Trojan Women
4/5
()
Gwendolyn MacEwen
GWENDOLYN MacEWEN was born in Toronto in 1941. The author of numerous books of poetry, including The Shadow Maker and Afterworlds, which both won the Governor General’s Literary Award for Poetry. She also published novels, plays, travel memoirs, and children’s books. MacEwen died in 1987.
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Reviews for Trojan Women
123 ratings2 reviews
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5This is the first play I have read since I studied Hamlet at school, so I was slightly unsure of how to go about this, but I needn't have worried. There are a number of characters, but the number who are speaking at any one time is relatively limited, meaning that ypou're not trying to keep umpteen people straight in your head at once. I read an edition with a fairly long introduction (a fair proportion of which went way over my head), but it did help put the events leading up to the play's start into the forefront of my mind. I then read the play twice, once straight through, the second time reading the translator's notes in parallel. These were helpful in expanding what I had read the first time. it helped understand how this would have been viewed by the first theatre goers and the context in which they would have viewed what was happening and being said - or unsaid. I enjoyed this. It seems really very modern, there are 2 men & 1 male god with a speaking role in the entire piece, the remainder are all women. I would hesitate to call it a feminist piece in today's environment - all the women are largely at the mercy of the men who claim them as their slaves. But we hear them women themselves speak and explain their feelings in a way that things like [The Iliad] and [The Odyssey] just don't do. I have read a couple of the modern novels telling these stories from a female perspective, I didn't realise that it had already been started - a very long time ago. I feel like I both learnt something and enjoyed it, an excellent combination.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5A short but devastating glimpse at the aftermath of war. I think I will teach this next time I teach Greek Mythology.
Book preview
Trojan Women - Gwendolyn MacEwen
Formatting note:
In the electronic versions of this book blank pages that appear in the paperback have been removed.
THE TROJAN WOMEN
by EURIPIDES
a new version by
Gwendolyn MacEwen
HELEN and ORESTES
by YANNIS RITSOS
translated by
GWENDOLYN MACEWEN
with NIKOS TSINGOS
Introduction by
CLAUDIA DEY
Publishers of singular books Fiction, Poetry, Nonfiction, Drama, Translation and Graphic Books
2009
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Euripides
[Trojan women. English]
The Trojan women : and two long poems by Yannis Ritsos / Gwendolyn MacEwen ; introduction by Claudia Dey.
(Exile classics series ; 13)
Translations by Gwendolyn MacEwen and Nikos Tsingos.
ISBN
978-1-55096-123-2 (pbk)
978-1-55096-740-1 (ePUB)
978-1-55096-741-8 (MOBI)
978-1-55096-742-5 (PDF)
I. MacEwen, Gwendolyn, 1941-1987 II. Tsingos, Nikos III. Title. IV. Title: Trojan women. English. V. Series: Exile classics ; 13
PA3975.T8M33 2009 882'.01 C2009-904869-8
All rights reserved © Barry Callaghan, 1981
Design and Composition by Digital ReproSet
Cover Photograph © Brand X Images/JupiterImages
Drawing by John Gould
Published by Exile Editions Ltd ~ www.ExileEditions.com
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PDF, ePUB and MOBI versions by Melissa Campos Mendivil
Publication Copyright © Exile Editions, 2009. All rights reserved
We gratefully acknowledge, for their support toward our publishing activities, the Canada Council for the Arts, the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund, the Ontario Arts Council, and the Ontario Media Development Corporation.
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CONTENTS
HELEN, by Yannis Ritsos
THE TROJAN WOMEN, a play by Euripides
ORESTES, by Yannis Ritsos
Related Reading
Questions for Discussion and Essays
Websites of Interest
INTRODUCTION
Gwendolyn MacEwen died nine years after The Trojan Women premiered at the St. Lawrence Centre in Toronto. She was forty-six years old. Shortly before her death, she read at the wake for her first husband, the carnivorous raconteur, Milton Acorn. She quoted him back to himself from his poem, You Growing
:
Wherever you are be fearless;
and wherever I am I hope to know
you’re moving vivid beyond me,
so I grow by the strength
of you fighting for your self, many selves,
your life, many lives… your people.
