Ancient myths about Cyclopes are not numerous. They are, basically, the encounters of Polyphemos with Odysseus and with Galataea (and Acis), to which we must add the builder Cyclopes and the blacksmith Cyclopes. And yet, on this basis Aguirre and Buxton have collected a vast amount of material, all the way from ‘wholly enigmatic one-eyed figures depicted on Mesopotamian cylinder seals, the earliest dated c.3000 BCE’ (98) to a golden, circular mirror entitled ‘Cyclope’ that featured in Marie Claire Maison in 2018.

The danger in such an undertaking is of becoming predominantly encyclopaedic. Aguirre and Buxton claim that they have not aimed at exhaustiveness, but the accumulation of detail can occasionally be wearisome. However, the danger has on the whole been avoided, in various ways. Firstly, the material is used as a springboard for some almost self-contained treatments of general themes such as the Graeco-Roman prioritization of the visual over other senses, or the nature of monstrosity. Secondly, it would be worth possessing the book for the illustrations alone, which are fascinating and numerous: vase paintings, wall paintings, mosaics, sculptures, figurines, sarcophagi, manuscript illuminations, woodcuts, drawings, frescoes, oil paintings, engravings, grottoes, a circus-style performance, film stills.

Thirdly, there is the engaging quality of the writing. Here is a sample that also illustrates the authors’ taste for unabashed cross-cultural blending. After Odysseus rounds Cape Malea,

As an example of the same admirably all-inclusive spirit, no theory about the origin of the idea of one-eyed monsters, or the location their island, is too fanciful to be mentioned. It is for instance a fact that a tiny number of babies are born with only one eye (below or in place of the nose), and rarely survive. It has been suggested that this condition, called cyclopia, is what gave us the Cyclopes. The suggestion is as exotic (and as monocular) as the giants themselves. For Aguirre and Buxton to call it ‘susceptible of serious doubt’ (26) is (unless meant as ironic understatement) too generous.

Most of the book consists of a thematically arranged discussion of the ancient texts and visual representations (covering landscape, physique, lifestyle, gods, names, love and song), with two long final chapters taking us from the medieval to the present day. As for the method, there is an initial emphasis on context: ‘The meanings of any cultural item—such as an object, image, or tale—are inevitably moulded, initially by the context of production, and subsequently by the changing contexts of reception’ (6). This is impeccable, but does not define what is meant by context. Subsequently it is defined, rather narrowly, to mean ‘either the overall medium of transmission (for example, a text or a painting) or the particular literary genre or artistic subtype (for example, epic poetry or vase painting)’ (219). Aguirre and Buxton are true to this definition throughout, with little interest in the kind of societal or historical context that is essential for understanding, for instance, the massive difference between the Homeric and the Euripidean Polyphemos.

This is the only limitation of the book, and within this limitation Ido not see how it could have been better done. Nevertheless, Icannot resist adding to the feast three scraps, all contributions of children. Alittle Greek girl once told me a story that she called ὁ πολυφημισμένος δράκος. It consisted of the basic Homeric narrative of Polyphemos and Odysseus mixed up with some fairy-tale motifs. For infants, grown-ups are giants (Bruno Bettelheim, The Uses of Enchantment (London 1976)). And an infant held up close to the face of a grown-up may fear being eaten, and the grown-up’s eyes may seem to merge into one eye.