distacco che comincia tra Giasone e Medea stessi.
Lui, comunque, è greco, quindi ben accolto; lei è inizialmente accettata come solitamente si fa con tutto ciò che è esotico, finché non ci si stufa o diventa un gioco pericoloso.
L'esilio di Medea da palazzo crea la frattura sempre più profonda nella coppia.
Lui non la segue perché un uomo deve scegliere ciò che più conviene.
C’è poi la forza dell’invidia e del profondo risentimento che come brace sempre viva aspetta il momento di avviare la fiamma.
La rilettura della Wolf si muove da fonti antecedenti ad Euripide; probabilmente risalenti ad Apollonio Rodio.
Sono fonti che non designano la protagonista come infanticida.
C’è un capovolgimento dei termini: Medea non è la donna furiosa e assetata di vendetta tanto da uccidere i propri figli e portare disgrazia nella città ma è Corinto stessa che scatena il suo odio.
E’ quell’odio che strisciando viene sussurrato ad un orecchio.
Un’arte che non si è persa nel tempo e che costruisce la figura del mostro, spesso e volentieri, per spostare i riflettori da chi è veramente colpevole.
”... quindici talenti d'argento, ricorda Robert Graves, sarebbero stati versati al drammaturgo per questa sorta di disinvolta cosmesi di stato, utile per presentare al meglio Corinto sulla scena del teatro greco durante le feste di Dioniso.”
Così ci racconta Anna Chiarloni nella postfazione.
Quindi, il mito tramandato da Euripide, è un mito corrotto.
La Wolf, dunque, riabilita Medea.
Scomparso l'infanticidio, la colpa è ricostruita attorno alla conoscenza di un segreto che minerebbe le basi stesse del potere regale.
Il racconto corale si muove dunque su un doppio binario.
Da un lato, la condizione di straniero e la ricostruzione dell'identità.
Dall'altro il ruolo della maga, inteso come colei che Sa, conosce ed è quindi pericolosa per l'equilibrio dello Stato.
Medea così nella penna della Wolf diventa il perfetto capro espiatorio.
Grande lettura.
"Gli esseri umani col loro accecamento.
Questa coazione a capire mi sembra un vizio da cui non riesco a liberarmi e che mi isola dagli altri.
Medea ne sapeva qualcosa.
Come potrei dimenticare l'ultimo sguardo che mi lanciò quando, in mezzo a due guardie che la tenevano per le braccia, fu spinta attraverso la porta a sud, come si usa per il capro espiatorio, fuori dalla città, la mia città di Corinto attraverso le cui strade, bordeggiate da una folla schiumante d'odio, che urlava, sputava, agitava i pugni, lei era stata condotta.
E io, chi mi crederebbe, io provai una specie d'invidia per quella donna che sporca, lordata, sfinita, veniva esiliata dalla città tra i calci delle guardie e la maledizione del sommo sacerdote.
Invidia perché lei, la vittima innocente, era libera da dissidi interiori."
Il capro espiatorio
Sei diversi personaggi, sei voci che si danno il cambio nella ricostruzione, compiuta da Christa Wolf, del mito di Medea.
Apre e chiude, naturalmente, Medea stessa; segue Giasone, poi, Agamede (un’ex allieva di Medea), Acamante (astronomo e consigliere alla corte di Corinto), Leuco (aiutante di Acamante), Glauce: (figlia del re Creonte, promessa sposa a Giasone).
Medea è la prima.
Rivolgendosi alla madre tinge in modo nostalgico il racconto.
C'è del rimpianto nelle sue parole: il tempo rende incomprensibile la passione smodata che le fece intraprendere il viaggio lasciando la sua patria.
Dal momento in cui salirono sulla nave, i colchi furono chiamati profughi.
Un vocabolo che non conoscevano e che, da quel momento in poi, li rende “altri”.
L'approdo a Corinto rincara il divario della diversità.
Non solo l’aspetto (la pelle scura, i capelli “di lana”) ma anche le usanze. I due popoli si differenziano in molte cose ma è proprio la condizione della donna a saltare all’occhio: le donne greche sono suppellettili domestiche a cui viene annientata ogni volontà.
Un divario profondo soprattutto nel momento in cui le diversità non trovano un terreno neutrale in cui dialogare.
Le voci che seguono dipingono la spaccatura sempre più profonda tra i due popoli.
Un distacco che comincia tra Giasone e Medea stessi.
Lui, comunque, è greco, quindi ben accolto; lei è inizialmente accettata come solitamente si fa con tutto ciò che è esotico, finché non ci si stufa o diventa un gioco pericoloso.
L'esilio di Medea da palazzo crea la frattura sempre più profonda nella coppia.
Lui non la segue perché un uomo deve scegliere ciò che più conviene.
C’è poi la forza dell’invidia e del profondo risentimento che come brace sempre viva aspetta il momento di avviare la fiamma.
La rilettura della Wolf si muove da fonti antecedenti ad Euripide; probabilmente risalenti ad Apollonio Rodio.
Sono fonti che non designano la protagonista come infanticida.
C’è un capovolgimento dei termini: Medea non è la donna furiosa e assetata di vendetta tanto da uccidere i propri figli e portare disgrazia nella città ma è Corinto stessa che scatena il suo odio.
E’ quell’odio che strisciando viene sussurrato ad un orecchio.
Un’arte che non si è persa nel tempo e che costruisce la figura del mostro, spesso e volentieri, per spostare i riflettori da chi è veramente colpevole.
”... quindici talenti d'argento, ricorda Robert Graves, sarebbero stati versati al drammaturgo per questa sorta di disinvolta cosmesi di stato, utile per presentare al meglio Corinto sulla scena del teatro greco durante le feste di Dioniso.”
Così ci racconta Anna Chiarloni nella postfazione.
Quindi, il mito tramandato da Euripide, è un mito corrotto.
La Wolf, dunque, riabilita Medea.
Scomparso l'infanticidio, la colpa è ricostruita attorno alla conoscenza di un segreto che minerebbe le basi stesse del potere regale.
Il racconto corale si muove dunque su un doppio binario.
Da un lato, la condizione di straniero e la ricostruzione dell'identità.
Dall'altro il ruolo della maga, inteso come colei che Sa, conosce ed è quindi pericolosa per l'equilibrio dello Stato.
Medea così nella penna della Wolf diventa il perfetto capro espiatorio.
Grande lettura.
"Gli esseri umani col loro accecamento.
Questa coazione a capire mi sembra un vizio da cui non riesco a liberarmi e che mi isola dagli altri.
Medea ne sapeva qualcosa.
Come potrei dimenticare l'ultimo sguardo che mi lanciò quando, in mezzo a due guardie che la tenevano per le braccia, fu spinta attraverso la porta a sud, come si usa per il capro espiatorio, fuori dalla città, la mia città di Corinto attraverso le cui strade, bordeggiate da una folla schiumante d'odio, che urlava, sputava, agitava i pugni, lei era stata condotta.
E io, chi mi crederebbe, io provai una specie d'invidia per quella donna che sporca, lordata, sfinita, veniva esiliata dalla città tra i calci delle guardie e la maledizione del sommo sacerdote.
Invidia perché lei, la vittima innocente, era libera da dissidi interiori."
March 19, 2018
About a year ago I read and loved David Vann's take on the Medea myth, Bright Air Black. It follows the original story very closely and offers few surprises in terms of plot for those already familiar with the tale, but it endeavors and succeeds in giving Medea a narrative voice, allowing her to tell her own story. Christa Wolf's Medea, published 20 years earlier than Bright Air Black, is another feminist victory for this narrative, but interestingly, Wolf's and Vann's interpretations of Medea's character couldn't be more different. I love them both.
Vann's is very straightforward. Though he at times renders her character sympathetic in a way that's deeply unsettling, his Medea is every bit as violent and vindictive as you'd expect. Wolf approaches the narrative from a different vantage point altogether. What if Corinth stood something to gain from Medea being painted as a monster? This is the question Wolf explores in this politically-driven retelling, narrated in a series of monologues by Medea, Jason, Glauce, and other individuals in the royal court at Corinth.
The first thing that struck me as soon as I finished Medea's first chapter and started reading Jason's was how startlingly different their narrative voices were, which I think is such an incredible and impressive feat to accomplish in a book like this, which hinges on different characters' perspectives telling the same story. The other thing that struck me was the mastery and lyricism of Wolf's prose (translated beautifully from the German by John Cullen).
I mean, that's stunning.
What I love so much about mythological retellings; the reason I read the same stories over and over again written by different authors, is that each retelling offers something new, each author interacts with the original story in a different way. That's clear in the stark contrast between Medea and Bright Air Black, how one can render Medea as a victim and the other as a villain, while both staying, in their own way, true to the original myth. Wolf's retelling is also concerned with the greater political context of Corinth at the time of Medea and Jason's arrival - it reflects on how a community is willing to turn a blind eye to its leaders' faults, which is relevant not only in our current political climate, but also to Wolf's own life, when you consider that she grew up in the GDR. This is what I mean when I talk about the universality of myth, and how it belongs to everyone, and how individuals from different cultures and different backgrounds can all draw different conclusions from the same story, and why Euripides' and Seneca's versions of Medea remain so important thousands of years after they were written. Wolf's Medea, beautifully written, thoughtful, and resonant, is the perfect reminder of this story's relevance.
Vann's is very straightforward. Though he at times renders her character sympathetic in a way that's deeply unsettling, his Medea is every bit as violent and vindictive as you'd expect. Wolf approaches the narrative from a different vantage point altogether. What if Corinth stood something to gain from Medea being painted as a monster? This is the question Wolf explores in this politically-driven retelling, narrated in a series of monologues by Medea, Jason, Glauce, and other individuals in the royal court at Corinth.
The first thing that struck me as soon as I finished Medea's first chapter and started reading Jason's was how startlingly different their narrative voices were, which I think is such an incredible and impressive feat to accomplish in a book like this, which hinges on different characters' perspectives telling the same story. The other thing that struck me was the mastery and lyricism of Wolf's prose (translated beautifully from the German by John Cullen).
It's possible they sense my unbelief, my lack of faith in anything. It's possible they can't bear that. When I ran over the field where the frenzied women had strewn your dismembered limbs, when I ran over that field, wailing in the deepening darkness, and gathered you up, poor, broken brother, piece by piece, bone by bone, that's when I stopped believing. How could we be meant to come back to this earth in a new form. Why should a dead man's limbs, scattered over a field, make that field fertile. Why should the gods, who demand from us continual proofs of gratitude and submission, let us die in order to send us back to earth again. Your death opened my eyes wide, Apsyrtus. For the first time I found solace in the fact that I don't have to live forever. And then I was able to let go of that belief born out of fear; to be more exact, it repelled me.
I mean, that's stunning.
What I love so much about mythological retellings; the reason I read the same stories over and over again written by different authors, is that each retelling offers something new, each author interacts with the original story in a different way. That's clear in the stark contrast between Medea and Bright Air Black, how one can render Medea as a victim and the other as a villain, while both staying, in their own way, true to the original myth. Wolf's retelling is also concerned with the greater political context of Corinth at the time of Medea and Jason's arrival - it reflects on how a community is willing to turn a blind eye to its leaders' faults, which is relevant not only in our current political climate, but also to Wolf's own life, when you consider that she grew up in the GDR. This is what I mean when I talk about the universality of myth, and how it belongs to everyone, and how individuals from different cultures and different backgrounds can all draw different conclusions from the same story, and why Euripides' and Seneca's versions of Medea remain so important thousands of years after they were written. Wolf's Medea, beautifully written, thoughtful, and resonant, is the perfect reminder of this story's relevance.
September 19, 2017
Come ti smonto un mito...
Quindici talenti d'argento sarebbero stati versati ad Euripide, il grande drammaturgo greco, per ripulire, con una disinvolta cosmesi, la coscienza e la reputazione dei Corinzi, e dei suoi uomini al potere. Non potevano far sapere che ad uccidere i figli di Medea erano stati loro, c'era da inaugurare l'Expò, pardon, i grandi Giochi della città. Serviva un capro espiatorio, comunque una notizia per sviare le chiacchiere, gli scandali, i processi in atto. E Medea, con quella sua pretesa superiorità e arroganza, se l'era cercata...
Così, per meritarsi la mazzetta, cosa si può trovare di meglio dell'accusa più infamante della violenza sulla propria prole?
Perchè la storia la scrivono i vincitori, e il mito, questo, l'hanno scritto gli uomini.
Invece è una Medea ostinata nel fare sempre ciò che è giusto fare, piuttosto che ciò che conviene, quella della Wolf. Nessuna traccia della donna gelosa e passionale che si oppone alla ragione degli uomini.
Una donna che fa paura, perchè ti costringe a fare i conti con la tua vigliaccheria, con l'opportunismo, a costo della vita. Medea quasi non se ne avvede, o si crede protetta dalla verità, così corre sul filo di un crinale che divide, per tutto il libro, ciò che è giusto da ciò che conviene.
Un'arroganza che i Corinzi, maschilisti fino al midollo, non le perdoneranno.
Ma, nel mio narcisismo perverso, mi permetto di dedicare una pagina di questo libro alle 101 donne che in Italia, dall'inizio dell'anno, hanno osato, come Medea, guardare dritto negli occhi chi aveva giurato di amarle ma si sarebbe rivelato, poco dopo, il loro assassino.
...Era troppo. Non dovevo tollerarlo. Potevo avere ben altri comportamenti. Lasciare libero corso alla mia ira. Andarle addosso e sbatterla contro la parete. Non si offende impunemente Giasone. Doveva rendersi conto che Giasone è in grado di farsi crescere dentro una bella rabbia virile contro i raggiri delle donne, è in grado di essere uomo di grande forza, se sente che gli si sottrae la carne morbida dentro la quale è sprofondato, prima che gli occhi lei li chiuda, e giri la faccia, e lasci che l'irreparabile accada...
