Satyricon / Apocolocyntosis

by Petronius, Seneca, Michael Heseltine (Translator)

Petronius (C. or T. Petronius Arbiter), who is reasonably identified with the author of this famous satyric and satiric novel, was a man of pleasure and of good literary taste who flourished in the times of Claudius (41–54 CE) and Nero (54–68). As Tacitus describes him, he used to sleep by day, and attend to official duties or to his amusements by night. At one time he was governor of the province of Bithynia in Asia Minor and was also a consul, showing himself a man of vigour when this was required. Later he lapsed into indulgence (or assumed the mask of vice) and became a close friend of Nero. Accused by jealous Tigellinus of disloyalty and condemned, with self-opened veins he conversed lightly with friends, dined, drowsed, sent to Nero a survey of Nero's sexual deeds, and so died, 66 CE.

The surviving parts of Petronius's romance Satyricon mix philosophy and real life, prose and verse, in a tale of the disreputable adventures of Encolpius and two companions, Ascyltus and Giton. In the course of their wanderings they attend a showy and wildly extravagant dinner given by a rich freedman, Trimalchio, whose guests talk about themselves and life in general. Other incidents are a shipwreck and somewhat lurid proceedings in South Italy. The work is written partly in pure Latin, but sometimes purposely in a more vulgar style. It parodies and otherwise attacks bad taste in literature, pedantry and hollow society.

Apocolocyntosis, "Pumpkinification" (instead of deification), is probably by Seneca the wealthy philosopher and courtier (ca. 4 BCE–65 CE). It is a medley of prose and verse and a political satire on the Emperor Claudius written soon after he died in 54 CE and was deified.

Genres: Classics, Fiction, Poetry, Literature, Ancient History, Roman, Ancient

544 pages, Hardcover

First published January 1, 66

About the author

People credit Roman courtier Gaius Petronius, known as Petronius Arbiter, with writing the Satyricon .

People generally think that he during the reign of Nero Claudius Caesar, which began in 54, authored this satirical novel.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Petronius

Alternative spellings for Petronius:

Brazilian Portuguese: Petrônio
French: Pétrone
Spanish: Petronio
Greek: Πετρώνιος

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Petronius

Reviews

[MJ Nicholls · Rating 4 out of 5]

The Satyricon is a fragment of what could have been the first Rabelaisian romp pre-Rabelais (although the critics say Menippean satire), but in its extant form consists of a terrific dinner party satire that presaged all those fabulous 1990s UK comedy dramas starring Fay Ripley, a gay lover-swap scene that presaged all the fabulous work in Will & Grace, and some adventures in whoring and sailing that presaged the picaresque. The Apocolocyntosis is Seneca’s squib against Caesar and is drowned under seven pages of necessary footnotes (the work is nine pages long) so makes for no fun to read. The academic introducing this old Penguin Classics twofer edition was pedantic and could have done with a quick trip to the House of Holes.

[Alan · Rating 5 out of 5]

At a bookstore in Naples, Italy, in 2000, I bought this, in the Galleria Umberto I, after our first four weeks at Cuma, in Villa Vergilliana next to an ancient, shallow amphitheater, and not far from where we walked through the Sybillene Caves. Petronius savored the high life so much he was known as the judge of elegance.
Both works in this volume have probable, not certain authors: the second has a title perhaps worse in English than in Latin (really, Greek), "Apocolocyntosis," or "The Pumkinification" (rather than deification) of Emperor Claudius, probably by Seneca. Both works are satiric and parodic, and both mix prose and verse.

Petronius's first verse is parodic, moving from loose iambics ("scazons") to hexameters, but he advises for high achievers to improve their character, not get addicted to drink, nor to the theater (Plautus and Terence?):
"nec perditis addictus abruat vino
mentis calorem, neve plausor in scaenam
sedeat redemptus histrionis ad rictus" (p.8)
His next lines of advice I have followed, without knowing them in my youth, "det primos versibus annos," Let him give his first years to verse, whether on a Spartan farm, or in the military, or at the home of the Sirens (off of Napoli and Cuma).

In fact, Tacitus describes Petronius sleeping all day, then attending, and improving, feasts and sexual parties at night. The story's main character Encolpius has forgotten where he lives, until he's led to a "fornicem," a whore-house, where he sees out the door his "little brother" Giton, a boy lover; his other friend Ascyltus is led by a respectable-looking guy to the same place, where he "coepit rogare stuprum," asked Ascyltus to rape him.
In 65 AD, Petronius was arrested for treason at Cuma, where he slowly took his own life, conversing with his friends in light verse, and even dining, before dying. Beyond the wealth of his work, Asteroid 3244 Petronius is named for him.

