Katya, 23 years old, Saint Petersburg, Russia.
Bachelor degree in Linguistics (English and French languages); a year into my Master's (Ancient Literature and Western European Classics).
Usually reblogging photography, art articles, quotes.
Reblogged from classicsenthusiast  597 notes

How to be a Successful Roman Epic Poet (after Virgil): A Guide for the Perplexed

lionofchaeronea:

  • Be sure to begin your epic with a nauseatingly sycophantic address to the reigning Emperor.  (“Humble worm that I am, I would never dream of singing of you, o great Caesar; your virtue is too vast, your deeds too amazing, and have I mentioned how well your new toga brings out the color of your eyes?”)
  • Never, under any circumstances, address a given character by his or her actual name.  Instead, use an obscure genealogical reference that’s guaranteed to send your reader scrambling for the nearest mythology handbook.  (“And so Coronis’ noble grandson drew his sword and challenged the stout-hearted nephew of Inachus to battle, while Theseus’ second cousin’s step-sister’s former gym teacher watched in awe…”)
  • When describing a scene that takes place at night or in the Underworld, pile up as many synonyms for “dark” as humanly possible.  (“Atra nox caeca erat et opaca, plena umbris fuscis et tenebris obscuris, sine ulla luce…”)
  • Constantly change singular nouns into plurals for the sake of the meter, even when the resulting sentence makes no sense whatsoever.  (“The mighty eagle plucked at Prometheus’ livers, and he shook his heads in agony…”)
  • Spice up your narrative with bombastic similes referring to peoples who live beyond the boundaries of the Empire.  The less they have to do with reality, the better.  (“Learning of his brother’s betrayal, Polynices raged with the ferocity of the far-off Hyrcanians, who wear floral-print muu-muus and hunt their prey astride velociraptors, if the tales I hear be true…”)
  • And above all, remember: obscurity is your friend; clarity, your mortal enemy.  If you haven’t left generations of irritated readers and squabbling textual critics in your wake, you haven’t really done your job.