I was initially drawn to this book because I'm a big fan of the translator (Anne Carson) - okay, I can't honestly say that I've read a lot of her work, but I've seen her commentary referenced from time to time, and I'm a big fan of the concepts that she focuses on in her writing.

I guess it goes without saying that my favourite parts of this book were the introductions to the actual plays. It's great to see what Carson has personally highlighted in each translation, but I found myself skimming a lot of the actual content since on the surface, a lot of the stories read like basic soap operas with predictable plots. The book didn't live up to my expectations of it though (probably because not a lot of this could be seen as original content from Carson), which is why my review is neutral.

In a way, I found it difficult to relate to the characters (or the language that they use) but, after a considerable amount of mental effort, I can say that each play frames grief in the same way - as a looming storm that you can see a mile away (and most often premeditated); a mental prompt that makes you consider yourself and your beliefs (in monologues and metered verse); and, most consolingly, an opportunity to turn your darkness into triumph.

Grief itself touches not only those close to you, but leaves a deep indent on the culture that you live in - and in this way, the grieved spirit returns - not just a shadow, not just a dream, but a hero and a lesson in the eyes of many.

Anne Carson, as usual, does a job beyond phenomenal when translating these four plays of Euripides. The essays that prelude each play are spectacular; the first page opening with the iconic line "Why does tragedy exist? Because you are full of rage. Why are you full of rage? Because you are full of grief."

This line lingered with me as I read, not just because of the nature of these plays as tragedies, but also due to the passing of a relative that happened during the time I read this book. That event gave both that quote, which I held close as I grieved, and the title ("Grief Lessons") a new meaning to me. In these plays, we are forced to learn from the grief of these characters. Their lives are laid before us, if not neatly than in part plainly, and we watch as the threads of their lives tangle into tragedy, into grief, and they learn from it. Learn of their own failings, or of their ego, or worth, or piety. This book is a lesson that extends through centuries; grief and loss are undeniable parts of being human, and all we can do is weather it.

This has become one of my favorite books. The closing essay is a masterpiece. Anne Carson is one of the lucky few writers that fundamentally understand humanity and human motivations so as to sum them up, however briefly, but with a clarity so strong it drives you up from the page in shock. I highly recommend it.

What I find so fascinating about Euripides’ works, more than the fact that he takes these immortal heroes and brings them down to fall, but the fact that he genuinely seems to love the characters he creates. In his explanation of why he wrote two plays about Phaidra, he scolds the audience for not understanding her. For fearing her in all her feminine rage and sexuality. And yet, this is the same playwright that tears them down in such shameful and dishonorable ways. Although he loves them, it seems as though he hates them a little too. Their humanity, their loveliness, their complexities, might have been both what endeared them to him but also doomed them.

In his plays, the gods are always cruel, and the viewer can’t help but wonder if he might be imitating himself with the way he plays god- inventing his own worlds, his own little humans, all so he can ruin them.

The way I finished this before realising that the "It's rotten work" play isn't in here... unbelievable.

Truly, if anything, this particular rating is due to my ambivalent feelings towards Euripides' work. Carson's various musings on his writing, however, are rather insightful and at times mesmerising. I would recommend her translation -- if not Euripides himself -- for that alone.

‘I don’t know what evil to look at, so many are here. If I take hold of one, another pushes in… grief on grief!’
enjoyed Carson’s introductions just as much as each play

3 of these 4 plays I hadn't read, so this was a nice introduction into Ms. Carson's translations. As enjoyable as her translation (which is hit or miss in my opinion) are her essays preceding each play. Her laconic style transfers smoothly from her prose to her translations. This style - deadpan sentence fragments, matter-of-fact starkness - of all the big 3 best suits Euripides, who was probably the first ever version of Chuck Palahniuk (and I mean that for all its good and all its bad).