The Deification of Roman Emperors created temples, like wall-builder Hadrian's in Rome (and there are remains of other emperor-temples). In "Apocolocyntosis Divi Cludii," Seneca (probable author) mocks this deification, specifically of Claudius, who died "ante diem III idus Octobris," the 3rd day before the Ides of October, 54 A.D. That day the Senate of Rome* proclaimed Claudius a god, Divus Claudius. Seneca writes Claudius can be seen making his way to heaven "non passibus aequis," on unequal strides, since the Empreor was lame in his right foot.
Seneca waxes poetical about the season, "Iam Phoebus breviore via...victrix augebat Cynthia regnum," Now the Sun its shorter course drew...and the victorious Moon increased her reign. Grim winter drives winter out, and Bacchus ages, "carpebat raras serus vindemitur uvas," (only 5 feet of the dactyllic hexameter), Now the late picker snatches the grapes. From such dignified verse, the writer descends to bathos in prose, "Guess I'd make myself better understood if I just said, "It was October 13, 54." ("Puto magis intellegi, si dixero: mensis erat October, dies III idus Octobris" which was his very first sentence.)(Apoc.I, p.438)

Harsh satire, direct inversion, on god of wit Mercury's, admiring Claudius' "ingenio." But since Mercury also guided toward Hades, maybe he simply planned to accompany him. Then satire on Claudian programs, like expanding Roman citizenship to a whole large tribe in Gallia--the reason one of the Fates, Clotho, wants to put off his death a few hours until everybody can wear the toga, as a citizen: "Graecos, Gallos, Hispanos, Britannos." She also swears to dismiss accompanied the man who so lately was followed by thousands. Then the writer turns to verse, heavy spondaic dactyls, "Haec ait et turpi convolvens stamina fuso/ abrupit..." So she said, winding the thread around the spindle, snaps it off (442).

Claudius's death brings on Nero, handsome musician and singer. Phoebus Apollo even says "ille, mihi similis vultu similisque decore/ nec cantu nec voce minor" He's like me in face, my fellow in voice and song. (444) Claudius is ushered out with a line of Greek verse parodying Euripides about the joy of leaving Earth's miseries, here the dead leaving to cries of joy. Also, one final, common indignity, at Claudius's end (in two senses) he cries out, "Vae me, puto concacavi me," Oh my, I think I've left caca.
In the next part, Seneca says he won't bother telling about what followed the demise, because everybody recalls his own joy. But he will inform what happened in "caelo," Jove was told of a new arrival, strongly built, but "bene canum," pretty grey, who wagged his head a lot, and "pedem dextram trahere," dragged his right foot. Again, the old attitude toward handicap, as if witness to character flaw, not genetic imprint.

Claudius was delighted to find literary people there, since he had written histories of the Etruscans and Carthaginians, 20 books and 8 books respectively, in Greek. The writer instersperses Greek verses from Homer, and "simple Hercules" would have been fooled, but for the goddess of Fever/ Malaria nearby. She says, "His tale is all lies, he was born at Lugduni/Lyon." (450) Rome had several shrines to Fever, and the Latin student Riccioli in 17C Italy who named the lunar features called a circular "macula/sea" the Mare Crisium/ Sea of Fevers. (See the appendum to my "Worlds of Giordano Bruno")

Claudius had a bad accent, perhaps from being raised in Gallia, "Quid diceret, nemo intellegebat," but he ordered goddess Fever to be taken away, and gave his usual thumb-back command to decapitate the goddess. Hercules asks him where he was born, but cannot understand his answer; Hercules says Claudius has arrived "huc, ubi mures ferum rodent," here, where mice gnaw iron (proverb, "Nowhereland"). Claudius liked presiding over judicial cases, recalls all the effort he put in before Hercules' temple, whole days in July and August. How excruciating for the Emperor to have to listen to lawyers, "cum causidicos audirem diem et noctem," day and night.(454). Claudius had also married Agrippina, his brother's daughter, his niece.
When they get to Jove's temple, they hear Janus, who sees the future and the past,speaking of the majesty of the gods, how they shouldn't give the honor to just anybody. In fact, anyone falsely declared a god should be turned over to gladiators, to train in flogging him with a rod.
Augustus says since he was made a god, he hasn't uttered a single word. Then he asks why Claudius put so many to death without hearing the accused's side of the story, "antiquam audires, damnasti" (464). Messalina duped Claudius into executing many, including two of the writer's own mistresses named Julia. Also, Claudius executed his father in law Appius Silanus, his two sons-in-law, Pompeius Magnus, his daughter's mother-in-law, and finally Messalina herself, and many others too numerous to mention, " ceteros quorum numeros iniri non potuit." (468)
One man he killed, Crassus, "vero tam fatuum, ut etiam posset" was truly so foolish tht he could have been an emperor. (466) Or a US President, like the witless one in 2020.
For all his killings, Claudius is immediately banished from the heavens, and Mercury took him to the lower regions, as Catullus says, "unde negant redire quemquem" (3.12), or as Shakespeare translates it, "from whose bourne no traveller returns" (Hamlet). When the emperor sees his own funeral procession, he knows he's dead; he hears them singing in anapaests (but beyond my scansion--mostly spondees I say). The song records Claudius's conquests, the Parthians in Iran, the Britons:

Ille Britannos ultra noti
litora ponti
et caeruleos scuta Briganteas
dare Romuleis colla catenis...
Vosque poetae lugete novi. (472)
He those Britons beyond the shores
of the sea we know, he chained their necks
like slaves, as with blue-shielded Brigants

By the way, Vulcan/Haephestus had, like Claudius, a famous limp he got when his father Jove/Zeus threw him out of heaven holding his foot, falling by sunset on the Lemnos isle. Milton puts it,
"Men called him Mulciber, and how he fell
From heaven, they fabled, thrown by angry Jove
Sheer o'er the crystal battlements: from morn
To noon he fell, from noon to dewy eve.
And with the setting Sun, dropped from the Zenith
Like a falling star..." Paradise Lost, Bk I.


