A Fierce Modern Medea (with a Scots inflection)
Review of the Nick Hern Books paperback (December 19, 2023) adapted from the Ancient Greek original by Euripides (431 BCE).

n  Medea: flesh of my flesh revenge
Jason: I must have been mad was mad for you
I did not know you
I know you now!
Medea: tigress? fury? harpy? witch? she-wolf?
monster? yes I am
for I have torn out your heart and devoured it
Jason: your pain is just as bad as mine
Medea: wrong for I have your pain to comfort men

I'm quoting the above excerpt to give an example of why this is an adaptation rather than a translation of the Euripides original. A sample of the parallel dialogue in a standard translation (Rex Warner in 1944, reprinted in the Dover Thrift Editions series) reads as:

n  Jason: You feel the pain yourself. You share in my sorrow.
Medea: Yes, and my grief is gain when you cannot mock it.n

Liz Lochhead makes other significant changes to the text, even though most of it still has parallels in the Euripides play. The King of Athens is dropped as a character (along with his scene) and instead Glauke, the princess of Corinth, is brought in to have her own confrontation with Medea. The most interesting change is to have some of the characters perform their dialogue in a Scots-inflected English, signifying that they are natives of Corinth. Medea and Jason speaking in regular English are outsiders who have taken refuge in Corinth after having escaped into exile.


Medea confronts Jason while the Chorus looks on. Image sourced from the National Theatre of Scotland. Note: If you read all the background at the NTofS website, you'll learn that one of the members of the chorus is deaf and performs with sign language, another is blind and is guided by another chorus member. You can notice that somewhat in the trailer linked below.

This was a fierce and modern Medea which is still all the more horrifying for the revenge and maternal filicide murder plot at its heart. Lochhead's Medea is not portrayed as a supernatural sorceress though, but rather as a human being with advanced skills in poisoning. There is no deus ex machina chariot in the sky for her at the end.

I read Liz Lochhead's Medea after reading the retelling of the Medea mythology in Laura Alcoba's Through the Forest (2024). The Lochhead struck me as likely to be the most radical contemporary retelling. When I searched Goodreads, it seemed as if there is a Medea zeitgeist in the offing. There are two recent novelizations: Eilish Quin's Medea (February 13, 2024) and Rosie Hewlett's Medea (March 21, 2024). In Toronto, the Canadian Opera Company will perform Cherubini's opera in May 2024. Who am I to ignore the signs

Το διάβασα με αμείωτο ενδιαφέρον και με ένα δέος μπροστά στην γραφή του Ευριπίδη, πόσο καλός «ψυχαναλυτής» υπήρξε μα και πόσο καλός τραγωδός. Η Μήδεια που φωνάζει από τα βάθη της αρχαιότητας το ερωτικό πάθος και φεύγει περήφανη πάνω στο άρμα του Ήλιου, θριαμβευτικά και χωρίς καμία αιδώ, παίρνοντας και το φριχτότερο έγκλημα, τον φόνο των παιδιών της. Ένα αριστουργηματικό δείγμα της αρχαίας ελληνικής γραμματείας, πολύ ανώτερο από την μέτρια «Ἑλένη» που διδάσκεται στην δευτεροβάθμια εκπαίδευση. Η μετάφραση του Ρούσσου, όπως πάντα, εξαιρετική.

Medea isn't just about pre-feminist ideals, mental illness, revenge, or betrayal. It is a commentary on society, ostensibly Ancient Greek society, but also our global society today. Euripides does something so revolutionary and foreign that the Greek audiences used to tales of heroes or tragedies driven by men must have been flabbergasted and appalled. Medea is the first all-powerful female character. She makes Electra look like a whiny, helpless, pitiable woman. Medea shows that in ancient Greece, there were challenges to women, but also that there was a male playwright daring enough to focus his master work on a previously completely reviled and evil female character. I feel for Medea, but unlike most women in early literature and drama, she solves her own problems. And while her methods may be extreme, she is still in control. Medea is a master work of Greek drama.

I applaud the translator's modern approach and language. Updating a classic masterpiece is hard, and Robin Robertson does it admirably.