The coolest part about this collection though, is the essay by Euripides himself. It's placed at the very end of the book and describes the difference between his two plays about Phaidra, one of which is included in this collection and one of which is lost forever. It is to my knowledge the only existing prose commentary by any of the surviving dramatists, either on their own work or literature in general. It is surprisingly contemporary, and it is very powerful.

Carson is contemporary too, so much so that her essay in the beginning about why we still read Greek tragedy is almost unnecessary. For my taste, I prefer a more antiquated approach, but there is a ton of good stuff here. A great foil after spending so much time with the Lattimore school.

"You love the light so much?"
"I do, I love its hopes."

As a theater-enthousiast with a slight obsession for tragic stories and beautiful words, this definitely made my heart beat faster.

It's chaotic, sad, and rather disturbing, but also really powerful and beautiful.
I also loved that, although the plays were focused on misery and grief, there were always moments when someone was reaching out a hand. To take away some of the pain and make it bearable -  to offer comfort by just being. Very subtle sometimes, but still there. To me, a beautiful reminder that we are never truly alone in our pain ♡

Stunning. Freakishly beautiful. Full of the shadows of violence and desire, surrounded by grief and rage. Anne Carson and Euripides entwined, like all the best writer-translator pairs. Carson's two included essays and her prefaces for each play are masterpieces in themselves.

You may be familiar with the first words of the preface: "Why does tragedy exist? Because you are full of rage. Why are you full of rage? Because you are full of grief." If you held your breath for that sentence, you'll hold your breath for the whole book.

No prior classics knowledge required, just the ability to navigate a basic script and perhaps the Googling of a couple myths to set the scene.

anne carson is so cool man. her translations are always so striking in their simplicity, so bare in their affect, that one feels the play rather than reads it. it is never an exercise of the mind with carson but of the heart.

Myths are stories about people who become too big for their lives temporarily, so that they crash into other lives or brush against gods. In crisis their souls are visible. To be present when that happens is Euripides’ playwriting technique. [...]

There is in Euripides some kind of learning that is always at the boiling point. It breaks experiences open and they waste themselves, run through your fingers. Phrases don’t catch them, theories don’t hold them, they have no use. It is a theater of sacrifice in the true sense. Violence occurs; through violence we are intimate with some characters onstage in an exorbitant way for a brief time; that’s all it is.

Years ago, when I was still reading Ancient Greek in school, I wondered how one could encapsulate the language in English. How one could translate something that is so different from our languages. How to deal with words being in very different spots in sentences, words having multiple meanings, words forming stylistic figures that are literally impossible in English.
Well, don’t ask me how, but Anne Carson did it. Her writing is just so wonderful. The text reads like the Greek, but it isn’t convoluted at all. Obviously, nothing beats translating the Greek yourself, but this is a solid second option for 99% of people.

Out of the stories, Hekabe’s was my favorite. I’ve always been enamored by mothers in fiction, and I love the Trojan War (especially women’s roles in the Trojan War). Well, what a gift was it to watch a grieving mother blind someone who killed her son. To read about women who were now slaves to be raped every day take revenge, to take agency. Her grief was so visceral it actually made me tear up. I always felt for the Trojans. Hector seemed like a good fellow, and Priamus’s kindness to Helen (in some variations) always stuck with me. This only solidified my love for the Trojans in the war.

I liked the other stories too. I was never a huge Heracles fan, but this story of the murder of his children really moved me. I never loved his beefy dumb oaf persona, so seeing this of him was a nice change. I thought Hippolytus’ story was maybe the most insane. Hippolytus’ rampant sexism, Phaedra’s suffering over her - very unfortunate- affections, the maid immediately exposing her secrets, Artemis coming out of nowhere only AFTER Hippolytus was dying? It is truly a bizarre story but it was definitely supposed to be. Same for Alcestis. It was so bizarre to read abt this couple losing their minds over something that seemed entirely preventable. Especially loved when he started beefing with his father over his father not killing himself so his son could live. And then Heracles showing up with a mysterious veiled woman? Peak Greek tragedy.

OMOI EGO!