I'm a bit odd in that I like to work in order. My undergrad and master's dissertations were written as they were later read, starting with the introduction, then chapters one through whatever, then the conclusion, bibliographies, et cetera. I've done a similar thing with my PhD, although I've made allowances for the size of the project. I started with my (now defunct) introduction, painfully skipped over the Theoretical Framework (methodology and literature review) as I am planning on writing those last, and then I got to work on the chapters. I wrote my first chapter - 'Women in the Texts' - first, followed by my second chapter, 'Men in the Texts'.
Of course, I was planning to write my third chapter - 'Queering Myth' - next, but I've decided to (ugh) go with the flow instead. I'm going to follow the tide of my research for a change, instead of laboriously carving out new river-routes to keep to stay on-track.
I'll put aside the terrible metaphor now and try to speak plainly.
I have an article coming out soon in the eSharp journal (which I will add to the 'Other Works' section of this blog, along with my previous publication and any other relevant pieces). It's on estrangement in Kamila Shamsie's Home Fire, which is a novel that adapts the myth of Antigone to narrate contemporary British Muslim experiences. Since I put so much work into the journal article, I figured it would make more sense to skip forward to my fifth and final chapter 'Antigone's Afterlives' next.
For this blog post, then, I thought it would be good to share some of the stuff I'm actually working on, rather than just a random myth that very loosely connects to what's been going on in my life. I'll start by telling the Antigone myth, and then I'll share some more details about my upcoming article, and end with a little peek into my chapter planning process. Without further ado:
Antigone's Agonies
Laius and Jocasta were the King and Queen of Thebes, and they attempted infanticide on their first-born baby by piercing his ankles and leaving him on a hillside to die, because of a prophecy that said the child would grow up to kill Laius and marry Jocasta. The baby was saved and raised by neighbouring royalty, and nobody was any the wiser. Years later, the baby that has grown into a prince hears the same prophecy that 'it was my fate to defile my mother's bed, [... and] to murder the father who engendered me' (Sophocles, trans. Johnston l.951-4). Obviously unaware that the parents who raised him were not the ones who engendered him (i.e. not his biological parents), Oedipus runs away. In attempting to offset the prophecy by fleeing those he thought were his parents, Oedipus unwittingly fulfils the prophecy by killing a random stranger 'at a place where three roads meet' (ibid., l.861). He continues on his journey and happens upon a Sphinx, who says he has to answer her riddle correctly or she will kill him. The riddle went something like this:
What walks on four legs in the morning
Two legs at noon
And three legs in the evening.
Of course, Oedipus answers the riddle correctly (the answer is a person, who crawls, learns to walk, and then relies on a cane in old age), and the Sphinx flies away or inexplicably dies, depending on how you like your stories to go. Either way, Oedipus makes his way to a nearby city that has seven gates, and he is met with raucous celebrations, for he has freed the city from the siege of the Sphinx! As a token of their gratitude, the people of Thebes allow them to marry the recently widowed queen, Jocasta, and become the King of Thebes.
Self-fulfilling prophecies were basically invented by the Ancient Greeks and I know I'm hardly subtle but allow me to spell it out once more - by attempting to avoid the prophecy, Laius and Jocasta put the motions in place to allow it to come true; again, by attempting to avoid the prophecy, Oedipus made the prophesy come true. By hearing the prophecy, the people involved were of course going to try to stop the prophecy from happening, thus making it happen. To which you might say: 'Maybe if they had done nothing-', but of course the prophet is aware that they will hear the prophecy and then act upon it. Perhaps you want to learn from this that you should *live in the moment*, but I actually think the message is: don't try to outsmart Apollo and the Delphic Oracle (the god of prophesy and his instrument of soothsaying).
Anyway, Oedipus and Jocasta have four children: Eteocles, Polynices, Antigone, and Ismene. Then, a plague besets Thebes and the truth is revealed to Oedipus and his wife/mother by the combined efforts of the Delphic Oracle, a herald, a shepherd, and the famous seer Tiresias. Jocasta kills herself, and Oedipus blinds himself with her brooch, leaving Thebes as a sightless beggar. Before he leaves, Oedipus curses his sons so that they can never rule peacefully... you know, for good measure.
Loyal Antigone guides her father until he is forgiven by the gods at Colonus, and eventually dies as a welcome guest in Athens, where Theseus is king.
