Another very interesting and readable book by this extremely skillful author. The characters are well drawn, the book is tightly plotted and the pacing of the narrative holds the reader all through.

Myth, murder, power and betrayal - what's not to love. Highly recommendable, particularly to lovers of greek myths and classics. Anyone who enjoys plot and narrative drive will love this!

I first learned the rough plot of The Oresteia as a nine year-old. Studying the Greek and Roman myths, the story's lead characters feature in the prologue to The Luck of Troy. Learning of their subsequent fate, I remember thinking it was incredibly depressing. A quarter of a century later, my opinion has not shifted. It really is one of those dreadful 'And then everybody died' stories. Still, I'm a fan of Colm Toibin as a writer and the galley had been sitting in my Kindle for an indecently long time so I put on my Greek Mythology Challenge with the others. While the royal family of Mycenae may seem an unusual choice of subject for a writer better known for his novels about ordinary women, when you look closer, it's actually not so surprising. Clytemnestra may be the wronged queen wreaking her vengeance but in House of Names she is a grieving mother. With not a single deity named in the whole novel, this is a version of the tale that remains stubbornly earthbound.

Opening with the savage scene of Iphigenia's sacrifice, Toibin spares his reader nothing. The rising horror and humiliation as Clytemnestra and her daughter realise that they have not been summoned to the coast for a wedding. The cold panic as it becomes clear that nothing will dissuade Agamemnon from his plan. We do not even get the cold consolation of the exchange of the deer at the last minute. Iphigenia screams as she meets her brutal death. She never stops struggling against it. It does not feel like myth. It feels real. Agamemnon's desire to curry favour with his troops, his refusal to lose face in front of them by backing down. Clytemnestra's raw fury and betrayal - she is captured and buried alive for three days afterwards. Of course she seeks her revenge. How could you ever get out from under such a trauma?

Clytemnestra seeks out her husband's greatest enemy, his cousin Aegisthus. She invites him into her bed, the two of them plotting Agamemnon's destruction. Yet when he returns at last, with an improbably smug Cassandra in tow, murdering him does not bring Clytemnestra the satisfaction that she had expected. Instead there is even more destruction to follow. Flanking her narrative are her two surviving children, the eerie Electra and the bovine Orestes, seeking to avenge their father. The desire to seek justice for such a parent never really made sense to me even as a child. Did they forget what he did to their sister? In honesty, even with Toibin's beautiful writing, it still doesn't really hang together. Yes, Electra felt invisible next to her sister. Many people can relate to feelings of insecurity alongside their siblings. It doesn't mean that you would turn a blind eye when your father slices their neck open because he thinks it will change the way the wind is blowing.

Electra is an engagingly spooky narrator, padding along the hallways of the palace like a ghost. She is not the Joan of Arc figure from the original myth. She is more a cowed and stifled young woman, repressing her true sexuality and trying to stay alive. Her brother Orestes was less interesting and his sections of the novel felt like a bit of a slog. We see him taken prisoner by Aegisthus' followers, kept in a camp with other boys where they are forced to live in silence and they write each other's sins on a slate. Later, he escapes with two fellow-prisoners, coming to a farm run by an old woman, the eponymous House of Names. There they hide for several years before Orestes and his friend Leander finally decide to return home. Yet Orestes is no hero. He is utterly blank. And not at all quick on the uptake. It required a considerable suspension of belief to credit the notion that he never worked out who killed his father and that nobody ever told him. For seven years? Was he stupid? And later in the novel when he believes that he is about to become a father and Ianthe gently tells him that the things that they have done in the dark are not enough to conceive a child. I could pity Orestes but I did not find him interesting.

House of Names is one in a crowd of contemporary novels which grants a voice to the forgotten females of Greek mythology and it was interesting to see that from a male voice. It was clear to the eye though that Toibin was drawing the story back to his usual preoccupations. The prison where Orestes grows up is tonally similar to a Christian Brothers school, with the weekly baths and confession culture. The landscape that the boys also felt familiar to me - it wasn't Greece. It's definitely Ireland. Even the old lady's stories are borrowed from a different mythology. The novel is a retelling of Greek classical mythology without anything that made it Greek in the first place.

