Blogs

Blog Post 1

Last week, I went to see the show Hadestown. I went with my mother, who at this point is used to my long lectures on mythology. In the car, she asked me what the story of Hadestown was about. I, being both a theater nerd and a mythology nerd, spent the entire car ride explaining the story of Orpheus and Eurydice, the inspiration for Hadestown. This is a tale I’ve come to love, due to the sheer amount of romance, tragedy, and supernaturality in the story. The perfect storm of these qualities creates a beautiful story, and that appreciation was intensified once I started playing a musical instrument. So, having done the preliminary lecture and now sitting comfortably in the theater, I thought I knew everything that was about to happen, and was just there for some good tunes to go along. Little did I know, Hadestown perfectly encapsulates how myths evolve over time to match the societies telling them.

Despite knowing the story behind the play, I didn’t actually know what the play was about. That is why I was so shocked when the opening number of the musical was an upbeat expositional piece that took heavy inspiration from 20s era jazz. The entire play is a retelling of the Orpheus and Eurydice tale, but set in 1920s America. It is explained in the expositional song that the world is full of climate change, drastic weather conditions, and corrupt humanity. Orpheus is a barkeep, who is characterized by his innocence to the world around him. He sees the good in people, and wants to write songs that would help the world recover. Eurydice is a girl on the run, who is the exact opposite of Orpheus; she is jaded and nihilistic, and her main goal in life is to survive. The gods also prominently feature in this story, specifically Hades, Persephone, and Hermes. Hades is the stereotypical oil baron; he is greedy and obsessed with making his town, Hadestown, the city of progress. The show takes a lot of inspiration from Hades’ later characterization as the God of Wealth, as multiple verses throughout the musical allude to his immense wealth. Persephone is more in line with modern versions of her story. She is not satisfied as Queen of Hadestown, and while she used to love Hades, she has grown to resent him for forcing her back to Hadestown every six months. Interestingly, Persephone turns to alcohol to cope with her failing marriage and discontent with life. The showriters used her initial story as the Goddess of Spring, and morphed it into a Goddess of bountiful harvest and the vine. This lends itself well to the Prohibition-era aesthetic the show is going for, as that period is widely known as one of drunken revelry in the face of societal suppression.

With all the characters established, and Hermes portrayed as our lovable narrator for the tale, the story began. The actual plot of the show does not stray too far away from the original premise, while at the same time incorporating modern tropes that strengthen the love story. Orpheus and Eurydice fall for each other almost immediately, with the bond being represented by a red flower Orpheus gives to Eurydice. I interpreted this as Orpheus giving Eurydice her innocence back through love, keeping with both modern tropes and flower myths we discussed in class. As times get tough and the world gets worse, Eurydice dies and Orpheus sets out to bring her back. This is where the main divergence happens from the original myth. You see, as Orpheus and Eurydice fall in love, Hades and Persephone fall out of love, and it is rapid. Hades makes the claim that all the technology and money in Hadestown is all out of love for Persephone, and Persephone becomes more and more jaded with him. When their argument concludes, Hades threatens to find someone else who would appreciate his “affections”, and then proceeds to look towards Eurydice. He comes to Eurydice and invites her to join him in Hadestown. He argues that he would be able to provide Eurydice with more comfort and better living conditions than Orpheus ever could. She takes him up on his offer, and she goes to Hadestown to work for him. Orpheus, distraught, comes to rescue her, only to find out that every citizen in Hadestown has sold their soul to Hades, and are now nothing but mindless workers. Orpheus then proceeds to galvanize the workers and Eurydice in the fight against Hades. Eventually, Hades is convinced, and sends Orpheus off with the classic caveat that he cannot look back at Eurydice or else she returns to Hades. At this point, I was prepared for a happy ending, but then the show decides that Orpheus does fail, and Eurydice is sent back. And that is where my hopes for this blog post were dashed.