Antigone and her little sister Ismene return to Thebes, where their brothers have just agreed to share the throne, alternating years as king. Eteocles refuses to give up the throne when it is his turn and expels Polynices, who makes his way over to Argos (the city-state, not the catalogue shop) and enlists six men to help him take back his city. They were called the Seven Against Thebes - one man for each gate - and all except one of these Argive men died. Eteocles and Polynices killed each other, for they were equally matched in battle.
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| 'Antigone' - Frederic Leighton |
Thus, their uncle Creon takes the throne, and the events of Sophocles' play Antigone ensue. He decrees that Eteocles was just and deserves a royal burial, whereas Polynices was rebel scum who deserves to rot, unburied, outside the walls of Thebes. This is particularly brutal, because the Ancient Greeks believed that if you did not get burial rites, you were not allowed into Hades, and your soul would wander restlessly for all eternity. Antigone must decide whether to obey the political laws or the religious laws. As Natalie Haynes summarises: 'So Antigone must decide: does she obey her conscience and bury Polynices - the punishment for which is the death penalty - or does she obey the law and leave her brother to be picked apart by dogs?'
Antigone decides to do what is right rather than what is legal, choosing the laws of the gods over the laws of men. She sneaks out to bury Polynices, knowing that she will face death herself as a consequence. King/Uncle Creon is justly punished for his hubristic demand for power. His son and Antigone's fiancé, Haemon, hugs Antigone's hanged body before killing himself. Creon has lost everything, and the play ends with his admission: 'And the guilt is all mine--' (Sophocles, trans. Fagles l.1441).
Antigone / Aneeka
I am going to try to talk about Kamila Shamsie's Home Fire now in a spoiler-free way. In return for my efforts, please take my recommendation and buy this book. Honestly, it is excellent.
Excellent as it is, the novel poses some major difficulties for me in terms of my research. This is mainly because it does not conform to a lot of the tropes that I have identified in contemporary feminist adaptations of Greek myth. Most notably, the myth is not at all present in the text - Oedipus and Antigone are never mentioned, but their characters and stories are mirrored.
Oedipus becomes Adil Pasha, Antigone becomes Aneeka, Ismene becomes Isma, Polynices becomes Parvaiz, Creon becomes Karamat, and Haemon becomes Eamonn... though since this is 'An Irish spelling to disguise a Muslim name - "Ayman"' (Shamsie 2017: 14), it would perhaps be more accurate to say Haemon becomes Ayman becomes Eamonn.
Instead of retelling the myth with a modern twist, tone, or sensibility, Shamsie instead utilises the characters and the themes of political turmoil and paying for the sins of one's father that are present in the Sophoclean drama to draw a centuries'-long line from ancient Thebes to modern Britain, from the children of Jocasta to the children of Muslim immigrants.
My upcoming journal article explores three key themes in the novel: the hijab, radicalisation, and statelessness to demonstrate how this old myth can shed light on contemporary happenings. A power-hungry government, homeless martyrs, and young girls standing up for what's right: Am I talking about Antigone or am I talking about the Tories?
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| In 'Antigone Rising', Helen Morales argues that we can see the Antigone archetype in figures such as Malala Yousafzai & Greta Thunberg |
Antigone's Afterlives
In summary, after writing my journal article on Shamsie's adaptation of Antigone, I've decided to break from my own tradition and write a chapter out of order. As much as I'm looking forward to delving into the differences of Antigone's adaptations, there are a few things I have to do before I jump into writing.
Every PhD student I know has a different writing process. Personally, I do a lot of reading, and then I make a plan. And then I make a plan. And then I make a plan. And then {no my computer hasn't glitched} I write. I usually draw a mind map in my notebook, and then I write out a more detailed plan in my notebook, and then I type up the plan on the document that will eventually become my chapter.
This may seem a bit repetitive and redundant, and I'm willing to admit that a part of this (over-) planning comes from a reluctance to start writing. But I maintain that there is method to my madness. The first plan, the mind map, gives me a broad sense of what I do and do not want to include in the chapter; the second plan, the written one, allows me to include more details of what each of these points will consist of; the third plan, the typed one, while mostly identical to the second one, stops me from getting that feeling - you know the one, where the blank page is just staring at you, and the flickering cursor is judging you. The page is no longer blank, and therefore it's easier to just start. Also, that third plan allows me to just pop random thoughts, quotations, and sources lower down the page, under the relevant part, ready for when I get to it.
Here is my (scaled-back) stage 1:
So there we go, in this blog post I have: Agonised about Antigone, accentuated Aneeka, announced Antigone's Afterlives... and alliterated a-lot. Apologies.
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