The reason we started talking about drama was that my son didn't particularly like Emilia Galotti, Lessing's "Bürgerliche Tragödie". We talked about the strange code of honour that made a father kill his daughter to save her virtue. "What's progressive about that?" my son asked furiously. I found myself in the bizarre position to defend patriarchy and its flawed moral codes, by saying that it was modern "back then" to let a girl die "tragically" without being a princess or a queen.
My son raised his eyebrows, and I sensed the lack of logic. "So it was progressive that women of ALL classes were allowed to be sacrificed to the egos of men who considered them their property?" he questioned. "Eh!" I replied.
I love the fact that literature makes me challenge my own acquired knowledge, and think again about something I just took at face value when I read Emilia Galotti myself. For of course it is bizarre, especially considering that Lessing is a representative of Enlightenment culture.
And while we were at it, we talked about all the other bizarre elements of classical drama. We realised that it is more like life than we first thought. After all, each day we reinvent the narratives of our lives and press them into what we can perceive as one action, one place and one time: one day of madness and drama.
So yesterday I acted out the tragic loss of my university copy of Aristotle! It will stay in spirit.