This course does not pretend to be an entertaining foray into the language and culture of the Ancient Greeks. The back cover proclaims it as ‘the best-selling textbook for first-year Greek’, but I assume that they mean first-year undergraduates, since I doubt any Year 7 student would be too enthralled by the occasional black-and-white photograph or line drawing!

Nevertheless, for its intended audience of first-year undergraduates, this course progresses as one would expect, with an introduction containing material about the alphabet and guidance on how to write it, on to the grammar itself. By the end of the third chapter, articles, nouns and adjectives for the masculine and neuter in all cases and both numbers are to be learned. This is not a course for the faint-hearted!

Rather like Reading Greek, the aim is for students to be reading continuous passages of confected prose from the beginning, increasing in length and difficulty throughout the course, so that by the end, students are reading lightly-adapted Thucydides and Aristophanes. This has its benefits, but weaker students can be left feeling rather bamboozled meeting a new form in a reading passage before they have learned the grammar for it, so teachers are of course free to adapt the material to their needs. Another feature is that there are also references to Classical Greek and New Testament Greek from the get-go, so that students can have the (optional) practice of translating these, too.

One advantage that I think this course has over Reading Greek is the fact that there are workbooks to accompany both volumes of the textbook. These provide excellent additional exercises complementing those in the main volumes which can simply be used as required for further practice or can be attempted as end-of-section tests. Vocabulary learning (both out of and into Greek) is tested, along with grammatical exercises and (usually) a passage of Greek for translation.

One word of caution: do not be misled by the naming of these books as ‘workbooks’, if, like me, the word reminds you of primary school maths! These are textbooks, save for the fact that they do not contain the grammatical explanations and are an excellent investment, if £20 perhaps seemed rather expensive for ‘just’ a workbook!

The workbooks do have spaces in them for almost all exercises in which students may write their answers, but, as the editors themselves suggest, attempting the exercises on a separate sheet of paper does allow for the exercises to be used more than once. They also contain the answers for the exercises in the workbook: useful for students with limited or no access to a teacher.

Another word of caution: as the place of publication of this series may suggest, these books are written with an American audience in mind and as a result of this, the cases are laid out in the American format (Nom-Gen-Dat-Acc-Voc) rather than the format that we are more used to on this side of the pond. There are appendices which list the cases in the UK format, though it would no doubt be somewhat of a pain to have to keep cross-referencing between two parts of the book.

Nonetheless, this series does have an advantage over Reading Greek in that each textbook is self-contained, that is to say, the reading passages, grammatical explanations and exercises can all be found within the one book, making portability somewhat easier.

This course also contains explanations and exercises on accentuation, something with which I am still struggling to get to grips, given that we simply ignored it when I was learning Greek. These can, of course, be omitted if teachers so wish, and the sections and exercises are bracketed to highlight this.

Those students who long for colour will be disappointed by this course since it is mainly in monochrome, save for a few colour photographs in the centre of the textbooks, cross-references to which are contained in the main body of the text.

Athenaze is ideal for those students who wish to learn Greek, as opposed to those who are studying it in order to meet the requirements set by school examination boards. I do not think it will rival the excellent Greek to/Beyond GCSE books in schools, nor Reading Greek for universities, but it is well worth consideration for sixth form and university beginners.

Teachers and students familiar with Taylor's original Greek to GCSE should find this revised edition attractive and user-friendly. The revised edition is aimed specifically at preparing students for the new OCR GCSE as T. clearly explains in the preface. The content and programme of study are virtually identical to the first edition, but the layout has been modernised and expanded, with limited used of colour. I am not convinced about the wisdom of choosing orange to highlight the grammar and vocabulary to be learned, particularly when studying in artificial light, but it is helpful to have GCSE required vocabulary highlighted. Overall, the more spacious layout is an improvement and the use of colour to highlight the summaries of grammar covered at the end of each chapter is helpful.

A new addition to this book is the inclusion of practice sentences from English to Greek, directed specifically towards the new examination requirements. There is clear guidance given regarding the requirements of these and 20 exercises provided to give students plenty of practice.

Another welcome addition is the inclusion of monochrome illustrations relevant to the themes of the stories and even linguistic content. I particularly like the use of The Annunciation by Fra Angelico to explain the origin of the English word angel; that said, these illustrations are quite sophisticated and will require some explanation or unpacking for many students. They definitely contribute to the overall more attractive look of this book; in comparison, the first edition looks rather Spartan and austere.

For those to whom this course is entirely new, is it a wise choice? Yes, in a word, if you have students who want, or might want, to take the GCSE. Many students who take Greek have a limited amount of teaching and study time at their disposal and will thus appreciate a course which gets them started and up and running with remarkable rapidity. The assumption is that students using this course have encountered Latin, which may be irritating or unhelpful to those for whom this is not the case, but for the majority this is probably correct and thus the links provided are helpful and time-saving. T. has a clear focus on grammar and makes no bones about this. He introduces verb endings first, then nouns, so that by the end of the first chapter students can read basic sentences in Greek. He also introduces the concept of translating from English to Greek very early on, which helps to reinforce the grammatical endings and to establish this practice as something normal and not to be feared as unduly difficult. Tenses other than the present are introduced in chapter three and these are presented in a logical sequence, with the easier future and imperfect tenses preceding the aorist. Taylor presents regular patterns before introducing anomalies and there is much wisdom in this, as students tend to find it reassuring. It does seem regrettable, however, that all contract verbs are left until Part 2, as many common and useful verbs are thus omitted from Part 1.

As it is so clearly directed at the GCSE, one might wonder if it is a worthwhile choice for those who simply have a general interest in learning Classical Greek. For adults and older school students (aged 14 +) I think it would be, as they would get a very good, general grounding and a sense of achievement, in having learned all the most frequently used tenses of verbs, all cases of nouns and adjectives, and having read stories based on original Greek texts. Students used to reading courses, such as the Cambridge Latin Course, may be a little frustrated that there are no stories at all until chapter 3. The stories that follow, adapted from Aesop, Homer and about Alexander the Great, who does not feature in other Greek courses, are worth the wait and these are cleverly sequenced to practise newly introduced language features. This book would probably be rather demanding for younger pupils, or those who do not have sufficient time, such as a lunchtime club with only one short session per week, but like all Taylor's books it does do what it says on the cover very effectively.

This is the last of John Taylor's course books to be revised. The revised edition of Greek to GCSE came out in August 2016 and Latin Beyond GCSE in January 2017. At the end of my review of the latter (see JCT 35) I expressed a hope and a doubt. The hope has not been realised and the doubt has been confirmed. I hoped that the present work would be a full and proper revision (unlike the other two), but doubted that it would be. So on the whole this book has been revised only to the same extent that the others have: it has been revised to comply with the new OCR specifications. It is not as if insufficient time was available for a fuller revision. It is after all nearly eight months since Latin Beyond GCSE came out, and there cannot have been pressure to get the present work out in time for last year's (2017) AS Level examination. And it is nine years since the first edition. Is it really only the OCR specifications that have changed in nine years?

As Taylor admits in the Preface (p. x), ‘The first four chapters of the present book [i.e. the meat of the book, the morphology and syntax prescribed by OCR for AS and A Level Greek] are (beyond a few corrections and expansions [very few and all small and minor] essentially unchanged from the 2008 edition.’ [my italics]. What sort of revision is this? Even grammatical errors in the earlier edition have remained unchanged, e.g. the 3^rd. plural of the perfect indicative active of iste ⁻mi (p.65: but correct on p.320), the aorist indicative passive of airo ⁻ (p.324). There is only one new section in chapters 1-4 (verbs of precaution and prevention) from those in the earlier book. And of course the syntax recapitulated from chapters 1-4 in chapter 9 (‘Summaries of Syntax’) has remained ‘essentially unchanged’ from the first edition. Unlike Latin Beyond GCSE, certain syntax, including some of the commonest constructions, is covered only by the ‘overview’ in the Summaries of Syntax chapter and not in the body of the book (and without the additional practice and revision exercises to be found in the Latin book). The reason given for this (one which apparently does not apply to the Latin book though) is that such syntax has already been covered for GCSE. Is the candidate not required to show any more knowledge of these constructions at AS and A level than is required for GCSE Level?

The first edition of Greek Beyond GCSE was not as exams-oriented as the first edition of Latin Beyond GCSE. This revised edition has all the relevant exams-related features of its Latin counterpart (chapters 5-7). (Taylor does say, however (p. x), concerning the exercises in cc. 5-7, that ‘it should be noted that they do not follow the conventions of OCR papers in every detail and do not constitute officially endorsed specimen material.’) For these and other additions to and changes from the first edition, see my review of the revised edition of Latin Beyond GCSE in JCT 35. (The OCR specifications are almost identical, except for the obvious differences, for both languages.)

The reading passages in cc. 1-4 are the same as those in the earlier edition. They are longer and, in my opinion, more challenging than their counterparts in Latin Beyond GCSE, which are pitched more at AS than at A level (and beyond). The reading passages that make up chapter 8 (27 pages of them), all of them prose (why no verse?), omit four passages (by Plato, Plutarch and Lucian) that are in the first edition. The Plutarch and Lucian passages are prescribed texts for OCR GCSE Greek in 2018 and beyond, which probably accounts, in part at least, for their omission here.

The appendices (five in total) contain two that do not have their equivalents in Latin Beyond GCSE (‘Greek and Latin constructions compared’ and ‘Outline of Greek History’), both of which are quite useful for students at this level. The appendix on ‘Major Greek Authors’ gives far too little information to be of much use (and see below my remarks about Homer).

All these additions and changes will be as helpful to users as those in the Latin book and are to be welcomed. Not that there will be many people to welcome them. Its publication will attract as much attention as a small earthquake in Chile. Neither the author nor Bloomsbury will make any money from it (thank goodness for Harry Potter) unless there are many more takers world wide than there are OCR candidates in the UK, who can be numbered in the hundreds (the numbers possibly augmented by students at university, though it is not really suitable for them any more than Latin Beyond GCSE is). Amazingly, there are a few OCR subjects with even fewer candidates than A level Greek. Greek tops the poll though for the percentage of independent school and other selective school candidates: 99.9%, soon to be 100% I expect. Would it still be offered, with so few takers, if it were a (non-selective) state school monopoly? At least, with so few takers, it is no longer (such) a symbol, if not an instrument, of social division, one hopes.

The formatting of the book is similar to that of the other two revised editions. Like them the present work is no longer in monochrome and has illustrations (fewer (11) and usually smaller than in the two volumes of Greek To GCSE, and less eye-catching). There were complaints about the rendering of the Greek in Greek To GCSE: a pale orange that was difficult to read. This has been rectified in the present book and the Greek text is the same colour as the English. The Greek font used is less attractive and less distinctive than that used in the first editions of the Greek books. It is a pity that it was not retained, or that the Greek could not be rendered in bold throughout — as it appeared to be (but wasn't, apparently: it was a normal not a bold font, like a Cooper Black or Arial Black) in the earlier books.

One of the illustrations is a map of ‘Greece and the Aegean’ (pp. xii-xiii). This is the only map in the book and is the same as in the first edition. A map of Greece, however good it is as a map of Greece (this one is pretty poor), should show it in relation to other parts of the (known) world, which are in fact in places parts of Greece, if we take Greece to be the (wider) Greek world. A map that does not show Greece in relation to the whole of the Aegean and the Mediterranean (Magna Graecia and Sicily particularly), the Black Sea, Egypt and North Africa and Persia is deficient in my view. The book should also contain a map of Attica, showing the main features of the topography of fifth-fourth century Athens and its environs, including the better-known demes. We are only talking about a single page, two at the most, or three if we include a separate one of Greece in its wider geographical context. Some people like (informative and attractively presented) maps.

What has not been revised that might have/should have been revised in a full and proper revision? In my review of Latin Beyond GCSE in JCT 35 I singled out ten things that I thought should have been looked at again. Numbers 1, 2, 5 and 10 on that list apply to this revision of Greek Beyond GCSE also. (On the confounding of fact and language, see my article ‘Is That A Fact? Language and Fact in Greek and Latin Constructions’ in JCT 36. It contains several references to Taylor's books, including the present one.) I think that the following should have been looked at again too:

1. 1. The remarks on aspect on pp.273-5 (aspect of the aorist only), reveal a confusion between tense, time and aspect. Tense and time are confounded (as they usually are) and aspect is treated as a ‘type of time’. Tense and time are clearly distinguishable. Tense is a grammatical concept; there is disagreement about the correct conceptualisation of time, but nobody suggests that it has anything to do with grammar. There are three time locations but twice as many tenses, three for past time alone. Tense is not something studied by a physicist or a philosopher; time is not something that a linguist studies. Aspect is concerned with certain ways in which acts, events, processes and states, i.e. things denoted by verbs, are distinguished (other than by time location) by means of the different tenses of verbs, especially (though not exclusively) in moods other than the indicative and in participles and infinitives. The tense of a Greek verb may indicate time location or (more usually) aspect, and both in the case of the imperfect and aorist indicative. Otherwise, where the verb indicates aspect it cannot also indicate time location, and vice versa. (For a much fuller and more detailed discussion of aspect, see my article ‘Tense, Time, Aspect and the Ancient Greek Verb’ in JCT 34.)

2. 2. There are no such things as correlative or indirect/direct pronouns and adverbs, only certain types of pronouns and adverbs used correlatively or used in indirect expressions. So, what is called the ‘indirect interrogative’ (a term found even in some traditional grammar books) is the indefinite relative, used in clauses of indirect question as an alternative to the interrogative (not ‘direct interrogative’). I suspect that the terms ‘direct’ and ‘indirect’, properly used of types of question, have been improperly used to denote different types of pronouns/adverbs. As for correlatives (the use of the demonstrative/deictic and the relative), the fact that they are correlative in use and related in meaning does not mean that they are correlative in meaning. They are also, and most commonly, used separately and individually, when, by definition, they are not correlative.

3. 3. The expression ‘principal parts of irregular verbs’ found in most course and grammar books should be abandoned and replaced by ‘verbs with irregular principal parts’. The verbs are not irregular (unless they belong to the tiny number of irregular verbs), the principal parts are. (Taylor gets this right in Latin Beyond GCSE.) Taylor refers in places to ‘very irregular’ verbs. What are the less irregular verbs? What are ‘regular verbs’? Of course he means by ‘very irregular’ verbs the handful of what are more commonly called ‘irregular verbs’ simply: eimi (x2), oida, phe-mi.

4. 4. There are no such verbs as ‘middle’ verbs (any more than there are ‘active verbs’ or ‘passive verbs’), even verbs with middle forms only. ‘Middle’ denotes a form and function of a verb, not a type of verb. Its form is a defining feature of a deponent verb, but is not peculiar to a deponent verb as many non-deponent verbs have middle forms. So ‘middle’ and ‘deponent’ are not synonymous (and some deponents have passive forms too, but not passive forms only). Verbs should simply be distinguished as ‘deponent’ and ‘non-deponent’, the distinction signifying verbs without active forms and verbs with. Greek deponents do not have active forms (except for a tiny number in some tenses) as Latin deponents do. Some deponents, e.g. makhomai, have middle forms that are active in meaning, just as they have passive forms that are active in meaning, e.g. boulomai. A small number are passive in meaning as well as form in some tenses.