When I think of this book, I picture mist and clouds. White corridors in the palace, thick with whispers. The story feels washed-out. The characters never seem to face each other. Each is unrecognisable when seen through the other's eyes. Yet amidst all of the lies, dissembling and the deception, there is also horrible, horrible violence. Bloodshed. Piles of bodies. There is a real whiplash contrast between the dream-like years on the farm and what comes after. Perhaps another reason why Orestes seemed so disorientated. It was like going from The Children of the New Forest straight into Game of Thrones. Yet, Toibin has kept his cast so sparse that it is hard to believe that these people are actually in charge of a whole kingdom. It is hard to visualise real battles.

I wonder perhaps if the story would have come across more effectively onstage. It has enough unity of time, action and place and does feel quite suited to theatre. As it is, I am not sure what Toibin sought to achieve with this novel. It was admiration for his prose that kept me going until the end rather than a compelling plot. His 2012 novel The Testament of Mary had a similar premise; a key iconic figure from religion is reimagined without reference to a deity. Yet that novel was mesmerising. Mary burned with injustice, with grief, with anger at how her life had been. After the strong opening episode, House of Names fades rapidly. Somehow Toibin managed to make one of the most truly dysfunctional families in history ... dull. It pains me to say this of a writer who I rate so highly but alas, somewhere Toibin lost his way within this house.

I've never read any nvoels by Toibin, but as I love Greek myths/Gods, and especially when authors put their own twist on the retelling of these myths, I was very much looking forward to reading it. It didn't disappoint!

While I usually like retellings of classical myths, "House of Names" just wasn't for me. I didn't really like the writing style and the story just went nowhere and took to many liberties with the original storyline to be really interesting.

I really enjoyed 'Brooklyn' by the same author, but found this rather disappointing and flat, perhaps because the subject matter was, for me, not so engaging. I found it hard-going to read the first half and it did not inspire me to read further, I'm afraid.

DNF @ 13%. Not a writing style I can gel with, very bland.

I love Greek myths and legends so much. They were some of the first stories that ignited my passion for reading and literature and mythology, and they have been a constant companion. I know them in a way you know your childhood home. You can’t necessarily always picture it clearly, but if you close your eyes you always find your way around, remember which step creaks and where the cookies are hidden. As such, adaptations of them strike a double chord with me. They both excite me and worry me, because what are they going to do with my stories? I have had both good and bad experiences with these adaptations, and somehow House of Names falls in between. Thanks to Viking and Netgalley for providing me with a copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.

Greek mythology is a curious beast. On the one hand it pervades Western culture to the extent that everyone will know at least one tale. Our planets are named after the Greek Gods’ Latinized counterparts and Homer is a staple of any literature course. On the other hand, the finer intricacies of it, the way in which the mythology builds on each other, the way our view of it was shaped by those who came after, that makes Greek mythology a tricky thing to truly grasp. Adaptations, then, of these myths and legends find themselves in a precarious position. Some novels go completely the wrong way and try to make Greek mythology something it isn’t, while others try to dig deeper into what the extant tales try to tell us. The Greek myths are as tragic and dramatic as they come, full of careless gods and tortured humans, but they are also full of beautiful images and humanity.

Something about House of Names left me wanting. On the surface there truly is nothing to complain about when it comes to Tóibín’s novel. He treats his characters with respect, he paints beautiful images with his words and has a number of high-stakes moments in his plot. And yet I never truly got involved with it all. Perhaps my standards were too high. When I visited Greece as a child I lived and breathed these stories, knew them inside out and was completely enraptured by them. Their drama, their language, their scope and depth; in comparison to it House of Names fell flat for me. A novel that did incredibly well at capturing the essence of Greek mythology was The Penelopiad by Margaret Atwood, in which she made the character of Penelope her own while also sinking into the richness that the source material offered her. I liked the chapters around Clytemnestra and Electra, mainly because, like Penelope and Helen, they are sidelined in the originals, yet even those never go me truly got me excited. Also, strangely, in my edition of the book, their chapters are written from the first person, whereas Orestes’ chapters are third person, removing the reader even further from his character.