Sì. Ho capito. L'intenzione è questa. Dobbiamo riprenderci le donne. Dobbiamo spezzare la loro resistenza. Solo così disseppelliremo ciò che la natura ci ha dato, la voglia che tutto travolge.
E infatti, nella vita reale, come diceva un tempo, una cara amica anobiana...
Hanno cercato di farmi passare per Medea, versione Euripide naturalmente, ma non ci sono riusciti.
Mi avevano suggerito la vendetta di Clitemnestra, ma non ne ho avuto il coraggio. Ho rivendicato il diritto di presentarmi in giudizio come Gea, con il solo scopo di difendere la prole dalla ingordigia di Crono.
Non è servito a nulla.
Il mito costruito abilmente attorno ad una menzogna resiste alla verità.
Ed è a questo punto che mi sono sentita Medea.
Questa Medea. Quella della Wolf.
Quindici talenti d'argento sarebbero stati versati ad Euripide, il grande drammaturgo greco, per ripulire, con una disinvolta cosmesi, la coscienza e la reputazione dei Corinzi, e dei suoi uomini al potere. Non potevano far sapere che ad uccidere i figli di Medea erano stati loro, c'era da inaugurare l'Expò, pardon, i grandi Giochi della città. Serviva un capro espiatorio, comunque una notizia per sviare le chiacchiere, gli scandali, i processi in atto. E Medea, con quella sua pretesa superiorità e arroganza, se l'era cercata...
Così, per meritarsi la mazzetta, cosa si può trovare di meglio dell'accusa più infamante della violenza sulla propria prole?
Perchè la storia la scrivono i vincitori, e il mito, questo, l'hanno scritto gli uomini.
Invece è una Medea ostinata nel fare sempre ciò che è giusto fare, piuttosto che ciò che conviene, quella della Wolf. Nessuna traccia della donna gelosa e passionale che si oppone alla ragione degli uomini.
Una donna che fa paura, perchè ti costringe a fare i conti con la tua vigliaccheria, con l'opportunismo, a costo della vita. Medea quasi non se ne avvede, o si crede protetta dalla verità, così corre sul filo di un crinale che divide, per tutto il libro, ciò che è giusto da ciò che conviene.
Un'arroganza che i Corinzi, maschilisti fino al midollo, non le perdoneranno.
Ma, nel mio narcisismo perverso, mi permetto di dedicare una pagina di questo libro alle 101 donne che in Italia, dall'inizio dell'anno, hanno osato, come Medea, guardare dritto negli occhi chi aveva giurato di amarle ma si sarebbe rivelato, poco dopo, il loro assassino.
...Era troppo. Non dovevo tollerarlo. Potevo avere ben altri comportamenti. Lasciare libero corso alla mia ira. Andarle addosso e sbatterla contro la parete. Non si offende impunemente Giasone. Doveva rendersi conto che Giasone è in grado di farsi crescere dentro una bella rabbia virile contro i raggiri delle donne, è in grado di essere uomo di grande forza, se sente che gli si sottrae la carne morbida dentro la quale è sprofondato, prima che gli occhi lei li chiuda, e giri la faccia, e lasci che l'irreparabile accada...
Sì. Ho capito. L'intenzione è questa. Dobbiamo riprenderci le donne. Dobbiamo spezzare la loro resistenza. Solo così disseppelliremo ciò che la natura ci ha dato, la voglia che tutto travolge.
E infatti, nella vita reale, come diceva un tempo, una cara amica anobiana...
Hanno cercato di farmi passare per Medea, versione Euripide naturalmente, ma non ci sono riusciti.
Mi avevano suggerito la vendetta di Clitemnestra, ma non ne ho avuto il coraggio. Ho rivendicato il diritto di presentarmi in giudizio come Gea, con il solo scopo di difendere la prole dalla ingordigia di Crono.
Non è servito a nulla.
Il mito costruito abilmente attorno ad una menzogna resiste alla verità.
Ed è a questo punto che mi sono sentita Medea.
Questa Medea. Quella della Wolf.
January 14, 2023
3.5 stars
On the one hand, this is an accomplished literary mythological retelling. The writing is strong, with a distinct style shading into stream-of-consciousness at times: a breath of fresh air amongst many current novels with very similar voices. It brings texture and complexity to its characters. And the political machinations that are a major theme of the book—the way Wolf uses an established story to illuminate the point that everything public is political, that one should be wary of conventional wisdom about what a person is like and what motivates them—this is all well-done. As is the portrayal of an immigrant community and its relationship with a larger society that disdains it.
On the other hand, there’s something inherently unsatisfying to me about taking a villain character and making her beyond reproach. Wolf isn’t retelling the Medea story to explore the darkness that might make a mother murder her children; she’s retelling it to make a point about scapegoating, in which Medea is nauseatingly perfect and is only targeted because she’s a woman and an immigrant and won’t stop helping victims and raising questions about the corruptions of Corinthian society. Needless to say, this version does not murder her kids.
It’s hard to dismiss Wolf’s version out of hand, because her themes do have greater meaning; she’s not just trying to exonerate Medea but to make larger points about politics grinding people underfoot, particularly outsiders who won’t knuckle under. And there are aspects of her interpretation that I liked: for instance, that Medea left Colchis because she’d been on the losing side of political wrangling there, and fell for Jason later, rather than betraying her family for some new romance.
But the simplicity of Wolf’s characters seems to me to ultimately betray the complexity of her vision: Medea’s perfection really is to the point of being almost nauseating, while the villains are mostly one-note. They get their own point-of-view sections—despite being a short book, it has six voices, and there is some differentiation among them—and sure, there is some depth and texture to their motivations; I’ve definitely seen more cartoonish villain POVs out there. But they don’t quite feel fully human either. They’re too consumed by their villainy, too lacking in other areas of life, just as Medea is too consumed by saintliness. The most interesting characters were to me the ones in the middle—the feckless Jason; the astronomer Leukon, whose courage doesn’t match up to his insight; the poor princess Glauce. But they’d all be more interesting with a bit more room to breathe, to not be so single-mindedly focused on Medea.
In the end, is this a bad book? No, I think it’s worth reading. There’s an artistry to it; it’ll make you think a bit. Wolf couldn’t have known, writing from East Germany in the 1990s, how tired this trend of recasting female villains as angels would become, and this is a better example of that kind of work than most of what’s being published today. At the same time, it’s not quite what I want from literature or from Medea.
On the one hand, this is an accomplished literary mythological retelling. The writing is strong, with a distinct style shading into stream-of-consciousness at times: a breath of fresh air amongst many current novels with very similar voices. It brings texture and complexity to its characters. And the political machinations that are a major theme of the book—the way Wolf uses an established story to illuminate the point that everything public is political, that one should be wary of conventional wisdom about what a person is like and what motivates them—this is all well-done. As is the portrayal of an immigrant community and its relationship with a larger society that disdains it.
On the other hand, there’s something inherently unsatisfying to me about taking a villain character and making her beyond reproach. Wolf isn’t retelling the Medea story to explore the darkness that might make a mother murder her children; she’s retelling it to make a point about scapegoating, in which Medea is nauseatingly perfect and is only targeted because she’s a woman and an immigrant and won’t stop helping victims and raising questions about the corruptions of Corinthian society. Needless to say, this version does not murder her kids.
It’s hard to dismiss Wolf’s version out of hand, because her themes do have greater meaning; she’s not just trying to exonerate Medea but to make larger points about politics grinding people underfoot, particularly outsiders who won’t knuckle under. And there are aspects of her interpretation that I liked: for instance, that Medea left Colchis because she’d been on the losing side of political wrangling there, and fell for Jason later, rather than betraying her family for some new romance.
But the simplicity of Wolf’s characters seems to me to ultimately betray the complexity of her vision: Medea’s perfection really is to the point of being almost nauseating, while the villains are mostly one-note. They get their own point-of-view sections—despite being a short book, it has six voices, and there is some differentiation among them—and sure, there is some depth and texture to their motivations; I’ve definitely seen more cartoonish villain POVs out there. But they don’t quite feel fully human either. They’re too consumed by their villainy, too lacking in other areas of life, just as Medea is too consumed by saintliness. The most interesting characters were to me the ones in the middle—the feckless Jason; the astronomer Leukon, whose courage doesn’t match up to his insight; the poor princess Glauce. But they’d all be more interesting with a bit more room to breathe, to not be so single-mindedly focused on Medea.
In the end, is this a bad book? No, I think it’s worth reading. There’s an artistry to it; it’ll make you think a bit. Wolf couldn’t have known, writing from East Germany in the 1990s, how tired this trend of recasting female villains as angels would become, and this is a better example of that kind of work than most of what’s being published today. At the same time, it’s not quite what I want from literature or from Medea.
May 12, 2020
“At the end she said, They’ve made what they need out of each of us. Out of you, the Hero, and out of me, the Wicked Witch. They’ve driven us apart like that.” Medea to Jason.
Before I had even read Euripides’s retelling of Medea, Medea had already been representative to me of a destructive force propelled by vengeful rage. And what Christa Wolf does with this modern retelling of an ancient tale, is present Medea in a different form compared to the versions given prior.
After helping Jason to retrieve the Golden Fleece and having fled her homeland Colchis, the couple settle in Corinth where having left one power struggle, Medea finds herself at the center of another. This Medea is wiser, more sensible and less amorously passionate than her predecessors. As an outsider she is able to observe the faults of the Corinthians, she does not become subservient to the land she has been exiled to as custom demands of women, and once she discovers the heinous secret that is the source of Corinth's prosperity and magnificence, the powerful of Corinth plot and succeed in executing her fall.
If I was to be improper and summarize this brilliant book, I would say that it concerns the workings of power, the abuses of power and the lengths people in power work to maintain their power. Before she had fled, Medea and the other Colchian women were working to restore tradition that would shift power from King Aeëtes, her father, who is corrupt to her sister Chalciope but the king is resolute in maintaining and clinging to power. In Corinth, King Creon and his circle worked to ensure that he remains in power. An already patriarchal society, works to maintain its power while subjecting even more force to its subjects and using and nitpicking certain old traditions to revive.
The theme of the scapegoat is everywhere in the tale. Primarily used by the ones in power to hold onto power longer, as sacrificial offerings or as distractions and the objects of responsibility for disasters. Medea quickly becomes a convenient scapegoat when tragedies occur, and finally we see that those in power not only have the absolute say in present and future matters, but in also how history is remembered.
I'll finish this review that’s become longer than I intended with the apt words Margaret Atwood gives in the introduction to this marvellous book: “Medea is no two-dimensional allegory. Like a tunnel full of mirrors, it both reflects and echoes. The questions it asks the reader, through many voices and in many different ways, is: what would you be willing to believe, to accept, to conceal, to do, to save your own skin, or simply to stay close to power? Who would you be willing to sacrifice?”
Before I had even read Euripides’s retelling of Medea, Medea had already been representative to me of a destructive force propelled by vengeful rage. And what Christa Wolf does with this modern retelling of an ancient tale, is present Medea in a different form compared to the versions given prior.
After helping Jason to retrieve the Golden Fleece and having fled her homeland Colchis, the couple settle in Corinth where having left one power struggle, Medea finds herself at the center of another. This Medea is wiser, more sensible and less amorously passionate than her predecessors. As an outsider she is able to observe the faults of the Corinthians, she does not become subservient to the land she has been exiled to as custom demands of women, and once she discovers the heinous secret that is the source of Corinth's prosperity and magnificence, the powerful of Corinth plot and succeed in executing her fall.
If I was to be improper and summarize this brilliant book, I would say that it concerns the workings of power, the abuses of power and the lengths people in power work to maintain their power. Before she had fled, Medea and the other Colchian women were working to restore tradition that would shift power from King Aeëtes, her father, who is corrupt to her sister Chalciope but the king is resolute in maintaining and clinging to power. In Corinth, King Creon and his circle worked to ensure that he remains in power. An already patriarchal society, works to maintain its power while subjecting even more force to its subjects and using and nitpicking certain old traditions to revive.
The theme of the scapegoat is everywhere in the tale. Primarily used by the ones in power to hold onto power longer, as sacrificial offerings or as distractions and the objects of responsibility for disasters. Medea quickly becomes a convenient scapegoat when tragedies occur, and finally we see that those in power not only have the absolute say in present and future matters, but in also how history is remembered.
I'll finish this review that’s become longer than I intended with the apt words Margaret Atwood gives in the introduction to this marvellous book: “Medea is no two-dimensional allegory. Like a tunnel full of mirrors, it both reflects and echoes. The questions it asks the reader, through many voices and in many different ways, is: what would you be willing to believe, to accept, to conceal, to do, to save your own skin, or simply to stay close to power? Who would you be willing to sacrifice?”
January 10, 2021
Una nuova Medea nasce con Christa Wolf.
O meglio tante Medea quante sono le voci che la raccontano.
Non è più la donna perdutamente innamorata di Giasone, non più la madre infanticida.
E’ la donna che fugge dalla sua terra per salvare la sua anima, per non soccombere all’odio che ha ucciso il suo amato fratello, per ribellarsi ad antichi rituali di sangue che non condivide.
Medea è la ribellione, è il sangue che brucia nelle vene, è la strega e la guaritrice che la incanta per Glauce, è la seduttrice per Giasone, è l’amica leale e sincera per Leuco, la calcolatrice per Acamante, la rivale per Agameda.
Ma è anche sincerità e purezza d’animo e solo con l’inganno si può battere.
Un dramma corale, una scrittura densa che ricorda le tragedie antiche e le loro morali.
<ì> “ Leuco: Ora me ne sto qui seduto e sono costretto a dirmi che proprio su questa capacità di sopportare l'insopportabile, e tuttavia continuare a vivere, e tuttavia continuare a fare ciò che si è abituati a fare, proprio su questa sinistra capacità si fonda la stabilità del genere umano.”.