I know that Orpheus fails in the original story. I was aware that Hadestown was most likely going to end the same way. But I was still very confused when they actually went through with it. I view Hadestown as the best example of a modern Orpheus and Eurydice story. The initial romance morphs into a greater narrative of small workers versus big corporations. The lowly Orpheus, naive and with a song in his heart, convinces the evil capitalist Hades to let his workers free, and Hades obliges. Orpheus succeeding seemed necessary for this narrative. To tell a world full of seemingly sociopathic billionaires and restless unions that the billionaires win would not satisfy a 21st century audience. This was the thought going through my head when Orpheus failed, and I did not understand how the showriters were going to console the audience. But then, as I desperately tried to think of how I would conclude this blog, Hermes came on stage and sang a reprise of the opening song. In the song, he tells the audience that the story they just watched was, in fact, very sad. But it is precisely because of that sadness that the story was told. This frames the entire play in an entirely new way. Sometimes, most of the time, greedy billionaires win, and the little guy loses. But the fact that one little guy, with nothing but love and his talent, almost won, should be a point of hope for the rest of us. We should not give up because Orpheus failed, but rather, succeed where he couldn’t. This message fits perfectly in the 20th-21st century context of the story, and makes for a chillingly beautiful message.

Kvasir- Norse Mythology for Smart People

Blog Post 2

For my final Norse Mythology project, my group and I were tasked with reading the story The Mead of Poets. (Gaiman, 75-90) In this story, the two main tribes of Norse deities, the Aesir and the Vanir, establish a truce, which is manifested by the gods all spitting into a vat together. This coagulated spit gives rise to the god Kvasir, who knows everything. When I read this story, the name "Kvasir" instantly piqued my interest. You see, having grown up in a Russian household, I was surrounded by the drink known as kvas. Kvas is a fizzy, grain-based light beer, which to me always smelled and tasted like cough syrup. Having been practically raised in the stuff, the similarity in nomenclature between kvas and kvasir was interesting, but I shrugged it off as a coincidence and moved on. Then I got to the part of the story where Kvasir is killed and his blood boiled into mead. Now, kvas is not considered an alcoholic beverage by most russians, but my first concept of what alcohol was came in the form of kvas. So, we have two things, Kvasir the god and kvas the drink, that have similar names and are (eventually) semi-alcoholic beverages. I toyed with the idea that the two were linked, but I didn't feel the need to do extensive research on the subject. Until now.

My first step on this weird, weird journey was to find out if Vikings were ever in Russia. The answer I got was, thankfully, a resounding yes! For about 400 years, there was a loose group of Viking principalities in modern day Ukraine, Belarus, and Russia, known as the Kievan Rus. (Little, “When Viking Kings and Queens Ruled Medieval Russia.”) According to the Russian Primary Chronicle, a 12th century historical account of the region composed by Kievan monks, 3 Viking brothers ruled this land. It was the last surviving brother's son, Oleg the Prophet, that expanded the Kievan Rus to the aforementioned Eastern European territories, and established Kiev as a cultural, geographical, and political cornerstone of Europe. The Vikings of the Kievan Rus were mostly pagan (meaning they still followed the Aesir and Vanir) until the 10th century, when Vladimir the Great spread Christianity throughout the region. The Kievan Rus lasted until the 13th century, when Mongols and Crusaders brought enough instability to the region to destabilize the ruling monarchy. The resulting few centuries of political instability would eventually be settled by the Romanov dynasty, which ruled Russia until the 20th century, but that history is not crucial for my Nordic god/Russian beer conspiracy.

Next, was kvas known to the Vikings? Also yes! The first mention of kvas in literature is in 989 AD, in the Old Russian Chronicles, another set of Russian historical texts. (“Of Russian Origin: Kvas.”) This places kvas firmly in the time period of the Kievan Rus, meaning that the Vikings were drinking the (less commercialized, probably more alcoholic) same drink that I've demonized to my friends! To further solidify this connection, the Russian Primary Chronicle described Vladimir the Great's baptism, and how the citizens of Kiev were served with mead, bread, and kvas! Hypothetically, one of these drunken Vikings could have recited some particularly… elegant poetry, which could have evolved and morphed into the tale of Kvasir's birth and death. This research, while being a fun dive through Russian historical texts and kvas recipes, proved to me just how expansive Viking influence really is, and how malleable cultural diffusion is as a whole.

Work cited:

Gaiman, Neil, et al. Norse Mythology. Dark Horse Books, 2021.