* The Senate meetingplace still exists in the Forum, the Curia Julia which held the 100 active Senators (out of 600) when erected in 44 B.C. Its erection was interrupted when Julius Caesar was assasinated outside the Theatre of Pompeii (close to the Campo dei Fiori, with its statue to my Giordano Bruno) and the building completed under Augustus.

[Scriptor Ignotus · Rating 5 out of 5]

The most peculiar and oft-mentioned characteristic of the Satyricon can be none other than its unmistakably “modern” feel. As I read, I struggled to identify what it is exactly that gives this first-century satirical novel the uncanniness with which it has impressed so many: the sense that Petronius—and by extension, his characters—belongs more to our time than to his own. When one reads him, the ancient and the modern don’t recall one another so much as they fold together; a testament perhaps to the remarkable sense of place Petronius achieves in conjuring the seedy alleyways, the raucous taverns, and the revolting ostentation of Nero’s Italy, and in convincing us that his whole world is peopled by such base and disreputable rogues as Encolpius, Ascyltus, Eumolpus, Lichas, Quartilla, Tryphaena, and Trimalchio. To be sure, in addition to its timeless vulgarity, its first-person perspective—a relative rarity in ancient literature—and the facility of J.P. Sullivan’s translation, which makes use of contemporary English idioms, much of the novel’s uncanniness is attributable to the sheer virtuosity of its author. Despite the hedonistic reputation Petronius cultivated as “Arbiter of Elegance”—a member of Nero’s artistic inner circle between Petronius’s consulship in 62 and his compelled suicide in 66, apparently the result of a jealous courtier connecting him to a member of the Pisonian Conspiracy—he was clearly no mere dilettante churning out salacious pulp to maintain his relevance at court, but a serious literary craftsman of considerable genius.

The Satyricon is formally a Menippean satire, a genre which emerged in the third century BC and which incorporates prose and poetry to tell a humorous story with a more serious moral or intellectual perspective embedded within it. Petronius, however, owing both to his subtlety and to his Epicurean worldview, transcends the genre by making his objects of ridicule real and believable despite the absurdity of their outward circumstances; and he subverts the act of satire itself by making Encolpius—the narrator and thus our entrée into the story—as ridiculous as anyone he encounters. The conventional satirist tries to maintain a kind of moral high ground from which to mock polite society for its failure to live up to its own putative ideals, and by so doing assumes a self-importance and a proclivity to be scandalized which make him as vulnerable to ridicule as those he targets—call it the Bill Maher paradox. Petronius never succumbs to this callow moralism, but instead employs a universal sense of irony which makes absolute moral judgments impossible.

It is this above all, I think, which accounts for the modernity of the Satyricon; or, put another way, what we typically call modernity is to a large extent the triumph of the amorality and ubiquitous irony of Epicureanism, according to which any talk of good and evil, or right and wrong, beyond the empirical desire of the individual to be free from physical and mental discomfort, is simply hypocrisy. As Encolpius decides in one of the few moments in the surviving text in which Petronius’s own sentiments seem to show through, “There is nothing on earth more misleading than silly prejudice and nothing sillier than hypocritical moralizing.” In this Petronius shares a fascinating point of agreement with a contemporary who lived in Rome when the Satyricon was being written: Saint Paul. Despite their radical differences in ethics and cosmology, the aristocratic pagan sensualist and the itinerant Christian missionary shared a conviction that everyone in the world is condemned to a hypocritical condition which alienates us from ourselves, from one another, and from our very lives—an ironic disjuncture between what Paul would describe as the inner and outer man—and that the only solution to this predicament must be universal charity: for Paul, this begins with the benefaction of God, who alone is capable of nomos and judgment, while for Petronius it is accomplished simply by the refusal of each person to assume a holier-than-thou attitude.

The work survives only in fragments, and there is no firm scholarly consensus on their diegetic order. Reconstructing the overall plot of the Satyricon is therefore a matter of inference from the extant text. The basic premise is a spoof on the Odyssey: just as Odysseus is locked in a struggle with Poseidon and doomed to an arduous, meandering journey after blinding the cyclops Polyphemus, Encolpius has somehow incurred the wrath of Priapus, the ithyphallic fertility god, who has cursed him with sexual impotence. Making his own dubious odyssey from Massilia down the Italian peninsula with a number of companions who drift in and out of the story, living by theft, fraud, and beggary, and generally being a piece of shit, Encolpius seeks a resolution to his problem, gets into all sorts of lewd and comical trouble, and encounters a host of devious characters along the way. At some point he angers Priapus further by interrupting one of his rites, for which he is later raunchily punished by two priestesses. At another, he somehow escapes from the gladiatorial arena. Near the end of the extant text, he commits a further outrage by killing a goose which turns out to be sacred to the god, and undergoes a humiliating atonement ritual in which he is beaten and penetrated with a dildo. I suppose now would be a good time to make clear to prospective readers that this book is not for the squeamish.