O meglio tante Medea quante sono le voci che la raccontano.
Non è più la donna perdutamente innamorata di Giasone, non più la madre infanticida.
E’ la donna che fugge dalla sua terra per salvare la sua anima, per non soccombere all’odio che ha ucciso il suo amato fratello, per ribellarsi ad antichi rituali di sangue che non condivide.
Medea è la ribellione, è il sangue che brucia nelle vene, è la strega e la guaritrice che la incanta per Glauce, è la seduttrice per Giasone, è l’amica leale e sincera per Leuco, la calcolatrice per Acamante, la rivale per Agameda.
Ma è anche sincerità e purezza d’animo e solo con l’inganno si può battere.
Un dramma corale, una scrittura densa che ricorda le tragedie antiche e le loro morali.
<ì> “ Leuco: Ora me ne sto qui seduto e sono costretto a dirmi che proprio su questa capacità di sopportare l'insopportabile, e tuttavia continuare a vivere, e tuttavia continuare a fare ciò che si è abituati a fare, proprio su questa sinistra capacità si fonda la stabilità del genere umano.”.
May 14, 2014
There is a part of me which is Medea. There is a part of me which is Kassandra. Each of these parts hurts terribly. They force me to walk towards the abyss, step by step. They force me to raise my voice when it would be best - for me - to stay quiet.
Oooh, they are not always strong. But they are there.
There have been better reviews of the book that I will ever be able to write. So - just go and read. It's frighteningly easy to turn the pages. The text flows and you know where it goes, oh you know, and still you have to read on.
You hear Medea on the other side of the paper wall between the millennia. And you walk with her and with the others, blessed and cursed into this existence. And for a moment you are glad that you live today. And then the illusion goes away and you know, that things are not better. Different, perhaps, but human nature has not changed, not yet and not in our lifetime.
And because it's Margaret Atwood who is quoted on the backside of my edition, praising Christa Wolf for the book - a praise more than earned: everything I missed it Atwood's ‘Handmaid's Tale’ is here. A perfect and sharp diamond knife.
Oooh, they are not always strong. But they are there.
There have been better reviews of the book that I will ever be able to write. So - just go and read. It's frighteningly easy to turn the pages. The text flows and you know where it goes, oh you know, and still you have to read on.
You hear Medea on the other side of the paper wall between the millennia. And you walk with her and with the others, blessed and cursed into this existence. And for a moment you are glad that you live today. And then the illusion goes away and you know, that things are not better. Different, perhaps, but human nature has not changed, not yet and not in our lifetime.
And because it's Margaret Atwood who is quoted on the backside of my edition, praising Christa Wolf for the book - a praise more than earned: everything I missed it Atwood's ‘Handmaid's Tale’ is here. A perfect and sharp diamond knife.
October 8, 2019
Christa Wolf erzählt die Sage der Medea in einer anderen Fassung als die ursprüngliche griechische Mythologie. Die Sprache ist bedrückend, düster, ich habe schon lange keinen Schreibstil mehr gelesen, der mich so gefesselt und derart viel zwischen den Zeilen transportiert hat.
Zum einen wird dargestellt wie eine stolze, gerechte Frau nicht in das Bild der Menschen passt und wie sich die männliche Herrschaft allein nur durch ihre Anwesenheit bedroht fühlt. Ein anderes Thema das behandelt wird, ist der Umgang mit den Flüchtlingen aus Kolchis. Die Korinther verlangen dass alle Kolcher ihre alten Traditionen ablegen und sich anpassen. Sobald Unglück geschieht, wird es ihnen in die Schuhe geschoben. Das sind alles Themen die heute noch genauso aktuell sind.
Aber nicht nur deswegen fand ich dieses Buch so genial, sondern weil diese Geschichte eine einzige große Metapher ist. Ich hatte nicht das Gefühl hier die Sage der Medea zu lesen, sondern die Geschichte und Unterschiede der BRD und DDR.
Die Kolcher flüchten aus dem Osten in den Westen nach Korinth. In ihrer Heimat gab es so etwas wie Besitz nicht, sobald die Herrschenden zu viel an sich rafften wurden Stimmen im Volk laut, die solches Verhalten verachten. In Korinth wird Reichtum groß geschrieben, das Volk muss regelmäßig Abgaben an den König verrichten, bewundert diesen und alle Reichen jedoch sogar für den Saus und Braus in dem diese leben und wie sie das wenige der Bürger verschwenden. Insgeheim möchte jeder so leben und dazu gehören, niemand kritisiert diese Lebensweise. Die Korinther zeichnen sich außerdem dadurch aus, dass sie der festen Überzeugung sind, dass ihr Staat und sie selbst gut sind. Sie sind großherzig, nehmen die Flüchtlinge auf, in ihrem Land gibt es keine Unterdrückung durch die Obrigkeit.
Nach und nach stellt sich jedoch heraus, dass der Staat und die Herrschaft der Korinther auf der gleichen Lüge basieren wie Kolchis. Die gleiche Gräueltat welche die Kolcher aus ihrem Land vertrieben hat, gibt es auch in Korinth, nur wird sie hier vertuscht und darf um keinen Preis an die Öffentlichkeit. Die Erkenntnis dass sie doch nicht so rein und gut sind, würde das Weltbild der Korinther zerstören und ehe sie das zulassen, suchen sie sich lieber einen Sündenbock auf den sie alles schieben können.
Medea wird das Verbrechen, das in Kolchis begangen wurde, vorgeworfen. An anderer Stelle wird gesagt, sie habe diese Tat zwar nicht begangen, aber auch Nichtstun würde schuldig machen.
An letzter Stelle konnte ich Christa Wolfs eigene Geschichte, ihren eigenen Zwiespalt herauslesen, die Untätigkeit die ihr vom Westen vorgeworfen wurde/wird.
Würde manche Kritik die Christa Wolf hier äußerst, in Form eines Sachbuches erscheinen, würde sie sofort von der Öffentlichkeit abgestempelt und in eine Ecke geschoben werden. Stattdessen webt sie diese Kritik subtil und kunstvoll in ihre Geschichte ein.
Was Christa Wolf hier geschaffen hat, ist für mich ganz hohe Kunst.
Zum einen wird dargestellt wie eine stolze, gerechte Frau nicht in das Bild der Menschen passt und wie sich die männliche Herrschaft allein nur durch ihre Anwesenheit bedroht fühlt. Ein anderes Thema das behandelt wird, ist der Umgang mit den Flüchtlingen aus Kolchis. Die Korinther verlangen dass alle Kolcher ihre alten Traditionen ablegen und sich anpassen. Sobald Unglück geschieht, wird es ihnen in die Schuhe geschoben. Das sind alles Themen die heute noch genauso aktuell sind.
Aber nicht nur deswegen fand ich dieses Buch so genial, sondern weil diese Geschichte eine einzige große Metapher ist. Ich hatte nicht das Gefühl hier die Sage der Medea zu lesen, sondern die Geschichte und Unterschiede der BRD und DDR.
Die Kolcher flüchten aus dem Osten in den Westen nach Korinth. In ihrer Heimat gab es so etwas wie Besitz nicht, sobald die Herrschenden zu viel an sich rafften wurden Stimmen im Volk laut, die solches Verhalten verachten. In Korinth wird Reichtum groß geschrieben, das Volk muss regelmäßig Abgaben an den König verrichten, bewundert diesen und alle Reichen jedoch sogar für den Saus und Braus in dem diese leben und wie sie das wenige der Bürger verschwenden. Insgeheim möchte jeder so leben und dazu gehören, niemand kritisiert diese Lebensweise. Die Korinther zeichnen sich außerdem dadurch aus, dass sie der festen Überzeugung sind, dass ihr Staat und sie selbst gut sind. Sie sind großherzig, nehmen die Flüchtlinge auf, in ihrem Land gibt es keine Unterdrückung durch die Obrigkeit.
Nach und nach stellt sich jedoch heraus, dass der Staat und die Herrschaft der Korinther auf der gleichen Lüge basieren wie Kolchis. Die gleiche Gräueltat welche die Kolcher aus ihrem Land vertrieben hat, gibt es auch in Korinth, nur wird sie hier vertuscht und darf um keinen Preis an die Öffentlichkeit. Die Erkenntnis dass sie doch nicht so rein und gut sind, würde das Weltbild der Korinther zerstören und ehe sie das zulassen, suchen sie sich lieber einen Sündenbock auf den sie alles schieben können.
Medea wird das Verbrechen, das in Kolchis begangen wurde, vorgeworfen. An anderer Stelle wird gesagt, sie habe diese Tat zwar nicht begangen, aber auch Nichtstun würde schuldig machen.
An letzter Stelle konnte ich Christa Wolfs eigene Geschichte, ihren eigenen Zwiespalt herauslesen, die Untätigkeit die ihr vom Westen vorgeworfen wurde/wird.
Würde manche Kritik die Christa Wolf hier äußerst, in Form eines Sachbuches erscheinen, würde sie sofort von der Öffentlichkeit abgestempelt und in eine Ecke geschoben werden. Stattdessen webt sie diese Kritik subtil und kunstvoll in ihre Geschichte ein.
Was Christa Wolf hier geschaffen hat, ist für mich ganz hohe Kunst.
May 16, 2022
4.5 stars
“I learned that no lie is too obvious for the people to believe it if it accommodates their secret wish to believe it.”
Medea by Christa Wolf portrays how somebody can become vilified for the purpose of political scapegoating and propaganda. Medea is both a foreigner to Corinth and a woman, which makes her vulnerable to exploitation from powerful figures.
I was assuming that this retelling of Medea would be a private, intimate tragedy. Rather, Wolf shows how one person’s life and legacy can be twisted and distorted to the extent that nobody knows the reality of their existence. History sees Medea as a child-killer, jilted wife, jealous woman - but who was she really? Who are we to claim that we know who someone is, really?
Who defines the truth? And why do we believe it?
“I learned that no lie is too obvious for the people to believe it if it accommodates their secret wish to believe it.”
Medea by Christa Wolf portrays how somebody can become vilified for the purpose of political scapegoating and propaganda. Medea is both a foreigner to Corinth and a woman, which makes her vulnerable to exploitation from powerful figures.
I was assuming that this retelling of Medea would be a private, intimate tragedy. Rather, Wolf shows how one person’s life and legacy can be twisted and distorted to the extent that nobody knows the reality of their existence. History sees Medea as a child-killer, jilted wife, jealous woman - but who was she really? Who are we to claim that we know who someone is, really?
Who defines the truth? And why do we believe it?
September 25, 2012
Ho letto questo libro assaporando parola per parola e, a lettura ultimata, mi rammarico di non aver conosciuto" prima questa scrittrice, perché mi ha dato e regalato moltissimo.
Christa Wolf ribalta la "Medea" di Euripide, la madre che ha ucciso i propri figli raccontandoci la sua "Medea", una donna determinata, saggia, depositaria di un segreto sottoposto nel suolo di Corinto per il quale venderà cara la pelle.
Questo romanzo, che forse è riduttivo definire in questo modo, è un tuffo nella storia, nel mito che ci permette di cogliere una rilettura sempre attuale, ovvero la prevaricazione del mondo maschile sul femminile.
E' emozione, è poesia, è commozione, è verità.
Christa Wolf ribalta la "Medea" di Euripide, la madre che ha ucciso i propri figli raccontandoci la sua "Medea", una donna determinata, saggia, depositaria di un segreto sottoposto nel suolo di Corinto per il quale venderà cara la pelle.
Questo romanzo, che forse è riduttivo definire in questo modo, è un tuffo nella storia, nel mito che ci permette di cogliere una rilettura sempre attuale, ovvero la prevaricazione del mondo maschile sul femminile.
E' emozione, è poesia, è commozione, è verità.
April 24, 2021
Auch auf die Gefahr hin, dass ich wie ein Schleifen drehender Lobhudeler klinge: Ich schätze und ehre Christa Wolf, ich vermisse sie, obwohl ich sie zu Lebzeiten nicht kannte. Ich bin mir auf eine absurde Weise sicher, dass ich mich ihrer Meinung über zeitgenössische Phänomene begeistert und sofort anschließen würde. Ich weiß: Lobhudelei, aber so ist das.
In Medea: Stimmen berichten mehrere Beteiligte von den unterschiedlichen Zeitphasen und Aspekten von Medeas Leben. Christa Wolf hat den griechischen Stoff dabei neu arrangiert und inhaltlich verändert, Medea ist daher nun nicht mehr die Mörderin ihres Bruders und ihrer Kinder, ihre Bewertung wird vielleicht komplexer. Wie in Cassandra einige Jahre zuvor wählt Christa Wolf abermals eine Figur der griechischen Mythologie und zieht an den Nähten von Medeas Kleidung, damit sich aus diesen Fäden die ewigen Bedingungen des modernen Lebens darlegen lassen. Wieder geht Wolf also europäisch, selbstbewusst und zeitlos vor, abermals auch feministisch.
Medeas Geschichte nach Wolf dreht sich vor allem um die Schwerpunkte der verlorenen Heimat, der Frage, ob im Dienste der Gemeinschaft einzelne Opfer gebracht werden dürfen, der Frage, ob Traditionen eher Gutes schaffen oder aber das Böse anziehen. Auch die Veränderung und das Aufflackern erotischer Lust ist ein wichtiges Thema des Buchs.
Christa Wolf wählt einen erzählerischen Kunstgriff und lässt in elf Kapiteln unterschiedliche Figuren reden: Medea und Jason berichten von ihrem Kennenlernen vor einige Jahren, als Jason in Kolchis das goldene Vlies an sich nehmen wollte, um damit im eigenen Königreich auf den Thron zu gelangen. Medea, die Königstochter von Kolchis, die sich von ihrem herrschsüchtigen Vater distanziert hatte, half ihm dabei und gelangte mit Jasons Mannschaft nach Korinth, wo sie seitdem als geduldete Immigrantin lebt.