The Trojan Women also reads as an elegy to the self. But in MacEwen’s case, she chooses, rather than the epic scale of love, a different colossal disruption, another aftermath of flame
– the Trojan War.
Euripides’ 415 B.C. tragedy is the perfect flint for MacEwen’s intellectual assiduity, the compulsive dark of her investigations, and the sly wink of her humour. It flickers with hilarity. It punishes with ugliness. Above all, it is the too familiar story of human failure.
The play takes place in the ruins of Troy. The war has ravaged the once great walled city. The last stones standing threaten to collapse. The men have been killed. The women have been left to the excruciating task of bearing witness. Once regal and gowned, they are now defeated, widowed and caught between the lunacy of belief and the lunacy of disbelief. Exasperated, they ask: How can I call upon the gods these days? How can I pray?
Enemy Greeks wait in their docked ships. There, they choose and buy wives from those Trojan women that remain: Hecuba, the disgraced Queen of Troy, crippled by her interesting arthritis
; her virgin daughter, Cassandra; Andromache, widow of Hector; and of course, that renowned harlot,
Helen.
When I think of adaptation, I think of evolutionary intelligence: The thickening coats of animals, the sharpening of claws, the precision of camouflage – how the animal achieves currency in its conditions. MacEwen’s The Trojan Women performs this same feat. Her take on Euripides’ tragedy is equal parts indictment and mischief. She invokes Roosevelt, Hamlet and the good guys
of westerns. By parading our most famed phrases about war, she reminds us Troy is the same war forever, fought over and over.
Given the prescience and contemporariness of MacEwen’s adaptation, it is no wonder it has been staged across Canada by university and commercial theatre troupes, as well as performed internationally in the United States, and more broadly, South Africa and the drama’s place of origin, Greece. MacEwen unpins The Trojan Women from time. In dragging it through the centuries, she plays messenger. She tells us we are still somnambulists. History is an act of idiot repetition. We are complicit in its witless construction. Her message: we are each one of us an arbiter of war. Her message is one that continues to cross borders – into libraries, classrooms and theatres around the world.
In an interview with the Toronto Star’s theatre critic, Ken Adachi, cited in Rosemary Sullivan’s Shadow Maker, MacEwen says, "Hecuba’s agony is [the] result of this step by step realization, i.e. women are as responsible as men. The play is Hecuba’s discovery and consequent agony/breakdown. Hecuba must see through each woman in turn, beginning with her own daughter. The same is true of MacEwen. She must also
see through."
Like Cassandra, MacEwen holds a torch to the past. She too knows the places where the unofficial future lies.
She too has an overbearing, preternatural intelligence. As such, is she mad or is she not? Is she holy or is she not?
Hecuba’s dire wish – There must be some holy meaning behind this destruction
– is Gwendolyn’s own. She too tries to wring sense out of war. And then questions the hopefulness of this act.
The structure of Greek tragedy dictates most of the action occurs offstage. Consequently, The Trojan Women relies largely on language. Its language is its action. Its language is its theatre. Renovated through MacEwen’s mastery, The Trojan Women reads as both play and poem. Who could write the angry lament of Poseidon more convincingly than MacEwen? Like the chorus whom she instructs to be impressively hideous,
MacEwen is a murder of crows. She chooses her words with power. They punctuate. They flex. At once brutal and incisive, they are direct hits.
Then, the other side of the ache, her language is curvaceous and tender. It delivers a rhapsodic spareness. Anguish is nearly inexpressible. It has tricked artists into melodrama through the ages. If ever a writer has given us a language of anguish, it is MacEwen.
Whatever its cost, MacEwen chose grandness. Surely, the giant stallion with golden reins
is the most flamboyant war tactic ever deployed. It was offered as a gift to Athena. Yet inside its gilded shell was not the promise of peace, but invaders
whom like maggots
were set to crowd upon mindless
death. The duplicity of the great beast,
its fantastic devastation, would have appealed to MacEwen’s sensibility. Her imagination was consistently extravagant.
Conversely, I cannot help but picture the monkish order of MacEwen’s basement apartment: the fold-up bicycle in the corner, the typewriter, the admonishing notes in the margins of her