The characters we get to know best in the surviving portions are Giton, Encolpius’s sixteen-year-old catamite, who drives much of the drama as an object of romantic jealousy; Ascyltus, a companion and partner in crime who bitterly falls out with Encolpius over Giton’s affections, and whose virility and anatomical endowments are often humorously juxtaposed with Encolpius’s diminished state; Eumolpus, an old, lecherous poet whose recitations provoke bystanders to throw stones at him, and who at one point draws up a will promising the numerous young legacy-hunters who have given him sexual favors in the hope of inheriting his wealth that they will receive their legacy on the condition that they eat his dead body in public; and Trimalchio, an obscenely vulgar member of Rome’s nouveau riche, whose disgusting display of tasteless extravagance in a great banquet at one of his many villas is the setting of the novel’s most celebrated segment.

Permit me to quote a long passage from the Cena Trimalchionis which perfectly encapsulates the Satyricon’s decadent juxtaposition of opulence and trashiness, its bizarre and fantastic humor, and its unremitting ironical tone. With the Roman hoi polloi gathered at the banquet for satiety and amusement, Trimalchio’s servants have just brought out a huge platter with dishes representing each of the signs of the Zodiac. In the center of the platter is a tuft of grass and a honeycomb, and Trimalchio’s explanation for this aesthetic choice—as for everything else—predictably elicits sycophantic applause before the culinary spectacle becomes even more grotesque.

‘Now as for what you see in the middle, the piece of grass and on the grass the honeycomb, I don’t do anything without a reason – it’s Mother Earth in the middle, round like an egg, with all good things inside her like a honeycomb.’

‘Oh, clever!’ we all cried, raising our hands to the ceiling and swearing that Hipparchus and Aratus couldn’t compete with him.

Then the servants came up and laid across the couches embroidered coverlets showing nets, hunters carrying broad spears, and all the paraphernalia of hunting. We were still wondering which way to look when a tremendous clamour arose outside the dining-room, and – surprise! – Spartan hounds began dashing everywhere, even round the table. Behind them came a great dish and on it lay a wild boar of the largest possible size, and, what is more, wearing a freedman’s cap on its head. From its tusks dangled two baskets woven from palm leaves, one full of fresh Syrian dates, the other of dried Theban dates. Little piglets made of cake were all round as though at its dugs, suggesting it was a brood sow now being served. These were actually gifts to take home. Surprisingly the man who took his place to cut up the boar was not our old friend Carver but a huge bearded fellow, wearing leggings and a damask hunting coat. He pulled out a hunting knife and made a great stab at the boar’s side and, as he struck, out flew a flock of thrushes. But there were fowlers all ready with their limed reeds, who caught them as soon as they began flying around the room.

Trimalchio gave orders for each guest to have his own bird, then added: ‘And have a look at the delicious acorns our pig in the wood has been eating.’

Young slaves promptly went to the baskets and gave the guests their share of the two kinds of date.

As this was going on, I kept quiet, turning over a lot of ideas as to why the boar had come in with a freedman’s cap on it. After working through all sorts of wild fancies, I ventured to put to my experienced neighbour the question I was racking my brains with. He of course replied:

‘Even the man waiting on you could explain this obvious point – it’s not puzzling at all, it’s quite simple. The boar here was pressed into service for the last course yesterday, but the guests let it go. So today it returns to the feast as a freedman.’

I damned my own stupidity and asked no more questions in case I looked like someone who had never dined in decent company.

And it just keeps going on like this, with compounding absurdities. Trimalchio wipes his hands on the hair of a slave. His servants bring out a plate of faux animals made solely from pork. He orders a servant to butcher and prepare another hog, and when it’s brought in without being gutted, Trimalchio angrily orders the servant to gut it then and there; and when he slashes open the stomach, out pours a mélange of cooked meats to rapturous applause—it was all rehearsed. It’s so over the top, so crass, so revolting, and yet everyone—Encolpius included—is genuinely taken in.

The dinner scene is also notable for featuring what is possibly the earliest known werewolf story in literature. Niceros tells the diners that he had amorous designs on a recently-widowed woman named Melissa. He decided to pay her a visit in the middle of the night, and had a soldier accompany him along the way. As a bright full moon emerged, he watched in horror as his companion stripped off his clothes, pissed in a circle around them, transformed into a wolf, and ran away. Discovering that the clothes had turned to stone, Niceros ran for his life to Melissa’s cottage, where the widow informed him that a wolf had just attacked her livestock before being driven off by a slave who stabbed it in the neck. Niceros returned home the following day to find the soldier lying in bed with a doctor attending to his neck. I had no idea that werewolf lore went back so far.

Not to be outdone, Trimalchio tells his own spooky and purportedly true story. A family was mourning the death of an infant when they heard witches howling outside. A burly Cappadocian man rushed outside and stabbed one of the witches, but returned to the house with bruises all over his body—apparently the result of a hex. The family then discovers that the infant’s body has been replaced with a straw baby.

“‘I put it to you, you can’t get away from it,’” says Trimalchio, “‘there are such things as women with special powers and midnight hags that can turn everything upside down. But that great tall fellow of ours never got his colour back after what happened. In fact, not many days later, he went crazy and died.’”

The response to this story highlights another distinctive feature of Petronius’s writing: his hilarious, understated, and drippingly ironic transitional passages: “Equally thrilled and convinced, we kissed the table and asked the midnight hags to stay home till we got back from dinner.”

