A Writer's Diary

 

I've written a little diary over on my Substack. 

 

 

Out of the Silent Planet? A tentative note on the Fauns' names in Prince Caspian

 

 

Some years ago, when teaching C S Lewis to undergraduates at university, I re-read the Narnia novels, and was puzzled by a list of names of fauns whom Prince Caspian meets, in the novel that bears his name (published 1951). Caspian is meeting the old Narnians, now in hiding under the rule of his cruel uncle. All at once, music is heard, and the little fauns appear, and begin to dance in a circle. "They footed it all round Caspian to their reedy pipes." They are:

Mentius, Obentinus, Dumnus, Voluns, Voltinus, Girbius, Nimienus, Nausus, and Oscuns.

Why nine of them? It's a highly significant number, and Lewis, who was steeped in Mediaeval literature, would have been entirely alive to the resonances of three, seven and nine. It seems curious to mention them at this point, when we never hear from them again. They sound a bit like Mr Tumnus (everyone's favourite), and are certainly Latinate in form. But what do they mean?

Lewis had by this point already written his science fiction novel, Out of the Silent Planet, which was published in 1938. In it, Earth is "the silent planet", because it has no ruling spirit, unlike the other planets, who all communicate with each other. In the list of fauns, "Dumnus" is the third. Now, Lewis was not entirely particular when it came to his names (unlike J R R Tolkien), and quite happily mingled etymologies and cultures. 

I wonder, then, if Dumnus could be read as a pun on "dumb", silent? And, since it's the third planet in, could it not be "the silent planet"?

This, then, would suggest that the nine fauns are representative of the nine planets, and their dance is a cosmic one. Michael Ward, in Planet Narnia, argues convincingly that the seven Narnia books are representative of the seven mediaeval planets. Could Lewis here be hinting at his planetary design? He may be punning in Latin, or he may be punning in English. Hence, my explanations are entirely tentative... and there may be a system to them that I can't yet discern. Or there may be none. Anyway, it's fun to think about. But much further research is needed.

Here's a few thoughts:

Mentius - as Mercury, the messenger god. "Mens, mentis" is mind, and Mercury comes to earth as swift as thought.

Obentinus - as Venus. Various possibilities occur: "obeo" can be used of heavenly bodies setting, and Venus appears at sunset; it could also be a hint towards "obedience", and you pay "obeisance" to your courtly lover; and there's also the closeness of the fricative "v" to the plosive "b". 

Dumnus - our silent planet.

Voluns - Mars - "volens" is willing; "volans" is flying; "volvens" is rolling about; but Mars is also Mavors in ancient Rome. A difficult one, this. He wasn't particularly willing, though he is willful; so I thought this might be more to do with him being rather "vol"atile; it could also (see below) point to the Volsci, a warlike tribe who inhabited ancient Italia. Camilla, the warrior maiden, is of the Volsci in the Aeneid.

Voltinus - Jupiter - the "volt" is a unit of electrical energy; perhaps a reference to the great god's thunderbolt?

Girbius - Saturn - is "gir"dled by rings...I have been unable to find any Latin word that begins with "girb". This is the most puzzling of them all, and the hardest to fit into the scheme. I think of "gyre" and "gimble" too. A "gyrfalcon" has the Latin name Falco rusticolus, and Saturn was a god of the countryside; "Falco" is also from the Latin "falx", or sickle, and Saturn was associated heavily with sickles. 

* AL suggests "How about a play on the medieval palindrome "In girum imus noctes, et consumimur igni" whereby girum is used for gyrum = the rings of Saturn." - I like the sound of this, and most probably C S Lewis would have known of this lovely palindrome, the lament of the moths: "We go round and round in the night and are consumed by fire". Of course, that's what the fauns are doing, going round and round.

Nimienus - Uranus - "nimius" means "too much" - perhaps a pearl-clutching reaction to scatalogical puns on Uranus? 

Nausus - Neptune - you'll be sea-sick if you're not a good sailor and pray to Neptune.

Oscuns - Pluto - the mouth of the underworld is in the Bay of Naples; the Osci / Oscans were a tribe who lived in Italy whose territory included the Bay of Naples; they, like the Volsci, assimilated with the Romans. "Osculo" is also kissing; it might be a bit of a stretch to say that this is the kiss of death, but hey, it's just for kicks.

* GMcP suggests "Oscuns - the Obscure planet", as oscuro is obscure in Italian." Also quite believable.