Die opportunistische Agameda, einst Schülerin von Medea und ebenfalls eine Ausländerin aus Kolchis, will sich mit ihrer sozialen Randexistenz nicht begnügen und wählt den Verrat an Medea als Beschleuniger zum Aufstieg in der korinthischen Gesellschaft. Auch die Astronomen Akamos und Leukon erhalten ihre Redeanteile. Sie berichten vom Machtwillen des Korintherkönigs Kreon und von den xenophobischen Angriffen der Korinther auf die Kolcher. Glauke, die fallsüchtige, also epileptische Tochter von König Kreon und Königin Merope, wurde früher von Medea behandelt, hasst diese aber mittlerweile, da ihre Umgebung Lügen über Medea verbreitet, um diese sozial auszugrenzen.
Medea erkennt eines Tages, dass das Fortdauern des Königshauses von Korinth auf einem Gewaltexzess beruht, den sie schon von ihrer Heimat Kolchis kennt. Ihr Wissen ist gefährlich, und Medeas Leben daher in großer Gefahr.
Medea: Stimmen ist sprachlich ebenso elegant, rhythmisch, wortgewaltig wie andere Werke von Christa Wolf. Dieser Stil erfordert einige Seiten, um im Leser warm zu laufen, dann schwingt man auf den Satzmelodien Wolfs durchs Geschehen. Wörtliche Rede, gar Gequatsche, sucht man hier vergeblich, auch unterschiedliche Stimmlagen der verschiedenen Erzähler – wie es anbieten würde – wählt Wolf nicht. Stattdessen spricht ein universeller, überzeitlicher Erzählerton, was in meinen Augen gut zur Geschichte passt.
In ihren Motiven, Gefühlen und Bewertungen sind die Erzähler selbstverständlich scharf getrennt und transportieren die Konflikte: den zunehmenden Konflikt zwischen den ghettoisierten Kolchern und den Korinthern, zwischen Medea und Jason, deren Leidenschaft verloschen ist, da sie älter wird, er aber dank Zaubertrank ewig jung bleibt. Die Gewissensbisse in Medea, die ihre Handlungen in der Vergangenheit überdenkt und ahnt, welche Bewertung ihr Name nun für alle Zeiten erhalten wird.
Natürlich entsteht ein großer Teil des Spaßes beim Lesen dadurch, dass man als Leser permanent Parallelen zwischen Kolchis/Korinth und DDR/BRD sucht und auch zuhauf findet. Die Ankunft einer kleinen Schar aus dem Osten, die gegenseitigen Fremdeleien der Volksgruppen, die Zuschreibungen von Charakterattributen, bis zum Fackelzug durch das Viertel der Kolcher, ja sogar bis zu Pogromen. In dieser Lesart sind die neu angekommenen DDR-Bürger die Opfer der Wiedervereinigung, die im reichen und goldgierigen Westen nicht heimisch werden können. Allerdings erzählt Christa Wolfs Narrativ von einem schrecklichen Verbrechen, das in beiden Staaten nahezu identisch ablief. Dadurch werden Brutalität, Gewalt und skrupelloser Machthunger in beiden Ländern verortet. Wie man diese Aussage bewertet, hängt wohl stark von der politischen Überzeugung ab.
Nicht immer erscheint Medea als sehr sympathische Person. Sie scheint etwas zu eindimensional und rein positiv geraten, dem Leser wird allzu deutlich aufs Auge gedrückt, wie uneigennützig und oft sie allen Menschen hilft und wie sehr sie unter ihrem Wissen leidet. Ihre moralischen Skrupel sind zwar nachvollziehbar, aber für meinen Geschmack zu demagogisch und einseitig geraten.
Allerdings – und ich habe das schon mehrfach betont – erkenne und respektiere ich, dass Christa Wolf im Zuge der Wiedervereinigung und ihrer ersten Jahre in der BRD Fremdheits-Erfahrungen und politische Angriffe erduldet hat, die den meisten von uns kaum verständlich sein dürften. Dass sie sich hier eine Figur erschafft, die von einer letztlich feindlichen Gesellschaft für deren eigenen Machterhalt instrumentalisiert und zur Dämonin aufgebaut wurde, halte ich für eine gelungene und gut lesbare Katharsis, obwohl ich Cassandra dichter, stimmiger und gleichzeitig konzentrierter fand.
In Medea: Stimmen berichten mehrere Beteiligte von den unterschiedlichen Zeitphasen und Aspekten von Medeas Leben. Christa Wolf hat den griechischen Stoff dabei neu arrangiert und inhaltlich verändert, Medea ist daher nun nicht mehr die Mörderin ihres Bruders und ihrer Kinder, ihre Bewertung wird vielleicht komplexer. Wie in Cassandra einige Jahre zuvor wählt Christa Wolf abermals eine Figur der griechischen Mythologie und zieht an den Nähten von Medeas Kleidung, damit sich aus diesen Fäden die ewigen Bedingungen des modernen Lebens darlegen lassen. Wieder geht Wolf also europäisch, selbstbewusst und zeitlos vor, abermals auch feministisch.
Medeas Geschichte nach Wolf dreht sich vor allem um die Schwerpunkte der verlorenen Heimat, der Frage, ob im Dienste der Gemeinschaft einzelne Opfer gebracht werden dürfen, der Frage, ob Traditionen eher Gutes schaffen oder aber das Böse anziehen. Auch die Veränderung und das Aufflackern erotischer Lust ist ein wichtiges Thema des Buchs.
Christa Wolf wählt einen erzählerischen Kunstgriff und lässt in elf Kapiteln unterschiedliche Figuren reden: Medea und Jason berichten von ihrem Kennenlernen vor einige Jahren, als Jason in Kolchis das goldene Vlies an sich nehmen wollte, um damit im eigenen Königreich auf den Thron zu gelangen. Medea, die Königstochter von Kolchis, die sich von ihrem herrschsüchtigen Vater distanziert hatte, half ihm dabei und gelangte mit Jasons Mannschaft nach Korinth, wo sie seitdem als geduldete Immigrantin lebt.
Die opportunistische Agameda, einst Schülerin von Medea und ebenfalls eine Ausländerin aus Kolchis, will sich mit ihrer sozialen Randexistenz nicht begnügen und wählt den Verrat an Medea als Beschleuniger zum Aufstieg in der korinthischen Gesellschaft. Auch die Astronomen Akamos und Leukon erhalten ihre Redeanteile. Sie berichten vom Machtwillen des Korintherkönigs Kreon und von den xenophobischen Angriffen der Korinther auf die Kolcher. Glauke, die fallsüchtige, also epileptische Tochter von König Kreon und Königin Merope, wurde früher von Medea behandelt, hasst diese aber mittlerweile, da ihre Umgebung Lügen über Medea verbreitet, um diese sozial auszugrenzen.
Medea erkennt eines Tages, dass das Fortdauern des Königshauses von Korinth auf einem Gewaltexzess beruht, den sie schon von ihrer Heimat Kolchis kennt. Ihr Wissen ist gefährlich, und Medeas Leben daher in großer Gefahr.
Medea: Stimmen ist sprachlich ebenso elegant, rhythmisch, wortgewaltig wie andere Werke von Christa Wolf. Dieser Stil erfordert einige Seiten, um im Leser warm zu laufen, dann schwingt man auf den Satzmelodien Wolfs durchs Geschehen. Wörtliche Rede, gar Gequatsche, sucht man hier vergeblich, auch unterschiedliche Stimmlagen der verschiedenen Erzähler – wie es anbieten würde – wählt Wolf nicht. Stattdessen spricht ein universeller, überzeitlicher Erzählerton, was in meinen Augen gut zur Geschichte passt.
In ihren Motiven, Gefühlen und Bewertungen sind die Erzähler selbstverständlich scharf getrennt und transportieren die Konflikte: den zunehmenden Konflikt zwischen den ghettoisierten Kolchern und den Korinthern, zwischen Medea und Jason, deren Leidenschaft verloschen ist, da sie älter wird, er aber dank Zaubertrank ewig jung bleibt. Die Gewissensbisse in Medea, die ihre Handlungen in der Vergangenheit überdenkt und ahnt, welche Bewertung ihr Name nun für alle Zeiten erhalten wird.
Natürlich entsteht ein großer Teil des Spaßes beim Lesen dadurch, dass man als Leser permanent Parallelen zwischen Kolchis/Korinth und DDR/BRD sucht und auch zuhauf findet. Die Ankunft einer kleinen Schar aus dem Osten, die gegenseitigen Fremdeleien der Volksgruppen, die Zuschreibungen von Charakterattributen, bis zum Fackelzug durch das Viertel der Kolcher, ja sogar bis zu Pogromen. In dieser Lesart sind die neu angekommenen DDR-Bürger die Opfer der Wiedervereinigung, die im reichen und goldgierigen Westen nicht heimisch werden können. Allerdings erzählt Christa Wolfs Narrativ von einem schrecklichen Verbrechen, das in beiden Staaten nahezu identisch ablief. Dadurch werden Brutalität, Gewalt und skrupelloser Machthunger in beiden Ländern verortet. Wie man diese Aussage bewertet, hängt wohl stark von der politischen Überzeugung ab.
Nicht immer erscheint Medea als sehr sympathische Person. Sie scheint etwas zu eindimensional und rein positiv geraten, dem Leser wird allzu deutlich aufs Auge gedrückt, wie uneigennützig und oft sie allen Menschen hilft und wie sehr sie unter ihrem Wissen leidet. Ihre moralischen Skrupel sind zwar nachvollziehbar, aber für meinen Geschmack zu demagogisch und einseitig geraten.
Allerdings – und ich habe das schon mehrfach betont – erkenne und respektiere ich, dass Christa Wolf im Zuge der Wiedervereinigung und ihrer ersten Jahre in der BRD Fremdheits-Erfahrungen und politische Angriffe erduldet hat, die den meisten von uns kaum verständlich sein dürften. Dass sie sich hier eine Figur erschafft, die von einer letztlich feindlichen Gesellschaft für deren eigenen Machterhalt instrumentalisiert und zur Dämonin aufgebaut wurde, halte ich für eine gelungene und gut lesbare Katharsis, obwohl ich Cassandra dichter, stimmiger und gleichzeitig konzentrierter fand.
May 23, 2017
I really don't feel like I have the words to do this justice, but it's undoubtedly one of the best books I ever read. It's like a huge portrayal of the dynamics of human nature and society, the clash of different cultures, intrigues, oppression and power, and in the middle of it this headstrong, independent woman with her modern views and the way she questions everything - and by that, threatens to bring the entire corrupt system down, which is the cause of her downfall in the end. She's the stranger, the one who doesn't fit in, the one who doesn't bow, the ideal scapegoat for people to blame for problems actually caused by the higher authorities.
It goes without saying that all of this is especially fascinating contrasted with the original myth of Medea, and how it's completely turned on its head here.
I can't get more into detail because I would have to write an entire book myself. The
story is told through multiple perspectives, and every character (even the ones with no POVs, hell if you think about it, even the anonymous masses) is so intricate and psychologically complex that I feel I could read this book 10 more times and still discover new thoughts, new implications, new perspectives.
I definitely want to read more of Christa Wolf's books now.
It goes without saying that all of this is especially fascinating contrasted with the original myth of Medea, and how it's completely turned on its head here.
I can't get more into detail because I would have to write an entire book myself. The
story is told through multiple perspectives, and every character (even the ones with no POVs, hell if you think about it, even the anonymous masses) is so intricate and psychologically complex that I feel I could read this book 10 more times and still discover new thoughts, new implications, new perspectives.
I definitely want to read more of Christa Wolf's books now.
July 10, 2022
Medea sempre foi uma das personagens da mitologias clássica que mais achei fascinante, e a maioria dos autores a coloca com uma mulher manipuladora e selvagem. Esquecendo-se que foi ela a traída, esta "mulher selvagem" a que possibilitou que Jason tivesse as suas glórias. Sem ela, ele não seria nada. Então porque é que Medea é vista como a vilã da história, quando foi claramente Jason que a enganou? Claro que o mito diz-nos que ela assassinou o irmão e os seus filhos, o que contribui para esta sua imagem de "bruxa". Mas e se não fosse verdade?
Christa Wolf parte da premissa que todas estas mortes atribuídas á Medea foram um plano da sociedade do reino de Coríntia. Pois os coríntios não a veem com bons olhos, por ser uma sacerdotisa com rituais estranhos, pela sua capacidade de persuasão e também pelo facto de ser estrangeira. É contada por diferentes vozes, achei demasiados narradores. Preferia que a narração se mantivesse nas perspectivas de Medea e Jason.
"Medea" é sobretudo uma versão politica desta figura polémica, que nos leva a refletir que Medea foi vitima de uma sociedade corrupta que não aceitava mulheres inteligentes.
Christa Wolf parte da premissa que todas estas mortes atribuídas á Medea foram um plano da sociedade do reino de Coríntia. Pois os coríntios não a veem com bons olhos, por ser uma sacerdotisa com rituais estranhos, pela sua capacidade de persuasão e também pelo facto de ser estrangeira. É contada por diferentes vozes, achei demasiados narradores. Preferia que a narração se mantivesse nas perspectivas de Medea e Jason.
"Medea" é sobretudo uma versão politica desta figura polémica, que nos leva a refletir que Medea foi vitima de uma sociedade corrupta que não aceitava mulheres inteligentes.
November 1, 2022
4,5*
Esta é uma versão diferente do mito de Medeia. Está tudo lá: a ajuda a Jasão na conquista do velo de ouro, a fuga da Cólquida, o assassinato do irmão Apsirto, a separação de Jasão e a morte de Glauce, filha do rei de Corinto.
