Latin isn't dead--it's just napping before it makes its comeback

I know I've only made two posts in the last few weeks, but I've no plans to abandon this blog just yet. Before we return to our regularly scheduled pop culture meets Classics programming, a few words about where I've been.

Last week, I attended the Rusticatio Virginiana, a week-long Latin immersion workshop conducted by SALVI. SALVI is a non-for-profit organization dedicated to encouraging spoken Latin as a means of learning and enjoying the language.

Who the heck speaks Latin nowadays, you say? Over the past century, the idea of Latin as a speakable language has fallen out of favor with many teachers and professors, and in many schools, colleges, and universities, Latin is taught only for reading knowledge. This always struck me as a naive pedagogical approach. Listening to and speaking a language builds the synapses in your brain that enable you to remember and internalize vocabulary, grammar, and syntax. It also makes you more aware of the shades of meaning that might accompany different sentences and turns of phrase. Admittedly, being able to ask what time it is and state where you live in Latin may not help you translate and understand the most complex sentences in Tacitus. It does, however, get the electricity running in new parts of your brain, which in turn improves the knowledge and skills you already have.

While being the daughter of two scientists never got me into medical school, I did learn enough from my parents to know this: using your brain in new ways is always good. It's mental exercise. And that said: why not speak Latin? Gods forbid you do something that helps you learn the language better!

The Rusticatio Virginiana is a bit like a combination of kindergarten and summer camp, with games, classes, various chores, free time, and a play--all conducted entirely in Latin. While these activities end up being a lot of fun, they're also quite difficult. The thing one forgets about kindergarten is, it's actually pretty hard work for kindergarteners. Considering that the spoken Latin of the participants started out at a five-year-old level, it was hard work for us too. On the other hand, we made a lot of progress over the course of the week, which we realized on the last evening as we cracked jokes and made puns in Latin over dinner.

In addition to learning spoken Latin, you can learn a number of teaching strategies, as well, for incorporating spoken Latin into the classroom. The best part is, you can use any of the strategies you want in your class with or without the others--you don't need to "convert fully" and make every class a Rusticatio, but pick and choose the activities you think will work best for your particular situation.

So, that said, if you're a Latin teacher or professor interested in new pedagogy, I highly recommend signing up for the Rusticatio. Just give it a shot--no matter what, you'll learn something!

In the next entries I plan to have some book reviews and probably more covers, so stay tuned...

Judging a Book by its Cover: Turn Back the River

Welcome to Judging a Book by its Cover, a semi-regular and unfair feature where my friend Joanne sends me a cover from a Classics-inspired paperback novel, and I snark on it.

Last week, we had a look at City of Libertines, a novel by W.G. Hardy about the infamous Clodia Metelli. This week, we'll be continuing the Clodia-love with its companion novel, Turn Back the River, where our favorite Medea of the Palatine is involved with delinquint upstart Lucius Sergius Catalina. Personal theory: they're only making out to give Cicero an aneurysm. And with the length of the average Ciceronian sentence, who can really blame them?

(Cicero dear, I kid. I really do appreciate all the wonderful primary source material you've left us on life in the Late Republic. I promise! Though, would it have killed you to shut up once in a while?)

Of course, I had to go with Joanne's word that this was a book about Clodia and Cataline, because, well, I'll let the cover speak for me.

(As always, click the cover to enlarge it.)

So is it just me, or does Cataline look almost exactly like Catullus on the cover of the other W.G. Hardy book? Either Clodia reeeeeeally has a type, or Rome has been invaded by an army of Robert Taylors created in some freak cloning accident on the set of Quo Vadis. I'm going with the latter, as Hollywood's insidious power to influence our views of antiquity runs deep. Now that I've said this, the henchmen of movie execs will probably show up at my apartment and arrange for my disappearance. Don't fight over my posessions too much.

But back to the cover. Cataline looks entirely too calm, like he's getting ready to slice up some zuchinni for kabobs, and not like he's stabbing the heck out of the senatorial classes. I'm not sure why he's got his cape wrapped around his arm like an extra sleeve, but it looks pretty dorky. Nothing quite compares to Clodia's little number, however, which looks like it's been awkwardly Frankensteined together out of dresses that never looked good on anyone. I mean, for one thing, it's fitted, which is ridiculously unRoman, and... is that a sailor collar? Seriously? It's a good thing "Sailor Clodia" doesn't scan to the name of a certain Japanese superheroine, or I'd be making up a song that reveals entirely too much about the cartoons I watched in my tween years.

