The Perils of Doing Your Research...

I caught up with the second half of Bettany Hughes' television documentary on the Spartans yesterday.  It was truly fascinating, but once again it provided me with many questions and contradictions.

I suppose it's one of the joys of historical fiction (or in this particular case, speculative fiction with a historical setting), that you're at the mercy of other people's research.  Historical interpretations are always in a state of flux.  There's always new evidence, new interpretations. 

Personally speaking, if I'm writing something in a historical setting, I'd like to convey some impression of what reality may have been like, because a lot of the time, what I read elsewhere isn't usually grounded in the 'real world'.  I wanted my portrayal of medieval Scotland to be more like The Godfather than Braveheart, because that's the way I'm sure it was.  And I want my Spartans to be careful, cunning and manipulative, rather than the gung-ho warriors of 300.

In each case, research has been the key.  Know your primary sources.  Then make sure you're familiar with a detailed undergraduate textbook or two, written by a known expert. 

Catching up with new interpretations and new discoveries is more difficult.  I find this process easy enough when writing about medieval Scotland, where work and writing overlap.   I can ask questions under the guise of work-related research, without having to go through the embarrassing rigmarole of having to explain why I haven't got any novels published yet.  And I have at my fingertips a massive amount of literature and journals which cover all sorts of weird and wonderful topics.

Classical Greece is a different matter.  My library is minimal, and since new textbooks and conference proceedings retail at around fifty pounds a time, I just can't afford to maintain a decent library.

Watching Bettany Hughes last night opened a whole new can of worms for me.  Her consultant was Paul Cartledge, who's a world authority on Sparta and Lakonia, so no problems there.  Now, I've always had conceptual difficulties with the whole concept of the Spartan education system, the Agoge.  How can you raise your sons in the Cub Scout Troop from Hell from the age of seven, letting them live wild on minimum rations and teaching them to fight and kill, then suddenly expect them to be highly disciplined soldiers and model citizens once they hit twenty?

The suggestion put forward by Bettany Hughes (and presumably Paul Cartledge) was as follows:  the boys learn to fend for themselves under the watchful eye of an older boy between the ages of 7 and 12.  At 12, they are reintergrated into society through 'marriage' to an older man, who acts as mentor, providing them with training, equipment and transforming them into model warriors.  This makes sound sense.  But this also assumes that one of the major rites of passage embarked upon by Spartan boys - the Krypteia, where they are sent out into the wilds alone or in small groups as a kind of secret police whose task is to wipe out dissenters - is carried out by boys of twelve or younger.  And if the boys are 'apprenticed' to an older warrior at 12, where do the boys who run the troops of younger lads come from?

There's still too many unanswered questions.  After reading the Davidson book, I'm quite happy to accept that 18 is an age where a boy becomes a man, where his character is 'fully formed', and that this as true in Sparta as it was elsewhere in Ancient Greece.  While I'm sure that from the ages of 13 to 18, Spartan boys would have been subject to increasing amounts of military training, and that the pick of the bunch were already being singled out for attention by potential 'suitors', I don't think a formal commitment would have been made until the real rite of passage into manhood - that is, puberty - had been achieved.

Oh, it's a conundrum!  Since my novel rests on the assumption that two lads in the fourteen - sixteen age bracket are out on walkabout, having been sent on the Krypteia, it's proving a subject of great vexation.  I probably just need to sit back, take a deep breath, and remind myself that I'm writing a work of fiction, and if scholars of Greek culture can't decide amongst themselves the age divisions of Spartan boys and youth are applicable, then who am I to be having sleepless nights over the subject?

It's my fault for picking the Spartans, I suppose.  But I liked them partly because they gave such a powerful role to their women, and partly because they're so bloomin' alien.  Even the rest of the Greeks thought they were weird...

If there's any Classical scholars out there who can shed further light upon the matter, I'd be most grateful...

The Perils of Doing Your Research...

I caught up with the second half of Bettany Hughes' television documentary on the Spartans yesterday.  It was truly fascinating, but once again it provided me with many questions and contradictions.

I suppose it's one of the joys of historical fiction (or in this particular case, speculative fiction with a historical setting), that you're at the mercy of other people's research.  Historical interpretations are always in a state of flux.  There's always new evidence, new interpretations. 

Personally speaking, if I'm writing something in a historical setting, I'd like to convey some impression of what reality may have been like, because a lot of the time, what I read elsewhere isn't usually grounded in the 'real world'.  I wanted my portrayal of medieval Scotland to be more like The Godfather than Braveheart, because that's the way I'm sure it was.  And I want my Spartans to be careful, cunning and manipulative, rather than the gung-ho warriors of 300.

In each case, research has been the key.  Know your primary sources.  Then make sure you're familiar with a detailed undergraduate textbook or two, written by a known expert. 

Catching up with new interpretations and new discoveries is more difficult.  I find this process easy enough when writing about medieval Scotland, where work and writing overlap.   I can ask questions under the guise of work-related research, without having to go through the embarrassing rigmarole of having to explain why I haven't got any novels published yet.  And I have at my fingertips a massive amount of literature and journals which cover all sorts of weird and wonderful topics.

Classical Greece is a different matter.  My library is minimal, and since new textbooks and conference proceedings retail at around fifty pounds a time, I just can't afford to maintain a decent library.

Watching Bettany Hughes last night opened a whole new can of worms for me.  Her consultant was Paul Cartledge, who's a world authority on Sparta and Lakonia, so no problems there.  Now, I've always had conceptual difficulties with the whole concept of the Spartan education system, the Agoge.  How can you raise your sons in the Cub Scout Troop from Hell from the age of seven, letting them live wild on minimum rations and teaching them to fight and kill, then suddenly expect them to be highly disciplined soldiers and model citizens once they hit twenty?

The suggestion put forward by Bettany Hughes (and presumably Paul Cartledge) was as follows:  the boys learn to fend for themselves under the watchful eye of an older boy between the ages of 7 and 12.  At 12, they are reintergrated into society through 'marriage' to an older man, who acts as mentor, providing them with training, equipment and transforming them into model warriors.  This makes sound sense.  But this also assumes that one of the major rites of passage embarked upon by Spartan boys - the Krypteia, where they are sent out into the wilds alone or in small groups as a kind of secret police whose task is to wipe out dissenters - is carried out by boys of twelve or younger.  And if the boys are 'apprenticed' to an older warrior at 12, where do the boys who run the troops of younger lads come from?

There's still too many unanswered questions.  After reading the Davidson book, I'm quite happy to accept that 18 is an age where a boy becomes a man, where his character is 'fully formed', and that this as true in Sparta as it was elsewhere in Ancient Greece.  While I'm sure that from the ages of 13 to 18, Spartan boys would have been subject to increasing amounts of military training, and that the pick of the bunch were already being singled out for attention by potential 'suitors', I don't think a formal commitment would have been made until the real rite of passage into manhood - that is, puberty - had been achieved.

Oh, it's a conundrum!  Since my novel rests on the assumption that two lads in the fourteen - sixteen age bracket are out on walkabout, having been sent on the Krypteia, it's proving a subject of great vexation.  I probably just need to sit back, take a deep breath, and remind myself that I'm writing a work of fiction, and if scholars of Greek culture can't decide amongst themselves the age divisions of Spartan boys and youth are applicable, then who am I to be having sleepless nights over the subject?

It's my fault for picking the Spartans, I suppose.  But I liked them partly because they gave such a powerful role to their women, and partly because they're so bloomin' alien.  Even the rest of the Greeks thought they were weird...

If there's any Classical scholars out there who can shed further light upon the matter, I'd be most grateful...