An enjoyable parlour game, and if anyone has any thoughts, I'd be delighted to hear. 

By Philip Womack, 2025.

Review of How to Teach Classics to Your Dog on Classics for All

The website Classics for All, which promotes the teaching of Classics in schools, has published a lovely review of How to Teach Classics to Your Dog, which will be out in paperback next week. Here's a link.

Interview with Perlego about How to Teach Classics to Your Dog

 

I've been interviewed by Lucy Hoyle of Perlego, about How to Teach Classics to Your Dog, will be published in paperback soon. Here's the interview.

Audiobook of How to Teach Classics to Your Dog

 I had oodles of fun recording the audiobook for How to Teach Classics to Your Dog. You can now buy it from Audible, here.

Finished copies of HOW TO TEACH CLASSICS TO YOUR DOG

 

 Finished copies of How to Teach Classics to Your Dog have arrived - they look absolutely beautiful. 

"Engaging and funny and clever. Written with the verve of a novelist and the insights of a scholar. Illuminates the pleasures and relevance of the Classics today." - Dr Harry Sidebottom, author of the Warrior of Rome series.

Proof of How to Teach Classics to Your Dog

Ecce! Proofs have arrived of How to Teach Classics to Your Dog, which will be published in October by Oneworld.

"Philip Womack and Una – his optima canis – are tremendous companions in their journey round the classical world. The ultimate vademecum.." Harry Mount

THE ARROW OF APOLLO: CHARACTERS: Aeneas

Aeneas fleeing Troy (Barocci)

THE ARROW OF APOLLO by Philip Womack

Characters

1. AENEAS

Aeneas was a Trojan prince. His father, Anchises, was a first cousin of Priam, King of Troy; his mother was the goddess Aphrodite, who at one point during the fighting pulled him off the battlefield, veiled in mist. When the Greeks eventually attacked at night with the Trojan Horse, Aeneas rallied his men and fought hard; when it became apparent that the city was lost, he collected a group of survivors, including his son Iulus, and took them on a long journey around the Mediterranean.

Along the way he had many adventures; including meeting Helenus, another exiled Trojan prince, who had founded a city. Aeneas' love for Dido, Queen of Carthage is well known, and its tragic outcome matter for much music and art.

When the Trojans finally reached Italy, they entered into a war with the local Latins, which they eventually won; Aeneas married a Latin princess, Lavinia, with whom he had a son, Silvius.

Aeneas is an important figure in THE ARROW OF APOLLO, providing advice to Silvius, and also relating to the general theme of fathers and sons. He is deeply protective of Silvius, a half-Latin, half-Trojan boy, who represents the future of his new state.

In art Aeneas is usually depicted leaving Troy, carrying his father on his back and leading his little son by the hand, representing the virtue of duty for which he was renowned. Virgil's great poem, The Aeneid, is not only one of the most beautiful things in existence, but is also a clever riff on its predecessors, The Iliad and The Odyssey: Virgil was moulding a new hero, for a new time. In THE ARROW OF APOLLO, Aeneas is ageing. Will he be able to let his son take up new challenges to keep the city safe?

HELP FUND THE ARROW OF APOLLO ON UNBOUND

The Homecomings: The "Nostoi": The background to The Arrow of Apollo

The Trojan War itself lasted for 10 years. The story of how the siege was eventually won is famous: the horse that was built and left on the shore as a gift; that was dragged into the rejoicing city; and that in fact was a devious trap, full of Greek soldiers, who slipped out at night and caused carnage.

There are many other stories in the Trojan Cycle: such as when Achilles fought Penthesilea, the Queen of the Amazons, and fell in love with her as he killed her; or when Memnon, Prince of the Dawn, arrived from Ethiopia with his army. Achilles himself was killed by an arrow in his ankle, so they say, shot by Paris.

After the siege finished, there were many horrors: Hector's son Astynanax killed; Priam's daughter, Polyxena, was called for as a sacrifice by the hungry ghost of Achilles; Ajax the Greater went mad and slaughtered sheep; the Trojan Women are enslaved. But some Trojans did escape: notably, prince Aeneas, who went on, after many travels, to found a city in Italy.

And then the Greeks went home. Some say that Menelaus, stopping at Egypt, was shocked to discover that Helen had been there all the time, and that the Helen in Troy was simply a phantasm. Others say that was a fiction, made only to save Helen's reputation. But one by one they reached home, and went back to the business of their farms and towns. 