5. 5. The distinction between primary and historic tenses and the notion of sequence of tenses (and Greek employs a sequence of moods, not tenses, as Latin does) should not be used in connection with indefinite clauses any more than with consecutive clauses; its use can only mislead students. The tense of the verb in the main clause has no bearing on the tense of the verb in the indefinite clause. The tense of the latter denotes aspect, not time. The time location is denoted by the mood of the verb, not by its tense. And the time locations of the main and indefinite clauses may differ, e.g. ‘Whatever you did, I forgive you’. The unwary student may be tempted to use the subjunctive rather than the optative in the indefinite clause.

6. 6. Subordinate clauses in indirect speech in general are difficult enough, but conditional sentences in indirect speech are the most difficult constructions to get right, either translating from or into Greek. There are so many rules and types of conditions, three time locations, and three different ways in which the apodosis may be expressed. And what is a sentence in direct speech becomes two subordinate clauses in indirect speech. The best help that can be given to the student is to show the rules in action in a full table (with explanatory notes, where necessary) of examples of all possible sentences, rather than to enunciate or explain them. The student can then see clearly, if not quite at a glance, the forms taken by the different types in the different tenses with the different apodoses. This would be especially useful for a student translating into Greek. But even with a table they can be difficult to untangle.

7. 7. The meanings of conditional sentences, and the differences of meaning between the different types, have all to do with what the speaker says or implies, and nothing to do with what was/is/will be the case, or what the speaker knows. We cannot infer from any type of conditional sentence alone what was/is/will be the case or what the speaker knows. To attempt to do this is to go beyond what the sentences actually say and mean.

   In general the treatment of conditional sentences seems to me to be too wordy: too much information and explanation is given, not all of it clear and correct. Also, I think that Taylor should have stuck to just one name for each type of condition, not suggest or canvass alternatives, e.g. ‘closed’, ‘unknown’, ‘unfulfilled’, ‘remote’. One needs to focus more on the essentials from the learner's point of view. What the learner most needs to know is how to recognise each type (harder in Greek than in English) and how to translate each type. The less one goes into the niceties of meaning, and the precise differences of meaning, the less risk there is of confusing or misleading the learner. It may be a case of the more help you try to give the less helpful you are. But, to emphasise what is said in the previous paragraph, I do think that the one thing one must try to get across is that all conditional sentences express and reflect only the attitude/point of the view of the speaker as contained in what the speaker actually says, and tell us nothing about the facts or the speaker's (or anyone else's) knowledge of them. They cannot: they are all hypotheses of one kind or another.

8. 8. ‘Virtual Oratio Obliqua’ occurs in some of the reading passages but the usage is not explained anywhere. It is not as common or as extensive as in Latin but some explanation is called for.

9. 9. The treatment of the attraction of the relative and the omission of the antecedent can be made needlessly extended and convoluted (see Eleanor Dickey, An Introduction To The Analysis And Composition Of Greek Prose (2016), pp. 84-7), with talk of words and expressions being ‘incorporated’ or ‘telescoped’ or ‘sucked in’. It can be boiled down to three simple rules: (i) attraction can only occur in the case of ‘defining’ (‘the man who …’) not ‘descriptive’ (‘the man, who …’) relative clauses (though Greek was not able to signal the distinction as English does); (ii) for attraction to occur the antecedent is (normally) in the genitive or dative and the relative in the accusative; (iii) the antecedent is omitted either wholly (where it is a demonstrative pronoun) or partially (where it is a definite article+noun phrase: the article alone is omitted). Rule (iii) does away altogether with incorporation etc. as something different from omission. Apply these rules and you can't go wrong. But what happens if the antecedent is dative and the relative is genitive (or the other way round), e.g. ‘He trusts the soldiers he controls’. Finally, neither attraction nor omission need occur, or one can occur without the other.

A few concluding points for consideration:

The information on pp. 85-87 on the morphology of certain types of nouns and adjectives would seem to belong to Greek To GCSE rather than to the present book.

-mi verbs are often treated, by both teacher and student as an afterthought, grammatical curiosities almost, and not given the prominence and attention they require. No doubt this is largely because so many other verb forms of the pauo ⁻ type and contracted types have already been met with before -mi verbs are introduced. However, it must be stressed that they need to be learned just as thoroughly as other verb types because

(a) they are very common (more so than -a or -o contracted verbs), especially in their compound forms, of which there are many; (b) they are more difficult to learn and remember than other verb types; (c) many of the forms of ie ⁻mi are very similar to those of eimi (both), though perhaps met with more in compound than simple form — but the other two are common in their compound forms too.

Something on the history of the Greek language and the dialects might have been usefully included. This would show why Plutarch's and Lucian's Greek is so much like Xenophon's or Demosthenes’, though written 400 to 500 years later.

There is nothing in the book on or from Homer (he does not even make it into the Index!), except for four lines in an appendix. The appendix states that he is included in it because he is one of the most important Greek authors, but the four-line entry on him gives no idea of why he is. Formally, Homeric Greek may not fall within the OCR language requirements, and verse reading passages have been totally excluded from the book (why?). But the Odyssey is one of the set texts and for us the Greek language in its alphabetic form begins with Homer. Room should have been found for some reading passages from Homer and a short guide to the Homeric language included somewhere. There is almost nothing Greek that is not touched by Homer, and this should be acknowledged. One might almost say that the best reason for learning ancient Greek at all is to be able to read its first and best author in the original language. There is more to Greek than literary Greek, and there is more to literary Greek than Classical Attic.

Despite these many reservations, there is no doubt that the book in its revised form is the best available for the users for whom it is intended, i.e. students and their teachers preparing for the OCR exams; in fact, in this regard it has no competitors. Whether it is equally useful for other people wishing to learn Greek to the same level, or beyond, e.g. students at university or home students, especially those wishing to prepare themselves for the OCR exams without regular contact with a teacher, is less certain. But then again there is no other book or course that one could recommend over this one for these people either.

Latin Stories, has been updated for the new OCR specification of 2016, for first examination in 2018. It is, therefore, specifically aimed at people who are taking the new OCR Latin GCSE. The book is divided into four sections and contains 100 passages of Latin. The first and second sections contain 30 passages each, while sections 3 and 4 each contain 20 passages. Sections One and Two are designed to be straightforward translations. Section Three consists of mythological passages based largely on Ovid's Metamorphoses and Fasti, but also Aulus Gellius’ Attic Nights, Sophocles and Euripides and Horace's Satires. Each passage is followed by a series of comprehension questions following the format of Section A of the new GCSE exam. These include a variety of grammatical questions such as identifying conjunctions or prepositions, particular tenses, or why the subjunctive is used in a certain sentence, as well as short translations. Section Four focuses on historical topics (based mostly on Livy, Caesar and Cicero) with comprehension questions and some translation, following the format of Section B of the new GCSE exam.

The sections are clearly laid out with vocabulary which is not in the OCR list given for each passage. Passages are consecutively numbered from 1 to 100 and have the usual short two-line introduction explaining the story of that particular passage (which students so often forget to read, no matter how many times one might remind them). The passages in Sections one and two are generally about 12 to 15 lines long, with slightly longer passages (of about 20 lines) in Sections three and four. Appendix 1 highlights when new grammar points have been introduced, giving the passage number. For instance, the ablative absolute first occurs in passage 12. Appendix 2 lists the ancient sources upon which the passages have been based.

No answers or translations are given in the book itself, but there is a website with an answer key and extra passages for which one has to register online (including the name and address of one's school and the number of pupils one teaches as well as other details). Your school email address is also required to verify your status as a teacher in order to gain access to this content. This prevents students who buy the book from accessing the answers before attempting a translation of their own.

This book is extremely useful and does exactly what it claims, very successfully. There is an interesting variety of stories from Roman (and Greek) history and mythology as well as some adapted moral fables from Aesop. The Latin in the stories gets gradually more complex and this transition is handled well, so that students should not struggle with too many new grammatical points being introduced at once. The website answer companion aspect is a valuable timesaver for teachers, as answers can simply be downloaded and printed off. This book's usefulness, however, extends beyond the OCR Latin GCSE, which is its main aim. Anyone, including independent learners, who are taking GCSE Latin (whether with OCR or Eduqas) will find this book extremely beneficial. Moreover, these passages also provide valuable practice for students taking Common Entrance Latin. I thoroughly recommend this book.

Readers of this journal are undoubtedly well versed in the reading approach to teaching Latin employed by the Cambridge Latin Course since its inception in the early 1970s. Intended for a younger audience, the CLC has always made a name for itself as a narrative-driven textbook series that teaches students by asking them simply to read, and only later to think about the features of the language that they encountered – that they already figured out by diving headlong into something new. Presumably, then, when Peter Jones and Keith Sidwell endeavoured to create the Greek course they called Reading Greek toward the end of the decade, they were buoyed by the success of putting stories first, rather than an endless series of charts and academic sentences out of context, the stuff of Latin and Greek teaching for decades prior. The result was a two-volume system, bifurcated in order to capture the ethos of learning from text in one of its books, and to satisfy the desire, perhaps, for a more traditional pedagogy in the other, where grammar, vocabulary, and even exercises for practice were housed. Explicitly intended ‘for beginners in the upper school, at university and in adult education’, as its authors wrote in the preface, Reading Greek was a natural outgrowth of the CLC for Cambridge University Press, devotees of its novel methodology, and anyone interested in shaking things up in the world of Classics education back then.

Eight years later, in 1986, Jones and Sidwell returned with Reading Latin, a parallel two-volume system to the Greek course, with the same separation of text from grammar and its hoary language companions – that is, its charts, lengthy discussions of morphology, and all of the word lists necessary for a serious grasp of the Latin tongue were not in the same physical book as the adapted passages from Cicero et al. CUP now had its offerings intact and up-to-date for Latin learning markets young and old, something for everyone. (Their push into primary schools with the Minimus series did not happen until 1999.) But there is a misnomer, of sorts, afoot: Jones and Sidwell's Reading Latin does not employ the reading approach, at least not in the way the CLC does. It is a hybrid that aims to use reading as a starting point, only to leave it behind for the most part in the service of indulging in the more familiar territory of teaching the constituent parts of the Latin body without recognition of its soul. All anatomy and physiology, if you will, with no attention to what makes a person tick in the first place, and therein lies what is still present in its core in the second edition.

To peruse the chapters of its two volumes, published exactly 30 years after its debut, is almost to feel the editor's touch to this update to Reading Latin, noticeable in three areas: foremost among them is the decision to move vocabulary into the book with text, a recognition, one wonders, of the Internet Age within which this edition has been released, when online dictionaries abound and a student's attention span has been shortened considerably since the age when studying a language meant sitting at a large table with space enough for several works of reference to be available inside an arm's reach. This may seem like a no-brainer to some and anathema to others, but the instant availability of both on-page gloss and end-of-book glossary represents a game change in this heretofore binary universe, as the literature of the Romans is now adorned with auxilium, something that must have filled the offices of CUP with a goodly amount of conversation over the years. Educators have always debated the value of immediate lexical aid, but wherever one stands on the issue, we can all agree that the shift is more than cosmetic; further digging yields the precedent, as Reading Greek’s second edition, published in 2007, had already put the vocabulary in its text volume, which may have made this decision automatic.

Physicality stands out next, both upon first glance and feel and throughout the user's experience. Compared with those first editions from the 80s, the new Reading Latin weighs that much more, its shinier pages carrying the heft of a publishing industry's struggle to pack more information into an actual book in order to keep pace with the internet's boundlessness, a Sisyphean task that has plagued many new editions since the turn of the millennium. For example, when Harper Collins put forth its seventh edition of Wheelock's Latin in 2011, instructors everywhere complained of its lack of regard for portability in the name of even more ancillary material within each chapter. But Wheelock's retained its paper stock – and thus its price point – whereas Reading Latin now has glossy pages for its newly migrated lexical glosses, and actual students have expressed their disappointment over this seeming upgrade. (I am speaking here of my ownFootnote ¹ Latin students, who previewed copies alongside 1978's Reading Greek and shared with me their preference for the earlier textbooks’ allowance for writing notes in situ. Alas, the irony of improvement.)

Lastly, Jones, Sidwell and their editors in the new edition paid some attention to interface, but in the mind of this reviewer, not nearly enough. Their lengthy exposition on cases in Latin comes to mind: in 1986, one long block of their explaining the concept to readers passed muster, whereas now that same block has been broken up into smaller paragraphs, a move that is evident throughout the ‘Grammar and Exercises’ volume. It may be easier for students to read, but it gets at the heart of what distinguishes the latest edition of the CLC from its more mature Cambridge cousin, Reading Latin, namely what it means to teach with a reading approach. The former had a team of editors who laboured over making cuts in the name of showing, not telling. Vocabulary lists were shortened, ‘About the Language’ sections now have tighter explanations of new concepts, and there is overall more metaphorical room for a student to make her own observations in the process of learning Latin, thereby strengthening her engagement – and thus, her confidence – through reading and understanding. By contrast, the latter leaves no grammatical stone unturned in its support of learners, explaining by talking at rather than prompting its student to figure things out and supporting that discovery. It might be a necessity when teaching older students, who have less time to luxuriate in building their knowledge of the basics on their way to reading unedited Roman text, and perhaps less guidance from actual teachers in the room, too. Still, the soul of literature lies within the process of experiencing it. The reading approach asks students to make observations periodically so as to accumulate an understanding of the structure of the language, and it makes the concession of naming those observations things like nominative, accusative, pluperfect subjunctive, etc. Take too much time to talk structure, however, and you might lose students in that other volume, far away from the Latin entirely.

This is an interesting and illuminating book, worthy of any school teacher's time and perhaps that of some sixth form students. The purpose of the book is to show to a modern audience, in a format that is accessible, how the ancients learned Latin. D. has gathered together a number of bilingual colloquia (many from the corpus known as the impossibly-named Hermeneumata Pseudodositheana) by which, among others, ancient Greeks learnt to speak Latin. These are rather like the sorts of phrase books which supposedly help tourists ‘speak’ phrases useful to them in social and business situations: Latin on one side, Greek on the other. D. also includes a number of monolingual texts which were designed to help Latin learners, including some delightful ancient renditions of Virgil in a ‘more accessible’ word order, grammars, glossaries and so on. D. suggests that the materials could also be used as a complement to contemporary approaches to learning Latin: indeed, a look at original grammatical ‘errors’ is a fascinating exercise and also a solace to those who are still learning Latin to know that they were not perfect themselves!

The book is in several sections: a short and clear introduction about the creation, use and transmission of the sources, a collection of texts from the colloquia themselves (by far the largest), grammatical notes, glossaries, prose composition, alphabets, transliterated texts, texts with original Greek, texts without word division and an overview. There are four pictures of manuscripts. The collection of texts is initially the most interesting. D. gives each a short introduction: the colloquium is then presented with Latin in the left column and an English translation (from the Greek) in the right. By following the English and looking across to the Latin we are as if transported to the ancient ‘classroom’: it is a curious and rather pleasing experience to ‘hear’ the ancient student saying the phrases aloud again and again. Or at least that's the way I found it. The topics covered in the colloquia are of themselves very interesting. Now, of course, many of the details for (the ancients) were no doubt humdrum, run-of-the-mill stuff. But for this reader, finding out the minutiae and trivia of the way to the classroom, the waiting in line for your written work to be checked over, the reward from the teacher (or not) is an attraction to continue to read more. Is this what they did? Why! It's a bit like today – except it's not! These little descriptions opened up a whole world that I think a teacher and student would find fascinating looking at and would open up some valuable discussions about the language being used, teaching methods and, most of all, searching questions about the nature of everyday life in the ancient world. Sometimes the setting of the colloquium sounds like it is going to be quite prosaic: a shopping trip (p.42-45) does not hold out much promise - that is, until you realise the huge list of things to get ready for an extravagant party (and while the colloquium is clearly using the format to include as many items one might buy as possible in order to present plenty of new ‘vocabulary’ to the ancient student, nevertheless it sends home the message to the modern student quite how complicated such preparations might have been). Sometimes there are flashes of humour (whether deliberate or not): a visit to the toilet is necessary during a trip to the baths (p.47); the ‘shortened’ versions of the Iliad (p.59-61) and the Aeneid (pp.74-75) are entertaining in the way that a long and complicated story can be ‘boiled down’ into simple terms – and make the modern student perhaps appreciate rather more the art and skill of the originals. A list of excuses has a surprisingly modern feel and could be useful in the classroom today (p.57). Some colloquia draw out a different feel. There's a growing horror as you absorb the abrupt and berating tone with which the ancient was expected to treat the poor slave – a barrage of insults recommended to the ‘user’ puzzles the modern reader (p.55): is this merely practice with imperatives, or does it signify something closer to actual physical practice?