Só que nesta versão, Medeia não é a feiticeira terrível e cruel que nos chegou da Grécia Antiga, e sim uma mulher forte e independente, que não se inibe de expressar as suas opiniões, e que por isso mesmo, se tornou perigosa e indesejada. Equiparai as mulheres aos homens, e vereis como elas são superiores a nós., disse Catão. Talvez não seja sempre assim, mas dependendo das épocas e das circunstâncias, quando isto se verifica, há muito quem não goste e trate de tornar a vida bem difícil a estas mulheres.
Voltando a Medeia, não foi difícil, portanto, pegar nos acontecimentos e distorcê-los, fazendo dela a assassina do irmão e dos próprios filhos, quando a verdade seria bem diferente, nesta variante do mito. Estranhamente, esta versão de Christa Wolf, soa-me muito mais credível, pois (…) nenhuma mentira é tão grosseira que as pessoas não acreditem nela, se ela corresponder ao seu secreto desejo de nela acreditar.
Contada a várias vozes (daí o título), neste livro os capítulos que se sucedem são relatos, ora de Medeia, ora de Jasão, Glauce e demais intervenientes. Embora muito bem conseguido no todo, achei alguns dos relatos, talvez por serem todos feitos em retrospetiva, um pouco longos demais.
Esta é uma versão diferente do mito de Medeia. Está tudo lá: a ajuda a Jasão na conquista do velo de ouro, a fuga da Cólquida, o assassinato do irmão Apsirto, a separação de Jasão e a morte de Glauce, filha do rei de Corinto.
Só que nesta versão, Medeia não é a feiticeira terrível e cruel que nos chegou da Grécia Antiga, e sim uma mulher forte e independente, que não se inibe de expressar as suas opiniões, e que por isso mesmo, se tornou perigosa e indesejada. Equiparai as mulheres aos homens, e vereis como elas são superiores a nós., disse Catão. Talvez não seja sempre assim, mas dependendo das épocas e das circunstâncias, quando isto se verifica, há muito quem não goste e trate de tornar a vida bem difícil a estas mulheres.
Voltando a Medeia, não foi difícil, portanto, pegar nos acontecimentos e distorcê-los, fazendo dela a assassina do irmão e dos próprios filhos, quando a verdade seria bem diferente, nesta variante do mito. Estranhamente, esta versão de Christa Wolf, soa-me muito mais credível, pois (…) nenhuma mentira é tão grosseira que as pessoas não acreditem nela, se ela corresponder ao seu secreto desejo de nela acreditar.
Contada a várias vozes (daí o título), neste livro os capítulos que se sucedem são relatos, ora de Medeia, ora de Jasão, Glauce e demais intervenientes. Embora muito bem conseguido no todo, achei alguns dos relatos, talvez por serem todos feitos em retrospetiva, um pouco longos demais.
September 8, 2016
Do we let ourselves go back to the ancients, or do they catch up with us? No matter.A great deal of fan fiction is written to the tune of reacting to earlier material bloated with populist credibility with "What the fuck is this shit." Sometimes it'll be the politer shade of Shakespeare smoothing out and filling in the gaps of his stolen histories with nary a trace of his authorial human self. Other times an I, Tituba, Black Witch of Salem will rise out of the words of a Maryse Condé and run roughshod over evidence and genre and reality in equal measure. Milton preferred shitting on everything and trusting that his prose would save him, which it and his pasty skin and cisnormative dick did in the long run, canonically speaking, but that doesn't make his Paradise Lost any more fundamentally original. The most emphatic, however, would have to be Wolf (not Woolf, although I adore her works as well) and her kind. Ancient Greeks were chosen by Europeans as heralded ancestors for more reasons than the vainglorious and nonsensical theory that is "race", and to an Anglocentric reader such as I, this is easily explained by when, at a particular point in history, Englanders could sing "The Queen is dead. Long live the King."
Do you know what they're looking for, Medea? she asked me. They're looking for a woman who'll tell them that they're not guilty of anything; that the gods, whom they worship by chance, compel them in their undertakings. That the track of blood they leave behind is proper to their male nature as the gods have determined it.There are a lot of people who believe the world is only five hundred years old. They wave away the rampant normalization of the white male as the norm as a biological destiny, throw tantrums when you point out how said biology breaks down the "white" and the "male" and then some, then nod solemnly to themselves when you decide you're better off talking to people whose nightmares are of oppression and fear rather than immigrants and increased taxes. Very few of that sort would pick up a book like this, but you can rest assured they were too busy being threatened by what it had to say to do the customary thing of clinging tightly to "objectivity" in the fact of castration and the other breeds of damage the maenads can wreak. Look, the woman who tore men to pieces were just a facet of the times, and the way in which the narrative uncritically portrays this is just the author embodying the mindset of the character as all authors rightfully should. If you're threatened by this past fiction mirroring certain aspects of your modern day reality: sucks for you.
For the first time I found solace in the fact that I don't have to live forever.It's not as triumphant as that, of course. The point of tragedies isn't to solve them. The only way that happens is when the tragedy no longer strikes a common chord, and what with the word "common" becoming ever increasingly more complicated by the fact that "common" once meant "top dog", tragedy is accordingly becoming increasingly more complicated by a lack of both the refrigerators and the bodies of Others with which to fill them. Medea has her share, but in Wolf's take, the boy may have been disemboweled in an incestuous way, but not in the way you think you know. The daughter may have disappeared, but not for the power of any who end the narrative in exile. The wife may have been driven to her doom, but there is a vast different between accursed and escape. The children are gone, long live the children, but there is more than one species in the animal kingdom wherein the father eats their young.
I didn't like this nearly as much as The Quest for Christa T., but when one is comparing absolute favorites to more mortal works, one has to cut a bit of slack. It was mainly due to the fact that, when it comes to historical fictioning, however mythological, fellow favorite Memoirs of Hadrian is the yardstick. Multiple points of view made for a multifarious trip, but if a tragedy doesn't wrench the heart out of me, it means that the delivery showed its narratological seams too often to make for a truly effective downfall. The value of this, ultimately, lies in my observations of how others react to it, for race as well as gender is a concern, codified as they are now the traits of woolly hair and brown skin. I am grateful for Wolf for making this so explicit that even translation cannot be hid behind as last resort, for it will make dealing with the audience of a future miniseries adaptation that much easier. No, I say. You are not being faithful to the author's intent by following the customary route of blonde, blue, and white, white, white. You just hate.
Incidentally, she then asked me, I don't know why, whether human sacrifice existed among us in the lands of the setting sun. Of course not, I said indignantly, she tilted her head to one side and looked at me searchingly. No? she said. Not even when the going is toughest? I still answered no, and she said thoughtfully, Well. Maybe that's really true.
February 5, 2018
Quality Rating: Three Stars
Enjoyment Rating: Three Stars
I've wanted to read Medea ever since I discovered Cassandra - another ancient Greek myth retelling by Christa Wolf. I can't tell you how much I fell in love with that book and so, to be fair, Medea was always going to have a hard time competing. In the end, it didn't even touch Cassandra in terms of excellence, but I think there were several circumstantial things that contributed to that aside from the story.
The first of which is that I'm pretty sure Medea must have had a different translator to Cassandra. Christa Wolf was a German writer and scholar, and so her works are translated into English. Medea felt so much harder to read for me; it was dense, its word choice wasn't as vivid and succinct, and just generally hard to read. The book is less than 200 pages and it took me the better part of a month to get through. It might be that I'm wrong and it's just an example of Wolf's earlier work or something like that, but considering it is a translated work I'd imagine that's what I struggled with.
Aside from that, Wolf's style did still shine through at times. I love how she tells stories; her books are less of a narrative story and more fictionalised studies. The non-linear structure focuses on a human flaw in each character and slowly reveals how it combines with the other flaws of the characters into a spiral of tragedy. Her novels very much follow the style of the ancient stage tragedies, even though they aren't direct retellings of any plays from antiquity. It's not for everyone, but if you're fascinated by people like me it's some of the best stuff out there.
I'm a self-proclaimed classics nerd, but I'm not as familiar with the tale of Jason and Medea as I am with a lot of Greek myths. And even though retellings shouldn't use the original versions as a crutch, not knowing the story well to start with did take away from my experience reading this novel. I felt like a lot of the politics and cultural and personal relationships were revealed once they became apparent to the story, but actually being aware of them to start with might have helped in understanding what was actually happening. I only say this because I know in Cassandra there were a lot of critiques and comments made in the subtext that I only noticed because I knew a lot about the Trojan War to begin with. Perhaps it's something to look at if I ever reread this book, but it didn't strike me as the most accessible instance of a myth retelling.
Medea definitely wasn't as vivid as Cassandra but was still visually alluring and provocative at times. It has a lot to say about the ancient world and woman's place in it, as expected. I feel like Christa Wolf should be more recognised for her work as it really is an interesting look at the classical world and its stories. Maybe go for Cassandra over this one, though.
Enjoyment Rating: Three Stars
I've wanted to read Medea ever since I discovered Cassandra - another ancient Greek myth retelling by Christa Wolf. I can't tell you how much I fell in love with that book and so, to be fair, Medea was always going to have a hard time competing. In the end, it didn't even touch Cassandra in terms of excellence, but I think there were several circumstantial things that contributed to that aside from the story.
The first of which is that I'm pretty sure Medea must have had a different translator to Cassandra. Christa Wolf was a German writer and scholar, and so her works are translated into English. Medea felt so much harder to read for me; it was dense, its word choice wasn't as vivid and succinct, and just generally hard to read. The book is less than 200 pages and it took me the better part of a month to get through. It might be that I'm wrong and it's just an example of Wolf's earlier work or something like that, but considering it is a translated work I'd imagine that's what I struggled with.
Aside from that, Wolf's style did still shine through at times. I love how she tells stories; her books are less of a narrative story and more fictionalised studies. The non-linear structure focuses on a human flaw in each character and slowly reveals how it combines with the other flaws of the characters into a spiral of tragedy. Her novels very much follow the style of the ancient stage tragedies, even though they aren't direct retellings of any plays from antiquity. It's not for everyone, but if you're fascinated by people like me it's some of the best stuff out there.
I'm a self-proclaimed classics nerd, but I'm not as familiar with the tale of Jason and Medea as I am with a lot of Greek myths. And even though retellings shouldn't use the original versions as a crutch, not knowing the story well to start with did take away from my experience reading this novel. I felt like a lot of the politics and cultural and personal relationships were revealed once they became apparent to the story, but actually being aware of them to start with might have helped in understanding what was actually happening. I only say this because I know in Cassandra there were a lot of critiques and comments made in the subtext that I only noticed because I knew a lot about the Trojan War to begin with. Perhaps it's something to look at if I ever reread this book, but it didn't strike me as the most accessible instance of a myth retelling.
Medea definitely wasn't as vivid as Cassandra but was still visually alluring and provocative at times. It has a lot to say about the ancient world and woman's place in it, as expected. I feel like Christa Wolf should be more recognised for her work as it really is an interesting look at the classical world and its stories. Maybe go for Cassandra over this one, though.
March 6, 2021
Eine spannende Sicht auf eine mythische Figur, gleichzeitig ein feministisches Buch mit einer zeitgeschichtlichen Komponente, das gemeinsam fand ich unglaublich großartig. Medea als starke und weise Frau, die sich für die Gemeinschaft einsetzt, als Heilerin immer hilfsbereit ist und in die Rolle des Sündenbocks gerät, ist eine ganz andere Sicht als die bekannte rachsüchtige Kindsmörderin. Die selbstbewusste und kluge Frau wirkt in einer männerdominierten Gesellschaft überheblich und gefährlich. „Dafür werde ich zahlen müssen. Immer muss die Frau dafür zahlen, wenn sie in Korinth einen Mann schwach sieht.“ Aber nicht nur die Männer fühlen sich bedroht, auch die Frauen empfinden ihr Verhalten unangemessen und sie reagieren mit Neid und Argwohn. Medeas überliefertes Wissen wirkt auf andere wie Zauberei. Da musste ich an das Buch „Vermächtnis der Göttinnen“ von Katerina Tuckova denken, das die gleiche Problematik aufdeckt. Aber Medea ist zudem noch Migrantin aus Kolchis. Christa Wolfs Buch ist 1996 erschienen, das Verhalten den Migranten gegenüber kann man als Zeitbezug zu Ausschreitungen Anfang der 90er Jahre im Osten Deutschlands lesen, allgemein wird Kolchis jedoch immer als DDR gedeutet. Ein paar Bezüge sind mir auch aufgefallen, der unmoderne Ort, in dem aber Frauen eine größere Rolle spielten, der Zusammenhalt der Gesellschaft, der „verknöcherte König“ usw., aber ich fand gerade gelungen, dass es keine eindeutige Zuordnung gibt und Kolchis nicht plakativ die DDR und Korinth der Westen ist, sondern dass allgemeine menschliche Verhaltensweisen im Vordergrund stehen.
Es ist eine treffende Schilderung, wie Verleumdung funktioniert, wie die Angst und Wut der Bevölkerung ausgenutzt und gegen eine Person oder eine Gruppe gerichtet werden kann. Wie entsteht eine psychische Krankheit und lässt sie sich behandeln? Nicht zuletzt werden Beziehungen beschrieben, zwischen Jason und Medea, Jason und Glauke, Medea und Oistros und einige mehr.
Der Schreibstil ist anders als sonst bei Christa Wolf, die typischen Ein-Wort-Sätze fehlen völlig, aber nahezu jeder Satz passt, ist inhaltsreich und interpretierbar.
Mir hat das Buch mindestens genauso gut gefallen wie „Kassandra“ und ich kann es nur empfehlen.
Es ist eine treffende Schilderung, wie Verleumdung funktioniert, wie die Angst und Wut der Bevölkerung ausgenutzt und gegen eine Person oder eine Gruppe gerichtet werden kann. Wie entsteht eine psychische Krankheit und lässt sie sich behandeln? Nicht zuletzt werden Beziehungen beschrieben, zwischen Jason und Medea, Jason und Glauke, Medea und Oistros und einige mehr.