Hornsey, Ian S. Alcohol and Its Role in the Evolution of Human Society. Royal Society of Chemistry, 2012.

Little, Becky. “When Viking Kings and Queens Ruled Medieval Russia.” History.com, A&E Television Networks, 4 Dec. 2019, https://www.history.com/news/vikings-in-russia-kiev-rus-varangians-prince-oleg#:~:text=Dec%204%2C%202019-,For%20four%20centuries%2C%20Vikings%20held%20sway%20over%20parts%20of%20Russia,under%20Prince%20Oleg%20the%20Prophet.&text=Their%20loose%20federation%20of%20principalities,the%2013th%2Dcentury%20Mongol%20invasion.

“Of Russian Origin: Kvas.” Kvas – Russiapedia Of Russian Origin, https://russiapedia.rt.com/of-russian-origin/kvas/.

The Two Fridas

Blog Post 3

The past several years have been fraught with thoughts of existentialism and nihilism for me. I have always tried to disregard these thoughts, justifying my neglect with the idea that I’m too young to be questioning the universe. Recently, however, I’ve grown more and more tired of running away from these potentially mortifying thoughts. COVID-19 ripping through the world, and the incessant fear and panic it has caused. A recent war in the birthplace of my mother, for seemingly no reason. The thoughts of going to college and making new relationships, with a lack of explainable end-goal. All of these events culminated, at least in my head, into an immense symphony of pointlessness. I struggled, and still struggle, to find meaning in anything I do. Writing that last sentence terrifies me fundamentally, but it is something I can no longer ignore. In John Gardner’s Grendel, our titular protagonist seems to be going through the same thing I am. Grendel struggles with nihilism throughout the entire book, with the whole concept physically manifesting itself in the form of a dragon. Our conversations in class opened me up to this idea, that it’s very well possible that nothing matters in our world. I needed something to cope with the thought, I needed something to help me accept this reality, and recently, I found solace in another passion of mine: art history.

I was never an art person growing up. From kindergarten to 8th grade, I was required by my schools to take art classes. While the kids sitting next to me were sitting with perfect self-portraits, or drawing the vase in front of us with such accuracy that it looked like a photograph, I was struggling to draw stick figures. I’ve never cried more over school than when I was inside art, staring at some of the lowest grades I had ever gotten. It put me off the entire concept of art. Sure, the Mona Lisa was pretty, and sure, I knew the names of all the old Italian men of the Renaissance, but I was never interested in learning about something I was never going to be able to do. Fast forward to the tail-end of my high school career. Through the new friends I have made, I have met some truly spectacular artists. I’ve watched as my closest friends struggled with applications to the premier art schools in America. I’ve watched my friends. who started high school wanting to go into STEM, realize their passion for art, and through sheer dedication to the craft, become some of the most talented people I will ever know. I’ve watched as every person I was talking to tried their hand at art during quarantine, to the point where even I was making my own doodles in the margins of my notebooks during Zoom classes. For me, though, there was still that disconnect, that feeling that I am not capable of being an artist. To be frank, I still feel this way; the years of low grades and institutionalizing the process of art sapped any joy from me. I still really wanted to engage with my friends and the medium of art in general, however. That’s when I decided to look more into art history.

Playlists on Youtube. Spotify podcasts. Scrolling through the Met and MoMA websites. I had a voracious appetite for art history. From the classical Renaissance masters, to Baroque and Impressionist works, to Expressionism and the rapid art movements of the 20th century, I was obsessed. There’s one art movement, however, that I have been thinking about a lot lately: Dadaism. Supposedly started in a small Swiss nightclub, Dadaism is an art movement that sprung up at the end of World War 1, and was a direct response to all the horrors of recent world events. (Trachtman). The first Dadaists saw all the violence in the world, all the war and political unrest, and said to hell with it all! Dadaism is famous for its absurdity. Everything about the movement is meant to be nonsensical, to the point where even the name makes no sense. Dada is a French term for a wooden horse, and Romanian for “yes, yes”. To this day, art historians are not sure as to what meaning the first Dadaists intended with this name. This movement was the inspiration for the general Surrealist movement of the 20th century, which is home to some of the most recognizable artists of the modern day. Pablo Picasso, Frida Kahlo, Max Ernst, Salvador Dali- all of these artists had the same thoughts and feelings that I do today. Picasso saw his home ravaged by World War 2, and responded with the blocks and random shapes of Guernica, one of the most striking anti-war pieces of modern history. Frida Kahlo dealt with extensive marital problems and excruciating medical issues, and responded with some of the most pointed commentaries of Mexican patriotism and feminism of the early 20th century. All of these artists, the Dadaists and the surrealists, faced Grendel’s dragon. They all thought, what’s the point? And they all responded with art.