The other sections are of less immediate interest to most students for, perhaps, reading purposes: they contain little about daily life, and charts, lists and tables, I know, are of less obvious interest to the student of today. Nevertheless, they do provide opportunities for a teacher to show students how glossaries were compiled and how they were used, how the ancients seem to have explained and taught grammar, and how texts without punctuation were read. Each one of these elements could form the basis of a short exposition with a sixth form class or even younger: D.’s provision of examples and helpful notes would make such an investigation straightforward and rewarding.

For the teacher and the interested student this book is essential reading.

This book is aimed at Latin students (and their teachers) to help them extend their English vocabulary as well as to remember Latin words by making connections with English derivatives. There are three different parts to this this book. Part one focuses on ‘Affixes’ (suffixes, prepositions and prefixes). Part Two groups derivatives according to particular themes such as animals, colours, money, numbers, body parts, politics, time, mythology, ‘school and book’, geography, Halloween and Thanksgiving (it is American). Finally, Part Three focuses on ‘grammar related derivatives’, grouping them according to declension (first to third), conjugations (first to fourth), pronouns, adjectives, adverbs, deponent verbs and ‘look-alike derivatives’.

Each chapter has a page or a page-and-a-half introduction with an explanation and examples of that particular theme, for instance, ‘Time derivatives’. This is then followed by exercises, the answers for which are contained in the introduction. The first exercise is clearly laid out in three columns. The first gives the Latin word and the English translation, the second column, one or more English derivatives, and the third is the ‘meaning of [the] English [term(s)]’, which has been left blank for the student to complete. The nominative and genitive forms of the Latin words are given as is the gender. For instance, ‘tempus, temporis (n.)=time’. Other exercises include matching the English translation to the Latin; a multiple-choice section where one has to select from which of the four Latin words several English words are derived. For example, ‘sedentary, sedate, and president are all derived from…’; and more general questions on the topic, such as ‘how is avian flu spread?’ (under ‘animal’ derivatives), or research and retell the myth of Amalthea (under ‘money’ derivatives).

Appendix A lists all of the derivatives which appear in the book, chapter by chapter. Appendix B consists of three pages of Latin phrases used in English arranged in alphabetical order from (the obscure) ab ovo usque ad mala (I can't say that I have used, or even heard of this one before) to veni, vidi, vici (which I certainly have heard of - and used quite often in classes).

Derivatives are now a small but vital section in the Common Entrance and GCSE examinations. This book is useful not just for that, but also for helping students to extend their vocabulary in English, (of crucial importance as many Classics teachers claim it as one of the benefits of a classical education). The variety of exercises in each chapter provides productive ways of reinforcing the Latin meaning and any English derivations.

Section Two, which groups derivatives in themes based on their meanings such as planets, animals, time and so on, is probably the most user-friendly of the three sections - particularly for younger students. However, one has to be selective as some derivatives which it uses are unsuitable for younger students unless one wants to turn it into a PHSE lesson. For instance, under the derivative section on ‘Mythology’, which includes the 12 Olympian gods, ‘venereal’ from Venus and ‘erotic’ from Eros will generate some awkward questions, which you might wish to avoid.

Grouping them by adjectives or whether they are 1^st declension, as this book does in the third section, is rather clunky and less obvious, although it might fit better with how words are introduced, so one wouldn't have to set separate lessons aside just for derivatives.

This is a well laid out book and would be a useful addition for preparatory school teachers of Latin.

This little volume sets out to cover the new Seneca prescription for Latin A level, for 2018-19. The three letters in question are covered, in the Commentary notes (35 pages), more than adequately: there are a few, brief translations, full and competent comments and examinations of both syntax and literary devices. M. is a classroom teacher and his appreciation of, and indeed fondness for, his author can be easily read between the lines.

The Introduction, running to 30 pages, sets out to answer as many questions as sixth formers might have and achieves this, I believe, admirably; it deals, inter alia, with the vexed question of Seneca's supposed hypocrisy, ancient philosophical beliefs and his place in Roman literature. There are brief biographies of significant figures, including the early emperors, and a very useful Bibliography. M. rightly assumes that students will probably come to this author with little previous knowledge.

The Vocabulary List differentiates between the OCR Defined List and new words, but does not always allow, in its English translations, for specialist usage in the three letters covered. Nor is Seneca's nuanced sense of humour acknowledged. However, this little volume is the teacher's (and the student's) perfect companion.

The author has set out to compile and revise H &B's early 20th century books, long used and relied upon by generations of Latin teachers. The book is thus unsurprising on one level; it has a clear Table of Contents, a useful, if not exhaustive, Latin vocabulary list and some brief information on its two begetters. G, a self-confessed traditionalist who bemoans the decline of the meticulous study of Latin, makes no bones about publishing his reprint for those whom today we might call the Gifted and Talented.

G also admits that he is no Latinist, merely(!) ‘a computer programmer by trade’ who likes patterns, form and discipline in language. I and many others will understand and welcome his enthusiasm and the words of homespun, yet effective, advice with which he prefaces this work. Any Latin teachers who have the time to imbue their charges with the incontrovertible truth that translating English to Latin is a sine qua non for the better understanding of Latin to English will be glad of a useful, accurate and comprehensive course book that will take said charges from amo-amas-amat to prose composition passages.

English to Latin exercises are mixed with the converse from the start and Latin passages make their appearance relatively early, at ex. 38 (this volume contains 384). The book has nothing about which I would complain and, unless I have it wrong, has already been reprinted. Excelsior!

(L: Leonhardt; CL: Classical Latin; SL: Standard Latin; N-SL: Non-Standard Latin)

Defining words used to describe language, and distinguishing between their meanings, is a hazardous undertaking, no more so than in the case of the Latin language, but here goes:

CL/SL, as a form or variety of Latin (not a single one, of course), the only form(s) in which it has existed for over 1,000 years, is not a ‘lost’ or ‘extinct’ language, because it is still in use, e.g. the Vatican, Teubner praefationes, the radio broadcasts Nuntii Latini and Radio Bremen Latein Online. Although it depends on one's definition of ‘dead’, it is not really a dead language either, but a still ‘living’ language since it is capable of changing and adapting (it could not be used otherwise), except in certain core features. It is not an ‘artificial’ language (though it may be a specialised one) as it is not a made-up language, and so to this extent it is a ‘natural’ or ‘real’ language (but see the end of this review). It has never been a ‘first’ language or a ‘mother tongue’ or ‘native’ language, but it was learned and spoken as well as written actively as a second language by certain groups in certain situations from about 900 (and before that for centuries by native speakers as if it were a second language) until as late as 1800. Whether it may be called a ‘world’ language, and for how long, is more difficult to say (see later).

N-SL, as a form or variety of Latin, is a lost, and therefore dead (form of a) language. By the same token it is no longer a first or second language, or a native language or mother tongue. It used to be all of these things, and very much a real, natural and living language (more so than CL/SL, linguists might say), until it became a lost language. Some people think that if it is lost then it got lost in the Latinate languages, which are still with us, so that it is not really lost. But the fact that an oak tree develops from an acorn does not mean that it is (really) an acorn, any more than the fact that an acorn develops into an oak tree means that it is (really) an oak tree, even though there is no precise stage at which we can say that the one ceases to be or becomes the other. And anyway it depends on what a language is, something that nobody can really tell us, apparently.

It follows then that certain things are true of CL/SL that are not true of N-SL, and vice versa. Often ‘Latin’ needs to be qualified in order to make it clear to which of the two varieties one is referring. As I point out below, L. does not usually do this.

A first language is ‘the language in which learners are competent when starting a new language, the second language is another language that is being learned or has been learned to an adequate level’ (Oxford Companion To The English Language, p. 406). A ‘second’, as opposed to a ‘foreign’ language seems to be used nowadays to denote the learned or acquired language of another language community in the country of one's own residence.

In the form of the fixed language that was a version of SL, Latin became a ‘historical’ language by 1800, when it became dispensable, i.e. when it was no longer needed at all as a vehicle of communication. If one may use the term ‘world language’ (to denote a language used in the whole of or most of a sizeable portion of the globe), Latin (both SL and N-SL) became one when it became established in all or most parts of the Roman world at its greatest extent. When it ceased to be one, if this was not 1800, is not clear.

This is a book that anyone interested in the wider picture of Latin in all its forms should read — and there can be no wider picture of a language than that of a world language. How Latin became and continued to be a world language, and what made it a world language are what distinguishes this book from other more restricted accounts of the history and development of Latin ( L. mentions some of the best-known recent accounts on p.8).

It is a feature of this book that many other languages than Latin, ancient and modern, figure in it, especially other world languages such as English and Spanish and other what L. terms ‘fixed’ languages (a term that he uses to denote a standardised language with a fixed core of unchanging elements that is nonetheless capable of change and adaptation in other respects, e.g. vocabulary). Throughout the book comparisons and contrasts — nearly all of which are illuminating — are made between these languages and Latin. (Incidentally, one does not need to be competent in any of them in order to understand and appreciate the points that L. makes.) I do not know of a similar book on this scale and with this scope. As for the time-span, this is more or less the whole history of Latin from its beginnings as an obscure Italic dialect to Wikipedia in Latin and Google Translate (which can only get better).

The reader — especially the general reader, for whom the book is also intended — needs to be aware at the outset of L.’s use of the words ‘Latin’ and ‘vernacular’, and of the distinction to be drawn between CL/SL and N-SL, terms that L. does not use, preferring instead the word ‘vernacular’ or the traditional term ‘Vulgar Latin’ for N-SL and just ‘Latin’ for CL/SL. It is not always clear whether ‘vernacular’ is being used to denote non-standard Latin or a non-Latin language, especially a Romance language. The following, taken from p.130, is an example: ‘The vernacular was also very important in church as the language of sermons … In addition, of course, Christian teachings were propagated in the vernacular among those untutored in Latin.’ The first instance of ‘vernacular’ refers to N-SL (if that is what is meant by rustica romana lingua). The second instance, to judge from the sentence following it, seems to refer to a non-Latin vernacular, but it is not clear whether this is the case. As for ‘Latin’, I found L.’s constant use of it to denote CL/SL only tiresome, irritating and distracting. Does he really think that the language used by most of the population was not Latin, or does not deserve to be called ‘Latin’? In many places what he says of Latin applies to one of its forms only. And what is one to make of the use of the word ‘Latin’ in this sentence on p.136: ‘… the dissolution of Latin …would have chosen Latin …’ What is the Latin that is dissolved here? Not SL presumably, which is what ‘Latin’ usually denotes for L.. Latin as a whole, into SL and Romance? N-SL, into the Romance languages? There are other similar instances of opacity, some perhaps due to clarity that has got lost in translation. As for the term ‘Vulgar Latin’, this should certainly be ‘retired’, as L. says that Latin was as an active, living language by 1800. More than a dozen different attempts to define it have been made, which should tell us something about its usefulness. But at least it acknowledges that whatever it denotes is Latin, in some form or other. I would say that these are the most important reservations that I have about the book.

The book under review is a translation of an edited and expanded version (see below) of the original 2009 German edition. The translation is something of a curate's egg, but good in more parts than it is bad. It certainly contains numerous mistakes, oddities and infelicities. These are listed in great detail in the review of the book by Antonia Ruppel in Bryn Mawr Classical Review 2014.07.21, who also explains in what respects the book differs from the German edition. (For a detailed, chapter-by-chapter review of the 2009 edition see the review by Lee and Kosch in BMCR 2010.10.04.) I feel that Ruppel's judgement on the overall effect of these flaws on the quality of the translation and of the book as a whole is too severe, harsh even. One would need to have a good knowledge of German to understand some of the points she makes. And I wonder if she has taken in the fact that the translator is not a Latinist (see p.xiii) — which may account for some of the oddities. I found the translation on the whole, however correct as a translation, to be extremely readable. It captures well the idioms and nuances of contemporary English, remarkably so in places (though I'm not sure that ‘stymie’ is one of them!).

L. is very cavalier about the dates of historical/cultural periods, preferring traditional names to numbers when referring to them. He nearly always prefers a descriptive term when an actual date or time-span would be more helpful, especially to the general reader, who may not know, for example, when the ‘High Middle Ages’ were, or even ‘Antiquity’ or ‘Late Antiquity’. Actually, nobody does know, so perhaps I do L. an injustice. Even so, you get my point. And, as Karl Popper observed, sometimes a false statement can be more useful than a true one: a precise incorrect time (I am told it is 08:50 when it is 08:47) can be more helpful than an imprecise correct one (I am told it is between 08:30 and 09:00) if I am wondering what time it is and whether I shall miss my train that leaves at 09:05.

There is not space here for the kind of review of this book that you can find in the one by Lee and Kosch mentioned above. The bulk of the book is arranged chronologically and consists of four chapters, each of which is devoted to a historical period. In the prefaces and introductory chapter L. sets out his stall and defines and explains certain pivotal terms and concepts, not including ‘language’ (the most difficult one) but including ‘world’ (‘… world language status is less a function of how many people actually speak a particular language. What matters is that a language dissolves its ties to a single group of native speakers and, supported by grammars and dictionaries, becomes a globally shared vehicle of communication.’ (p.xi)). I doubt if one could ever come up with a globally agreed definition of a globally shared language. Certainly one must not take ‘world’ (or ‘globally’) literally if one is to make sense of the notion of a ‘world’ language. But surely a relevant factor in the case of Latin is the number of groups, and their geographical distribution, of native speakers of languages other than Latin (and this includes Italy until the first century CE) who came to adopt Latin as a second language initially and thereafter to speak it as a first language. And ‘Latin’ should be distinguished from ‘Latinate’. It was only in a relatively small part of the globe that Latin as a language of most of the population was a world language. And that had ceased to be the case centuries before new worlds were discovered to many of which Latinate languages were exported. Parts of the world in which not even Latinate languages were first languages, in which tiny groups of educated elites made use of the ‘fixed’ language that was SL for whatever purposes, should not feature on a map of the world of Latin. If they did, Latin would be a world language today. So would Greek, and many others. Not even English is a world language if we take ‘world’ literally, though it is certainly making advances (?) in that direction, as L. shows.

There are some errors, or at least dubieties, that probably should not be put down to mistranslation:

Jonathan Powell showed in 2011 (perhaps too late to be noted by L.) that the Appendix Probi (p. 102) is not what it has been taken to be. It is not a guide to differences between SL and N-SL, but rather a list of scribal errors with attempted corrections.

On pp.125-126 L. appears to think that the grammar of Aelfric was a grammar of Old English rather than a grammar of Latin presented in Old English, the first grammar of Latin to be written in a vernacular. (See chapter six of Learning Latin And Greek From Antiquity To The Present, CUP (2015).) I say ‘appears’ because it is just possible that he has been let down by his translator here — or that I have misunderstood him.

