Give Them Bread & Races

Decimus Iunius Iuuenalis, known more commonly by folks today under the Anglicised moniker Juvenal, was a pretty angry dude. Well, wouldn’t you be if you had to live all your adult life under the slavish sovereignties of the Emperors Nero, Vespasian and the terrible Domitian? I think perhaps you can see the root of this master satirist’s consternation from such a dilemma, and indeed the fire from which he scribed his 15 complete satires, and his final incomplete satire. This translation, republished by Oxford World’s Classics at the turn of the millennium, amends the corrigenda from previous editions and refines Niall Rudd’s fine translation, complete with the splendid introduction and notes from professor William Barr. Generally, most people will only pick up this book if they are pursuing an interest in Roman poets or classical literature at university level, but I would argue that Juvenal is still delightfully wicked to read today for several important reasons.

Firstly, his satires set the blueprint for all modern satire, together with the scathing work of Lucilius and Horace, and this text really is one of the earliest (and finest) examples of the good old-fashioned literary rant. Sure, Juvenal had more cause to be slightly upset, given such fraught conditions he was facing but most lateral-thinking people should be able to translate his eloquent vitriol and philosophical profundity into a modern context. Even for those Pyrrhonists who argue that 2nd century texts are short on a lot of laughs, well, this is the exception that disproves the rule. Juvenal was very much the Michael Moore of his time, but without the smugness, and his satires have no doubt had such a knock-on effect on modern satire that you could pick up this book and watch any modern satire show and trace obvious connections, not just in the lampooning of fascists or buckets of derision but in sublime tapestry of his magnificent penmanship.

Picture if you will, an impoverished citizen of Rome, eking out a living among the subterranean commoners and street-dwellers in a corrupt and syphilitic hellhole, while in palatial surroundings, avaricious fascists belittle and oppress the masses while munching on bunches of grapes and laughing at democracy. All it takes is one angry man, stalking the streets with his pen and that burning desire to expose these corrupt devils for the rotten filth that they are, and it is such a revelation that he can hold his tongue no longer which forms the basis for his first satire. This concerns itself with the act of satire and its purpose, and almost reads like an (albeit florid) guide as to the hard and fast rules of truly eloquent satire. But, as Juvenal phrases it:

“When a soft eunuch marries, and Mevia takes to sticking a Tuscan boar, with a spear beside her naked breast, when a fellow who made my stiff young beard crunch with his clippers can challenge the whole upper class with his millions, single-handed; when Crispinius, a blob of Nilotic scum, bred in Canopus, hitches a cloak of Tyrian purple onto his shoulder and flutters a simple ring of gold on his sweaty finger (in summer he cannot bear the weight of a heavy stone), it’s hard not to write satire.”

Indeed, it is not. OK, Juvenal’s satires are not universally readable, and are chock full of so many obscure Roman literary, geographical and cultural references that it would somehow be easier to buy study guides rather than attempt tackling book itself. But there are moments that should resonate with every reader due to the sheer brilliance such writing like most classic literature, and whether he is having a pop at Julius Ceasar for being too divisive in his command, or Perscius for his table manners, there are moments of real wit that do not fall down flat through the mists of time and mistranslation.

Plus, as always with these classics, they can be richly enjoyed with help from the illuminating introduction, which takes the reader who is in the dark immediately through his work, and gives an informative precis of each of his satires, as well as detailed explanation of the references and allusions he makes, as well as a detailed rundown of his quite phenomenal grasp on language and the lyrical composition of his works. For all those currently studying classical civilisation or literature, this book is a practical A-Z of Roman literary and architectural culture, and acts as an also equally splendid supplementary study guide. Something of prized cultural artefact of the era. So for those, like myself, just interested in the genesis of satire, and with how much wit, style and panache they did it back in those days (a fry cry from ‘Borat’ I am sure you will agree), then this is an incredibly interesting and devilishly witty read, from which you can trace the wit used by respectively modern counterpart of Oscar Wilde, Dr. Johnson and John Dryden. A worthy edition of a classic text.