Another intriguing embedded story comes from Eumolpus during a ship voyage: The Widow of Ephesus. A woman is inconsolable after her husband’s death, spending every day at his tomb and refusing to eat. Nearby, the governor of the province has crucified a group of thieves, and a soldier is ordered to guard their bodies to ensure that no one takes them down from their crosses. One evening, he sees a light shining from one of the tombs, and abandons his post to investigate. He finds the woman, consoles her, then seduces her, and they spend three nights in the vault together. During this time, the parents of one of the thieves take the body down and bury it. When the soldier discovers this, he resolves to end his life, asking the widow to allow him the same resting place as her husband. The widow dissuades him, telling him that “I’d rather hang the dead than the living.” They then replace the missing man by putting the husband on the empty cross.

After Encolpius falls out with Ascyltus and meets Eumolpus, the poet unwittingly embarrasses Encolpius by describing an encounter he had with Ascyltus (to this point unknown to him) after Encolpius left him at the bath.

‘After I’d been thrown out of the bath, I began going round every nook and cranny and calling out "Encolpius" in a loud voice. And somewhere else a naked young man, who had lost his clothes, was demanding someone called Giton with equally indignant shouts. And while the boys just ridiculed me for a lunatic with the most impudent imitations, a huge crowd surrounded him with applause and the most awestruck admiration. You see, he had such enormous sexual organs that you’d think the man was just an attachment to his penis. What a man for the job! I think he starts yesterday and finishes tomorrow. So he found help in no time. . . . A polished wick is much more profitable than a polished wit.’

One of the funniest moments comes when Encolpius is propositioned by a mysterious and beautiful patrician woman named Circe. Encolpius tries to make love to her, but of course his body still refuses to cooperate. Taking this as a personal insult, an enraged Circe has him beaten and driven away by her slaves. Smarting from pain and humiliation, Encolpius resolves to end the curse by castrating himself. The following passage describes in poetry and prose his attempt to carry out his intention.

Three times I took the murd’rous axe in hand,
Three times I wavered like a wilting stalk
And curtsied from the blade, poor instrument
In trembling hands – I could not what I would.
From terror colder than the wintry frost,
It took asylum far within my crotch,
A thousand wrinkles deep.
How could I lift its head to punishment?
Cozened by its whoreson mortal fright
I fled for aid to words that deeper bite.

And so leaning on my elbow I made quite a speech, abusing it for its disobedience. ‘What have you got to say?’ I said. ‘You insult to mankind, you blot on the face of heaven – it’s improper to give you your real name when talking seriously. Did I deserve this from you – that you should drag me down to hell when I was in heaven? That you should betray me in the prime of life and reduce me to the impotence of the last stages of senility? Go on, give me a serious argument’ As I poured this out angrily:

Turning away, she kept her eyes down-cast,
Her visage no more moved by this address
Than supple willow or drooping poppyhead.

Once this vile abuse was finished, I too began to feel regret – for talking like this – and I blushed inwardly at forgetting my sense of shame and bandying words with a part of the body that more dignified people do not even think about.

Roll your eyes all you want, but a man scolding his own flaccid penis will still be funny in another two thousand years.


Lovis Corinth, Banquet of Trimalchio, pl. 1 (1919)

[Nathan "N.R." Gaddis]

Of all the lost classical works of antiquity whose loss we have to mourn, for me, Petronius’ The Satyricon ranks among the top five. I mean though, that we do have these few choice fragmentary morsels to relish. I’d also like to have that rumored Aristotelian treatise on comedy.

Included in this Penguin edition is also The Pumpkinification of the Divine Claudius which is a short little gem. Included here because both it and The Satyricon are from The Age of Nero. See what I did there?

[Gastjäle · Rating 4 out of 5]

2nd read:

Still so bleeding entertaining. It is such an ungodly shame that a mere fraction of this great Priapey survived the medieval storehouse tactics. (Of course, the fragmentary nature also adds to its charm; I like to liken it to a merciless drunken spree with the concomitant blackouts.)

What's more, it appears like the most whole fragments do not even represent the best this work has to offer. The feast of Trimalchio is entertaining and lavish in its details, but it can also get a bit wearisome, as it really has no direction to it. Naturally, the picture that is painted there is very vivid and also a valuable source for the historians, but if one's interest begins to flag, it's more difficult to (no offense to Encolpius) get it back up again. The character of Trimalchio is also so insufferably well documented that you can recognise his ilk immediately, and occasionally it's more painful than comic to witness his conceits.

This time round I found it more difficult to appreciate the poetic snippets. (It might be that my prejudices towards translated poetry have grown more inflamed over the years.) On a rare occasion they were rather humorous, like when Encolpius quoted Virgil to refer to the aspect of his languished member or when Eumolpius was, to the great chagrin of his audience, reciting horribly Beowulfian doggerel about warfare, but I also couldn't help thinking that the translator had taken quite a few liberties.

Fortunately, the poems do not add to nor really detract from the story, and thus The Satyricon remains a coruscant romp.

1st read:

(I'll not treat Seneca's Apocolocyntosis in this review, apart from stating that it was a rather tasteless and clumsy bit of vitriol. It would be a bloody shame to attribute such things to Petronius.)