Der Schreibstil ist anders als sonst bei Christa Wolf, die typischen Ein-Wort-Sätze fehlen völlig, aber nahezu jeder Satz passt, ist inhaltsreich und interpretierbar.
Mir hat das Buch mindestens genauso gut gefallen wie „Kassandra“ und ich kann es nur empfehlen.
August 27, 2012
It’s odd how, at times, my readings appear to converge or echo each other quite unconsciously. From two entirely different directions I determined to reread my collection of Emma Goldman’s writings and Christa Wolf’s Medea. And yet I found striking parallels between Goldman and Medea. Both women flee their homelands (Tsarist Russia and Colchis, respectively) when young, disillusioned with their countries. Both travel to an idealized land that promises a better life (America, ancient Greece). And both hook up with men who prove unreliable (Alexander Berkman, Jason). But aside from these rather superficial correspondences, the vital parallel is that both women fight to live in a world where they can freely express their individuality; and beyond that for a world where everyone can have the same opportunity. It can be disheartening to see how little progress we’ve made in the 72 years since Goldman died. Indeed, I could suggest that we’re rapidly becoming more and more like the societies both women fought against, making this book (and Emma Goldman) all the more relevant.
For those unfamiliar with the story of Medea (and that may be a larger figure than I’d like to think considering the state of modern education :-), let me quote from Margaret Atwood’s introduction as she gives a reasonably concise outline:
As Atwood alludes and as one can read in Robert Graves’ The Greek Myths, there are many variations to the story. It was ancient when Homer composed The Iliad and its most ancient layers hearken back to a pre-Greek era when the Goddess in her many guises was the supreme deity and women more than the chattel of their male relations. It’s this most archaic stratum that Wolf mines to present her version of the myth. While it can be read as a strictly feminist tract, it shouldn’t be. It’s issues are far broader than a discussion of women’s place in society. It’s a critique of modern, capitalist (and, yes, male-dominated) culture, and – on a personal and the more important level – it’s an argument for the importance of retaining one’s integrity as a person in the face of enormous pressure to conform and submit. And that’s why I’ve revised my rating to four stars – it spoke to me more powerfully now than it did 15 years ago when I was – unfortunately – a less discerning reader.
Wolf picks up the tale toward the end of Medea’s exile in Corinth. She and Jason are estranged, and she has long since lost any illusions she may have had about the nature of her erstwhile lover’s homeland: It is as corrupt and oppressive as Colchis was becoming under her father’s faltering grip. The story is told in six “voices”: Medea’s, of course but also Jason’s; Glauce’s; Agameda’s, a Colchian exile; Akamas’, Creon’s first astronomer; and Leukon’s, the city’s second astronomer.
AGAMEDA: Agameda, one of the Colchian exiles who have followed Medea and a former pupil, is an angry young woman. Too weak to live up to the standards Medea sets for herself and others, Agameda embraces Corinth and accepts her role as a woman in it, though she ruthlessly manipulates the men around her to ruin Medea. Everything revolves around herself, and there’s no thought for others. As she notes:
And she combines a colossal ego (p. 59) with low self-esteem (p. 58).
If Agameda symbolizes anything in this myth, it’s the person who submits to oppression, then manipulates the system to feather her own nest, deluding herself that she has power over her destiny and others.
JASON: If Agameda is the sly Quisling who betrays her own interests for short-term fantasies of power, Jason is one who submits and then does his best to remain unnoticed. He’s the gullible idiot who believes the lies and self-delusions. He doesn’t even pretend to manipulate events but whines incessantly about his powerlessness. Both of his chapters begin with a variation of chapter nine’s plaint: “I didn’t want any of this to happen but what could I have done?” (p. 165)
GLAUCE: Glauce is burdened with a hideous secret , and it’s made her a physical and mental wreck. She suffers from seizures and headaches and nameless fears. Under Medea’s tutelage and care, she begins to overcome her frailties and become an individual. But when Creon exiles Medea from the palace, Glauce again is surrounded by the sycophants who only see her as a dynastic asset:
Glauce’s voice is particularly difficult to listen to. Wolf manages to pull off making her characters both mythic symbols and real people, and nowhere better than with this 13-year-old girl whose life is destroyed by her father’s ambitions.
AKAMAS: Akamas is the villain of the piece. Unlike Agameda, he actually does wield power over the lives of others. And he convinces himself that everything he does – the lives he destroys – is all for the good of Corinth. Echoing Jason, “we must do quite a few things that give us little pleasure” (p. 90) and “of course, the price one might be called upon to pay for this could be very painful.” (p. 95) But Wolf uses that echo of Jason’s complaint to illustrate how, ultimately, Akamas is as powerless as the Argonaut.
While he admires Medea, Akamas has no qualms in abetting the schemes of Agameda and her other enemies among the Colchians or fanning the fears of the Corinthians. It removes a disruptive influence from the politics of Corinth.
MEDEA: Medea is the ideal. The only truly adult person developed in the course of the novel. (We are introduced to Oistros, her lover, and Arethusa, a Cretan exile, who share her beliefs and live their lives as they wish but they’re secondary characters.) Her charisma is palpable to everyone she meets as is apparent in this excerpt where Jason describes their first meeting:
Her refusal to compromise her beliefs added to the fact that she knows Creon’s secret make her a dangerous person in the eyes of the ruling elite. And those same qualities make the Corinthian populace fearful and angry since, as Agameda remarks, “they need their belief that they live in the most perfect land under the sun.” (p. 59)
LEUKON: I saved Leukon for last because his voice spoke loudest to me. It’s not a terribly complimentary comparison but when he opened his chapter with the following, I was nodding my head in sympathy:
I liked this version of Medea a great deal. It may have strayed far from its deepest origins in the Neolithic and its reiterations down through the centuries but I believe that when Medea says “good [is] anything that promote[s] the development of all living things” (p. 91), she (or more properly perhaps, Wolf) is saying something we need to remember in this era when we too are succumbing to nameless, baseless fears cultivated by our rulers and endured because we’re too much like Glauce or Jason or Leukon to imagine that things can be any different. (In the same vein, I would have to recommend A.S. Byatt’s Ragnarok, which touches on the same theme of our incapacity to thinks things can be any different than our “betters” tell us, and on the theme that society stifles the individual – especially the woman. Or V for Vendetta, which I reread over the weekend.)
I would also recommend John Gardner’s Jason and Medeia, a poetic retelling of the myth, which ranks up there with this version as one of my favorites.
For those unfamiliar with the story of Medea (and that may be a larger figure than I’d like to think considering the state of modern education :-), let me quote from Margaret Atwood’s introduction as she gives a reasonably concise outline:
Aeson, king of Iolcus in Thessaly, had his throne usurped by this half brother Pelias. Aeson’s son Jason was saved, and sent away to be educated by the centaur Cheiron. Grown to manhood, he arrived at the court of Pelias to claim his birthright, but Pelias said he would surrender the throne only on condition that Jason bring back the Golden Fleece from Colchis – a demand which was thought to be the equivalent of a death sentence, as Colchis, situated at the extreme end of the Black Sea, was thought to be unreachable….
Jason had either to refuse the quest and give up all hope of the throne, or accept it and endanger his life. He chose the latter course, and summoned fifty heroes from all over Greece to his aid. These were the Argonauts – named after their ship – who after many perils and adventures arrived at last at Colchis…. There Jason demanded the Golden Fleece as his by inheritance.
Aeëtes, King of Colchis, set more impossible conditions…. Jason was ready to admit defeat when he was seen by Princess Medea, daughter of Aeëtes, granddaughter of Helius the sun god, priestess of the Triple Goddess of the Underworld, and a powerful sorceress…. Overcome by her love for Jason, she used her occult knowledge to help him surmount the various obstacles and to obtain the Fleece, in return for which Jason swore by all the gods to remain true to her forever. Together with the Argonauts, the two lovers set sail by night; but once the alarm was raised, King Aeëtes and the Colchians followed them….
Some say Jason killed Medea’s younger brother Apsyrtus… others, that Medea herself murdered the boy, dismembered him, and scattered the pieces in the ocean…. After several more escapades… the two, now lawfully man and wife, were welcomed at Corinth by its King, Creon….
Jason, forgetting both his debt of gratitude and his vows to all the gods, forsook his loyalty to Medea. Some say he was swayed by the insinuations of Creon… others, that he was overcome by a new love; others, that he was impelled by ambition; but in any case he decided to repudiate Medea, and marry Creon’s daughter Glauce, thus becoming the heir to Corinth. Medea herself was to be banished from the city.
Medea, torn by conflicting emotions… concocted a horrible revenge. Pretending to accept Jason’s decision and to wish for peace between them, she sent a bridal gift to Glauce – a beautiful but poisonous dress, which, when the rays of the sun hit it, burst into flame, whereupon Glauce in agony threw herself into a well. Some say that the people of Corinth then stoned Medea’s children to death; others, that she herself killed them, either to save them from a worse fate or to pay Jason back for his treachery. She then disappeared from Corinth, some say in a chariot drawn by dragons. Jason… abandoned by the gods whom he had foresworn, became a wandering vagabond and was at last crushed by the prow of his own rotting ship. (pp. ix-xi)
As Atwood alludes and as one can read in Robert Graves’ The Greek Myths, there are many variations to the story. It was ancient when Homer composed The Iliad and its most ancient layers hearken back to a pre-Greek era when the Goddess in her many guises was the supreme deity and women more than the chattel of their male relations. It’s this most archaic stratum that Wolf mines to present her version of the myth. While it can be read as a strictly feminist tract, it shouldn’t be. It’s issues are far broader than a discussion of women’s place in society. It’s a critique of modern, capitalist (and, yes, male-dominated) culture, and – on a personal and the more important level – it’s an argument for the importance of retaining one’s integrity as a person in the face of enormous pressure to conform and submit. And that’s why I’ve revised my rating to four stars – it spoke to me more powerfully now than it did 15 years ago when I was – unfortunately – a less discerning reader.
Wolf picks up the tale toward the end of Medea’s exile in Corinth. She and Jason are estranged, and she has long since lost any illusions she may have had about the nature of her erstwhile lover’s homeland: It is as corrupt and oppressive as Colchis was becoming under her father’s faltering grip. The story is told in six “voices”: Medea’s, of course but also Jason’s; Glauce’s; Agameda’s, a Colchian exile; Akamas’, Creon’s first astronomer; and Leukon’s, the city’s second astronomer.
AGAMEDA: Agameda, one of the Colchian exiles who have followed Medea and a former pupil, is an angry young woman. Too weak to live up to the standards Medea sets for herself and others, Agameda embraces Corinth and accepts her role as a woman in it, though she ruthlessly manipulates the men around her to ruin Medea. Everything revolves around herself, and there’s no thought for others. As she notes:
We spoke not a syllable about what this desired result might be. We made a game of our plans, which grew more and more refined, and played it in an unreal atmosphere, as though no one could be affected by our playing. If one wishes to think freely and effectively at the same time, this is a very useful method. It’s a kind of thinking, moreover, that we in Colchis haven’t yet recognized, and supposedly given only to men; but I know I have a talent for it. Only I practice it in secret. (p. 64)
And she combines a colossal ego (p. 59) with low self-esteem (p. 58).
If Agameda symbolizes anything in this myth, it’s the person who submits to oppression, then manipulates the system to feather her own nest, deluding herself that she has power over her destiny and others.
JASON: If Agameda is the sly Quisling who betrays her own interests for short-term fantasies of power, Jason is one who submits and then does his best to remain unnoticed. He’s the gullible idiot who believes the lies and self-delusions. He doesn’t even pretend to manipulate events but whines incessantly about his powerlessness. Both of his chapters begin with a variation of chapter nine’s plaint: “I didn’t want any of this to happen but what could I have done?” (p. 165)
GLAUCE: Glauce is burdened with a hideous secret , and it’s made her a physical and mental wreck. She suffers from seizures and headaches and nameless fears. Under Medea’s tutelage and care, she begins to overcome her frailties and become an individual. But when Creon exiles Medea from the palace, Glauce again is surrounded by the sycophants who only see her as a dynastic asset:
What man, even if he’s her father, would want to touch a girl’s pallid unclean skin, her thin lank hair, her awkward limbs, even if she’s his daughter, isn’t it so, yes, the first thing I knew for certain was that I’m ugly; the woman whose name I don’t want to say anymore can laugh at me as much as she wants, she can teach me tricks, how I should carry myself, how I should wash and wear my hair, naturally I was taken in by all that, and I would almost have believed her, would almost have felt like any other girl; that’s my weakness, believing those who flatter me, though it wasn’t actually flattery, it was something else, something cleverer, it went deeper, it touched the most secret spot inside me, the deepest pain, which up until then I was able to display only to the god and will be able to display only to the god again from now on, forever and ever, that’s my sentence, I dare not think about it, it makes me sick, she taught me that, it makes me sick when I keep recalling to my mind those images of myself as an unlucky person, as a poor soul, but why, she said, laughing as only she can laugh…why, she said, do you want to suffocate your whole life under all this black cloth, she took off the black clothing I’ve worn as long as I can think…. She sewed the clothes for me…I ran through the halls with downcast eyes, one of the young cooks didn’t recognize me and he whistled at me after I passed, unheard-of, unheard-of and wonderful, oh how wonderful, but her black magic was just that, she let me feel something that wasn’t real, isn’t real, all of a sudden my arms and legs became graceful, or anyway that’s how it felt, but that was all deception, ridicule…and proof of all this is that now, when they’ve taken me away from her corrupting influence and given me back the dark-colored clothes I belong in, that now my arms and my legs, too, have lost their deceitful gracefulness again and no apprentice cook, no matter how stupid, is even going to think about whistling at me….