As with the Herakles, we start with the basic recitation of mythological lore, as passed along in Apollodorus:

They went to Corinth, and lived there happily for ten years, till Creon, king of Corinth, betrothed his daughter Glauce to Jason, who married her and divorced Medea. But she invoked the gods by whom Jason had sworn, and after often upbraiding him with his ingratitude she sent the bride a robe steeped in poison, which when Glauce had put on, she was consumed with fierce fire along with her father, who went to her rescue. But Mermerus and Pheres, the children whom Medea had by Jason, she killed, and having got from the Sun a car drawn by winged dragons she fled on it to Athens. (Bibliotheka I.9.28 (Frazer, trans.))

Fairly straightforward. The euripidean version adheres fairly closely to this--or, perhaps, Euripides is the primary source for Apollodorus, who wrote centuries later.

Euripides retains Medea’s objection that Jason has broken an oath by taking up with Creon’s daughter (“Do you hear what she says, and how she cries / On Themis, the goddess of Promises, and on Zeus, / Whom we believe to be the Keeper of Oaths?” (ll.168-70)). He also presents a slick agon between them, wherein it is revealed that not only does Jason not deny the oathbreaking, but he defends it as economically and politically expedient:

What luckier chance could I have come across than this,
An exile to marry the daughter of a king?
It was not –the point that seems to upset you—that I
Grew tired of your bed and felt the need of a new bride;
Nor with any wish to outdo your number of children.
We have enough already. I am quite content.
But—this was the main reason—that we might live well. (ll. 553-59)

Jason apparently does not lack bravery, as he had prior to action in this text witnessed Medea’s capabilities on the voyage of the Argo, during which time she was the crew’s heavy artillery. Consider just one episode from Apollonius’ Argonautica, the confrontation with Talos:

Then, with incantations, she invoked the Spirits of Death, the swift hounds of Hades who feed on souls and haunt the lower air to pounce on living men. She sank to her knees and called upon them, three times in song, three times with spoken prayers. She steeled herself with their malignity and bewitched the eyes of Talos with the evil of her own. She flung at him the full force of her malevolence, and in an ecstasy of rage she piled him with images of death. (loc. cit. at IV. 1660 ff.)

Reckless beyond measure, therefore, to piss her off.

For his part, however, Jason may have understood that she thought that he has a “lack of manliness” (Euripides at l. 466) and is a “false man” (l. 519), and thus is not subject to the hounds of Hades who feed on ‘living men.’ She nevertheless is perfectly agambenian in her intention to “make dead bodies” (l. 373) of her enemies. She is perhaps irrational in this--not simply in wanting the deaths of several persons over a divorce, but also misconstruing her host’s fear of her art as “envy and ill will” (l. 297)—which is incidentally what Ayn Rand thought about her colleagues at school when they hated her for being an abrasive jerk.

Here, the host monarch reasonably fears her as a walking artillery piece who makes corpses (i.e., in order to ‘pay back’ (l. 268) her husband in a marriage gone sour, and thus “leave that account paid” (l. 790)). That said, her position is that it is no mere divorce, but is an abandonment during exile from her home, after having killed her brother and then killed the monarch of the first place of asylum. Jason knows all of this, as he was there and was a beneficiary of these killings—and yet he still uses these events against her:

A traitress to your father and your native land.
The gods hurled the avenging curse of yours on me.
For your brother you slew at your own hearthside,
And then came aboard that beautiful ship, the Argo.
[…]
A monster, not a woman, having a nature
Wilder than that of Scylla in the Tuscan Sea. (ii.1332-42)

Significant that he acts like an antisocial nihilist here--this may well be his hamartia, warranting is own tragic result in aristotelian terms--along with the nasty failure to consult her about his marry-rich/take-half plan (“If you were not a coward, you would not have married / Behind my back, but discussed it with me first” (l. 586-87), indicating a certain reasonable pragmatism in Medea). It is likewise important both that Jason says she is not a ‘woman,’ as this is not an indictment of women (that is more Euripides’ Hippolytus), and that she is rather distinguished as a ‘monster,’ which makes her more like Euripides’ Herakles, the fighter of monsters who becomes monstrous in the process (and also killed his own children). And, indeed, she is noted as furens several times (ll. 1014, 1079)—but also she has a “plan” (l. 772), marked by instrumental rationality, but manifestly lacking in objective reasonableness (to use Frankfurt Marxist terms), as there shall be no objectively reasonable set of facts wherein one savagely slaughters one’s own minor children to cause pain (e.g., l. 1399) to one's party opponent in a divorce case.