Two homecomings were more famous: Odysseus, whose travels made the matter for another epic poem; and Agamemnon. 

When King Agamemnon returned home, it was not to be greeted joyfully by Clytemnestra. She had been nursing revenge in her heart all this time; and so, she, with the help of Aegisthus, slew her husband and his concubine Cassandra. Agamemnon's son Orestes returned later; and with his sister Electra, they too took revenge on their mother and Aegisthus. 

This is where The Arrow of the Apollo picks up the thread: years later, when Orestes is getting old; he has settled his debt with the Furies, and he has a son, Tisamenos. And Aeneas, too, had a son, Silvius: myth and legend do not record much about them, and so there is a satisfyingly blank space where a writer can fill in a story. 

The stage is then set for The Arrow of Apollo: taking place at the end of an era of gods and heroes, and looking forward to a new age. 

THE ARROW OF APOLLO: HELP FUND THE BOOK ON UNBOUND

The Arrow of Apollo by Philip Womack launches on Unbound

Today is a great day: I have launched The Arrow of Apollo on Unbound, the wonderful crowd-funding publisher. I'm very excited about this - partly because they make such beautiful books, but also because it's a chance for this idea to reach an audience directly. There is a synopsis below, but you can read more here on the Unbound website.

An epic children's adventure set in the legendary past: three friends must find the magical Arrow of Apollo before evil consumes the world

The gods are leaving the earth, tempted by other worlds where they can live in peace. Only a few retain an interest in the mortals left behind, including Hermes, the messenger god, and Apollo, Lord of Light. Other, darker, more ancient forces are wakening, and threatening to take over.
In The Arrow of Apollo three teenagers encounter increasingly perilous situations in order to defeat Python, the most terrible enemy of all. It draws freely on Greek and Roman myth, whilst telling stories that have not been told before in a gripping, fast-flowing tale for boys and girls aged eleven plus, combining literary quality with an absorbing plot.
In The Arrow of Apollo, two opposing houses are forced to come together to face a terrible danger. Silvius, son of Aeneas, of the Italian House of the Wolf, is given a task by a dying centaur. The dark god Python is rising and massing an army of unstoppable force. The only thing that can save the world is the Arrow of Apollo - but it was split into two.
Against his father’s wishes, Silvius and his friend Elissa must travel to the land of their enemies, the Achaeans.
Meanwhile, Tisamenos, the son of Orestes, is facing his own dangers in the kinghouse of Mykenai. A plot is afoot against both him and his father, and he is the only one who can stop it.
When Silvius, Elissa and Tisamenos meet, they enter a final, terrifying race to reunite Arrowhead and Shaft, and destroy the army of the Python.
There’s one more problem: a prophecy tells that one of them will die.

Latin graffiti in Cambridge: "Locus in domos loci populum"

Romani ite domum: Life of Brian

I've written about Google Translate and Latin before (see here); I never thought the day would come when the hapless machine would be used by protestors in Cambridge to get their message across. As reported by the BBC here, a series of new houses has been spraypainted with the words "Locus in domos loci populum."

Strung together, these words are meaningless. The culprit? Google Translate. If you type "local homes for local people" into the search engine, it churns out "Locus in domos loci populum."

I've been trying to think how to turn the phrase into Latin, but haven't yet been able to come up with much. It's hard to get idioms right: English into Latin translation requires some sure-footed sideways thinking.

What still remains interesting is why these protestors felt that Latin - or rather some approximation of it - might be useful as a tool of protest. Who says Latin is dead? 


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Catullus' Bedspread by Daisy Dunn: Review for The Spectator

I've reviewed Catullus' Bedspread by Daisy Dunn for The Spectator. Read it here.

Horace and Me by Harry Eyres: Review in The Telegraph

Horace: a poet of the middle age

I seem to have forgotten to put up a link to my review of Harry Eyres' book, Horace and Me, an amiable reflection on the poet Horace and his own life. I did it for the Telegraph, donchaknow: here's the link.

At university I must admit to not really liking Horace as much as I loved Ovid, Virgil, Propertius, Lucretius et. al., but Eyres has persuaded me to have another look at him. Another book on the pile of things to be looked at again, or read for the first time... Currently I want to read Jane Austen again; Samuel Richardson's Pamela (for the first time), finish Pepys' Diaries; and that's not to mention the 100 odd books I have on my "To Be Read" pile, still less the children's books I've got going for the Costa Book Award... Oh, and there's Ford Madox Ford, as well. And I'm trying to catch up on Hilary Mantel and Don DeLillo's backlists. Wish me luck...