The Satyricon prefigures so many works with its laid-back irreverence, meandering dialogues, gormless debauchery and delicious penchant for parody. For example, do you get any flashbacks of certain arse-wiping Goliaths from the 16th century? Or of a garrulous Englishman, for whom it took almost half of his memoirs for him to be born? Can you think of a certain French aristocrat and the virtuous adventures of his rape-ready heroine? Can you think of a certain modernist masterpiece that is also a loose, prurient parody of Odyssey?

The reading experience is akin to a drunken crawl, where the lacunae of the text transform into those of the mind. One moment you are being bottle-fed aphrodisiacs and butt-fucked by slobbering fools, and in the second moment you are anathematising your own tackle or trying to hang yourself over being shafted by a windbag poet. The entire work is simply bursting with raunchy hilarity and ridiculous, sordid scruples.

The work is also a wonderful showcase of different styles. The more colloquial moments are absolutely fascinating, for example when Trimalchio goes to siege and his guests can finally talk at ease (which, as a matter of fact, is in marked contrast to their host on the can). You will find all kinds of tidbits about the common life in the times of Nero, with surprisingly familiar cynical attitudes towards gods, the state and the fellow men. When it comes to the poetry, the finest character in the book, viz. Eumolpus, provides both the highs and the lows thereof. His small epics about Troy and the Civil War were chilling, while his eulogy over the loss of hair was chucklesomely horrid. Petronius can also wax pretty eloquent, especially when he's attacking self-important statesmen and orators.

The characters are also extremely fickle. The protagonist, Encolpius, is an absolute nitwit with treacherous, pederastic and sadistic tendencies. The love of his life, a debauched coward and would-be suicide, Giton, makes sure to betray his friends at least once every chapter. Ascyltos has enormous endowments and the temper of a burning wasp. Eumolpus cannot decide whether to give in to pederasty or to poesy, and Trimalchio is having a hard time choosing over blubbing over his testament and tossing glassware at his wife. Okay, perhaps that's a bit of a simplification, but that's just about the depth these characters have—their shallowness is dazzling.

The book is tragically unfinished, and it will inevitably end too soon, much like Encolpius' dalliance with Circe. One could say that The Satyricon is one of the great coitus interrupti of literature—at the very least a truly great book from the underworld of the Ancient Rome.

[Lydia · Rating 4 out of 5]

The Satyricon was fucking wild from beginning to end. What a ride. A+ stuff all round.

The Apocolocyntosis was less so. There are a lot of notes for it. Like just over 8 pages of notes for a work that's just over 12 pages. So that kind of... takes away from the overall reading experience. Was okay though. I'm sure it's technically better than "okay" but a "how much did Lydia enjoy the reading experience?" factor, it was just okay.

The Satyricon was great though I loved it oh my god. And Sullivan's translation was really easy and accessible to read. And he spared no details when it came to the (many) sexual encounters, it was quite a lot to deal with tbh. Still loved it though.

[Daniel Frontino Elash · Rating 5 out of 5]

It's hard not to be disappointed with novels, when the first one out the gate was such a triumph of seething faggotry. No one told you about this book because it is so awesome and will make you wish you were gay(er). If you live an entire life without having read this book, you have wasted it.

Read a current translation, this is the kind of stuff they used to censor really very hard. Though if you enjoy ridiculous paraphrasing, you may find some residual pleasures in that.

If it simply must be heterosexual enough for you, don't go away all butt-hurt, that's why Apuleius wrote "The Golden Ass" for you. Go, leaving this treasure of human patrimony for the rest of us.

Ah, Roman literature, where everyone wins!

[Annie · Rating 3 out of 5]

The Satyricon isn’t quite as fucked up or chaotic as the Golden Ass, but still highly entertaining for anyone who likes the classical world. Trimalchio is the ultimate obscenely wealthy ass, a sort of proto-Donald Trump but with the zaniness of Willy Wonka, who dries his hands on his servants’ hair, and serves whole sows to eat and when you cut into it birds fly out, and makes his dinner guests pretend he’s dead and stages the funeral.

[shakespeareandspice]

Dnf

[Jacques Coulardeau · Rating 5 out of 5]

DE LA DIVINE UTILITÉ DES ESCLAVES

Despite what the translator says in his notes that we are supposed to take many episodes and details with a grain of salt, we are in Rome and the Roman Empire under Emperor Nero, and I may consider that the grain of salt is maybe only a way to smoothen the horror of some descriptions or allusions. This is quite clearly a depiction of this time in Rome and some elements are just coming out as clearly as they are horrifying. When a country, an empire, what’s more, is falling that low in its daily life, the end is close, and yet the Roman Empire was not even near the beginning of its end and it was going to go on for at least two more centuries. For such an entity to continue when overwhelmed with such decay, they have to use pretty strong physical and mental terror to impose the status quo. The Roman Empire was based on war, conquest, terror, colonization, and the turning of any act of violence into a both entertaining and frightening show for the public, respectively entertaining for the elite and frightening for the simple audience.