James Adams and others have argued that many words stigmatised, in ancient and modern times, as belonging to ‘Vulgar Latin’ (only) are in fact variant spellings (? misspellings: there was no fixed orthography until the grammarians fixed it, insofar as they were able to) of words also found in CL/SL and pronounced similarly. This may be the explanation of the words identified by L. on pp.158-9 that he connects to ‘Vulgar Latin’. But it is not entirely clear in what variety of Latin he thinks the author is writing — and N-SL was written (by a minority) as well as spoken, just as CL/SL was spoken as well as written (by a minority, quite likely a smaller one). Anyway Latin is a continuum that was used to serve many different purposes, and it may not always be possible to assign a given piece, especially a short piece, to one variety rather than another.

‘Proto-Romance’ is usually taken to be a hypothetical reconstruction of Latin (late mainly spoken N-SL). One is surprised therefore to come across the expression ‘proto-Romance languages’ (p.124). It is clear that L. means the earliest forms of the Romance languages that evolved from proto-Romance (and from attested sources); but his choice of language is clumsy and may mislead the general reader.

On pp.160-1 L. gives figures for people in the Roman world who had ‘extensive schooling in Latin’ about 400 CE (these would be native speakers of Latin mainly, learning SL as if it were a second language), and for people who ‘understood Latin and both wrote and spoke it fluently’ about 1100 (these would not include any native speakers of Latin (except perhaps in Italy), and learning SL as a second language, the first language being a language other than Latin, Romance or otherwise.). The minimum figure given is 100,000. L. does not provide the evidence for his figures. Even if they are correct, one needs to know what percentage of the population these figures represent in order to appreciate how meaningful they are. And is the percentage of those who learned SL in 1100 significantly greater than that of those who learned it in 400? But the main point to make (which L. does not make) is that in both periods those who learned this kind of Latin (SL, of course) belonged to a socio-economic elite, and therefore to a small minority, whatever the actual figures. L. says that in 400 ‘Knowing Latin was nothing special.’ On the contrary, knowing this kind of Latin has always been special And the majority were still not able to read and write their own language in any form at all — that would have been ‘special’ for them.

L. believes that in the Renaissance something like what used to be known here as the ‘oral method’ of teaching Latin was practised by humanists, Jesuits etc., and using techniques of instruction similar to those used in teaching modern foreign languages today. The purpose of this was both to enable students to learn Latin and, more specifically, to engage in everyday conversation in Latin - Neo-Latin presumably - rather than to use spoken Latin for the more serious purposes to which written Latin was usually put. On p.224 he writes ‘The humanists … did everything they could to make Latin a living language learned primarily by hearing and speaking, like any other mother tongue.’ And on p.227 he says ‘Latin education that was aimed at making it the mother tongue of the people’. He also says that the Colloquia Familiaria of Erasmus were used as models of conversational Latin.

Latin that was learned as a second language was by definition not the mother tongue of anyone, nor ever could be. And even if it could it would not be the mother tongue of ‘the people’. The overwhelming majority of ‘the people’ did not learn any kind of Latin, and certainly not Neo-Latin. Latin may have been a world language; it was certainly not a national language, especially one imposed on the population. As for Erasmus, the Colloquia are literary sketches written to display their author's versatility in a novel (for their time) use of Latin. They are surely not models for classroom exercises. And why would anyone want to learn how to conduct everyday conversations in Latin when they had a vernacular in which to do that? Learning to speak reasonably fluently, if not spontaneously, the conventional written lingua franca might have been a useful accomplishment if one needed to converse with one's peers ultraregionally (L seems uncertain about how much the humanists travelled outside their own country: compare p.215 with p.226). I doubt if learning how to ask the way in Latin to the nearest lavatory in the conference centre was a priority.

It seems to me that the practices L. describes have more to do with learning how to use spoken Latin in certain familiar situations than with learning Latin itself, and that a prior knowledge of Latin was in fact assumed. And how was basic literacy in Latin acquired? Surely not by means of the oral method. The practices strike me as diversions from the normal grammar-grind routine learning of Latin, not as the staple pedagogic fare. They would have the meretricious benefit of novelty value, and of enlarging the students’ vocabulary and of appearing to be more relevant to their practical experience. But in practice, when unsupervised, they would have used the vernacular in the real-life situations that these exercises mimicked. That's what I would have done anyway.

Very little attention is given by L. to the Latin used by most of the people most of the time in the Roman world, i.e. N-SL. It is just the ‘vernacular’ or ‘Vulgar Latin’. (Not even Josef Herman's book is in the bibliography.) This is especially true of the crucial period of the interface of Latin and Romance, and the importance of proto-Romance as a source of evidence for the latest forms of N-SL. (Many general readers may come away with the impression that CL/SL was the language of the population.) NS-L was an equal (at least) if unsung partner in the Latin that was a world language before 900. N-SL had a history of 1500 years (2,000 years if we regard Italian, as Italians still did in the 15th century, as volgare, a form of non-standard Latin, one half of a diglossia with grammatica, i.e. standard Latin), and it surely deserves a bigger part in the story of Latin. And it was not a language separate and discrete from CL/SL, but a form or variety (strictly speaking, forms and varieties) of the same language, constantly interacting with CL/SL. There is more evidence of its use than is supposed — if one cares to look for it and knows what to look for. It deserves better treatment than it gets from L.. It is no more studied in most Classics departments than are Medieval Latin and Neo-Latin, and it needs all the friends it can get. It is perhaps significant that the name of its biggest friend — for more than 40 years now — James Adams (‘as close as we can get to a native speaker of Latin’), is not mentioned anywhere except in the bibliography.

L. concludes the book with an appeal — surely to fall on deaf ears — for a return to learning to write and to speak Latin, in both cases using the language, as far as possible, in the kind of situations in which it was used from about 900 up to about 1800. The idea is that we can only understand and appreciate Latin as a ‘real’ language if we learn to use it as a real language, i.e. to communicate actively in speech and writing. (This is the opposite of the founding creed of the Cambridge Latin Course.) The main objection to this proposal is that the real Latin that was used as an active and living language in speech and writing, though it had to be learned, had evolved, and was still evolving to some extent, from existing and pre-existing forms, though no longer through input from other varieties or native speakers. This could not happen today, nor at any time in the future: the chain of evolution has been broken for too long — Latin has not been evolving organically for a long time (and some might say ever since it ceased to have any native speakers), as a real language does. Looked at from this standpoint, Latin today has arrived at a dead end and is not and is never going to be a ‘real’ language again. The only way forward is back — to the real Latin of the past. Anything else is window dressing. And reading, even of ancient texts, is a form of communication, if rather one-way.

There is an extensive bibliography, with (unsurprisingly) a preponderance of works in German. Even so there are some surprising Anglophone omissions.

There are endnotes, which consist largely of source references.

There is a capacious Index, not always to be found in scholarly books these days.

In conclusion, this is an important book. The story of Latin has been told before, but, to my knowledge, never from the perspective or with the focus of this story, and with such wealth of collateral detail supplied by a host of other languages. If I appear to have concentrated on what I regard as its few weaknesses, that is because its overriding strengths speak for themselves. Very highly recommended, in fact prescribed reading, I would say.

In his introduction, Hanif Kureishi suggests that Sophocles’ Antigone is a dialectical teaching play that shows human emotion from several points of view and allows us to ask ‘what if?’. It does not tell us what to think but acts as a guide to allow us to think through complexity and conflict for ourselves. Slavoj Žizek has therefore retold Sophocles’ original play in the mode of Brecht's three learning plays as a way to discuss power and relationships and with the aim of creating a true Antigone for our own times.

In the first part of the book Žižek sets out the reasons why he thinks classic plays, operas and literature should be adapted and rewritten for modern audiences and that loyalty to the original is a symptom of modern culture. He argues that we should not avoid the risk of adapting a classic work to make it more relevant to contemporary society and that this avoidance betrays the true spirit of the classic. He then continues to compare Antigone to Shakespeare's Hamlet, Claudel's Synge de Coufontaine and Sophocles’ Electra. He also looks at modernist and postmodernist approaches to the Antigone and so this is a useful starting point for discussions of Antigone. However, it will mainly be useful for teachers and those at university as Žižek's book may be beyond some students studying Antigone at A level.

The second part brings together Žižek's three alternative endings to the Antigone. The first is a cut-down but authentic retelling of Sophocles’ play up to the moment where Haemon's body is brought on stage. The play then seamlessly reverts back to Creon's decision to release Antigone but this time we are told by the Chorus that Creon was in time to save Antigone and that Polynices was buried with proper funeral rites. However, the people of Thebes who viewed Polynices as a traitor took matters into their own hands which leads to riots and the murder of Creon and Haemon. The play then moves back again but this time to Creon's declaration that Antigone must die. In this third version, the Chorus now declare both Creon and Antigone to be public enemies and they take control of Thebes as they claim that Creon is not fit to rule.

Žižek uses these three versions of the play to explore ideas of power, in particular the relationship between those who have power and those who do not. In the third version Antigone claims to be speaking for the people and giving them a voice and they instead demand to have their own voice rather than just her sympathy. The Chorus also claims that rule by one man increases that ruler's demonic excess and so a collective should rule to prevent man's demonic outbursts. Throughout both alternative versions the Chorus is the voice of reason and control. In the second retelling they warn Antigone that ‘when you forsake everything for your Cause, what you lose is the Cause itself, so all your sacrifices were in vain’ (p.24). Their final piece of wisdom is that we cannot use fate as an excuse to do what pleases us; we cannot escape the burden of our responsibility. Žižek has therefore used his versions of Antigone to debate issues that are as relevant to today's society as they would have been to the Athenians.

This is a thought-provoking and potentially challenging version of Antigone as it forces us to abandon our preconceived notions of the story of Antigone. Within the well known landscape of Sophocles’ Antigone, Žižek has created a medium through which we can debate modern issues of power and self-determination. But the book also provides a platform with which to debate Sophocles’ original intention in his portrayal of the Antigone myth and in particular the characters of Antigone and Creon.

Hinds’ rendering of Aeschylus’ trilogy is intended to be the perfect marriage between conscientious translation and lively performability. As such, this edition, where Hinds reformed the content of pre-existing translations in iambs, was then re-drafted with oversight from Dr. Martine Cupyers, who brought the text closer to the original Greek (p.11). However, the edition is clearly primarily written for performance rather than study, as evidenced by the notes before and after the primary text; there are prefatory introductions by Cupyers on the text and its context (pp.7-9) and an introduction of equal length on the translation project, by Hinds (pp.11-13). The former is most useful to the student, while the latter is perhaps of most interest to the scholar. Additionally, after the text, there is a good collection of miscellaneous notes on modern performance, enunciation, pronunciation, metre and direction, with obvious utility for stage production. Notably absent, however, is any information on the ancient theatrical setting (pp.221-238). The text is evidently not intended as an object of study, considering the absence of line numbers, or explanatory notes, except some very brief extended descriptions within the translation, such as the expansion from the original γυναικoς (Agamemnon v.11) to ‘From her - Clytemnestra - // Wife to Agamemnon, (p.19).

Turning to the text itself, the translation is lively and clear, often taking the flavour of the Greek and expressing it in as many words and lines as necessary for clarity, as in the Herald's speech in Agamemnon: ‘If I could capture the conditions … Then on land … Then soaked in meadow-dews … Then the cutting winter cold … And in the summer …’ (p.43). Hinds’ clarity allows reader and audience to follow the longer passages with ease. In The Libation Bearers, the same clarity can be found, in Orestes’ neat expression of his appointed task: ‘Yes, you killed the one you should not kill; // And now I kill the one I should not have to kill.’ (p.149). This uncomplicated rendering also aids the student in identifying themes and links through the trilogy, here of the relationship between justice and necessity.

Clear demonstration of the trilogy's themes and plot is one of this translation's best strengths, with a consistency of reference throughout, most often to Justice and to the Furies, as well as the mythological background to the events of the plays, and clear foreshadowing of those to come. Once a student's attention has been drawn to these, the teacher's ability to expand on detail beyond the text would be beneficial to understanding, if not necessarily the performance.

The translation is suitable for students of secondary school age and above, although arguably the phrasing can seem censorious, such as Apollo's attempted ‘child creating act’ with Cassandra (p.75), or even infantile, in the Nurse's reference to ‘number twos’ (p.140). Such phrases, particularly the latter, may have a characterising effect in a given scene, but not always what is intended in the Greek.

Furthermore, these delicate, or even prudish, phrases can be incongruous, particularly given Hinds’ able evocation of strong, bloody, imagery, in each of the three plays: ‘spurting out // A forceful jet of blood, // He strikes me with a dark cascade // Of crimson dew’ (Agamemnon, p.85); ‘Co-mingled clots of blood // And loving milk’ (The Libation Bearers p.129); ‘Give up that thick red broth // For us to lap and guzzle.’ (The Eumenides p.179). While shocking images, each captures the essence of retributive justice, and again a teacher may direct emotional responses towards the analytical.

As a whole, collected work, this set of re-worked translations does indeed make The Oresteia fit for performance to a wide audience, with plenty of support to the non-classicist: actor and director alike. While the text cannot be said to be faithful to the Greek in structure, the content and the essence are retained as much as possible with respect to fluency of performable English, barring occasional misjudgments. Indeed, ideas are often extended where the audience or reader may benefit from further exposition. For its clarity, this work may also be useful for the student and teacher as a companion reference to a more faithful translation. Its accessibility as a play, in terms of its rhythm and ready performance, may also grant ease of access to ancient context, and the reaction of the contemporary audience. The potential for this is however limited by the lack of treatment of the ancient theatrical setting, which is arguably as interesting to the scholar as it is useful to the thespian.

This selection is part of the Bloomsbury series of prescribed texts for the new OCR A level Latin, for examination in 2018 and 2019. The Heroides selection is the additional choice in the verse texts for full A level, the choice which is intended to offer something new and different for A level students and their teachers. Ovid is, of course, a familiar author for A level Latin, but the Heroides has not been set before, or not for a long time.

In this volume Godwin provides the Latin text of the two prescribed letters, VI and X, following a brief introduction to Ovid and a more detailed introduction to the Heroides as a collection. There is also a useful guide to metre and secondary reading. The bulk of this slim volume, however, is taken up by the commentary notes, which is entirely appropriate. The notes offer considerable assistance with translating the Latin text, as well as providing context and elucidation of the poet's use of language. Following the commentary notes there is a vocabulary list which cross-references the OCR AS Defined Vocabulary List. Godwin thus enables his readers to translate the Latin with relative ease.

It seems likely that most students will read this as their second verse text and perhaps this is why no separate section giving guidance on style (which has been included in the Virgil Aeneid VIII selection, for example) is provided here. My experience of teaching suggests that, even in their second year of A level when they might perhaps be expected to know and understand the relevant terminology, most students benefit from a reminder of this, with specific examples provided. That said, Godwin provides plenty of ideas and material for a discussion of Ovid's style in his excellent commentary notes and it is highly desirable to encourage students to look at a text as a whole, rather than treating literary comment as a box-ticking exercise. Every year examiners seem to comment on this and how much help to give is always a matter for debate between teachers; no doubt this question is carefully considered by both author and publisher too.