Confronting the Classics by Mary Beard: review

Homer reading: This is what classics is like

Salve! I've reviewed Mary Beard's collection of, um, reviews, for The Daily Telegraph. Read it here.

Cicero: Politics and Persuasion in Ancient Rome by Kathryn Tempest: Party

Yes, and in a small club off the Charing Cross road there were indeed scenes of Verrine proportions this evening, as classicists convened for the launch of up-and-coming academic Kathryn Tempest's debut book, Cicero: Politics and Persuasion in Ancient Rome. The Phoenix Club is the haunt of the louche and the lush: Cicero would perhaps not have felt very comfortable in such surroundings, and would probably have made a disapproving speech about it the next day in the forum (well, unless Marcus Caelius Rufus was there, of course, in which case it would be classified as Youthful Fun and to be encouraged.) He would have enjoyed the symbolism of the Phoenix, though, as he himself was constantly reinventing himself to fit the circumstances of political life. One can forgive him his epic poem celebrating his own achievements (thankfully lost to posterity): one thing that comes through all his speeches, and from all the stories about him, is that he was an unfailingly good man; and that is indeed a rare thing.

(Verres, if you remember, was a very naughty praetor who liked to be carried around by slaves in a litter with rose-petal stuffed cushions; I don't know whether the cushions in the club were actually stuffed with petals, but they were certainly very comfortable.)

The book itself looks like it's a readable and erudite account, for the general reader, of Cicero's life and times. I look forward to reading it, and (with any luck) will post a review of it anon. Until then, I pour a libation to Cicero's shade in Elysium, where I have no doubt that he rests, probably telling anyone who'll listen about the time he saved Rome from the evil Catiline...

And yes, it is true, that classicists always throw the best parties...

Killed the King of the Dragon: Google Latin Translate

Ave amici! In one of Life of Brian's funniest scenes, a Roman goes up to Brian as he's graffitiing a wall. 'Romanes eunt domus', he's written. 'What's this then? People called Romanes they go the house?' He then goes on to correct him: Romani ite domum. The joke is, for Latinists, that 'domum' is not a locative, but accusative of motion towards. The locative would be domi. Still, we need people like that centurion around today. Those pointy-heads at Google have set up a translate function - for Latin. Why, you might ask. I certainly do. So I thought I'd check it out. The first thing I put in was this: draco regem necavit. Translated by me, it means 'the dragon killed the king.' Translated by Google, it comes out as 'killed the king of the dragon.' Weirdly poetic, I grant you, but wrong.

Let's try a longer sentence. Maybe it doesn't deign to do short things.

olim puer quidam et eius soror prope magnam cavernam sunt inventi.

Translated by a mere human, this means:

Once upon a time, a certain boy and his sister were found near a great cave.

Translated by a mighty machine, this comes out as:

a boy, who in times past and the sister of her near the large hole of the are to be found.

A little less than poetic, but more than piffle. So let's try some Ovid on it:

non aliter quam cum vitiato fistula plumbo scinditur et tenues stridente foramine longe eiaculatur aquas atque ictibus aera rumpit.

Your humble human brain gives you this:

Not otherwise than when a pipe with faulty lead breaks, and hissing through the hole there is a long thin water-spurt which breaks the air with its force.

Megabrain Google gives you this:

in no other way than the lead when a pipe with a hissing rent, and the thin hole of the far eiaculatur the waters of the blows, and he breaks into the air.

A system that can't recognise consonontal 'i' is obviously faulty.

Even a phrase in common usage, 'ad hominem', comes out as 'to the man of'.

So, endless amusement for Latinists, then, but practical usage for people who actually want to read Latin? I'm afraid there's nothing there. And if you want to do your homework on it - I wouldn't bother.

Books of the Year: Day Three: Recent Non-Fiction

Hello! And welcome! On this third day of my bumptastic books of the year, I give to you a selection of recent non-fiction. Which, er, for obvious reasons, are mostly to do with classics, but never mind. There's one about roads in there too.