[S]he was the one who tried to persuade me that I was free to think, I hate my father, and nothing would happen to him because of that thought, there was no need to feel guilty about it. That’s how her wicked influence on me began, today it seems incredible to me, outrageous, that I surrendered myself to it, that I reveled in my surrender to it, that was the wickedness in me, all at once it was free to present itself as my best side, my obsession with fancy dress, the pleasure I took in trivial diversions and in those childish games she made me play with Arinna. (pp. 106-9)
Glauce’s voice is particularly difficult to listen to. Wolf manages to pull off making her characters both mythic symbols and real people, and nowhere better than with this 13-year-old girl whose life is destroyed by her father’s ambitions.
AKAMAS: Akamas is the villain of the piece. Unlike Agameda, he actually does wield power over the lives of others. And he convinces himself that everything he does – the lives he destroys – is all for the good of Corinth. Echoing Jason, “we must do quite a few things that give us little pleasure” (p. 90) and “of course, the price one might be called upon to pay for this could be very painful.” (p. 95) But Wolf uses that echo of Jason’s complaint to illustrate how, ultimately, Akamas is as powerless as the Argonaut.
While he admires Medea, Akamas has no qualms in abetting the schemes of Agameda and her other enemies among the Colchians or fanning the fears of the Corinthians. It removes a disruptive influence from the politics of Corinth.
MEDEA: Medea is the ideal. The only truly adult person developed in the course of the novel. (We are introduced to Oistros, her lover, and Arethusa, a Cretan exile, who share her beliefs and live their lives as they wish but they’re secondary characters.) Her charisma is palpable to everyone she meets as is apparent in this excerpt where Jason describes their first meeting:
Then again the woman, the one who came up to us in Aeëtes’s vine-covered court, was the opposite of the horrible corpse-fruit, or maybe it heightened the impression she made on us. The way she stood there, stooped over, in that red and white tiered skirt and close-fitting black top they all wear, and caught the water from the spout in her cupped hands and drank. The way she straightened up and notice us, shook her hands dry, and approached us frankly, taking quick, strong steps, slender, but with a well-developed figure, and showing off all the virtues of her appearance to such advantage….
Of course it was odd, how she greeted us with her hands raised in the sign of peace, a sign proper only to the King or his envoys; how she openly gave her name, Medea, daughter of King Aeëtes and High Priestess of Hecate; how she desired to know our names and our destination, as though it were her right to do so, and I, taken by surprise, revealed to this woman what was meant for the King’s ears only. (pp. 32-3)
Her refusal to compromise her beliefs added to the fact that she knows Creon’s secret make her a dangerous person in the eyes of the ruling elite. And those same qualities make the Corinthian populace fearful and angry since, as Agameda remarks, “they need their belief that they live in the most perfect land under the sun.” (p. 59)
LEUKON: I saved Leukon for last because his voice spoke loudest to me. It’s not a terribly complimentary comparison but when he opened his chapter with the following, I was nodding my head in sympathy:
I see plainly what will happen to her. I shall have to stand by and watch the whole thing. That is my lot, to have to stand by and watch everything, to see through everything, and to be able to do nothing, as though I had no hands. Whoever uses his hands must dip them in blood, whether he wants to or not. I do not want to have blood on my hands. I want to stand up here on the roof terrace of my tower, observing the milling throngs below me in the narrow streets of Corinth by day and bathing my eyes in the darkness of the heavens above me by night, while one by one the constellations emerge like familiar friends….
Medea says I am a man who fears pain. I should like her to fear pain more than she does. (pp. 125-6)
I liked this version of Medea a great deal. It may have strayed far from its deepest origins in the Neolithic and its reiterations down through the centuries but I believe that when Medea says “good [is] anything that promote[s] the development of all living things” (p. 91), she (or more properly perhaps, Wolf) is saying something we need to remember in this era when we too are succumbing to nameless, baseless fears cultivated by our rulers and endured because we’re too much like Glauce or Jason or Leukon to imagine that things can be any different. (In the same vein, I would have to recommend A.S. Byatt’s Ragnarok, which touches on the same theme of our incapacity to thinks things can be any different than our “betters” tell us, and on the theme that society stifles the individual – especially the woman. Or V for Vendetta, which I reread over the weekend.)
I would also recommend John Gardner’s Jason and Medeia, a poetic retelling of the myth, which ranks up there with this version as one of my favorites.
July 5, 2021
Ed eccomi qui, infine, dopo aver conosciuto Medea: sono partita preparata, leggendo prima la tragedia di Euripide, che non amo affrontare i retelling senza prima aver toccato la materia d'origine, anche se in effetti Medea l'ho vista anni fa a Roselle, grazie all'iniziativa Fascino delle Rovine.
Ho affrontato la rivisitazione della Wolf a scatola chiusa, forte della precedente esperienza con Cassandra, consapevole solo dello stile che avrei trovato... e per questo la lettura mi ha spiazzata, soprattutto all'inizio: vedete, Medea è un personaggio estremamente complesso. La madre che uccide i figli per vendetta, implacabile, imperdonabile, simbolo di un'ira tale da distruggere tutto - inclusa sé stessa - pur di vendicare il torto subito.
Medea non può essere perdonata né compresa, ma Medea intriga, affascina: sfaccettata nel suo compiere un delitto empio, dilaniata rimanendo inamovibile nella sua decisione, Medea alla fine risulta essere un umano paradosso, e mi interessava vederla scritta da un'autrice più moderna e capace di fornire alle sue protagoniste una voce così intima.
Solo che Christa Wolf va in una direzione completamente diversa, e prima di riuscire ad apprezzare questo testo, ho dovuto venire a patti con quello che intendeva raccontare.
In effetti avrei potuto anche arrivarci da sola: una redenzione di Medea è possibile se le viene tolto dalle spalle l'atroce delitto, e questo accade. Una via estremamente semplice, che sul momento non ho gradito e mi ha spiazzato, che però arriva a raccontare una storia diversa, guardata da un'angolazione innovativa che non è peggiore solo perché non è quella che volevo o che mi aspettavo.
Perché Medea, prima di essere l'assassina dei figli, è una donna che viene usata, tradita, calpestata, e non è meno interessante solo perché non si conclude con la morte dei figli per mano della madre.
Nello scritto di Christa Wolf, Medea è una donna potente, intelligente, che per amore ha rinunciato a tutto e che si ritrova ad essere l'estranea nella sua nuova casa.
Un diverso pericoloso, che mette in discussione tradizioni e leggi, un'aliena che sfida, che non si piega. Una selvaggia che contamina una cultura superiore, che proprio non riesce a capire che deve stare al suo posto in quanto donna ed in quanto straniera.
Christa Wolf non ci restituisce solo la voce di Medea, ma anche quella di Giasone, e dei vari personaggi che abbiamo imparato a conoscere nella tragedia classica: punti di vista, sentimenti, non sempre in ordine cronologico, spesso parziali, e dall'iniziale groviglio di eventi, di sensazioni, alla fine noi lettori emergiamo con la storia di una città che in difesa di sé stessa si è infine levata contro la donna che ne metteva a rischio lo status quo, colpevole di venire da fuori e di non rispettarlo, di non ritenerlo inviolabile.
E quindi Medea non è più la carnefice, bensì la vittima: usata, tradita, calpestata, e infine distrutta nella reputazione, così che ogni cambiamento che avrebbe potuto causare, ogni messa in discussione che avrebbe potuto portare, perde di significato di fronte all'assassinio dei figli.
Un libro bello, quindi, scritto bene, volutamente confuso, importante in ciò che racconta e per le riflessioni che può portare.
Però cavolo, io la volevo davvero l'analisi della Medea assassina, e per questo probabilmente sono l'unica persona al mondo che ha preferito Cassandra a questo.
Ho affrontato la rivisitazione della Wolf a scatola chiusa, forte della precedente esperienza con Cassandra, consapevole solo dello stile che avrei trovato... e per questo la lettura mi ha spiazzata, soprattutto all'inizio: vedete, Medea è un personaggio estremamente complesso. La madre che uccide i figli per vendetta, implacabile, imperdonabile, simbolo di un'ira tale da distruggere tutto - inclusa sé stessa - pur di vendicare il torto subito.
Medea non può essere perdonata né compresa, ma Medea intriga, affascina: sfaccettata nel suo compiere un delitto empio, dilaniata rimanendo inamovibile nella sua decisione, Medea alla fine risulta essere un umano paradosso, e mi interessava vederla scritta da un'autrice più moderna e capace di fornire alle sue protagoniste una voce così intima.
Solo che Christa Wolf va in una direzione completamente diversa, e prima di riuscire ad apprezzare questo testo, ho dovuto venire a patti con quello che intendeva raccontare.
In effetti avrei potuto anche arrivarci da sola: una redenzione di Medea è possibile se le viene tolto dalle spalle l'atroce delitto, e questo accade. Una via estremamente semplice, che sul momento non ho gradito e mi ha spiazzato, che però arriva a raccontare una storia diversa, guardata da un'angolazione innovativa che non è peggiore solo perché non è quella che volevo o che mi aspettavo.
Perché Medea, prima di essere l'assassina dei figli, è una donna che viene usata, tradita, calpestata, e non è meno interessante solo perché non si conclude con la morte dei figli per mano della madre.
Nello scritto di Christa Wolf, Medea è una donna potente, intelligente, che per amore ha rinunciato a tutto e che si ritrova ad essere l'estranea nella sua nuova casa.
Un diverso pericoloso, che mette in discussione tradizioni e leggi, un'aliena che sfida, che non si piega. Una selvaggia che contamina una cultura superiore, che proprio non riesce a capire che deve stare al suo posto in quanto donna ed in quanto straniera.
Christa Wolf non ci restituisce solo la voce di Medea, ma anche quella di Giasone, e dei vari personaggi che abbiamo imparato a conoscere nella tragedia classica: punti di vista, sentimenti, non sempre in ordine cronologico, spesso parziali, e dall'iniziale groviglio di eventi, di sensazioni, alla fine noi lettori emergiamo con la storia di una città che in difesa di sé stessa si è infine levata contro la donna che ne metteva a rischio lo status quo, colpevole di venire da fuori e di non rispettarlo, di non ritenerlo inviolabile.
E quindi Medea non è più la carnefice, bensì la vittima: usata, tradita, calpestata, e infine distrutta nella reputazione, così che ogni cambiamento che avrebbe potuto causare, ogni messa in discussione che avrebbe potuto portare, perde di significato di fronte all'assassinio dei figli.
Un libro bello, quindi, scritto bene, volutamente confuso, importante in ciò che racconta e per le riflessioni che può portare.
Però cavolo, io la volevo davvero l'analisi della Medea assassina, e per questo probabilmente sono l'unica persona al mondo che ha preferito Cassandra a questo.
June 26, 2023
This is not Euripides’ version of the high priestess of Hecate, lover of Jason, murderer of her brother and children. We still hear of Jason and the Argonauts quest to reclaim the Golden Fleece, their flight from Colchis during which Medea throw pieces of her dead brother into the Black Sea to slow her father’s chase, and the visit with Medea’s aunt Circe, but this “modern retelling” begins in Corinth, years after their arrival and after Jason has already abandoned Medea in his efforts to ingratiate himself with King Creon in Corinth.
This story is about power, about the throwing over of the old ways in which women knew the healing arts and the crown passed through the matriarchal line in favor of patriarchy and brute strength. It’s about the dark skinned Colchins having the audacity to be self-assured even when doing manual labor and the Colchin women not deferring to men like the “superior” light-skinned Corinthians.
This Medea is a mesmerizing beauty with brown skin and dark wooly hair who captures the attentions of even the men who loathe her confidence, her directness, this Medea is a wise, compassionate healer who has moved on from Jason to another lover.
Told in first person narratives by friends and foes, each chapter is a different character’s account of the events and rumors that led to the Corinthians and the King and his circle turning on Medea.
Highly recommended to those fascinated by Medea and Ancient Greece.
This story is about power, about the throwing over of the old ways in which women knew the healing arts and the crown passed through the matriarchal line in favor of patriarchy and brute strength. It’s about the dark skinned Colchins having the audacity to be self-assured even when doing manual labor and the Colchin women not deferring to men like the “superior” light-skinned Corinthians.
This Medea is a mesmerizing beauty with brown skin and dark wooly hair who captures the attentions of even the men who loathe her confidence, her directness, this Medea is a wise, compassionate healer who has moved on from Jason to another lover.
Told in first person narratives by friends and foes, each chapter is a different character’s account of the events and rumors that led to the Corinthians and the King and his circle turning on Medea.
Highly recommended to those fascinated by Medea and Ancient Greece.
June 14, 2012
"Sai cosa cercano Medea? Cercano una donna che dica loro che non hanno colpe; che sono gli dei, oggetto casuale di adorazione, a trascinarli nelle loro imprese. Che la scia di sangue che si lasciano dietro fa parte della mascolinità così come gli dei l’hanno determinata. Grandi bambini terribili Medea. [...] Ma nessuno di loro sopporta la disperazione, hanno addestrato noi a disperarci, qualcuno, o qualcuna, deve pur portare il lutto. Se la terra fosse riempita solo dal rumore del macello e dalle urla e dal piagnucolio dei vinti, semplicemente si fermerebbe, non credi?"
Leggerlo è stato un'esperienza incredibilmente forte. Non saprei come definirla. So che mi sentivo in apnea, che avvertivo di essermi immersa in un mondo tangibile e sfuggente allo stesso tempo, di aver amato lo stile della Wolf, che c'ho messo più di quattro giorni per riuscire a riprendermi abbastanza da buttare giù queste due misere parole che ho persino la presunzione di definire 'commento'.
Ma so anche che questo libro non lo capirò mai. Che non sarò mai capace di comprenderlo a fondo. Perché non è di quelle opere che possono essere condensate in un semplice pensiero o in una semplice frase, è piuttosto una storia che spazia, si allarga, si ingrossa, tanto da non scorgerne né inizio né fine. Non riesco a pensare a Medea e avere le idee chiare. Forse deve passare un po' di tempo, ma credo che qualcosa si sia smosso dentro di me. Per capire, dovrò leggerlo e rileggerlo
e rileggerlo
e rileggerlo...