But, and this is clear in this text, society is based on slavery. Slaves are everywhere and many of those we would consider as servants, and who are called from time-to-time servants, are in fact slaves. Slaves have no rights at all. You can be born a slave. You can become a slave to compensate for your debts. You can become a slave for any small mistake you may have done in your serving free people. You can of course become a slave when you are captured as a prisoner in some war. All industry, a great part of agriculture, many trades, and a vast section of work in urbanized areas are performed by slaves. Most people working on ships, hence sailors, are slaves. And for slaves, in this Roman Empire, there are only two punishments possible: whipping for menial or small mistakes and crucifixion for stealing or simply displeasing the master of this particular slave who has the power to decide such a punishment performed then by … and the question is to know by whom, though always under the surveillance of the army. Note by the way that most soldiers were slaves and in their case, that enslavement could be temporary, for ten years or more. Then they were freed back into life, or back into the position of gladiators. Julius Caesar’s secretary was a slave. Page 120, the story of the Lady of Ephesus is typical as for that: three thieves had been crucified next to the tomb of the Lady’s husband. One body was stolen while the soldier who was supposed to look after them at night was frolicking with the lady in her husband’s tomb. One of the punishments for the careless soldier could have been whipping or crucifixion. The rebellion of slaves under Hannibal ended up with thousands of crucifixions along the road leading to Rome.

And yet this brutality and cruelty of this society are often dressed up with some religious beliefs often founded on old historical events, like the destruction of Troy. So, you have gods and goddesses, temples for all these gods, including some altars in various homes, and of course priests and priestesses operating their divine power onto society in the name of these gods. Such divine characters are justifying violence and cruelty as the decisions and the doing of gods and goddesses. Then it is seen as normal, acceptable, civilized even since it shows a high level of conceptualization. This ever-pervading presence of some religious discourse or reference in this society that is described from the point of view of the free elite, is folkloric in a way, for us today, but at the time it must have been awe-inspiring if not fright-nurturing. It is nothing else but fascism of the worst possible type. We do not seem to understand those ever-present horror, violence, cruelty create in society, including among the free elite, a constant presence of fear, fright, and even panic in some extreme and yet common and banal situations.

The third element in this society is the existence of a whole system of sexual exploitation of some types of people who are not free really since they are free within their total submission to the “duties” of their professions. They are servants of a certain type and it is their activity that holds society at bay, a little bit, because of the appeal of their trade. They are sex slaves of some type or other, male and female prostitutes who work both with male and female customers. If you enter a brothel of some type, you are the customer, but you hardly have the right to choose. You are there to have some acts performed on you and for you to perform some acts on the “servants” who are there at your disposal. Thus, a male entering a brothel may be served by a male prostitute first in his backside and then by a female prostitute on his front side. In the same way, it is quite normal for a young man, or at times not so young, to have a child attached to him as his own pleasure boy (girls are available in brothels) following his master, sleeping with him, and doing all he was told to do. Such a sex-toy boy can be very young, and there is at least one allusion to boys and girls being used like that by adults as young as seven. The concept of pedophilia – it is a Greek word after all – existed but it was entirely normal and accepted in this society. This accepted pedophilia will be considered as normal up to the 19th century and it started – only started – being frowned upon and then criminalized at the beginning of the 20th century, though in the mines or textile factories in France, children started working at the age of twelve – at times earlier, even when education was compulsory and it was compulsory at best five years, hence up to eleven, and twelve was the beginning of adult working life – and it was the responsibility of the father to take his son on the day when he got his first paycheck to the local café and to introduce him to the easy ladies working there. You find such traditions still in the 1930s and I have met people who told me that their father did it for them in the 1950s, though generally at an older age like fourteen or fifteen.

The main boy used a sex-toy is Giton from beginning to end. Such a boy can be stolen or borrowed by some other man than his master for a short while or for a longer period. Children were not in any way protected sexually in this society. Even girls, mind you, apart maybe for elite families, and this is definitely not sure or general.

This society is described as entirely dominated by money and property, the possession of anything, and keep in mind you can possess slaves, workers, servants, sailors, farmworkers, etc. Is there an end to property or possession? None at all. You can possess gods, temples, priests, and priestesses. If you have money, we are told in the last section, you can commit the worst sacrilegious act against some god or temple, and the proper amount of gold coins will enable you to be purified, excused, and even covered up, whitened if you prefer. And all along, particularly in the section called “Dinner with Trimalchio” food and drink are shown as being always in excess. A Roman banquet was an orgy in many ways: a culinary orgy in all the cooking going along with such an event; an eating and drinking orgy with a couple of allusions to the visits to an outside site which probably is a vomitorium where you empty your stomach to be able to eat and drink more; a sensuous and sexual orgy in all possible ways and if you are taking part in this banquet, you are supposed to be defenseless as for all the other participants who can practically do what they want with you, and do not forget that in such a situation a gentleman, rather than a lady, always protests too much; and of course you can always have an orgy of music, poetry, dancing, always seen as a show or a performance to entertain the guests or participants with shocking performances either in words or actually in acts.