To her, however, it is ananke, a “necessary wrong” (l. 1243), arising out of all the hardship of double exile, abandonment, and, even, the original childbirths:

What they say of us is that we have a peaceful time
Living at home, while they do the fighting in war.
How wrong they are! I would very much rather stand
Three times in the front of battle than bear one child. (ll. 248-51)

A proto-feminist perspective, perhaps—but also we must recall that Medea is something of a cross between the Angel of Death and the Terminator; warfare for her would accordingly (and will, as it happens) be almost trifling in ease.

When Seneca gets a hold of this text (and we knew he would, as it has dead children, similar to the Hercules Furens, the Troades, the Thyestes, the Hippolytus), he keeps the general outline of the narrative, but makes several deft inversions for the Roman world. First, whereas Euripides has Jason as the primary topos of Medea’s rage, in Seneca the locus of anger is Corinth’s monarch: “The fault is Creon’s, all, who with unbridled sway dissolves marriages [coniugia solvet], tears mothers from their children, and breaks pledges bound by straightest oath; on him be my attack, let him alone pay the penalties” (ll. 143-47). In Euripides, Creon banishes her as a preemptive measure, which she therein regarded as arising out of Jason’s infidelity; here, she regards Creon as the principal offender—converting euripidean drama of the oikos into a matter of the polis here. We shall recall MacIntyre’s point that the function of the Oresteia is to transform certain sets of problems for the oikos into matters for the polis--so, mission accomplished. Creon decides that he needs to “purge my kingdom [purge regna]” (l. 269), which is the language used in the Hercules Furens to describe how monsters are exterminated (op. cit. at 1279).

Second, the voyage of the Argo, while traditionally the first of its kind within the legend, is not emphasized in Euripides as something special insofar as it is a voyage; but for Seneca, the Chorus of conservative Corinthians regards it as a moment when “The lands, well separated before by nature’s laws, the Thessalian ship made one” (ll. 335-36); previously, Trump voters might’ve rest assured that--

Unsullied the ages our fathers saw, with crime banished afar. Then every man inactive kept to his own shores and lived to old age on ancestral fields, rich but with little, knowing no wealth save what his home soil yielded. Not yet could any read the sky and use the stars [stellisque quibus pingitur aether / non erat usus]. (ll. 329-333)

--so, yeah, obviously Medea is just an alien criminal seeking to use anchor babies to do whatever it is alien criminals do in the febrile imaginations of right populist white nationalist scum--and it's all her fault for seducing the captain of the voyage.

Seneca’s chorus accommodates to the Real of the Roman world, however: “Now, in our time, the deep has ceased resistance and submits utterly to law” (l. 364) and “All bounds have been removed, cities have set their walls in new lands, and the world, now passable throughout, has left nothing where it once had place” (ll. 369-372). And then it prophesies: “There will come an age in the far-off years when Ocean shall unloose the bonds of things, when the whole broad earth shall be revealed, when Tethys shall disclose new worlds and Thule not be the limit of the lands” (375-79)—and thank the Argo for this, the modern world, approximately two thousand years prior to Marx & Engels when they stated that “The need of a constantly expanding market for its products chases the bourgeoisie over the entire surface of the globe” (Communist Manifesto, I).