In the course of my teaching this term, I have found that this selection equips students to prepare the text very well for discussion in class. The assistance given means that precious classroom time is not entirely taken up with translation, but can be used to discuss and interpret the text, which is surely a valuable part of A level study, as well as a bridge to undergraduate study. This text is a particularly rewarding read for those who have read a range of literature and enjoy comparative study. Godwin provides plenty of ideas to stimulate further reading and cites texts which A level students are unlikely to encounter unprompted. Students are thus encouraged to relate this text to their reading in other subjects; those also studying Greek, Classical Civilisation and English have found this particularly rewarding. It is well worth providing a copy of this volume for each student, to facilitate independent study. Teachers on a tight budget will not need to purchase a lot of other materials to support this. Godwin cites the Penguin Classics translation by Isbell, but OCR also recommends the Poetry in Translation website, which is freely available. A copy of the Latin text to annotate can be freely obtained from The Latin Library, but teachers should note that there are some discrepancies between this and the text Godwin uses. This can open up some interesting discussions about textual criticism, but Godwin's text is the one endorsed by OCR and thus to be preferred.

I was initially unsure about teaching this text and wondered if we should do the second Virgil text, as a safer bet perhaps, but this was the students’ choice and I willingly admit that I am now converted and would wholeheartedly recommend this to teachers and their students. Godwin is himself a highly experienced teacher and with his text students feel confident that they are in the hands of someone who is very knowledgeable, of both Latin literature and the requirements of A level. It seems a pity that such a valuable work will have so short a life in terms of the specification, but it would still provide excellent material for general reading of Latin poetry and comparative study.

Guy de la Bédoyère has brought to light the significance of the Praetorian Guard in the imperial period and this is an invaluable book for anyone looking to understand both the development of the imperial system and its decline.

This engaging and well-researched book follows the changing fortunes of the Praetorian Guard chronologically, starting in chapter one with their evolution from being disparate groups of private bodyguards for Republican generals, to Octavian's acquisition of several Praetorian Cohorts after the battle of Actium. Chapter two then follows their foundation under Augustus as a standardised imperial bodyguard.

The importance of the Praetorian Guard and the potential danger that a permanent and privileged imperial force brought to the Roman system become clear in chapter three once Tiberius awards the Praetorian Guard a permanent camp in Rome, the Castra Praetoria. Although there was a practical need for a permanent base where discipline could be regulated and orders given simultaneously to the whole Guard, this permanent fortified symbol of the Praetorian's power inspired ‘everyone with fear’ and their influential position was made clear to the Guards themselves. Thus followed the rise of the power of the Praetorian Prefects, starting with the ambitions of Sejanus, and the Praetorians started to either influence or at times openly choose the next emperor. This would have disastrous consequences for both individual emperors and the fortunes of the empire itself, leading to the civil wars and instability of the second and third centuries AD.

The turning point in this history of the Praetorian Guard is the assassination of Caligula (chapter four) by a group of conspirators which included one of the Praetorian Prefects and several Praetorian Tribunes. From this point, an emperor who tried to limit the power of the Praetorian Guard, or who either did not pay them a sufficient bonus or was found to have promised more than they could afford like Didius Julianus (chapter nine), soon faced the threat of conspiracy and assassination. Guy de la Bédoyère's detailed and comprehensive exploration of the Praetorian Guard then continues through successive emperors and civil wars until its disbanding by Constantine in 312 AD (chapter ten).

Aside from this history of the power and influence of the Praetorian Guard, Guy de la Bédoyère charts the changing nature of the Praetorian Guard and its pay and conditions, as well as detailing the layout and function of the Castra Praetoria. We also get glimpses of the lives of ordinary Praetorian Guards, such as Gaius Vedennius Moderatus who had specialist artillery skills and during his 40 years of service was decorated by both Vitellius and Domitian.

This is an easily readable and well-thought-out book and each chapter begins with a useful abstract to help those who want to focus on certain periods and events. There is also a selection of coloured photographs of the coins, monuments and inscriptions referred to in the book. Guy de la Bédoyère does not hide the fact that the availability and quality of the sources decline in the 2^nd century and become particularly fragmented and unreliable after Cassius Dio. This means that from the mid-second century little is known about the Praetorian Guard for large periods of time. However, where possible he has supported the written sources with epigraphical, numismatic and archaeological evidence and the result is a well informed and comprehensive history of the Praetorian Guard.

In this book, Guy de la Bédoyère gives the Praetorian Guard its rightful place as one of the most influential and important institutions in imperial Rome. Moreover, he not only makes evident the importance of the Praetorian Guard to imperial politics and succession, but he also gives a clear overview of the development of the imperial system. As such it is a valuable and fascinating read for anyone looking to understand this complex and changing period, not just those whose who are interested in the Praetorian Guard itself.

The great physicist Richard Feynman, who visited the National Archaeological Museum in Athens in 1980 - and found most of the exhibits boring - wrote of the Antikythera Mechanism that it is ‘so entirely different and strange that it is nearly impossible’. Alexander Jones describes it as ‘the most important artifact of ancient science that archeology has ever brought to light’, and it has been called the world's first analogue computer.

The Mechanism, which probably dates from the first century BC, was discovered in 1901 in the course of salvage operations on an ancient shipwreck near the island of Antikythera. It appeared to be nothing more than a few lumps of corroded bronze and was very nearly thrown back into the sea. This book tells the story of its finding and how over the course of more than 100 years it has gradually given up its secrets in the face of the advance of modern science. We now know that it was a complex gear-driven mechanism of astonishing sophistication which simulated the movement of the heavenly bodies. The purpose for which it was made is still unclear but Jones believes that its primary function may have been educational. Cicero's account in the De re publica of such an object made by Archimedes seems to describe exactly the effect of the gearing mechanism: in dissimillimis motibus inaequabiles et varios cursus servaret una conversio. It is well known that Cicero admired Archimedes and personally rediscovered his grave while quaestor in Sicily, and it is tantalising to imagine him witnessing the operation of the Mechanism, or something very like it, while studying in Greece as a young man.

Professor Jones, of New York University's Institute for the Study of the Ancient World, is a member of the team currently researching the Mechanism. His book begins with an account of the discovery of the shipwreck and the finding of the Mechanism, using newspaper reports and correspondence to trace the course of early investigations and the gradual realisation, from the appearance of parts of inscriptions and gears, that there was some significance in the twisted bronze objects. Most of the gears were initially hidden and it is only relatively recently, with advances in scientific imaging techniques since the 1970s, that it has been possible for us actually to see inside the fragments.

The book is much more than just an account of the history of the Mechanism and the various theories as to its purpose: its functions and operations are described in detail and placed in their historical context. Jones provides careful, detailed descriptions and diagrams to explain the operations of the different dials, and reconstructions of the inscriptions. As an expert in ancient astronomy, he is particularly impressive in his discussion of the important evidence the Mechanism provides for how Greek and Egyptian calendars worked, whether by calculation or observation, and how strongly Greek astronomy was indebted to the ancient Near East. The reader learns about such topics as the Babylonian 19-year calendar cycle, the Calippic 76-year cycle, and the difference between full and hollow months, all of which are reflected in the design of the Mechanism. It had multiple dials and multiple functions, including a dial for tracking the cycles of the major games in the Greek world. Among other fascinating insights, we learn that the Babylonian division of the zodiacal signs into 30 parts is the basis for our system of measurement of angles in degrees up to 360. We also learn that the concept of precession of the equinoxes, discovered by Hipparchus in 128BC, was an issue in the development of Newtonian mechanics.

There is a chapter on the Mechanism's eclipse prediction function and another on how it reproduced the varying motions of the planets (‘The Wanderers’). This includes an intriguing discussion of why the ancients wanted to predict such motions and events: whether to foretell or forestall the future, or to explain and rationalise, and if the latter whether for practical purposes or out of pure scientific interest. Some interesting light is shed on this question by Xenophon's account of Socrates’ view that there was no benefit in tracking planetary movement, although in the Republic Plato has him describe something like a planetary system in the ‘Spindle of Necessity’. We know very little about Greek astronomy between Plato and Ptolemy in the second century AD, and the inscriptions on the Mechanism give some insight into planetary research and theory in this gap.

The chapter on ‘Hidden Workings’ explores in detail how gearing mechanisms were used to reflect the astronomical theories current at the time (geocentric of course), and shows how the Mechanism functioned as a kind of analogue computer by the use of complex arrangements of interlocking gears with varying numbers of teeth. The sophistication appears at times incredible – a tiny notch which was observed in 1903 was shown in 2005 to be part of a pin-and-slot arrangement of gears to reproduce the non-uniform motion of the Moon. The author also shows that making this object – for example, achieving the required degree of accuracy in the cutting of the gears - was technically feasible at the time, but concludes that it could not have been a one-off but must have had antecedents of increasing complexity which have not survived.

The Antikythera Mechanism is an utterly fascinating object and this book, clearly the definitive account of it, should be of interest to any Classicist, especially anyone with an interest in ancient science. Much of the discussion is highly technical in nature and probably not accessible to the average sixth former. But those studying Physics or Mathematics alongside Classical subjects might find that it would make a bridge between their subjects in a most satisfying and challenging way.

A colleague of mine used to say that Latin is hard enough, and so there is no reason to make it any harder for students. But contrast that progressive thinking with Winston Churchill's famous maxim to ‘let the clever learn Latin as an honour and Greek as a treat’ (www.Churchill-Society-London.org.uk) and you have essentially the elitism of the classics in a nutshell. To that deteriorating end, study of the languages and civilisations of the Romans and Greeks has suffered needlessly from such an exclusionary mind-set for centuries, dying the slow death of traditionalism because educators in our field so often feel that they must impart the wisdom, art, and culture of the ancients in that same musty old way they were taught as students themselves. The casualty, of course, is broader access to all of that good stuff, which is why adding Ancient Greece to Ivy Press's successful 30-Second series is a boon to those elusive treasures buried underneath such orthodox academic barriers. Moreover, using it in a certain way within the classroom can yield that magic dynamism attained only by accessing the original sources, thereby creating a learning environment that is, ironically, actually steeped in classical tradition.

The feat here – as seems to be the strength of Ivy Press, generally – is that the physical book itself has managed to distil the interactivity, the engaging nature, even the click-bait essence of the internet into this offline, non-electronic handheld device and provide a goodly amount of content along the way. What makes classical Greece so difficult for students has less to do with its actual literature, language, philosophy and culture and almost everything to do with its packaging: I recall my own college textbook on Greek history, written in the 1920s but read by me and my classmates in the 1990s, its stark white pages a reprint rather than a new edition, almost entirely devoid of visuals save the grainy black and white pictures whose images were difficult to discern, let alone get excited by. Contrast that with the emerging medium of the World Wide Web, whose ease of use at the time gave us the Perseus Project and its digital library of the Classics out of Tufts University, or the very beginnings of world-class museums online, with their full Greek and Roman collections of art, or the soon-to-be ubiquitous storehouse of, well, everything in Wikipedia, where entries on Greek mythology and history would become surprisingly strong at a time when scepticism over such a new avenue for knowledge was high; the old book world was still dominant but giving way to digitality, as the younger generation realised that they could access educational tools outside of the classroom and not suffer through the tedium of text untouched by innovation in decades.

But no force can exist without an equal and opposite pushing back, and thus went the digitising of that physical classroom. As laptops pervaded the space, so too came along distraction via everything else the internet provides. Whereas students now had their classical world in an engaging medium within a backlit screen, they also had Facebook and YouTube, then Twitter and Instagram, Snapchat, and a whole host of ways to spend their time not doing what they were supposed to be doing when they logged in; moreover, with the burgeoning world of instantaneity came a lessening of the quality of that content. Students in Latin and Greek classes could come in to school and inform their teacher of exciting new resources they had found the night before, only for that teacher to discover how unreliable that item actually was. The old world of editing and professional editors was the anodyne needed for Classics classrooms everywhere, but with a mind-set that recognised that learning from our new tools was necessary in any products that blended tradition with growth.

And thus the beauty of 30-Second Ancient Greece, a volume unto itself or a gateway to something larger, with eye-catching colour photographs and its trademark short descriptions, but no pop-up ads or anything else but material relevant to the topic. One can jump from item to item without unwittingly jumping ship because, after all, it is a book. But a book made for students native to the Digital AgeFootnote ², and not an ebook. Particularly engaging here is its well-organised sections, divided into seven meaningful overarching topics that flow naturally through the human experience: first ‘The Greek World’, which provides the scaffolding for a student's understanding of terms they will see throughout, including the polis as a concept and the big names of Athens and Sparta, before giving way to the later developments of Hellenistic kingdoms and Greece within the Roman Empire. The chunks truly are bite-sized, and they contain what the authors call ‘3-Second Biographies’, the likes of which include Aristotle, Pericles, Leonidas, Herodotus and a host of others. A classroom experience might involve assigning each student an entry to prepare for her classmates, beginning a presentation with silent reading, then room-wide writing about what stood out, and closing with that student's sharing of independent research of the ancient sources themselves that gave 30-Seconds its material. The process, with little guidance from the instructor, could be both enriching and undaunting, and with 50 topics overall within this short volume, a high-school class could reasonably explore the entirety of ancient Greece in a school year, every other day, through student-led inquiry – and that's just the first, say, 15 minutes of a period.

The real tour de force, though, lies in the ‘Profile’ entries that have been placed midway through each of those seven chapters: these are people, and not always the most obvious choices, that anchor a class’ experience. Zeus may be the focus of the ‘Myth & Religion’ profile, but Aspasia, mistress of Pericles, anchors ‘People and Society’, a move that points towards inclusion and fresh thinking, especially when more than half of so many classical classrooms are populated by girls and young women. It is emblematic of the ethos of these Ivy Press authors, as even the more traditionally oriented entries prompt readers to think differently. For example, it might seem obvious to those of us inside the academy that Homer is a composite, a literary construct and not a real flesh-and-blood person, but Katherine Harloe's entry on the subject begins with the clarification that ‘Homer was the name the Greeks gave to a legendary and uniquely gifted poet’, which sets a room full of Hellenic novices straight at the outset about this most important of pretend people.

Lastly, even architecture and the arts are given equal weight to history and literature, and that is a most important editorial decision. So often in courses on Greek civilisation, the history of Thucydides and the philosophy of Plato reign supreme, when it is the beauty of the physical remnants of the ancient Greek world that can draw most of us in well before we read The Republic. Students need that, and the field of Classics needs that if we are to make Greek not just the Churchillian treat of the few, but the main course of the many. Hoi polloi may have long been dirty words, but if we continue to separate our beloved subject from everyone, sooner or later no one will want a taste.

Breeze offers a broad overview of the Roman army, its structures, actions, and notable engagements, over the course of the Republic and Empire, until AD 400. The book is clearly intended to support the novice student, and is constructed in such a way to be accessible and digestible, as it is arranged into a number of short chapters, some chronological, and others thematic. The prefatory content has useful reference information, such as a guide to ancient weights and measurements, and a map of the Empire at in the time of Hadrian. The material at the back of the book is particularly valuable to the keen student, with extensive lists both of areas for further study, and recommended reading.

The introduction encourages a holistic approach to the subject, with an examination of the various sources, including literary, epigraphic, and archaeological, among others, and Breeze offers a brief analysis of the utility of each. As Breeze makes frequent reference to his sources throughout the book, this contextualisation is useful to students who are learning to deploy sources. In the main body of the book, Breeze occasionally expresses scepticism of the sources, but more often omits analysis, and does not consistently refer to the provenance of his information, which makes it a more suitable resource for the secondary school student rather than undergraduate. The simple presentation of source information does occasionally cause one to wonder if this book would be better as a source book, divided into the same categories. It would provide the same information, with greater utility for the more advanced student, and concluding statements could keep the novice student engaged in the face of primary sources. That said, Breeze's style of writing does encourage accessibility to sometimes quite complex information, from the distances kept between soldiers in the marching column, to the change in their wages over time. The inclusion of specific information such as this does elevate the book from a simple introduction to the Roman army to a more sophisticated resource, for reference as much as reading.