Clodia and Cataline aside, I find myself endlessly cracked up by the guys crawling away from them. They don't look like they're moving particularly fast, so you'd think Cataline would have been able to off them by now. Also--look at Yellow, in the background. Is he armless? Is he wearing a sleeve and a loincloth, instead of a perfectly acceptable tunic? Is he using Blue's leg as his arm in some bizarre limb-sharing program? You decide!

As a final note, those white marble temples need some paint, statim. Actually, this is one of my big Classicist pet peeves, and I would like artists, historical fiction writers, and set designers to take note: PAINT YOUR DAMN TEMPLES AND STATUES. IT'S ACCURATE.

Thank you.

Next, not to invoke a dreadful double meaning or anything, but oh hey, a back!


Yes, that is Clodia in a halter dress entertaining Robert Taylor Clone #46. At least someone wised up to the fact that the Romans wore color and decided to make it a blue halter dress. I still can't figure out why Cataline would want to hang around the house in armor, but maybe he finds it appropriate for sulking.

I've got to admit--as old-school book blurbs go, this one isn't bad. At least they avoid using the word "lust." I appreciate the fact that Clodia gets to be intelligent, though I'm also noting that it's "passionate" and "patrician" that get repeated. I suppose my biggest quibble is the implication that Rome "drifted" towards the dictatorship of Julius Caesar. I think "drifting" is only the correct word there if what we mean is drifting away on an ice flow which is slowly melting as it heads south, completely trapped, with a dozen other people who used to be your best friends, but they're now all pissed off because they think you seduced their wives/daughters/sons and you're all in debt and there's not enough food to go around.

Oh. And they have all have daggers.

Kai su, mon teknon?

Judging a Book by its Cover: City of Libertines

Welcome to Judging a Book by its Cover, a semi-regular and unfair feature where my friend Joanne sends me a cover from a Classics-inspired paperback novel, and I snark on it.

This edition's cover is from City of Libertines by W.G. Hardy, a novel about the romance between Catullus and the infamous Clodia Metelli. According to Joanne, Hardy is one of the few authors out there to write a more sympathetic portrayal of Clodia, so props to him for that!

Nevertheless, it doesn't mean we can't find mockworthy things in the book's packaging. Without further ado, the front:


First things first: what's our favorite emo love poet wearing? Though we don't have any historical evidence that Catullus never wore armor, it looks about as out of place on him as oversized tie dye would look on Project Runway's Tim Gunn. Also, does the placement of that sword even make sense? How is it not cutting into his back? I'm tempted to think they're trying to make it into *ahem* symbolism, but it looks like it's been placed a bit too high above his hip for that.

And then there's Clodia. Look at her lying on that couch and tell me she isn't deliberately posing. She's even set the table with a fruit still life in advance, though at the same time, she also doesn't seem to have any qualms about digging into the grapes. (Speaking of which, why is it always grapes with Roman women? Were grapes the Official Food of Women like Sarah Haskins tells us yogurt is now? What gives?) Finally, while the white of Clodia's dress looks lovely with her complexion, it's a bit too fitted for Roman fashion, and I get the sense she doesn't know how many other lovely shades of fabric are available in her day in age. Let me take you shopping some time, Clodia; we'll have girl talk.

Now let's have a look at the back (you may have to click to see the text clearly):


Look at all those "history is sexy, really we promise!" buzzwords! Depraved. Emotional dalliances. Amorous wiles. It doesn't get any better than that. But my favorite phrase has to be one from the review-- "physical passion of a high voltage." I was going to say that the reference to electricity in matters of lovemaking is somewhat anachronistic, but then I remembered the myth of Dionysus's mother Semele, who saw Zeus in his true lightningy glory. Of course, we saw how well that worked out for her, didn't we?

Overall, not the silliest of covers, but still a bit lulzy. Stay tuned for more!