I’m not saying I’m going to become an artist. As much as I appreciate these people, I lack their motivation to create. However, learning about the stories and intricacies behind this style of art has helped me quote with the absurdities of life. In a world that can leave me confused and cripplingly alone, I only need to look at The Two Fridas, and be reminded that I’m not alone. Sure, the world might not have any meaning, there might not be any inherent worth to life, but it is that absurdity, the sheer enjoyment of looking at art or looking on as my friends and loved ones create masterpieces, that makes life worth living.

Work Cited:

Trachtman, Paul. “A Brief History of Dada.” Smithsonian.com, Smithsonian Institution, 1 May 2006, https://www.smithsonianmag.com/arts-culture/dada-115169154/.

The Sopranos

Blog Post 4

The Sopranos was a drama that aired on HBO from 1999-2007. In the show, the titular Tony Soprano balances his life as the head of the New Jersey Italian mafia, with his life as a father and husband. Prior to watching the show, I had actually known very little about it; my first exposure to The Sopranos was when my band teacher told the class that he would have a cameo in the prequel movie, The Many Saints of Newark, released in 2021 (having now seen the movie, it is with great dismay that I report that he does not, in fact, have a cameo, and it got cut from the final film). At its core, the show is about one man, Tony Soprano, and how his internal beliefs and traumas interact with his external world. The show is not afraid to shy away from Tony's malicious and sociopathic tendencies, as well as his more heroic qualities, which is why I believe this show is a foundational piece of visual storytelling for the 21st century.

One of the first scenes of The Sopranos, and the scene that hooked me onto the show, shows Tony Soprano having a conversation with his therapist. This is not a one-time-occurence, either; the majority of the episodes in the show show at least one conversation between these two characters. Through the show, we get several glimpses into how Tony's relationships and childhood affect his present-day actions, a vast departure from the stone-faced, resolute mob bosses we see in other pieces of media (Godfather, Scarface, etc.). We get to see how Tony takes the lessons he learned in childhood, from a ruthlessly cold mother and absent mafioso father, and translates them into his own selfishness and cruelty. For example, Tony Soprano is famous for his brutal temper, as well as his frequent infidelity. His father also exhibited both of these traits; one of Tony's foundational memories is watching his father chop a man's finger off, and Tony had to cover for his father's mistresses on several occasions. While his behavior is not excused by this Freudian interpretation, the fact that the show spends so much time analyzing the main character, making Tony more of an antihero than a likable protagonist, is what makes it so special.

One of the main staples of modern stories and pop culture, our modern "mythology", is the idea of the anti hero. In the modern era, society has essentially rejected the concept of a perfect superhero. Long gone is the Cold-War era hope that a man from space will come down and save all of us, that one person can stand for all that is good and hopeful in the world. For a wide variety of reasons, including political and social unrest, easily accessible information about what's wrong with the world, and growing distrust between communities, the antihero has become the protagonist that society has become attracted to. In Tony Soprano, we see ourselves. We can imagine living his life, growing up in the streets of Newark before moving to suburban New Jersey, having to combat depression, anxiety, and paranoia. We judge him for his faults and feel disgust and rage at his actions, but in the back of our minds, we realize that what is on screen is a perfect reflection of humanity. We are not perfectly rational beings, we feel anger and the desire to inflict pain, just as Tony Soprano does. His actions helped inspire us to seek out more of these reflections, in the forms of Walter White, Bojack Horseman, Daenerys Targaryen, or even modern Superman. Because of Tony Soprano going to see his therapist every week for years, the American population was shown the power of the antihero, establishing a craze that lasts to this day.

Page updated

Google Sites

Report abuse