The book, laid out as it is in both chronological and thematic chapters, allows treatment of a wide range of content. Focus narrows and widens, particularly in the chronological chapters. This is often logical but can sometimes be difficult to follow; Breeze ameliorates this by returning to certain themes in different chapters, most commonly how changes in the army are motivated by wars and other significant events, and elsewhere the constant contrast between citizen and professional armies, and the consequences of successive emperors’ personalities. Such recurrent themes again elevate the book from a basic introduction, but are not overwhelmingly analytical.

One feature that often characterises ‘general interest’ works on the Roman army, which is given little treatment here, is focus on specific battles. A chapter of the fighting tactics of the army only gives a light touch on significant campaigns, such as the conquest of Britain (pp.53-72), and elsewhere, there is even briefer reference to the major engagements of the Punic Wars, in a 12-page chapter covering the Republican-era army (pp.15-26). Learning about the Roman army through its battles is a common endeavour, and I would speculate that it is how many budding students would choose to initially access the wider topic; therefore I find its virtual omission from the book puzzling, given the ample opportunity to elaborate. What is included may be enough to spark interest and encourage further reading, but also may be initially dissatisfying.

There are plenty of opportunities for the teacher to use this book to enhance Classical Civilisation or Ancient History lessons for any age. Foremost among these is Breeze's clear interest in the physical manifestations of the Roman army, including what remains to us today. In addition to an entire chapter on ‘The Army as Builders’ (pp.123-130), Breeze litters his other chapters with references to, and occasional images of, the physical remains of the army, from roads and infrastructure, down to personal equipment. Depending on the reader's location, the book may well inspire a visit to local sites of interest, and Breeze explicitly directs readers both to sites and to further reading on the topic.

Breeze's work, for sheer communication of a great deal of source information, is certainly valuable to a wide variety of readers and students. The contrast, which can occasionally be stark, between simple, introductory information and more complex discussion, risks bewildering neophytes or boring those more experienced. Therefore I would say that this book's greatest value is as a reference work, to be drawn on by students or by teachers when relevant - and there is huge potential in this regard, again due to the wide variety of information, as well as the clarity of writing, and Breeze's well-demonstrated approach to the sources.

Julius Caesar is indubitably one of the best known figures from the ancient world. I jumped at the chance to read, and review, Wiseman's book on Julius Caesar as I was keen to see how the life of such an important man could be fully explored in just 127 pages.

With its ‘Pocket Giants’ series, The History Press intends to cover the lives of people who changed the world and explain why they are significant. This edition on Julius Caesar marks the first dip into the ancient world.

The book tells the story of Caesar's life in chronological order and comprises ten chapters: 1. The People's Thing; 2. Greed and Arrogance; 3. A Young Man to Watch; 4. The Ladder of Office; 5. The Body Politic; 6. To the Ocean and Beyond; 7. Disasters; 8. Civil War and Moral Philosophy; 9. The Oath-Breakers; 10. Hail, Caesar. Throughout the biography Wiseman consistently refers to the ancient sources to construct his account.

At the end of the book there is a short timeline which provides the key dates in Caesar's life. There is also a brief list of further reading – a good starting point for a sixth former or a non-Classicist.

The book begins with two chapters which summarise Roman history up to the point of Caesar's birth. In succinct and straightforward prose, Wiseman manages to explain Romulus’ foundation of the city of Rome, the seven kings, the expulsion of Tarquin, and the subsequent establishment of the res publica. In similarly unambiguous language, he describes how the republic began to be corrupted, alongside the rise of Gaius Marius.

Next, Caesar's biography begins. We are told about Caesar as a young man, his early marriage to Cornelia and his subsequent run-in with Sulla. Caesar's early military experiences and political successes are reported. Then Caesar's growing popularity among the people is carefully portrayed, as well as his surprising election as pontifex maximus. Military campaigns in Gaul, Hispania, Britain and the Danube are artfully narrated, alongside Caesar's political dealings in Rome with Pompey, Crassus, Cicero et al. The slide to civil war is next but Wiseman, rightfully, focuses on Caesar's reluctance to remove his enemies and the importance of clemency. Caesar's increasing political power after Pharsalus, culminating with his successive consulships and perpetual dictatorship, and his on-going battle with the optimates are set as the context for his murder in March 44 BC. Wiseman finishes with a short summary of Octavian's actions in the aftermath of the murder and his success as the first Roman emperor.

Overall, Wiseman has been successful in narrating the fascinating events of Caesar's life in a brief and accessible biography. The author has written an account of Caesar's life, while managing to give a clear picture of a very complex period in Roman history, which is both enjoyable and easy to read. The book would be an excellent starting point for sixth form students or undergraduates just beginning their studies of the first century BC and the great man, Julius Caesar.

This is an excellent introduction both to the poems and the current issues in Homeric scholarship, which I would thoroughly recommend for all school libraries and Classics departments. The author writes with notable clarity, a clear sense of purpose and a self-evident command of contemporary Homeric scholarship.

Above all, though, this book conveys complex ideas with great precision. Behind many sentences there lie numerous articles and further reading, which, to her credit, the author does not then elaborate on. The result is that sixth formers (and more able GCSE students) could be exposed to some to the major debates in Homeric scholarship, without being bogged down with unnecessary details or complications. Her setting of the poems in a wider historical and literary context is most welcome, although it might have been good to develop more fully the idea of an oral tradition, and how this might affect our appreciation of the poems, as we read rather than hear them. That said, the section of Textual Clues (Chapter 2) gives an excellent introduction to the style of Homer, especially for those who are not studying the text in the original. Indeed, this is a particular merit of this book – it will be of help to students studying Homer either in the original or in translation, making reference as it does to Greek words and ideas when appropriate to drive home key ideas, such as the opening word of the Odyssey and some of the epithets used to describe its hero.

It is good to see some of the thorny issues surrounding the archaeology of the poems addressed in a way which moves students on from a simplistic view, and gives them a sense of the challenges which scholars face in looking at these questions. The illustrations used in the book will also serve to give a visual reminder of the importance of these poems in the Greek world, and a sense of how later Greeks (and indeed Romans) may have viewed these stories.

The treatments of both the lIiad and the Odyssey will give students a strong sense of the issues raised by both poems, and make an excellent starting point for further discussion. It is particularly good to see the epics set in the context of Near Eastern literature, with comparisons made with the Epic of Gilgamesh. These chapters could be read either as an introduction to the respective poems, or as a starting point for discussion in a sixth form lesson, if students were asked to read the relevant pages beforehand.

The final chapter includes some material which might well be useful for those teaching the Aeneid, with some reflections on the reception of the Homeric poems in later authors, including Virgil and Dante. These are kept suitably brief, but may well ignite sparks of interest in astute students. The Further Reading outlined at the back of the book is most helpful, and again will point students to some key works with which it would be good for them to be familiar, if they are considering further studies in the Classical World.

The book also has the merit of being short: an able student could read this quickly, and gain much from it. It would serve well as an introductory read over the summer, prior to starting a sixth form course.

This beautifully-presented Aeneid X selection—with Latin text complemented by introduction, notes and vocabulary by Christopher Tanfield—is destined to be a welcome aid for secondary school teachers and their pupils, as well as for independent learners who have achieved GCSE-level Latin.

Tanfield does not hide from readers his indebtedness to S.J. Harrison's 1991 commentary as far as philological and stylistic matters are concerned, but fortunately he has secondary-school practitioners firmly in mind as his target audience. His commentary manages to depart successfully from Harrison's (arguably excessive) comparisons between Homer and Virgil and from other discussions which belong more to academia.

And it is precisely where Harrison is somewhat lacking for the purposes of school instruction that Tanfield steps in confidently. For example, Tanfield helpfully suggests word order arrangement for a more natural translation, but mostly refrains from giving us the phrases, as that is the challenge that should be given to students at this stage. Similarly, the modelling of the stylistic analysis of lines 426-8 (pp.22ff) is a good starting point for scaffolding other lessons on these structures. Tanfield also frequently cross-references grammar points, such as types of subjunctive or ablative, with Bennett's New Latin Grammar, which is available online should teachers want to further investigate this with pupils. Indeed, Tanfield makes extensive reference to internet sites that can be easily accessed by teachers, such as the silva rhetoricae site supported by Brigham Young University. Last but not least, it is good that, considering there is no defined vocabulary list for AS, Tanfield has added asterisks next to the words in the Vocabulary section at the back (pp.91ff) that students should know by heart at this point.

Many may find dry the use of rhetorical terminology -to which Tanfield dedicates a brief section in the introduction - and it is true that what matters most (or should matter most) is the appreciation of the text as a work of art rather than as a collection of labels. However, such terminology can be useful when a student wants to express him or herself more succinctly, as is often the case in exam conditions. It can be helpful, for instance, to be able to show how the author employs hyperbaton for suspense or to draw analogies with English poetry, and Tanfield's guide will be of considerable assistance in instances such as these. A similar section gives a useful overview of Virgilian metre, although teachers may need to consult a source such as Kennedy for greater detail.

As far as national examinations go, it is presumed that Virgil will continue to be a popular option for teachers in times of new curricula, and it is important to have a well-rounded set text like this one, pitched at the right level for its audience, from which to depart. For too long, Classics teachers have had to make do with a patchwork of editions, vocabularies and commentaries where other subject teachers have had a much easier time. Nonetheless, in order for students to critically analyse and evaluate the Latin text, wider reading should be strongly encouraged, and teachers should not be completely reliant on a single book. It is thus refreshing to see that Bloomsbury furnishes all the OCR-endorsed commentary editions with a Companion Website, although it is hoped that the site accompanying this edition will continue to be expanded, as it is not very extensive at the time of this review.

Resulting from the new OCR syllabus and the lamentable demise of AQA Classical Civilisation, Athenian Democracy is going to have a renaissance in English schools in 2018. Previously under AQA it had to compete with many other options, but the nature of the new syllabus means it is now very likely to be a popular choice.

C.’s book would be a welcome addition to any teacher's library or anyone wishing to return to Athens’ political and judicial system for a second glance. C. does not aim to change commonly-held views about Democracy; rather he seeks to give those views firmer foundations in a modern academic style. This is a book not just for the absolute beginner, but also the intermediate. He explains much from first principles, but with a broad, speedy brush with many details; you have to concentrate to keep up. Writing this with the book beside me I am astounded that so much discussion and reconsidered ideas are packed into its 181 pages.

If I had known nothing about Athenian Democracy prior to reading it I would have left with a good knowledge of its system, but many of the book's nuances would have passed me by. Having knowledge of Athenian Democracy made me feel that I was being politely reminded of the basics before being given alternative points of view to the traditional ones. Each section has a balanced final conclusion which is occasionally revisionist, sometimes revolutionary and often confirms the normal views, with novel justifications.

C. covers a narrative and discussion in which he defines democracy, considers the sources, narrates and analyses the 7^th century crisis of aristocracy, Solon, the 6^th century tyranny, Kleisthenes, the 460s, the navy and empire, intellectuals, new men, the oligarchies, the restored democracy, Alexander and afterwards. He then considers democratic ideology, the limits of equality, citizenship, the Council, Assembly, courts, officials, public speakers, accountability, religion, local government in the demes, the architecture and landscape and democracy's critics. There are lists for further reading, a glossary, a short timeline and index. It is well illustrated with maps and suitable high-quality black and white photographs of archaeology and sites. It is well-laid-out with each chapter divided into numerical sections for ease of reference.

I particularly enjoyed his section looking at the democratic landscape (pp.117-139), how the Agora, Kerameikos and political hills fitted into the political life. He provides an excellent tour of the ancient Agora weaving in its pre-Classical history and changing purposes over the centuries with additions from archaeology and Aristophanes. When he reaches the theatres he gives discussion of the Dionysia and its purpose using ancient sources: ‘This was not just propaganda for external purposes; like other ritual moments, the dramatic festivals are a celebration of Athenian identity…the tragedians often respond indirectly to contemporary events through the distancing medium of myth…[Comedy] helped to keep politicians in their place reminding them where power ultimately lay…recognised by the Old Oligarch: “They do not allow ridicule and abuse of the demos, to avoid being criticised themselves, but in the case of individuals they encourage anyone who wishes…” Though the author oversimplifies…he accurately grasps the relationship between informal and formal control of men of influence by the demos.’ (p.132ff). Similarly for the Kerameikos there are analysis and discussion of Athenian funerary customs and Pericles’ Funeral Oration: ‘The Athenians were unusual in the way they treated their war dead…Thucydides describes an event which combines public and private…’ (p.136).

A further praiseworthy element of this book is the manner in which C. draws links and parallels with politics today which are helpful and often draw a smile from the reader even showing the author's ‘own prejudices’ at times (xi): ‘In comparison with any modern democracy, the Athenian system was very simple…But by ancient Greek standards the Athenian state was a highly complicated organisation, and for some fifth-century observers the radical democracy was marked by an excess of bureaucracy.’ (p.80). This particular chapter on ‘Serving the Democracy’ covers a scholarly discussion of how the democracy was run behind the scenes with the rewards and penalties available to successful and devious politicians (pp.91-98) as well as covering the rise of the demagogues (pp.86-91), making the key point that such speakers were not politicians in the modern sense and that political ‘parties’ were very fluid and unofficial. Particularly thought-provoking are pp.46-48: ‘The great achievement of Athens was to put elite competition to the service of mass democracy…The absorption of aristocratic competition into democratic structures and processes provided an outlet for divisive drives which might otherwise have found expression in violent insurrection. It offered an incentive for the wealthy…’ Athens’ strength was that, without a violent coup, it had been able ‘to retain and adapt[s]’ elements of the previous systems. C. links in discussions of time- and aristocratic posturing too (p.98).

This is a worthy addition to a private library and lendable to a sixth former who wants to go the extra step during revision or prior to an interview. However, it would need to be used carefully for a whole class as many of the sources are from the 4^th Century and so many caveats need to be considered (as C. states on pp.5-13) about using later writings.

Adrienne Mayor starts her exploration into the Amazons with the story of Atalanta, her connection to the idea of an ‘Amazon’ woman, and her ambiguous and contradictory place within Greek society. Atalanta, and therefore the Amazons, expose the mixed emotions of the Greek male towards these women whose bravery and physical strength aroused both respect and sexual desire, yet at the same time broke all societal norms for female behaviour. Mayor continues to ask why the Amazons were so popular within Greek culture; was it lust, envy or shock and awe?

The book intends to sort fact from fiction and Mayor painstakingly uses archaeology, literature, ethnology, linguistics and science to give a comprehensive encyclopaedia of the mythical Amazons and the real-life nomadic women of Scythia (the steppe region north of the Black and Caspian Seas) who influenced the development of the myth of the Amazons through their interactions with the Greek world. This is a captivating and rewarding read and it is testament to Mayor's abilities as both a scholar and an author to make such detailed and varied scholarly exploration into an enjoyable and accessible book.

Part one explores the mythology of the Amazons and their representation within Greek culture as strong heroic figures, not ones of contempt. The Greeks’ fascination with the Amazons is made clear by the realisation that the Amazons are the most popular subject in Greek vase painting after Heracles. Mayor then gives an overview of the Scythians and their connection to and correlation with the Amazonian woman.