1. Ad Infinitum: A Biography of Latin by Nicholas Ostler

This is a superbly erudite work tracing the birth of Latin as it fought against its neighbours (Oscan and Umbrian, anyone?) to become the global language that it still is. It's funny, well-written and even - dare I say it - gripping. Latin is alive! It also contains many interesting examples of real Latin, such as this, from a Roman school primer:

Et maledicit bestiarius? Dimitte me et dentes eius excutio.
Is this beastfighter dissin me? Let me go - I'll knock his teeth out.

Ego te excaeco.
I'll have your eyes out.

Video quid mihi facies.
I know your little game.

There is also a play written by a nun in the form of a Terentian comedy, about how maidens should keep their virtue, which is worth the price of the cover alone. And did you know that there were Incan princesses who wrote in Latin? (see picture). Oh yes. Ite! Legite! Emite!

2. Why Socrates Died by Robin Waterfield

This (also gripping) work traces the last days of the philosopher, placing him in a political and social context. He also has a marvellously clever interpretation of Socrates' last words - which you'll just have to read the book to find out.

3. On Roads by Joe Moran

Yes! It's a book about roads! I never thought I'd be excited by tarmac, but honestly, this is a work of genius. Moran has a novelist's sensibility; he interprets the psychological implications of roads in a way that J G Ballard would have been proud of. And if you've always wondered where Mills and Boon novels go when they die - well, they're under the wheels of your car.

4. A Single Swallow by Horatio Clare

Clare followed the swallows' migration from South Africa to Britain. This is a moving and vivid account of a young man's mental and physical journey.

5. Full Circle by Ferdinand Mount

I had the pleasure of interviewing Ferdinand Mount this year about this book - a warm, genial account of how in our thoughts and actions we really can't escape the classical world - and are in fact perhaps much closer to those Romans and Greeks than we think.

Toodle pip, till tomorrow ...

Ovid and Sophocles: They've Done it Again

The weekend was spent buried deep in various texts, for various reasons; as I truffled through them I did come up with this:

'saepe pater dixit: 'studium quid inutile temptas?
Maeonides nullas ipse reliquit opes.'

Plus ça change. It's from Ovid, Tristia (4.10), and its translation is as follows:

'Often my father said, 'Why are you hacking away at that pointless fad?
Homer himself didn't leave behind any money.'


It's Ovid's father, telling him off for wanting to be a poet. Ovid's brother, of course, is a sparky lawyer. (Maeonides is a name often used for Homer as he was thought to have been a native of Maeonia, or Lydia as it was otherwise called.)

It is so marvellous to hear the voice of the father roaring out across the centuries as his useless son potters about with ink and papyrus instead of swotting up on legal precedents. More proof, if any is needed, of the 'relevance' of classical studies...

Also, what could be more beautiful than this, from Sophocles' Ajax?

'horo gar hemas ouden ontas allo plen
eidol' hosoiper zomen he kouphen skian'

Translated (poetically, in the Penguin translation) as

'Are we not all,
All living things, mere phantoms, shadows of nothing?'

Mysteries of Auster

Auster means the south wind in Latin; it's also the surname of a very popular author. I was asked to review his new novel, Sunset Park, for The Daily Telegraph: click HERE to read it to find out which way the wind is blowing.

That Naughty Verres, and A Certain Mr Satoshi

I was reading some Cicero the other day, in particular his superlatively nasty speech against the general Verres, on trial for extortion and being the worst possible governor of Sicily ever. He used to swan around in a litter filled with rose petals, and set up an enormous tent to which were brought various ladies of ill (and worse) repute. Here is a description of one of his parties:

'itaque erant exitus eius modi ut alius inter manus e convivio tamquam e proelio auferretur, alius tamquam occisus relinqueretur, plerique ut fusi sine mente ac sine ullo sensu iacerent.'

Which translates (in rather bad English, but you get the drift) as:

'And so, there were exits (to the party) of such a kind that some would be carried out in the arms (of the other guests) as if from a battle; others would be left as if for dead; most would sprawl on the ground without any idea or sense of where they lay.'

Now I don't know about you, but all this sounds like it could be rather fun. It looks like Verres was heartily enjoining the worship of Bacchus. I wonder if Cicero was just jealous because he never got invited and was too busy writing epic poems about himself?

I attended a party (which didn't end like that) for the launch of Jonathan Lee's Who is Mr Satoshi?, which is his debut novel and looks intriguing. The party was in a pub in Islington; as far as I know nobody was carried out as if from a battle, but it was certainly enormously enjoyable.