Tóibín writes very well. He sets scenes up perfectly, captures emotions and mindsets very well and at the end of the book you want more. I personally wanted more because I knew were the story was going and because I was curious how Tóibín would handle it. But I’ve also seen other reviewers saying they wanted more. And yet it is told in a way I can only call dispassionate. The House of Atreus is a doomed house, a cursed house, full of murder, betrayal and vengeance, yet Tóibín brings to it the same passion you would to a shopping list. My problem with House of Names, I think, lies with that he tries to justify or moralize why what happens had to happen. Agamemnon had to sacrifice Iphigenia because he was under pressure from his army. As an outraged mother and sidelined queen, revenge seems a natural option for Clytemnestra. As the only son, Orestes has to avenge his father, even if he is perhaps not quite convinced of it himself. The Greek stories allow for destiny, they deal in absolutes and don’t require moralizing because we recognize that push from destiny. Greek tragedy didn’t really deal with the psychology behind their characters, yet Aeschylus and the others filled their characters with life. By moralizing and attempting to explain, much of the magic is lost and in the end none of the characters are truly likeable. This was my first Tóibín read, and although House of Names convinced me he is a good writer, I don’t know if I’ll want to pick up another one of his books anytime soon.

Although I enjoyed House of Names, it didn’t blow me away or engrossed me as much as I had hoped. The characterization was there, but left me wanting for something deeper, something more true to the source. House of Names would make for an easy introduction to adaptations of Greek mythology, without requiring a massive knowledge of said mythology.

This retelling of a tragic episode in the Greek mythology is smartly done, with a spin that tightens and loosens in equal measure. A good read which failed to invoke much empathy though, something I would have much liked considering there was plenty of room for it.

I have a sketchy knowledge of Greek literature [lost in the misty years since my literature degree] and so approached ‘House of Names’ by Colm Tóibín with a sense of trepidation combined with anticipation of reading something new. As always with Colm Tóibín’s novels, the writing is exquisite but ‘House of Names’ did, for me, lack an emotional connection. And I’m not sure why.
The novel begins with the story of Agamemnon, warrior king, who sacrifices his daughter Iphigenia to the gods in the hope of victory in battle. However this novel is not about the king but what happens next. Tóibín imagines the continuance of the story, of Agamemnon’s wife Clytemnestra, daughter Electra and son Orestes. As always with classical literature, it is easy to find parallels with modern life, in politics, war and television. Double-crossing, lies, scheming politicians, vengeful soldiers, royal disagreements, distrustful servants, sibling rivalry, kidnapping and violence.
We share Clytemnestra’s version of the story first, told in first person and more vivid for that, as her husband murders their daughter rather than celebrating her marriage. Clytemnestra broods and plans her revenge, revenge which she takes with her own hand. But the central question in this story is who is telling the truth. Did Clytemnestra arrange for the ‘safe-guarding’ of her son Orestes and the banishment to the dungeon of her daughter Electra? Or was it her new ally, the prisoner-turner-lover Aegisthus?
The story then switches to Orestes who is marched across country to be imprisoned with a group of kidnapped boys. The title of the novel comes from this section, told in the third person it moves slower. Orestes, with friend Leander, escapes captivity and wanders the barren countryside, on the edge of starvation, until they stumble on refuge in a cottage by the sea occupied by an elderly woman. With Electra’s viewpoint, the narration switches back to first person. Electra is the most enigmatic, conversing with spirits, moving silently, observing the plotting. Is she simply a watcher, or has she inherited the vengeful nature of her mother? Through Electra we finally put together the pieces of Agamemnon’s death and the subsequent intrigue, though it pays to be patient as some things only make sense as the end approaches. Somewhere through the tale the emphasis is placed on the violence of Clytemnestra’s revenge while the event which sparked her fury - her husband’s murder of Iphigenia – becomes blurred.
I did not research Aeschylus’ ‘Oerestia’ before reading ‘House of Names’ and there are other reviews online which efficiently compare the original with Tóibín’s re-imagining. However I do feel that an ignorance of the original is perhaps helpful when reading a novel such as this, I was able to relax into the story without worrying about changes made and diversions taken.
Colm Tóibín is one of my favourite authors and ‘House of Names’, though an experimental read for me, has not changed my mind.
Read more of my book reviews at http://www.sandradanby.com/book-reviews-a-z/

Colm Tóibín's The Testament of Mary is one of my favourite books and, so, I was expecting great things from this. Whilst not as initially as immersive, I was still thoroughly enjoying the first portion of this book. The mythological aspects were fascinating and the historical world was well-structured. My love for this book seemed certain. That was until it came to a scene of animal violence. This is something I can not tolerate reading of and, therefore, stopped reading this book at about a third of the way in to the story.