Ovid, for his part, will make the similar equation of the Argo with the Empire and the world proto-market in his note that “And Jason won the famous Golden Fleece / And proudly with his prize, and with her too, / His second prize, who gave him mastery, / Sailed home victorious to his fatherland” (Metamorphosis, VII.55-58): foreign goods and foreign persons to be imported via successful maritime adventure. And of course it's all consistent with Virgil's ideological project of "Roman, remember your strength to rule / Earth's peoples [sic]--for your arts are to be these: / To pacify, to impose the rule of law, / To spare the conquered, battle down the proud" (Aeneid VI, 1151-54) (emphasis added). This is definitely not Euripides' project, by contrast.

Otherwise, same crisis, same denouement, same dreadful violence—but with Seneca’s normal emphasis on visceral horror. And Medea is still a nuke:

Nurse: The Colchians are no longer on thy side, thy husband’s vows have failed, and there is nothing left of all thy wealth [nihilique superest opibus e tantis tibi].

Medea: Medea is left [superest]—in her thou beholdest sea and land [mare et terras vide], and sword and fire and gods and thunder [ferrumque et ignes et deos et fulmina]. (ll. 164-67)

That’s genuinely badass. After the catastrophe, in both versions she hops on her magical flying dragon chariot and zips away, giving the survivors the middle finger. Afterward, Apollodorus (Bibliotheka I.9.28) reports that she ends up in Athens for a bit, had a thing with the monarch, fell out with Theseus, escaped to Persia and took over some towns there, and then returned to Colchis to set things upright. Her ultimate result is given in Apollonius, as part of the incentive to Thetis to help the Argo: “And there is something else that I must tell you, a prophecy concerning your son Achilles, who is now with Cheiron the centaur and is fed by water-nymphs though he should be at your breast. When he comes to the Elysian Fields, it has been arranged that he shall marry Medea the daughter of Aeetes; so you, as her future mother-in-law, should be ready to help her now” (loc. cit. IV 791-97).

“Who profits by a sin has done the sin” (Seneca, l. 500)—who profits by a reading has done the reading, so go read.

میدانی چگونه باید دعا کنی تا خردمندانه باشد؟
باید دعا کنی که چیزهای پسندیده برایت هرگز دردآور نباشند و آن قدر خوب شوی که از بداقبالی ات رنج نکشی!

از اینکه داستان نمایشنامه مده‌آ از اون زمان تا الان هنوز داره به زندگیش ادامه می‌ده، حیرت کردم. مخصوصاً به این دلیل که شخصیت‌ها از حالت خدایی در اومده بودن و نهایتاً ویژگیشون نامیرایی بود که اون هم در روند داستان تأثیری نداشت. اینطوری حس می‌کردم که فاصله بین من و مده‌آ کمتر از فاصله‌ام با شخص اوریپیده. رنج مده‌آ، دلایلش و در نهایت کاری که انجام می‌ده خصلتی کاملاً انسانی داره. واسه همه اینا خوندن این نمایشنامه برام خیلی جذاب بود.

¿Es acaso Medea la segunda tragedia griega que leo y ya la considero mi favorita sin haber leído todo lo que me falta? Pues sí. Así es. ¿Es eso posible? A lo mejor no. Tal vez me estoy adelantando a los acontecimientos habiendo tantas tragedias todavía por leer pero no me importa porque Eurípides ha hecho una a la altura de lo que a mí me gusta encontrar en las letras: personajes femeninos que no están solo como decoración.

Me encantó multiplicado al mil como una mujer es capaz de llegar hasta lo más oscuro de su propia naturaleza para conseguir vengarse de la traición que ha recibido. Me recontrafascinó como hace uso de su inteligencia y el poder de manipulación para lograr su anhelado objetivo; que es bastante retorcido. Medea es una auténtica villana que no solo se rebela contra Jasón por haberla utilizado sino que lo hace también con la misma sociedad (a pesar de vivir oprimida) que lo único que espera de ella es que esta cumpla con ciertos roles que le han sido asignados por ser mujer.

Sencillamente estas son las lecturas que para su época me gusta siempre encontrar. ¡Una verdadera maravilla! Medea es inteligente hasta el punto de utilizar su "debilidad" (ser mujer) para lograr su maquiavélico fin; que es demasiado despiadado y a mí me parece el culmen de la venganza dentro de toda la literatura que he leído.

