Saturday, August 6, 2011

Adventures in the Iliad: The First Two Books

From August 4, 2011
Location: Anthem, Arizona
Condition: Determined (Okay, striving to be determined)

I have long since returned to my quiet life in Arizona, and yet the Iliad has not yet become as central of a focus as it needs to be in order to complete the task at hand. I will admit: I should have begun reading it earlier.

And yet, my goal is to finish. I'm very dedicated to goals, especially those that I know are valuable to my future. From what I've heard from current Torrey students, having completed the reading of the Iliad largely determines my quantity (and probably quality) of sleep during Torrientation.

Sleep is a strong motivator. When I think of putting Homer down in favor of another book (or perhaps a movie), I remind myself of the need to sleep well during my first week at Biola...who knows when I will sleep that much once classes start...

Certain things help sustain me through the ugly transition between carefree summer and legitimate learning. In all seriousness, prayer is the main aid. I know God has led me to Biola, and to Torrey as well, and I want to use my time in college wisely.
God also created cocoa beans, which are made into chocolate, and for which I am quite grateful. Becoming a member of the Torrey community before I even set foot on campus, through the Torrey Class of 2015 Facebook page, largely contributes to my determination as well- from these people have come encouragement and laughter, and most importantly a sense of unity. As difficult as it may be to fight procrastination's grasp, the Iliad represents the beginning of my life at Biola- a life that I greatly anticipate.

I must admit that, upon reading the Iliad, there are things one learns about oneself that are quite astonishing. For instance, I have begun to notice how often I calculate the number of pages I have yet to read- and, sadly, have observed the fact that doing so will not magically make the reading quicker. My notes have also taken a rather surprising turn- I see myself altering portions in my notebook when I find an answer to a question previously proposed, or an addition to one still waiting for resolution. And, at some points, I find I have buried myself so deeply in the Iliad that I read more efficiently, with less mental complaints and a deeper understanding of why Homer's works are classics.

The Iliad still pulls me down a long and winding road, dense with figurative language and immense detail, with lists and accounts that elapse multiple pages. The Iliad remains a challenge to my summer-steeped brain, but I believe there may yet be a light at the end of the tunnel.

Wednesday, August 3, 2011

Adventures in the Iliad: Introduction

From July 17th, 2011
Location: Daytona Beach, Florida
Condition: Semi-Panicked

It is summer. I am in a condo, approximately a five minute walk to the nearest ocean, with family and food and various means of entertainment.
I am reading.
It is not on account of the aforementioned entertainment that I am reading. I am reading because I have homework.
Homework. The word is taboo even though I am no longer in high school. Still unaccepted- I am not supposed to be doing homework. It is summer!
And yet, I have plunged headfirst- quite irresponsibly, actually- into Homer's Iliad, and am nearing the end of the forty-three page introduction as I write this. The journey begun with much trepidation, for I was not aware of what expectations I was approaching, or meeting, or failing to meet. We are required to keep a notebook, which sounds simple enough. Yet as I sat down to begin my notebook I remembered quite vividly being the girl whose notebook- or annotations, etc- was always wildly overdone, and met with disbelief. Why would that girl put so much time into her notebook? What possessed her to annotate so extensively? At times I believed I was one of three people in my class period who could claim to have read the material at all. So I sat at the table, in the condo by the beach, with a bright pink notebook in front of me that had suddenly become very intimidating. I stared at it, then at the Iliad, then at the ceiling, hoping that some sort of revelation would come to me regarding the protocol for such a thing. The question was not "how do I handle homework in the summer?" Nor was it a qualm about the Iliad, for I had loved reading Homer in high school. But perhaps that was just it: I could not look at any of this in any context except that of high school; and high school, by default, had become something I believed myself to be far beyond. Now, looking at the assignment before me, I realized that I saw it through the lens of my high school experience- so there the change must begin.
Alright, easy enough. I would resolve to see my assignment as it really was: college work. But that was not much of an improvement, because college work is ever more intimidating than high school work. What does a good reporter do to get the whole picture? Research. So I visited the Torrey Honors Institute (THI) website to review the guidelines for the notebook. Thinking I would not remember them later, I taped them to the inside of my notebook so I could refer back to them at any time during my note-taking process.
The time came to actually begin the book, and so I began. I flipped the first few pages, past copyrights and title pages and acknowledgements and contents, and came to a rather lengthy introduction. Forty-three pages, to be exact. I stopped cold. Introductions were tiresome enigmas that I learned to dislike at an early age. When I was younger, I developed my now rather acute thirst for reading, and so when I began a book, I read straight through the introduction and then got into the actual text. It didn't take but a few novels to reveal the hidden horror of introductions: they spoil the book. While eloquent, and intellectual, and very useful in hindsight, introductions give much information about the book that the author wished to keep a surprise until the reader came to the point of revelation. I learned, for instance, from reading the introduction to Sense and Sensibility (my favorite novel), that Willoughby is a dirty, selfish crook, and that Edward Ferrars never marries Lucy Steele. (By the way, to anyone who hasn't read S&S, I apologize). I was so heartbroken that these truths had been revealed before Austen intended them to, that my attitude turned strictly against introductions.
Thus I sat, staring at Richmond Lattimore's introduction to the Iliad with a mixture of displeasure and hesitation. Besides my past encounters with introductions, I recalled that they had never significantly aided me in high school (sorry Mr. Hickman!). So why should I read this introduction?
College work...oh yes, I was doing college work. I was attempting to read a foundational text, translated from Greek to English, for an Honors College in which I am blessed to be a member. Whether or not I liked it, I was going to read that introduction.