November 25, 2018
i basicaly hated everyone (especially jason in the last chapters)
the plot was very confusing due to the structure of this book
the writing style is not good. it's not a good style if your sentences are longer than half of the page.
i despise this book even if i did enjoy a few passages.
the plot was very confusing due to the structure of this book
the writing style is not good. it's not a good style if your sentences are longer than half of the page.
i despise this book even if i did enjoy a few passages.
May 23, 2024
200 pages of yapping
April 5, 2021
"Su questo disco che chiamiamo terra non esistono più, mio caro fratello, altro che vincitori e vittime."
Medea è la seconda opera di Christa Wolf in cui l'autrice si concentra sulla figura di una donna del mito, rielaborandola e riportando alla luce alcuni miti precedenti a quelli più conosciuti che ci raccontano di una versione inedita. Dopo Cassandra, è il turno di Medea, la donna che nella mitologia conosciamo come la strega, la matricida, la pazza, l'assassina. Ma è davvero così? Medea è la strega di cui Euripide narra, la donna disposta a tutto per conquistare l'amore di Giasone, disposta anche ad uccidere i suoi stessi figli per vendicarsi di lui?
Christa Wolf scava nel mito, trova fonti antecedenti al mito di Euripide, riscrive la storia di Medea e ci consegna un racconto che ha davvero poco in comune con la storia che conosciamo. In un racconto corale, da qui il sottotitolo Voci, in cui a narrare non troviamo solo Medea, ma anche Giasone stesso, Acamante, Glauce, Leuco, Agameda, scopriamo cosa si nasconde dietro la vita di Medea, dietro il suo arrivo a Corinto. La donna che scopriamo ha davvero poco dell'assassina di cui abbiamo sempre letto, è semplicemente straniera, è indipendente, non disposta ad adeguarsi alle regole di Corinto. E' troppo audace, troppo intelligente, fa troppe domande e scopre troppo. Scopre anche il segreto che per anni è rimasto sepolto sotto le mura di Corinto. Sarà quel segreto, insieme al suo coraggio e alla sua onestà, a condurla ad un triste epilogo.
Secondo la rielaborazione della Wolf, Medea non è la storia di un assassina, di una donna che pazzamente gelosa arriva a uccidere il sangue del suo sangue. Piuttosto Medea è la storia di una straniera, una donna che dalla selvaggia Colchide ha portato con sè una cultura e delle tradizioni che a Corinto non vengono compresi, che addirittura incutono timore. Medea è il racconto di una mancata accettazione, della paura del diverso che da sempre ha portato gli uomini a giudicare, a pesare le vite altrui, a volte anche a distruggerle.
Christa Wolf scrive con un'eleganza fuori dal comune; il racconto ha in generale un tono che trae molto dal mito ma che allo stesso tempo è moderno e attuale. I temi messi al centro del racconto sono anch'essi estremamente attuali. Nonostante sia stato scritto nei primi anni '90 e abbia per protagonista una figura della mitologia greca, il libro è di una modernità che stupisce. Medea è la dimostrazione di quello che accade quando due culture diametralmente opposte si incontrano, quando quell'incontro però non genera un arricchimento, ma solo paura, rancori e invidie. Medea paga per il suo essere così diversa, paga per quello e per il segreto che porta alla luce. Ma paga principalmente il suo essere opposta alla figura di donna tipica della Corinto dell'epoca.
La popolazione di Corinto si sente allo stesso tempo attratta e spaventata da quella donna che conosce la medicina, che è una brava guaritrice, che cammina a testa alta per le strade della città, che discute e fa domande e cerca risposte. Ma per quanto coraggiosa sia, Medea non può combattere un'intera società che la guarda con sospetto, che la accusa di crimini che non ha commesso, che la costringe ad abbandonare tutto quello che aveva costruito. Il continuo contrapporsi tra passato e presente, la voce di Medea che si erge fortissima su tutte le altre, il racconto incrociato di chi l'amava e di chi invece la odiava così tanto, tutto questo crea un mosaico che porta alla luce la vera identità di questa donna.
E' Medea stessa a rendersi conto del pericolo, ed è straziante rendersi conto che non potrà nulla contro le calunnie. Ormai è deciso, sarà lei a pagare per colpe non sue. La storia di Medea rielaborata dalla Wolf è sicuramente particolare, ricca di spunti di riflessione sulle donne, sul mito stesso, sul diverso e lo straniero, anche su noi stessi. Delicato e dirompente, questo libro spinge a riflettere anche sul rapporto tra bene e male, sulle dinamiche del potere, sul timore di approcciarsi al diverso, a qualcosa che sembra barbaro e straniero. Medea restituisce valore e dignità ad una donna colpevole semplicemente di aver amato, di essere stata libera e di essere rimasta fedele a sè stessa.
Medea è la seconda opera di Christa Wolf in cui l'autrice si concentra sulla figura di una donna del mito, rielaborandola e riportando alla luce alcuni miti precedenti a quelli più conosciuti che ci raccontano di una versione inedita. Dopo Cassandra, è il turno di Medea, la donna che nella mitologia conosciamo come la strega, la matricida, la pazza, l'assassina. Ma è davvero così? Medea è la strega di cui Euripide narra, la donna disposta a tutto per conquistare l'amore di Giasone, disposta anche ad uccidere i suoi stessi figli per vendicarsi di lui?
Christa Wolf scava nel mito, trova fonti antecedenti al mito di Euripide, riscrive la storia di Medea e ci consegna un racconto che ha davvero poco in comune con la storia che conosciamo. In un racconto corale, da qui il sottotitolo Voci, in cui a narrare non troviamo solo Medea, ma anche Giasone stesso, Acamante, Glauce, Leuco, Agameda, scopriamo cosa si nasconde dietro la vita di Medea, dietro il suo arrivo a Corinto. La donna che scopriamo ha davvero poco dell'assassina di cui abbiamo sempre letto, è semplicemente straniera, è indipendente, non disposta ad adeguarsi alle regole di Corinto. E' troppo audace, troppo intelligente, fa troppe domande e scopre troppo. Scopre anche il segreto che per anni è rimasto sepolto sotto le mura di Corinto. Sarà quel segreto, insieme al suo coraggio e alla sua onestà, a condurla ad un triste epilogo.
Secondo la rielaborazione della Wolf, Medea non è la storia di un assassina, di una donna che pazzamente gelosa arriva a uccidere il sangue del suo sangue. Piuttosto Medea è la storia di una straniera, una donna che dalla selvaggia Colchide ha portato con sè una cultura e delle tradizioni che a Corinto non vengono compresi, che addirittura incutono timore. Medea è il racconto di una mancata accettazione, della paura del diverso che da sempre ha portato gli uomini a giudicare, a pesare le vite altrui, a volte anche a distruggerle.
Christa Wolf scrive con un'eleganza fuori dal comune; il racconto ha in generale un tono che trae molto dal mito ma che allo stesso tempo è moderno e attuale. I temi messi al centro del racconto sono anch'essi estremamente attuali. Nonostante sia stato scritto nei primi anni '90 e abbia per protagonista una figura della mitologia greca, il libro è di una modernità che stupisce. Medea è la dimostrazione di quello che accade quando due culture diametralmente opposte si incontrano, quando quell'incontro però non genera un arricchimento, ma solo paura, rancori e invidie. Medea paga per il suo essere così diversa, paga per quello e per il segreto che porta alla luce. Ma paga principalmente il suo essere opposta alla figura di donna tipica della Corinto dell'epoca.
La popolazione di Corinto si sente allo stesso tempo attratta e spaventata da quella donna che conosce la medicina, che è una brava guaritrice, che cammina a testa alta per le strade della città, che discute e fa domande e cerca risposte. Ma per quanto coraggiosa sia, Medea non può combattere un'intera società che la guarda con sospetto, che la accusa di crimini che non ha commesso, che la costringe ad abbandonare tutto quello che aveva costruito. Il continuo contrapporsi tra passato e presente, la voce di Medea che si erge fortissima su tutte le altre, il racconto incrociato di chi l'amava e di chi invece la odiava così tanto, tutto questo crea un mosaico che porta alla luce la vera identità di questa donna.
E' Medea stessa a rendersi conto del pericolo, ed è straziante rendersi conto che non potrà nulla contro le calunnie. Ormai è deciso, sarà lei a pagare per colpe non sue. La storia di Medea rielaborata dalla Wolf è sicuramente particolare, ricca di spunti di riflessione sulle donne, sul mito stesso, sul diverso e lo straniero, anche su noi stessi. Delicato e dirompente, questo libro spinge a riflettere anche sul rapporto tra bene e male, sulle dinamiche del potere, sul timore di approcciarsi al diverso, a qualcosa che sembra barbaro e straniero. Medea restituisce valore e dignità ad una donna colpevole semplicemente di aver amato, di essere stata libera e di essere rimasta fedele a sè stessa.
April 24, 2023
Christa Wolf puts a very different twist to the myth of Medea. Here, she's not the bad guy like in the classic versions. She's the victim in a political intrigue in ancient Corinth. Medea and others from her home Colchis followed Iason who came to get the Golden Fleece. They fled the cruel king and were welcomed as refugees in Corinth. But now, years have passed and the immigrants with their different culture are more and more perceived as a nuissance by many Corinthians. They think that the women and especially Medea don't act as women should and that Medea is getting much to influential. Even Iason, once deeply in love, now has other goals (becoming king) and sees her more as a hindrance. On top, Medea has discovered a dark secret about the past of the political elite of Corinth - they see her as a threat...
Wolf tells the story in 11 chapters. Every chapter is the account of another character who tells his perspective. I really like this technique, because the many perspectives build the bigger picture bit by bit and you start to see the story in a different light. It's witty and engaging to read. If you are familiar with the classic retellings, every step is a questioning of the things those versions told you. And in many ways, Wolf's version seems much more credible - Medea sent a magical dress to the kings daughter to burn her to death? Well, that was just a rumour put out by the palace to cover up the suicide of the girl. Wolf eliminates most of the magical elements from the story and makes it about the shallows of human behavior with women as the main victims (a not that ancient tale...). It has a clear feminist point of view, but it also thinks about power and powerlessness in a broader way.
There is one downside though: The characters are all representants of a certain position in that conflict. Therefore they tend to be less complex than I would have liked. I wouldn't say that they arer outright stereotypical, but they are archetypes. Medea is good and sensible, Iason the male opportunist, there is the bad guy with power, his female minion acting out of envy and so on... As strong as the intricacies of political conflict are presented, the charaters tended to lack something for me.
But even with that taken into account, I liked it very much and I will definitivly read more of Christa Wolf in the future.
Wolf tells the story in 11 chapters. Every chapter is the account of another character who tells his perspective. I really like this technique, because the many perspectives build the bigger picture bit by bit and you start to see the story in a different light. It's witty and engaging to read. If you are familiar with the classic retellings, every step is a questioning of the things those versions told you. And in many ways, Wolf's version seems much more credible - Medea sent a magical dress to the kings daughter to burn her to death? Well, that was just a rumour put out by the palace to cover up the suicide of the girl. Wolf eliminates most of the magical elements from the story and makes it about the shallows of human behavior with women as the main victims (a not that ancient tale...). It has a clear feminist point of view, but it also thinks about power and powerlessness in a broader way.
There is one downside though: The characters are all representants of a certain position in that conflict. Therefore they tend to be less complex than I would have liked. I wouldn't say that they arer outright stereotypical, but they are archetypes. Medea is good and sensible, Iason the male opportunist, there is the bad guy with power, his female minion acting out of envy and so on... As strong as the intricacies of political conflict are presented, the charaters tended to lack something for me.
But even with that taken into account, I liked it very much and I will definitivly read more of Christa Wolf in the future.
January 22, 2022
La Medea che emerge da questo libro è completamente diversa dalla Medea della tradizione classica.
Non sono un’esperta, eppure mi sembra sia stata reinterpretata e redenta.
Insomma una Medea particolare.
Senza voler discutere le fonti usate o il lavoro di fantasia e l’idea dell’autrice, onestamente a me questo libro non è piaciuto molto. Sicuramente sarò impopolare.
Per me è stata una lettura faticosa.
C’è una suddivisione in capitoli, dove ogni volta è solo un personaggio l’io narrante, come un monologo con un linguaggio un po’ arcaico, verboso, faticoso, teatrale, poco scorrevole per i miei gusti… a che pro quest’impostazione con siffatto stile?
Ho trovato la prima metà del libro più scorrevole, le restanti pagine noiose e faticose…
Insomma Wolf non è nelle mie corde.
Per questo non vado oltre le 2 stelline di gradimento! 😬
Non sono un’esperta, eppure mi sembra sia stata reinterpretata e redenta.
Insomma una Medea particolare.
Senza voler discutere le fonti usate o il lavoro di fantasia e l’idea dell’autrice, onestamente a me questo libro non è piaciuto molto. Sicuramente sarò impopolare.
Per me è stata una lettura faticosa.
C’è una suddivisione in capitoli, dove ogni volta è solo un personaggio l’io narrante, come un monologo con un linguaggio un po’ arcaico, verboso, faticoso, teatrale, poco scorrevole per i miei gusti… a che pro quest’impostazione con siffatto stile?
Ho trovato la prima metà del libro più scorrevole, le restanti pagine noiose e faticose…
Insomma Wolf non è nelle mie corde.
Per questo non vado oltre le 2 stelline di gradimento! 😬
May 20, 2022
listen I am always in favor of letting women be evil and morally grey and problematic - but this book flipped that script and did it exceptionally well.
This version of Medea is a warning about mob mentality, scapegoats, and the bitter battle for political power- and how often times, women are the ones who pay the price.
This version of Medea is a warning about mob mentality, scapegoats, and the bitter battle for political power- and how often times, women are the ones who pay the price.
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