Part two is an ethnographic study of the nomadic Saka-Scythian-Samatian peoples of the Eurasian steppes. Mayor's skill in linking archaeological, ethnological and linguistic material is impressive. She gives a detailed yet accessible description of the ‘Amazonian’ way of life, including burials, clothing, tattooing, relationships, weapons, language and prowess at horse riding. She also addresses the question of whether the Amazonian warrior women would have removed a breast and finds disparity between the written sources which recount this unusual aspect of the Amazonian image and the artistic depiction of Amazons, in which there are no extant examples of an Amazon with only one breast.

Part three discusses the Amazons in Greek and Roman mythology, legend and history. Mayor explores the varying literary and artistic depictions of Hippolyte, Antiope and Penthesilea as well as the Amazons associated with the historical figures of Alexander the Great, Mithradates and Pompey the Great. Part four then moves further east and explores the depiction of warrior women in cultures beyond the Greek and Roman worlds, including the Caucasus, Persia, North Africa and China. These stories of warrior women within the Scythian heartlands are shown to correlate to the details within the Greco-Roman myths of Amazonian warrior women confirming the relationship between the Scythian women and the Amazons.

Clear referencing between chapters means that this book is easily navigable for those who are researching particular aspects of either the Amazonian myth or Scythian culture. However, the ease with which Mayor writes and brings the Amazons and Scythian women to life means that few would want to put this book down once they started reading. Moreover, throughout the book pictures and sketches of the archaeological material discussed make it easy to develop a clear image of what the Amazonian and Scythian women would have looked like.

Mayor has both dispelled the myths surrounding the Amazons and reclaimed the image of these independent and powerful warrior women. She has also shown the importance of the horse in allowing women to be the equal of men in battle and, in turn, society. The Amazons will no longer be just a myth of ‘other’, of one-breasted women who live separately to men, but through the comparison between the myth and the reality of Scythian life a new found understanding of the Amazons and their importance within Greek culture is made possible.

This is a good-quality new edition of the Inscriptions of Roman Britain LACTOR, suitable for the private libraries of enthusiasts and school libraries where Roman Britain is taught as part of the Cambridge Latin Course, Classical studies, Ancient History GCSE and A level.

The three centuries of the occupation (ending in 410) are each given their own section with one dedicated to the period prior to the Claudian invasion; the final period has an extended part on Carausius (E2 discusses the coins, quoting Virgil). Further sections cover: Government and Administration (Imperial Staff, Local Government, Guilds, Roads) Military Life (General Administration, Senior and Other Ranks, Legionaries, Auxiliaries, Units, Fleet, Veterans and their Families), Civilian Life (Personal, Trade and Economy, Legal, Finance and Numeracy, Literacy) and Religion (Roman Deities, Celtic and Germanic Deities, Eastern Deities, Curses and Charms, Christianity). There follows a bibliography, concordances (numbers of 4^th and 5^th editions, inscriptions, coins) and indices (Names of Persons, Army Units, Gods and Goddesses, Latin Titles, Buildings and Monuments, Geographical Names, Find-Spots of Inscriptions and a map of these find-spots).

All black and white photographs are high quality, showing coins and other artefacts. Clearest are the line drawings. It takes account of modern technology providing details of websites where the original Latin inscriptions can be found as well as images of unillustrated items.

The few photographs published serve as exempla for similar items, which are not illustrated, for example, the wax tablet F4 or the line drawings of epigraphic inscriptions (C2 and J56) and the curse tablet J57.

Standing out are its introductions to each section and the extra details on several items. For example, the general introduction is good for a novice or expert on the risks of archaeology as a source and an overview of the debates about Roman Britain. This is followed by introductory notes on approaching Roman epigraphy, coinage and a glossary.

Of particular interest is the discussion of pre-occupation coinage which shows the ‘shifting nature of political alliances…a powerful indication of the key importance of individual rulers’ (p.33) and the manner in which Roman customs had perhaps been adopted following Caesar's expeditions. p.127 makes clear the skewed nature of archaeology in Roman Britain through analysis of the ‘epigraphic habit’ of Roman soldiers: we have much evidence for the military due to their habit of making inscriptions, when in fact 90% of the population was engaged in agriculture, leaving little record. This leads onto the Bloomberg tablets and their monumental contribution to the scholarship of Romano-British society outside of the military. Of particular note (the following are not all Bloomberg) are H15 showing grammatical slips in the Latin, corrections by the author and possible indications of the devastating effects of the Boudican rebellion, H17 and H18 showing the earliest records of brewing in London, H22 showing importation of liquamen (fish sauce similar to garum), oculists’ stamps (H31) with discussion of the ancient medical terms used (DIOXVMADREVMATIC=of-vinegar-for-runniness), H35 concerning the purchase of an ancilla by an imperial slave and H43 showing the use of numerals.

Graffiti are also documented as well as the Vindolanda tablets.

Section J's analysis of religion looks at the Roman attitude to foreign practices, Celtic religion's reaction to Rome and the political use of cult in the army, the use of emperor-worship and the place of private faiths (e.g. Mithraism and Christianity); recent additions are J13 from 2013 of a military dedication slab to the non-Roman goddess, Ahuarda from the early-Hadrianic period, J30 a ring to the god Toutatis (found in 2005), J60 a curse from Leicester invoking the god Maglus for the multiple thefts of cloaks from household slaves, showing unusual spelling, maybe demonstrating the local pronunciation of Latin and the extent of the permeation of literacy in the province (2005) and J72 (published in 2013, found in 1989), a spell against plague (possibly the Antonine of the late 160s) employing magic words from a bilingual author (Greek and Latin).

This LACTOR is a highly useful source for those teaching Roman Britain and for anyone travelling to the ancient sites and museums.

Paul A. Rahe has produced a fine and telling discussion of the Persian Wars and their main players from the Archaic Period up to 478 B.C. and the Battles of Plataea and Mycale. It is suitable for a beginner with some guidance about when to focus upon the main narrative and not to be distracted by the author's enthralling asides on ancient battle tactics, his use of arcane sources and liking of grand theories. For someone who is returning to the Persian Wars it supplies a revision of the main story plus many extra insights. Intellectually curious sixth formers could be fascinated; his digressions would make excellent extracts for extension reading.

The book, intended to be part of a trilogy focusing upon Sparta's diplomacy and role within the ancient world, has three main sections. In the first he gives an overview of Spartan early history, government, politics, the helots and culture up until the mid-540s. It is in this section that he states his view on Sparta's ‘Grand Strategy’: ‘…they rearranged the affairs of their fellow Peloponnesians to their liking and founded a regional alliance designed to keep their Argive enemies out, the helots down, and the Arcadians, above all others, in.’ (p.28). In the second section focusing upon a parallel history of Archaic Athens and Persia he shows how the Spartans had to adjust their ‘Grand Strategy’ to account for the threats from without and the empire's dealings with the Ionic Greeks. The final section deals with the events of the Persian Wars.

R. writes with brevity, but comprehensively on the political history of Sparta, Athens and Persia; he is gifted with a skill of covering a lot of ground in immense detail rapidly, providing sources, justifying them and giving his own succinct conclusions. He hones in not only on the main players, but also less well-known figures who are equally important in explaining the key decisions. Three examples would be from pp.43-48 where he shows the unique positions of Croesus and the tyranny in Samos when faced with the Persian menace; the manner in which he cuts through the famous events of the Ionian Revolt and considers the all-important local politics (pp.110-129); the relationship of the Spartan monarchs and the Athenian citizens with Themistocles (passim pp.167-241).

Even with the minor characters, such as members of the Persian court and Xerxes’ extended family, he never leaves us in doubt about who is who, realising that not every reader is an expert in every detail of this period. Similarly, I was never lost geographically from his excellent discussion of landscape and continual use of maps.

Of particular interest were his digressions upon the importance of music and poetry in Spartiate culture (pp.9-17) and on ancient naval warfare and triremes (pp.51-58 and pp.122-123).

In many ways, this book is an account of Herodotus’ Histories supplemented with later (and earlier) sources such as Diodorus and Plutarch. It was a pleasure to read an account which trusted the ancient sources and accepted their judgements whilst also at suitable times criticising them: ‘We should perhaps treat the last claim regarding the remainder of the barbarian troops under Mardonius’ command as an exaggeration, for Herodotus’ account leaves something to be desired. What he offers us is a series of snapshots focused almost solely on the conduct of the Spartans and the Athenians based on the testimony of ordinary soldiers who may not have been fully in the know.’(p.318 regarding the Battle of Plataea). He makes use of Occam's Razor at several points showing that many modern revaluations of the ancient sources are actually more complex and less believable than the original ancient statements.

Nonetheless, a sceptical approach is important for ancient history and R.’s method was at first worrying as it seemed that he was not engaging with the ideas of the ‘Spartan Mirage’ or the ‘Barbarian Other’. It is not until his ‘Epilogue’ that he states how he has linked Hellenic and Roman sources with Persian and Biblical ones; it would have been useful to have known this earlier on to produce greater trust in the narrative. It will not have escaped the reader's notice that the book's title is The Grand Strategy of Classical Sparta – The Persian Challenge and that much of the book is focused upon the causes and events of the Persian Wars; at times the Spartan perspective is lacking, although when dealt with is excellent.

By the end it is possible to see how time spent trusting the sources and building a picture from their varying pictures is as productive as constant deconstruction and doubt; one leaves this book feeling that the ancient world was very thoughtful and tactical militarily and had historians capable of reading between the lines. And, indeed, this approach should similarly encourage us, his readers, not to take any grand theories or certainties proposed here at face value, but to read between the lines. I look forward to how he deals with Sparta during the Peloponnesian War.

Capitalising on the current interest in classical outreach, while effortlessly promoting the approach of classical reception as rewarding reading practice, the follow-up to Rogers’ and Steven's sweeping Classical Traditions in Science Fiction (2015) this time chooses the Modern Fantasy (MF) genre as its focus. As noted in the excellent introduction to this comprehensive collection of critical essays, MF is a hard genre to pin down – the authors go so far as to label it ‘Protean’ – thanks in no small part to the tropes of constantly evolving characters (both mentally and physically), settings that often cross impossible physical and spiritual boundaries, and the genre's own complex manner of engagement with ancient sources.

Given the Herculean undertaking of rendering the subject matter accessible, the editors have done a worthy job of wrangling the 14 contributors, resulting in a series of diverse chapters exploring such canonical MF authors as Tolkien, Lewis and Rowling alongside less-heralded authors including Ann Carson and Jo Graham, while also tackling Disney/Pixar's uses of mythology. Though the essays vary in both style and approach, all offer considered analysis and clear springboard opportunities for in-class discussion, acting as a portal to an entire world of burgeoning scholarly interest in the topic.

Further to the volume's winning accessibility, the collection is conveniently arranged into four sections. The first looks at ‘pre-Modern Fantasy’ including where the Pre-Raphaelites and H.P. Lovecraft (among others) drew their inspiration. Tolkien and Lewis's ‘false medievalism’ is explored in the second section, as close attention is paid to the former's utilisation of ancient underworlds (be they Greek, Roman, Norse or Old English) in The Hobbit, while Jeffrey T. Winkle and Marcus Folch both draw the sharpest of parallels between C.S. Lewis (The Voyage of the “Dawn Treader” and Till We Have Faces, respectively) and Apuleius’ Metamorphoses.

Of particular interest for high-school students will be the third section, charmingly titled Children and (Other) Monsters. Starting with a crisp analysis courtesy of Sarah Annes Brown, The Classical Pantheon in Children's Fantasy Literature traces the classical lineage in children's literature from C. S. Lewis, via P.L. Travers through to Rick Riordan, coming to the grand conclusion that regardless of the era or authorial intent, the gods are far from obvious, one-dimensional characters, which accounts for the high levels of engagement they offer both writers and readers of children's fantasy fiction. Also of note in this most appealing of sections is Rogers’ own Orestes and the Half-Blood Prince: Ghosts of Aeschylus in the Harry Potter Series, which meticulously discusses an epigraph from Libation Bearers as used in Harry Potter and The Deathly Hallows (the only page of quotation in the entire series), and what it suggests not only about Rowling's own classical education, but how her fiction shares ‘with Aeschylean drama a particular concern for how young adults not only come to know and “unlearn” society in its complexity, but also respond compassionately and effectively to violence and tyranny’ (p.212).

The final section, (Post) Modern Fantasies of Antiquity, artfully draws together modern texts which either use the classics explicitly (Jo Graham's 2008 novel Black Ships, where Virgil's Aeneid is reimagined as a fantasy novel, ‘Americanising’ the Roman forebear, which as Jennifer A. Rea insightfully opines perhaps reflects a post-9/11 interest in the Roman Empire and its ‘defensive imperialism’) and texts where the influence is more esoteric, as with George R. R. Martin and his Virgilian – and Aristotelian - links. Ayelet Haimson Lushkov argues that in A Song of Ice and Fire, these ancient sources (the episode of Nisus and Euryalus in Aeneid IX) are more guidelines for structure, characterisation and narrative action than obvious touchstones which aid in unravelling Martin's own sprawling universe. Fun fact: the scriptwriter of the 2004 film Troy, David Benioff, has gone on to write and produce HBO's televised adaptation of Game of Thrones.

Though fans of the genre may feel familiar ground has not only been covered but furrowed and sewn, the generous bibliography and in-text citations provide lush avenues for further reading and discussion, ranging from ‘The Politics of The Epic’ to ‘Why We Need Dragons’. Refreshingly, this highly stimulating collection is built on a foundation of thoughtful insight rather than any claims of definitive analysis, making it most suitable for teachers and students with an interest in intertextuality.

‘I've been sitting down studying the art of love’ (Bob Dylan, ‘Thunder On The Mountain’, Modern Times, 2006)

‘You know I don't really study poetry.’ (Bob Dylan, Interview, 2001)

INVENTAS VITAM IUVAT EXCOLUISSE PER ARTES (inscription on Nobel Prize medal)Footnote ¹

‘… a singer worthy of a place beside the Greeks’ aoidoi, beside Ovid …’ (Horace Engdahl, member of the Nobel committee)

‘For the past 40 years, as a Classics professor, I have been living in the worlds of the Greek and Roman poets, reading them, writing about them, and teaching them. I have for even longer [my italics] been living in the world of Bob Dylan's songs, and in my mind Dylan long ago joined the company of those ancient poets. He is part of that classical stream whose spring starts out in Greece and Rome and flows on down through the years, remaining relevant today, and being incapable of being contained by time and place. That's why Dylan matters to me, and that's what this book is about.’ (Why Dylan Matters, p. 2)

The title of this book entails/implies a statement not a question, i.e. that Dylan does matter. (In Latin the title of the book would be in the form of an indirect question.) The book then is not an impartial or disinterested investigation into the question of whether Dylan matters. It assumes that he does and sets out to explain why he does. I believe that he does matter, but I am not sure that the book will convert the unbelievers, especially those who are not impressed by links between Dylan and Classics.

In case readers are not aware, the author of this book is a Professor of Classics at Harvard University. That is why the book is being reviewed in a Classics journal.

Classicists are no strangers to the world of popular culture and popular media. Back in the day people like Gilbert Murray were household names (depending on your type of household), whom you might meet at a séance in your household. One thinks too of Harvard Professor Erich Segal and his novel Love Story and the film of it. More recently there is gardener and equestrian Robin Lane Fox and his involvement in Oliver Stone's film, Alexander (in which he actually appeared as a horseman — did you spot him?). Less spectacularly, but dependably, we have the many (or so it feels) appearances of panellist Mary Beard. Then we have National Trust guide and Alan Titchmarsh sidekick, Bettany Hughes. And now here comes another Harvard professor, Richard Thomas, as a Bob Dylan fanboy (look up the word: it is apt).