Four stars for the first third but I could, unfortunately, read no further.

I really struggled with this one. My main issue with this is that it was really flat. I had real trouble getting through the story because there wasn't anything to drive me forward.

This is a retelling of the The Curse of the House of Arteus, and my main issue is that it did not really feel like a retelling. Myths for me have very little emotion and really flat characters and that's how this book was for me. I did not enjoy any of it basically. I had trouble connecting with both the characters and the story.
I couldn't really discern the purpose of the book and what exactly it was trying to do.

Sadly, this just wasn't for me.

This was absolutely fantastic.
Incredibly interesting and gripping read. I will definitely be reading more by Toibin and will be researching the myths in more detail.

Surely the Greek myth of warrior-king Agamemnon and his downfall must be the story of the most dysfunctional family in history. In his most recent novel “House of Names” Tóibín reenacts this dramatic tragedy, but doesn’t focus on the perspective of the great conqueror of Troy who horrifically sacrifices his daughter Iphigenia to the gods in order to ensure his victory. Instead he flips between the accounts of Agamemnon’s scheming wife Clytemnestra, imperious daughter Electra and young son Orestes. Moving between their points of view he shows how their downfall is fuelled by their various ambitions and craven need for revenge. If you’re not familiar with the details of this myth I’d advise you not to search for their stories online prior to reading this novel (as I unfortunately did) or you’ll ruin the blood-soaked plot. However, the power of Tóibín’s invention isn’t in plotting out this ancient story (whose details he seems to mostly stay faithful to) but in how he vividly imagines the points of view of these more marginalized figures of the myth and letting their voices color the well-worn tale.

It’s somewhat funny looking back to my last review of a Tóibín novel when I read “Nora Webster” a few years ago. In the first line I comment that “his stories seldom involve high drama.” It’s like the author took that challenge and recreated a story with nothing but wickedly sensational drama! Tóibín’s great talent has traditionally been in writing domestic dramas where nothing much happens but we feel the angst of the characters’ life decisions so intensely that their stories become utterly profound. However, in recent years, he’s changed his tactic by harkening back to classic tales to expand our understanding of these old stories and imbue them with a modern sensibility. This is what he did by taking on the daring and weighty task of writing “The Testament of Mary.” Strangely, this brief novel where the mother of Jesus gets to have her say had little impact on me - although I absolutely loved the staged monologue starring Fiona Shaw holding a live vulture! However, I was enthralled reading “House of Names” for both it’s fiery action and sensitive take on a family ripped apart amidst their power struggle.

Agamemnon mostly comes across as a blandly driven man who “was an image of pure will.” The real conflict exists with his wife and children who are understandably overwrought by emotions because of the heinous actions of their family members. It’s interesting how the stories of Clytemnestra and Electra turn to meditations on faith. They separately struggle with their belief in the gods and how the gods’ actions play upon human emotions. Clytemnestra considers how “they distracted us with mock conflicts, with the shout of life, they distracted us also with images of harmony, beauty, love… And when it ended, they shrugged. They no longer cared.” Whereas Electra thinks “Perhaps the gods keep the memory of death locked up in their store, jealously guarded. Instead, the gods release feelings that were once pure or sweet. Feelings that mattered once. They allow love to matter since love can do no harm to the dead.” Tóibín intensely portrays their struggle between being servants to the will of the gods and exerting their own willpower in changing the course of fate. The narrative also charts what seems to be a societal shift from a polytheistic civilization to one which is more atheistic – as well as a change from feudalism to one which isn’t so domineering towards serfs and slaves.

Probably the most sympathetic character in this drama is young Orestes who finds himself a pawn in his family’s scheming until he’s a bit older and takes things into his own hands. Strangely, his account is the only one which isn’t actually narrated in the first person. Like Madeline Miller’s beautiful novel “The Song of Achilles”, the character of Orestes allows Tóibín to highlight this character’s homosexuality (which is suggested in some versions of this myth, but which Tóibín overtly highlights). There’s no question that Orestes falls in love with a man in this story, but he’s unable to explore the romantic implications of this due to societal constraints. While it’s considered quite natural in this society for leaders to have late-night rendezvous with guards, these affairs are never carried out in domestic partnerships. Tóibín powerfully depicts the tragedy and isolation which results from this.