«زن در بسیاری از جاها آفریده‌ای ترسوست، که دل و ستیزه ندارد و چشمش بر رویینه خیره می‌ماند، اما اگر در عشق بر او ستم کنند، دلی مرگ آور تر از دل او نیست‌.»
وای خدای من عجب چیز تکان‌دهنده و جونداری بود.کاش مردهای امروز ۱٪ اوریپید زن‌هارو میشناختن و میفهمیدن:)

برای دومین بار مده‌آ رو خوندم و اینبار پنج ستاره میدم!
فعلا این بهترین نمایشنامه ایه که از اوریپید خوندم و چقدر شخصیت مده‌آ رو دوست دارم.
دیالوگ های مده‌آ نمود عینی در وضعیت زنان امروز داره.
نمایشنامه ای که چهارصد سال قبل از میلاد نوشته شده.

من با ترجمه غلامرضا شهبازی و از انتشارات بیدگل این نمایشنامه رو خوندم.

طفلی مده آ! از غصه و خشم کارش به جنون کشید...چرا چرا چرا مده آ آدم بده قصه ست؟ چرا هیشکی جیسون رو مقصر نمیدونه؟ جیسون ناسپاس ِ خیانتکارِ عهد شکن...میدونی کلا همه افسانه های یونان اینطوری ان: قهرمان ها میتونن هرکاری _بخونین هر غلطی_ که بخوان انجام بدن، چون قهرمانن...مثل همین جیسون...مثل هرکول...مثل ادیسه...بدون سرزنش...بدون تاوان...
یونانی ها هم مثل همه جای دنیا، نسبت به زنها بی انصاف بودن...
همچنان دلم برای مده آ میسوزه...
همین.

مده‌آ از اوریپید، درامی ست درباره قدرت ویرانگر احساسات انسانی و گسست غیرقابل اجتناب اخلاق و شور. این نمایشنامه چیزی فراتر از یه انتقام‌جویی شخصی رو روایت می‌کنه؛ مده‌آ، زنی که به‌خاطر عشقی پرشور همه‌چیزش رو از دست داده، در برابر خیانت جیسون، به تجسم خشم غیرقابل مهار بدل می‌شه.
اوریپید با تصویرگری روح متلاطم مده‌آ، تضادی تراژیک خلق می‌کنه که در اون عشق به نفرت، و مادرانگی به ابزاری برای انتقام تبدیل می‌شه. مده‌آ نه قربانیه، نه هیولا؛ اون نمادی از زنانیه که در حاشیه قدرت و جامعه، تنها ابزارشون انتقامیه که همه‌چیز رو قربانی ‌میکنه.
این اثر با به چالش کشیدن مفاهیم مرسوم اخلاق، عدالت، و نقش جنسیت، مرزی باریک میان انسانیت و هیولاوارگی ترسیم می‌کنه. اوریپید با مده‌آ، ما رو در برابر پرسشی اساسی قرار می‌ده: آیا در جهانی سرشار از بی‌عدالتی، انتقام توجیه‌پذیره؟ و آیا تخریب تمام‌عیار، می‌تونه شکلی از رستگاری باشه؟

“Let no one think me mean-spirited and weak, nor of a gentle temper, but of a contrary disposition to my foes relentless, and to my friends kind: for the lives of such sort are more glorious.”

I love Greek tragedies. They take a human experience and play it out to an extreme, which casts it in such an interesting light.

Medea has made many sacrifices for her marriage to Jason. She killed her brother and has been banished from her home. So when Jason takes the King’s daughter as another wife (only to better the family's situation he’s quick to assure her), Medea is unforgiving.

Okay, so we probably wouldn’t go to the extent she did, killing a bunch of people just to exact the ultimate revenge on Jason, but we’d feel it, wouldn’t we. Sure we would. We might even imagine the gory details, “… the white foam bursting from her mouth, and her mistress rolling her eyeballs from their sockets …” Euripides really runs with these gory details by the way, including flesh dropping from bones and all kinds of nasty stuff.

It seems stories of humans committing wretched deeds have always been, and will go on forever.

“O thou abomination!”