But why has a professor of Classics written a book about Bob Dylan? He is not the first distinguished academic to write about Dylan (I suppose the English scholar, Sir Christopher Ricks, is the best known), but he is the first Classical scholar to have written a book about ‘the song and dance man’, as Dylan described himself. Now that he has written it one feels sure that he won't be the last.

Dylan's work has not been short of wider academic attention. In 2011 conferences were held at several universities in Europe to discuss his work. A similar conference had been held at the University of Minnesota in 2007 and at Stanford University as early as 1998. There was also one in Caen in 2005, at which Thomas presented publicly for the first time (I think) his thoughts on Dylan and Classics, after hearing the Virgil-inspired lyrics of the album Love And Theft (2001).

One answer to the question above — but by no means the only answer, not even the main answer, as it turns out — is that Dylan's oeuvre shows the influence of Greek and Latin authors, poets in particular, Homer, Virgil and Ovid especially, also Juvenal, more questionably Catullus. So what? Lots of other 20th. century writers as well as Dylan have been (some even more so) influenced by Classics :Joyce, Eliot, Pound, Macneice, Day Lewis, Hughes, Harrison, Armitage, to name a few English writers. (To express surprise that Dylan is one of them is hardly a compliment to him.) But Dylan is a very special person as far as the author is concerned, which is why he is interested in the links that have emerged in recent years between Classics and Dylan in particular. As to why he matters so much to Thomas, for the short answer see the quote from the author above; for the longer answer read the book. His importance for Thomas goes way beyond Classics, and to a long time before Dylan showed any real engagement with Classics in the songs on his albums. It goes back almost to a time before Thomas himself had any involvement in Classics (he tells us that he had been ‘fascinated by the Greeks and Romans since the age of nine’, six years younger than Dylan was when he enrolled in the Latin Club at Hibbing High School in 1956 — one of the few verifiable facts about Dylan).

Collins is not noted for being a publisher of books to do with Classics. Its main interest in the book must surely have been that Dylan is an international musical and cultural celebrity, and that the association of popular music and its greatest living exponent with a hip/nutty professor and dry-as-dust ancient writings that few people can read today would be bound to raise a stir at most levels. The puff on the inside of the front cover — caveat lector — announces that the book contains ‘magisterial erudition’, is ‘dazzlingly original’ and ‘will amaze and astound everyone’ and that ‘You'll never think about Bob Dylan in the same way again’. It's not a bad book, but it's not that good. The vacuous plaudits sound like the kind of blurb that is written by someone who has not actually read the book.

As for the author, it is clear that for him Dylan would still matter, perhaps just as much, even if Dylan had never come across a word of Homer, Virgil or Ovid. He became obsessed with Dylan — I think he would accept the term — before he discovered the links between Dylan and Classics (which didn't really exist at all, in print/song at any rate, before 2001). The discovery united his twin passions (it is difficult to say which is more ardent) of Classics and Dylan. But the belief that Dylan matters does not depend for Thomas on his use of Classics. It is important to remember this, as the impression has got about that Dylan matters so much to Thomas because of the links with Classics. This is emphatically not the case.

(According to Time magazine too, Dylan matters greatly, since he is on their list of the top 100 characters of the century — along with Hitler, Bart Simpson and the Mafia boss Lucky Luciano. Inexplicably, Elvis missed the cut.)

The book started life as a seminar — not lecture — series held every four years for 12 first-year students since 2004 (it could not really have started much before then, for reasons which have been hinted at and will be made clearer later). Surprisingly, many of his colleagues were surprised that it has proved to be a success. The last seminar series to date was actually in progress when the news was announced (13 October 2016) that Dylan had been awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature. How must that have felt, both for his students and for Thomas?

How did Dylan acquire his familiarity with Greek and Latin writers, and in what form? Many, if not most, of the writers above would have had some knowledge of Latin at least. Dylan dropped out of university after a year, so he can't have learned much Latin or Greek there, even if the opportunities were available. As for school, he was a member of a ‘Latin Club’ 1956-1959, but whether he actually learned any Latin, and to what level, rather than learned about Rome and the Romans, is not known. It is unlikely that he has ever been able to read unadapted Latin literary texts. There is no suggestion that he ever learned Greek. I think it is fairly safe to say that he acquired his familiarity by means of English translations, as he did with other non-Anglophone writers. So I'm guessing that Dylan's Latin was no more up to translating the inscription on the Nobel Prize medal he received than is the Nobel Prize website (see Note 1). His Greek was not up to much either if this excerpt from his Nobel speech is anything to go by: ‘I return once again to Homer, who says: “Sing in me, oh Muse, and through me tell the story…” Homer certainly never said this, though perhaps we should be charitable and credit Bob with an interpretation rather than a translation of what Homer did say.

But does it matter in what form he acquired his familiarity? If his songs were influenced by the lyrics of Russian folk ballads, would we think it mattered whether he could read Russian or not? It is a token of the cultural status of Classics, even today, that the question can be asked. So does it matter? The way to answer the question is surely to ask whether the songs would have been improved if they had been based on a knowledge of the original Greek and Latin. (The same applies to other writers who are dependent on translations, even writers who produce what are called ‘translations’.) I suspect that for Dylan the answer in most cases is that they would not have been improved and therefore that it does not matter.

Massive though Dylan's stature is, however prodigious his talents, he is no longer a young Turk. And from prophet to Messiah he has become a god — but a Titan rather than an Olympian. His age (77 in May 2018) is against him as far as influencing the young to take up Classics is concerned. Every generation wants its own heroes, and will invent them if they do not exist. The younger Dylan was often described as ‘the voice of a generation’. One wonders whether he speaks nowadays to and for an audience beyond that of the same generation, which was largely confined to the USA on many of the issues that are the subjects of his best-known songs. If you are not already a serious fan of Dylan (and how many young people are? Thomas seems uncertain on this point) you won't care at all that some of his songs are influenced by Greek and Latin writers. Not enough to want to learn the languages — which you won't be able to do in any case unless you attend a selective school or the kind of university that offers courses for beginners (and not more than about 25 from about 150, or 16% do).

The book consists of ten chapters, most of them dealing chronologically with fairly well-defined stages in Dylan's career. The most relevant chapters as far as Classical influences on Dylan are concerned are 3 and 7-8. There is a discography of the 38 studio albums. There are brief endnotes to each of the chapters and a generous Index. All Greek and Latin, and other languages, e.g. the French of Rimbaud, are translated (not by the author). There is a bibliography, hardly any items on which have anything to do with Classics. Literary exposition is jargon-free and theory-averse, if such a thing is possible, and terms such as ‘intertextuality’ (distinguished carefully from plagiarism) are used sparingly (in both senses) and intelligibly. There is no doubting the author's enthusiasm for his subject, which is conveyed with a deep affection and a regard that touches on reverence. Since, like the author, I became entirely convinced a long time ago that Dylan matters, I find it difficult to assess how convincing a case the author presents for his thesis. But I cannot say that I have become more convinced as a result of becoming more aware of Dylan's Classical borrowings. I think that will be the experience of most people, both of his fans and those either cold, lukewarm or indifferent in their attitude towards him.

Dylan is a magpie, taking his material for songs from whatever he finds and wherever he finds it. He makes use of many other sources apart from Classics, many of which are increasingly uncredited by him. Many of his songs, both melody and lyrics, are retractationes of other people's (living and dead) songs. This is no doubt due in part to the way he gets his ideas for songs — by listening to other songs. His critics call it plagiarism plain and simple and say that it necessarily devalues his work. This was one of the objections to his Nobel Prize award. His defenders — and Dylan himself when he can be bothered — call it conformity to practices long established in the American folk, country, gospel and blues traditions in which Dylan's work is deeply embedded. (Rock music and its offshoots, folk rock and country rock (both possibly invented by Dylan) are still too young to have evolved such traditions.)

But why is it considered unobjectionable, in fact praiseworthy (a touch of Classics lends a touch of class), to lift stuff from ancient writers without any acknowledgement — OK, not in the original language — but not from writers more recently deceased (and even where no law of copyright exists), or even from anonymous stuff, the common source of a lot of material for most of the musical genres employed by Dylan? And, as one critic said, Dylan is writing a song, not a term paper. Blame it on Romanticism and its cult of originality as a mark of supposed individualism and ‘authenticity’. And all writers are influenced by what they have read (and heard, in the case of songwriters), whether they are aware of it or not, whether they acknowledge it or not. It's what they do with it and make of it that matters. (As Dylan has said of songs, it's not where they come from but where they take you to.) In Dylan's case something superior to the original is made in many instances. And it's not as if the original ceases to exist once Dylan has made use of it, transfigured it even. Scarborough Fairis still what it was before Dylan wrote Girl From The North Country, or before Martin Carthy wrote his version of it, which is the immediate source of Dylan's version.

Readers keen to become better acquainted with Dylan, whose interest may be aroused by the book, may find the following information useful:

Dylan has recorded about 50 albums (both studio and live), done seven books of drawings and paintings, written a selective autobiography of sorts (not always reliable, even by Dylan's standards, but what autobiography is?) and miscellaneous other writings. There have been numerous bootleg recordings of one kind or another. In 2013 a box set was released of all of the studio albums and half of the live albums, with other miscellanea.

To date 13 volumes of bootleg recordings (volume 11 contains all of the Basement Tapes recordings) have been released. In 2016 a book (Bob Dylan: The Lyrics: 1961-2012) containing the lyrics of most of the songs up to 2012, along with alternative versions, was published. Christopher Ricks also edited a massive book of Dylan lyrics in 2014. There is no reliable biography of Dylan that is dependent on information supplied by Dylan (including any in this book's bibliography). There is no critical guide to Dylan's work that has the approval of Dylan — or in most cases his disapproval. He may as well be an ancient author himself for all that we absolutely know about him. All of this is as Dylan would have it. The University of Tulsa is set to become the hub of future work on Dylan, with an archive established in 2016 of thousands of items, documents and ephemera that belonged to Dylan.

The book is much more than a work of literary criticism, dealing as it does with biography, autobiography (both of Dylan and the author), hagiography, concert schedules and performances etc. But these are not pertinent to our chief interest in the work, the Classical influences on Dylan, on which I shall concentrate from now on. There is little of a non-literary nature that is really new in the book, and I am assuming that readers of this review are not expecting an appraisal of the author's treatment of Dylan's non-Classical literary sources.

The beginnings of Dylan's ‘textual ‘[my italics] engagement with the poetry of Greece and Rome’ (p.84) may lie as far back as a version of the song Changing Of The Guard’ on his 1978 album Street Legal. It may even lie as far back as a version of

When I Paint My Masterpiece that was recorded in 1971 (available only as a bootleg). But really it begins, as Thomas admits more than once, with the 2001 album Love and Theft’. It ends (so far) with the 2012 album Tempest. Only a matter of a handful of albums then out of a total of about 50 (more if we include bootlegs), and spanning only just over ten years of the latest stage of his career, a career effectively beginning in 1962.Footnote ² (Dylan mentions other Classical writers that he claims to have read or dipped into in translation, e.g. Thucydides, Hesiod, Plutarch, Cicero, Tacitus, Suetonius, in interviews and in his autobiographical work Chronicles: Volume 1 (2004). But there is no evidence of any direct textual influence of these on his songs.)

How many of the Classical references cited by Thomas as sources and influences are a matter of speculation and conjecture — instances where it is not clear whether Dylan made use of them and whether they are the sources of what we find in Dylan? How many are just commonplaces that one might expect to find in any writer of any age or any language? How many are incontestable ‘borrowings’ that one might be expected to acknowledge if they were not borrowed from Classical writers?

Which of these three categories do the Greek and Latin writers that Dylan is said to have borrowed from belong to? Catullus, on the face of it perhaps, as a modernist and a love poet the most likely candidate for borrowing from, actually belongs to the first and second categories, as Thomas affirms in the note on p.328. (Catullus invented many of the commonplaces of love poetry, especially unrequited love.) Thomas has little difficulty in showing that Homer, Virgil, Ovid and Juvenal belong to the third category, that of indisputable borrowings. Most of the rest of this review will focus on chapters 7-8, in which Thomas deals with Dylan's use of these writers in the few relevant albums he recorded 2001-2012, specifically ‘Love and Theft’ (2001), Modern Times (2006), Tempest (2012). This is what most of the Classics hype amounts to then. And you don't need to have been a Harvard Classics professor (or to have ‘magisterial erudition’) to have spotted many/most of the borrowings. If you do, they probably belong to the first category.

The ‘theft’ in the title ‘Love and Theft’ (note the quotation marks, uniquely for the album's part of the title) is what is more neutrally and less judgmentally called ‘intertextuality’, well described by Thomas on pp.131 ff. As a self-conscious literary device it is a prominent feature of Dylan's work over the last 20 years, hence the Classical allusions in the albums just mentioned. As an indispensable feature of the musical traditions he drew on it had always figured in his work, as he always acknowledged, especially when accused of plagiarism.

Chapter 7 begins with a passage from T S Eliot's essay on the 17^th century dramatist Philip Massinger that could have been blurb commissioned for a later Dylan album, or for this book. The Classical pickings (‘intertexts’) in Chapter 7, however, are meagre to say the least: three lines from Virgil (Aeneid 6. 851-53), two possible references to Augustus, one possible slight allusion to Suetonius. There are also some suggested similarities between the celebrity, status and working methods of Virgil and Dylan.Footnote ³ Not much here for a Classicist to get their teeth into.

Chapter 8 focuses on the albums Modern Times and Tempest and with Ovid, and Homer and Juvenal respectively. The borrowings here are a lot more numerous, especially those from Ovid (in the translations of Peter Green) on Modern Times. There is a clear reference to the title of the poem that may have been Ovid's fatal carmen (if he did actually go into exile: there is no real evidence apart from the exile poetry, which may have been just a literary exercise), the Ars Amatoria (see the quote at the start of this review), and borrowings from Amores too. Most of the intertexts though are from Ovid's exile poetry: about 12 of them spread over about 30 lines, mainly from Tristia, a couple from Ex Ponto. The bulk of the borrowings were first brought to light not by Thomas but by Cliff Fell, a New Zealand poet and teacher. There is no doubt that they are ‘thefts’. As for Tempest and Homer, there are about ten borrowings, all from the Odyssey, mainly from books 8-10 where Odysseus plays athlete and oral poet at the court of Alcinous on Phaeacia.Footnote ⁴ There is also a rewriting of a verse from Workingman's Blues #2 on Modern Times. Thomas does not discuss the borrowings from Juvenal on Tempest, but these are dealt with earlier in pp.85-6 and 91. And that's more or less your lot as far as Dylan and Classics is concerned. But Dylan is not done yet and there may be more to come.

This book is sure to attract a lot of attention, and Classicists will inevitably be drawn to it. (The intertexts from Ovid in Modern Times have already featured in a recent BBC TV programme on Ovid.) They may be disappointed by how much of it is actually concerned with Classics. If they are Dylan fans, this will probably matter less to them, and they may get a warm glow of satisfaction to discover that their hero shares interests dear to their own hearts. It has to be said that Classicists who are not fans will learn more about Dylan than about Classics. But Classicists are sure to be asked about the book, and expected to know about it, especially by their students (who may have already read it themselves), so you had better arm yourself beforehand and read it. It won't take you long and you will warm to its author, as will your students, whether you care for Dylan or not. Don't think twice …