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Case for a Classic: "The Golden Ass"
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Posted by themelaman Tue Nov 30, 1999 00:00:00 PST
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0 responses 0 comments After graduating from the local university, I read “The Golden Ass” as part of a self-paced reading program in the satirical classics. The first book I read was “The Satyricon.” In a brazen fashion, it chronicles the adventures and misadventures of one Encolpius and his friends and lovers. “The Satyricon” was written in the time of Nero and captures the decadent Roman age with humor and style.

Why should one read such classics? For one, they are historical. Santayana urged us to learn from history so that we would not repeat it. Writers in every age have built upon earlier writings and myths, thereby enriching literature. If one understands how literature came to us, one is better equipped to see where it is headed.

Sadly, modern readership is in decline, according to Joseph Bednarik (“The Law of Diminishing Readership” in Poets & Writers, May/June 2006). Bednarik suggests that writers “read and recommend enough books to nourish the system [they] want to enter.”

 Simply speaking, we need books. I did not realize to what extent writers relied upon the classics until I read “The Satyricon” and “The Golden Ass.”  Even Shakespeare borrowed from the classics to write “Hamlet,” “Romeo and Juliet” and other dramas. Other plays served as the basis for some of his historical dramas. “The Satyricon” contains a passage believed to be where our concept of platonic love originated (Socratica Fide).

The “The Golden Ass” pictured here is a modern version. I have not read other translations, but my guess is that educated or academic readers may want to consider a more traditional translation. Still, this version allows most readers to "get all the jokes" and may serve as a good introduction to the classics.

In the main plot, Lucius dabbles in witchcraft and accidentally turns himself into a donkey. Yet, “The Golden Ass” is a montage of stories woven through the main plot. At times, these tales appear tacked on, but in a way, they complement the main story, which shares much of the suspense, humor and allegorical nature of the woven tales. One memorable story, “Cupid and Psyche,” takes up almost three of eleven chapters.

The book is also called “Transformations” (“Metamorphoses”), and these titles convey an important idea. Lucius transforms from one bodily shape to the next, and his conversion can be said to be a transformation.

No doubt, part of the work’s appeal is due to the confessional nature of Lucius’ story telling. He recounts what happened in the past in complete honesty: I literally used to be an ass. His tales entertain as though they were occurring in the often capricious present. Yet, Lucius often invokes Fortune, good and bad.

Fortune is blind, it seems. In one passage, mule drivers find the Golden Ass eating delicacies. Instead of beating him, they create a show out of the bizarre events. Later, a wealthy heiress that murdered her husband is sentenced to marry the beast. The crudeness of their intimacy is redeemed by the hilarity and style with which it is written, however. A modern interpretation of this kind of myth is found in “Beauty and the Beast.” Each tale was entertaining and allowed me to understand Greek mythology a little better.

Readers may or may not find useful the book’s table of contents and corresponding head notes. I did not use these content notes because I did not want to know what was going to happen ahead of time, but the notes occasionally allowed me to maneuver through the rich narrative threads.

Part of the strength of a writer is his ability to tell an existing story with wonder and fascination, lending new insights to new audiences. One gets that feeling when reading “The Golden Ass.” The novel is resourceful in terms of its style.

At the story’s conclusion is Lucius’ return to human form and his conversion to the cult of Isis, his redeemer. In this way, his character arcs and gives the novel a sense of closure. Lucius is one of many characters that get what they deserve. The wonder of “The Golden Ass” owes in great part to how actions and their consequences play out in unpredictable and often hilarious ways.

The next book on my list is Rabalais’s “Gargantua and Pantaguel.” On second thought, I might take a quick detour through American satire and read Jonathan Swift’s “A Tale of a Tub” in its place. Then, I’ll resume my climb through the older classics and work my way up to Mark Twain and the moderns.

 

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