The most poignant aspect of “House of Names” is tied to its title. Amidst all the devastation and bloodshed in this society, people’s existence doesn’t end neatly with their deaths. Instead they literally carry on in ghost-like forms to haunt the spaces where the intense dramas of their lives occurred. The way in which Tóibín portrays this is unsettling and strange and much more subtle than the raucous and magnificently-rendered graveyard found in Saunders’ recent “Lincoln in the Bardo.” But while Tóibín’s characters are still alive they frequently emphasize and assert their names as if everything about their being is tied up in these monikers. If their names are lost or forgotten then they will be lost to history and this makes the characters question if their existence has any significance at all. Through this Tóibín meaningfully probes if it’s better to be remembered for your actions (whether heroic or hateful) or if living without notoriety and letting your name be forgotten is preferable.

House of Names is Colm Tóibín’s retelling of the myth of Clytemnestra, wife of Agamemnon, and mother of Orestes, Electra and Iphigenia. According to one of many versions of the legend, Iphigenia is sacrificed by Agamemnon in order for the Gods to grant a favourable wind for his fleet of ships to sail to Troy. In revenge, Clytemnestra murders Agamemnon on his return from the Trojan Wars and she is in turn murdered by her son, Orestes.

At the outset, I have to say that, although some of the names were familiar to me, I was unfamiliar with the detail of the myth, or its different versions, until I researched it once I’d finished the book. So while reading it I had no idea how much of the story was from the author’s own imagination or an embellishment of a well-established legend.

Colm Tóibín presents the story from the viewpoints of Clytemnestra, Orestes and Electra. Clytemnestra’s story is told in the first person and this allows the reader to experience first-hand her grief at the death of her daughter, Iphigenia, her anger at the deception which delivered Iphigenia to her death and her implacable desire for revenge against her husband, Agamemnon. As Electra later reflects, ‘She was a woman filled with a scheming hunger for murder.’

Electra’s story is also told in the first person. She is observant, watchful, interpreting character from gestures and looks that others might miss. For example, this description of her mother’s lover, Aegisthus:

‘Aegisthus is like an animal that has come indoors for comfort and safety. He has learned to smile instead of snarl, but he is still all instinct, all nails and teeth. He can sniff out danger. He will attack first. He will arch his back and pounce at the slightest hint of a threat.’

Unlike her mother, Electra maintains her belief in the gods and that they will assist her in revenging the murder of her father by Clytemnestra when the time comes.

‘Each day, I appeal to the gods to help me prevail...I appeal to them to give my own spirit strength when the time comes. I am with the gods in their watchfulness as I watch too.’

Between the accounts narrated by Clytemnestra and Electra, are sections describing the kidnap (as it turns out to be) of Orestes, his escape alongside his friends, Leander and Mithros, and his eventual return to the Palace. I liked the way the author captured Orestes’ initial confusion about his kidnap, about where he was being taken and his understandable obsession with food and drink. With childish simplicity, Orestes categorises his two guards as the ‘nice’ one and the ‘nasty’ one but doesn’t understand why the ‘nice’ one won’t engage in sword play with him as before. For me, these sections, written in the third person, didn’t have the immediacy of the sections from the point of view of Electra and Clytemnestra. The latter part of the book, once Orestes has returned to the Palace, were more engaging as he gradually realises he has been used as a tool by most of those around him, even his close friend, Leander.

Although this is my first book by Colm Tóibín, his reputation precedes him and I think I was expecting to be more blown away by his writing than I was in this book. There were only a few passages that came close to what I was hoping for and these tended to be in the sections focusing on Clytemnestra and Electra. For instance, Electra’s observation on Aegisthus’ sexual conquests: ‘The rooms beneath us were thus filled with this fecundity as the corridors were filled with rough desire.’ Having said this, I enjoyed the book and I will certainly look forward to reading other books by this author.

I received an advance reader copy courtesy of NetGalley and publisher s, Viking, in return for an honest review.

From the moment that Agamemnon chooses to sacrifice his daughter Iphigenia to the Gods he makes an enemy of his wife Clytemnestra. Upon his return home with a captured concubine in tow Agamemnon is murdered by Clytemnestra and her lover Aegisthus. Aegisthus seizes power and banishes Clytemnestra's young son Orestes alongside the sons of many prominent families. Meanwhile Electra, Agamemnon's daughter plots revenge.

