This chapter explores the relationship between the Four Quartets (1936–42) and Eliot’s roughly contemporaneous Greek-inspired verse plays, The Family Reunion (1939) and The Cocktail Party (1949). The author traces the development of Eliot’s programmatic use of increasingly distant reading, and of his implicit argument for not translating Greek. Eliot’s letters to Emily Hale reveal that Eliot deliberately thought about the use of Greek prototypes in the late 1930s, assessing both his own earlier effort with Aeschylus’s Agamemnon and other Greek-inspired plays. The author examines the theoretical questions that prompt and frame Eliot’s approach and that tie the plays together with his last great poetic work. She thus outlines major aspects of his late poetics which surprisingly depend on his treatment of Greek materials, showing how they bring to a close his first foray into such materials in the late 1910s/early 1920s. Finally, she suggests that Eliot’s own Herakles character in The Cocktail Party is indebted to H.D.’s portrayal of Freud in Tribute to Freud.

In Elegy 4.9, Propertius provides an aetiology for a detail of the cult of Hercules at the Ara Maxima: the prohibition on women attending the ceremony. He presents this particularity as a retaliatory measure taken by the hero himself, who reacted to the banning of any male from the space in which the cult of Bona Dea is celebrated. Propertius describes the priestess of Bona Dea as trying to prevent Hercules from entering the sacred space by arguing that female chastity must be respected. After having argued that there is no insurmountable difference between the sexes since there may be role reversal between men and women, Hercules forces the door. Propertius uses this episode located in ancient Latium to put forward some reflections on a (modern) topic, specific to the elegiac genre: sexual identity and gender relations. He presents an alternative point of view that includes both facets of what Augustus seeks to impose in his politics of promoting ancient social practices, essentially concerned with control over morality and sexuality: a strict conception of female morality, and a crucial questioning of gender conceptions: what makes the difference between the sexes? It is dress, behaviour or the body?

While Statius’ interventions in the poem seem to encourage a comparison between the poem’s characters and Virgil’s heroes, Chapter 2 shows that the Thebaid actually patterns its heroic narratives after some of the most politically charged myths of Ovid’s Metamorphoses, such as the stories of Cadmus, Perseus, Hercules, and Theseus. Statius’ descriptions of dysfunctional heroes, who re-tread the failure of their Ovidian ancestors to carry on the foundational mission of Virgil’s Hercules and Aeneas, seem to rework the anti-heroic paradigm set by Ovid’s Cadmus (Met. 3–4). By exploring the darker sides of the Aeneid’s gigantomachic discourse, these narratives open the Thebaid to a redefinition of traditional heroic paradigms that potentially questions the political significance of the heroes appropriated by the Flavian emperors in their refashioning of Augustan ideology. While offering new insights into Statius’ renegotiation of poetic independence from his predecessors, this exploration also illuminates the Thebaid’s sophisticated engagement with the material and ideological environments of Flavian Rome.

Ecphrasis, as we saw in Chapter 4, is a characteristic feature of the enargeia of epic, but there is one case in which an expected ecphrasis is conspicuous for its absence. The Argonautica of Apollonius of Rhodes tells the myth of Jason, Medea, and the Argonauts, already encountered in Chapter 2. The Golden Fleece, one of the most famous supernatural objects in all mythology, calls for a detailed description, but Apollonius does not provide one. Films that retell the myth must, however, show it. Hence the concept of neo-mythologism, a useful term coined by director Vittorio Cottafavi: an original work based on myth must be changed for its visual adaptation. The chapter reviews and interprets the different appearances of the Golden Fleece in romantic adventure films (Hercules, The Giants of Thessaly, Jason and the Argonauts), art-house cinema (Medea, The Golden Thing), Ray Harryhausen’s stop-motion animation, and computer-generated images.

One of the most striking things about myth on Roman sarcophagi is that, after exiting the stage during the second half of the third century, it returns with a vengeance in the fourth – this time in Christian guise. How are we to conceive of the relation between the polytheistic myths that had long adorned Roman coffins and the Christian myths that succeeded them? What was their altered view of temporality, allegory, and the afterlife? And what is the relevance of sculptural technique and tooling to understanding this relationship? Such is the subject of this book’s closing chapter.

Chapter 2 investigates how identity in Senecan tragedy is achieved via sympathetic identification with others, whether individuals or groups. The chapters focuses on Roman practices of exemplarity, which encouraged the formation of individual selves via the appropriation of others’ - often normative - characteristics. This habit of coyping and becoming a copy of other people connects the human individual to the fictional character, which is by nature inherently replicable. The two plays discussed in this chapter are Troades, where Astyanax is constantly characterised as a ‘second Hector’, and Hercules, where the protagonist pursues self-aemulatio in place of family attachments.