Told in a series of first person accounts, this is a well known tale of Greek derring do and tragedy. I found the writing very approachable and tale is simple yet complex. Much is unsaid about the way of life among the Greek elite, why Orestes and Electra weren't killed, why Aegisthus was allowed to take over and much more. However this is a wonderful tale beautifully told!

The story:

Agamemnon, believing he is acting out the wishes of the gods, sacrifices his eldest daughter for success on the battlefield on the eve of her wedding day. His wife, Clytemnestra, cannot forgive such a betrayal, and silently seething, plots his downfall. Her actions force her down a dark path and her choices have far-reaching consequences for her, her remaining children and their kingdom.

My thoughts…

This is a retelling of a classic Greek tragedy, full of scheming, revenge and murder. I must admit that I haven’t read the original text. While I’d heard of a couple of the key players, I didn’t know the story, so have nothing to directly compare this to.

As events unfold, all of the characters find themselves stuck in a cycle that seems impossible to break. With each crime committed or action taken, there’s another character waiting in the wings to demand payback or retribution.

Although this is set in ancient Greece, there are themes running through this book that are entirely relatable to the present day – such as Clytemnestra’s loss of faith, her grief and her feelings of abandonment by a higher power after a tragic loss. Revenge and the idea of ‘an eye for an eye’ also still resonates. Although the actions of Clytemnestra and those around her are extreme and melodramatic, the motivations behind them are understandable in the context, if not forgivable.

Despite the high emotions that the characters must feel, the writing style feels quite distant and detached. Clytemnestra is the only one that I felt any real attachment too. Her emotions shine through and I wish we’d had more from her point of view. Her actions reverberate through the palace, affecting everyone around her. This includes her daughter Electra, who brims with silent fury. Electra eventually becomes what she despises – another example of how without change, everything comes round in a circle and no progress is made.

Orestes was an interesting character. He’s continually being pushed in various directions by other characters, such as Leander and Electra, but never fully included. His sense of isolation is echoed in the rest of the novel – everyone has their own secrets and motivations and they’re not willing to share them. The result is a general feeling of mistrust and suspicion, summing up the pervading overall feel of this book.

In conclusion?

While I didn’t dislike this book, I can’t say that it really provoked any strong emotions in me either way. It was quite an interesting read though, and I did enjoy learning more about the Greek myths.

These are the opening lines of the book, and really he had me at the first sentence. This is the story of the Oresteian tragedy, an Ancient Greek myth which has resonated down the ages. Toibin tells his own version: concentrating on certain parts and filling in some of the gaps and uncertainties of the original stories, which link up with the Trojan War. Toibin follows three lines: Clytemnestra, who murders her husband Agamemnon in revenge for his sacrifice of their daughter Iphigenia. Elektra is another daughter, Iphigenia’s sister, and she wants revenge for her father, and hates both her mother, and her mother’s new lover and co-conspirator, Aegisthus. Orestes is the young son of the family, at the beginning playing with toy weapons and not fully aware what is going on – his will be a long and difficult journey. (His part is told in the third person, while the two women narrate directly.)

I admire Toibin’s work, he is a great writer, but I haven’t loved his previous books the way I love this one: Brooklyn (on the blog here) I found flat and passive, and in the end I preferred the film. But these strange Ancient Greek women, with their passions and their weird ways and their honour and their shame were to me far more convincing and real and human than Irish Eilis of the 1950s. And at the same time his distancing style suited this story very well.




The book is terrifying and sweeping. The strange story Toibin gives to Orestes is hard to pin down: the obvious questions of Where? What? Why? Who? are rarely answered, and he just expects you to believe that no-one ever questions what happens, nor discusses it at all over a period of many years. Yet it digs itself into your brain. It’s so lacking in detail it is hard to visualize, and yet somehow it stays with the reader.

The women have their very individual characters. Electra tells her mother:
‘I want my father to return. Not until then will I feel safe.’ 
Clytemnestra says ‘I was about to tell her that her father’s interest in the safety of his daughters was not something that could be so confidently invoked...’
Later Orestes reports this:
Sometimes Electra spoke of the gods and her belief in them, invoking their names and speaking of the power they had. ‘We live in a strange time,’ Electra said. ‘A time when the gods are fading. Some of us still see them but there are times when we don’t. Their power is waning. Soon, it will be a different world. It will be ruled by the light of day. Soon it will be a world barely worth inhabiting. You should feel lucky that you were touched by the old world, that in that house it brushed you with its wings.’
The gods do not feature in the book at all, this is a human story. One of the final sections features a ghost, one of the characters who is dead: it is a haunting and brilliant tour de force, dead person walking.

I was very sorry that Toibin missed out another sister, Chrysothemis, who appears in other versions – I read the Sophocles Elektra in pursuit of this blogpost (in English – Ancient Greek is possible but slow, though you can see translations from Ancient Greek by me here and here.) And then there is the Strauss opera Elektra, with its discomforting, desolating and wild music.

There are many reasons why I would never have been an opera singer, but if it were possible I would have loved to play Elektra, who is demented and in a permanent state of outrage in the Strauss version, and also has the best stage directions ever:
Elektra flings herself about…
She is dancing a mysterious dance round him and suddenly stooping low…
Elektra descends from the threshold. She has flung back her head like a Maenad. She flings her knees and arms about. It is a nameless dance in which she comes forward

I feel I could have given quite the performance.

Here are some more stage directions from the opera:
(A hurried procession rushes and staggers past the luridly lighted windows; it is a wrenching, a dragging of cattle, a muffled scolding, a quickly choked shouting, the hissing of a whip in the air, a struggling of fallen men and beasts, a staggering onwards. 

In the broad window appears Klytemnestra. Her sallow, bloated face appears, in the lurid glare of the torches, still paler over her scarlet robe. She is leaning on her trusted Confidante, who is draped in dark violet, and on a begemmed ivory staff. A jaundiced figure, with black hair combed back, like an Egyptian woman, with smooth face, resembling a rearing snake, carries the train of her robe. The Queen is covered over and over with gems and talismans, her arms are full of armlets, her fingers bristle with rings. The lids of her eyes are larger than is natural, and it seems to cost her an unspeakable effort to keep them from falling.)
--- so there are the roles for my later career as an opera singer (‘resembling a snake’!), and I think you can all see why it is one of my favourite operas: it has music that sounds like the end of the world.

But amid all the drama and shouting, there is the sister Chrysothemis. Elektra is trying to make her fight for revenge, kill people, swear a life-long feud. But Chrysothemis wants something else:
Ere I die
I crave for life; and children would I bear
Ere all my body fades, e'en were't a peasant
Chosen to wed me; children will I bear him
Rejoicing; to my bosom will I clasp them



 
 Basically (although her complaints would not be the same as a woman today) she is saying ‘Please can’t we just forget all this and live our life and try to be happy, and get on with Mother’s new lover, and stop causing trouble? I want to have a life and get married and have children.’ But Elektra is implacable. They are like so many children of divorced families, with one sibling trying to keep up the feud - one of the ways in which this strange and ancient and foreign and un-modern tale resonates with modern feelings.


So – Colm Toibin, House of Names, opera, Richard Strauss, Elektra – all wonderful and compelling and deeply relevant to us even now… And indeed the plot is in many ways similar to Hamlet: often on the blog in a variety of ways.

And last month I read Madeleine Miller’s terrific Song of Achilles, and did a post on poems about Odysseus. A good time for Ancient Greece.

Pictures:
Engraving of one of the many deaths, from NYPL
.. and another death also from NYPL.
(more detail of murderers and murderees would be a spoiler).
Elektra and Chrysothemis on the NY stage from NYPL.

It actually breaks my heart to say this, but I could not read this. FAR too literary and 'arsey' for me. And I'm doing a BA in English & History. I want to read fiction and enjoy it, not read something that I have to struggle through. I gave up very early on, as I have 100s of books here that I know I will finish. There are literary titles that are mind-blowing, like Donal Ryan, Sebastian Barry, Alan McMonagle, Marie T Robinson, Doreen Finn, Shane Connaughton etc. however this is too much hard work to make it an enjoyable read.
Tóbín is my literary hero. I have loved ALL his books. But this was a chore. I'm gutted. I feel as if I've had a fight with my mother; that awful guilty feeling. *hangs head in shame*

Ancient Greece is brought vividly to life in Colm Tóibín's reworking of a classic Greek tragedy. This author is a known master of the English language and uses this skill to submerge the reader into a world of family intrigue, betrayal and bloodshed.