It is quite obvious that in those days they did not have the famous blue pill, and it meant that constant and excessive sexual activities, with boys, girls, men, and women, freely and without any limitation must have led a few to some breakdown pauses. One is depicted in length in the book and I must say the solutions are not particularly attractive, including some severe physical stimulation that does not seem to lead to much. This sexual dimension among the elite is definitely disturbing for a society that is supposed to be a model for us in our elected institutions, and our legal systems or judicial functioning. We are not here dealing with the Marquis de Sade’s literature, and yet it is more or less stated that such extreme and excessive activities are normal. It is the type of sexual slavery that Anne Rice imagined in her Beauty’s novels, though Anne Rice has taken the religious costumes away (as a Catholic she couldn’t imagine such divine justification) and she tried to get the extreme cruelty leading to crucifixion or other chastisements of this type, meaning leading to death, out of her tale in the lethal dimension though she loved the concept of crucifixion.

But I must say this total soaking and even drowning in such slavery and orgiastic never-ending enjoyment based on and justified with religious considerations is properly sickening and only leaves the reader with one solution, fast reading. Happy are the Asperger fast readers. The insane and totally unethical titillation of this work can be fast-tracked to the end. But we definitely need to read this book to just be able to think that anything that is not done in liberty, any society that is not based on freedom, leads to all sorts of slavery that are definitely in our modern world sickening and disgusting. But keep in mind that in those older centuries, millennia maybe, it was absolutely banal and normal. As long as the Marquis de Sade only played around with maids and servants, that was absolutely fine, as long as he did not touch members of the aristocracy. His being an aristocrat himself, he had the right to take anyone who was not an aristocrat and do what he wanted with them, sexually of course, with or without their consent. The French Revolution did not change much as for that, though it started stating some protection for girls of the elite classes, aristocracy, and bourgeoisie.

Have a good dive into the foundations of modern western civilization.

Dr. Jacques COULARDEAU

[Lee Foust · Rating 4 out of 5]

Seems like the third of fourth time I've read through dear old Petronius's--Nero's arbiter of taste--recovered fragments. Not sure what it is exactly about it that keeps me coming back. The desire to taste the Roman world in my mind's eye as well as physically when I see the ruins--since I live in Italy I'm often reminded of the peninsula's Roman past by an architectural fragment or a national monument of some sort. Or my desire, perhaps, to be reminded of the earliest European use of prose, satire's key place in the development of the art of writing in prose, and what today we call the novel. Although very pre-rise-of-the-bourgeois (to which, in class, I attribute the rise of the long prose form in Europe) there's still some of that realism we expect from a novel--even if it's really only the staples of the technique of realism--comedy and low subjects like scrounging, theft, and prostitution--that we confuse with reality because they're far from the ideals of romantic love and upper class adventures of heroes and kings, which we commoners find fanciful and imaginative.

Anyway, The Satyricon fills these desires in me--to revisit the ancient world for a bit (this time through I brought the book with me while touring Palermo and Agrigento over my winter break) and to remember these forgotten origins of prose story telling and to see how that makes me feel about my own works in prose. This time it made me feel pretty good. Of course the text is frustratingly fragmentary--how I'd love to be able to read the whole thing, if Petronius lived long enough to write it! I feel a kindred spirit certainly in the arbiter's sense of humor and his desire to lampoon the social mores of the Neronian empire (a period so like our own, I should add fatuously)--although his literary criticism strikes me as stale, nostalgic, even reactionary. But that's also where satire is tricky. Could the translator be wrong in assuming Petronius's literary tastes to be the same as Eumolpus's? I mean, Eumolpus is a poet who gets pelted by rocks and/or beaten by crowds of listeners whenever he begins reciting his verse. Just sayin'.

PS There's also--and I'm not sure why I only noticed it this time through--a Poundian "Through Usura..." poem embedded in the text. Was the passage from The Satyricon Pound's inspiration for his canto on usury? I'm assuming so. Either that or the translator has echoed Pound's poem in rendering Petronius into English. I'm going to go look that up now.

Note to PS: I looked and nothing! A few cantos later Pound invokes Trimalchio's famous story of seeing the ancient Cumean Sybil--which Pound made famous by getting Eliot to use it as the epigram for The Wasteland. Are there any Pound scholars out there willing to inform me? I haven't a reader's guide to my Cantos. (Insert unhappy face here.)

PPS Seneca's little satire (added to this Penguin translation of The Satyricon) is also good for a little chuckle--although I kept seeing Derek Jacobi from the BBC's version of Graves's I, Claudius as the ridiculous old emperor. Hard not to adore lovable old Derek--so the mean jibes at Claudius seemed, therefore, cruel. Tho' I suppose putting people to death is every leader's most baneful responsibility--let's hope all leaders are welcomed into the afterlife by the spirits of those they killed. I'd like to think that power only exists on earth and that there's some greater universal comeuppance beyond the veil, old Dantist that I am, although that's the most wishful thinking of all--especially in this dark political day on the eve of the inauguration of the world's biggest buffoon to politics' most coveted office.

PPPS (The day after, nagging thoughts.) And what about the theme of death? Trimalchio stages--innocently, it seems, at the time, in the banquet scene--his own false funeral to see everyone love him posthumously which dovetails with the ending of the last fragment (as we have it) of the legacy hunters having to eat the corpse of their benefactor after death, and even in all of the metaphors that Encolpius uses for his lost Priapan power and his organ's returning from the dead (lead by Mercury himself) in the episode with the old crones. Hmnhmn--nothing funnier than death to a Stoic!

[Melissa · Rating 4 out of 5]

The Satyricon: 5/5

The Apocolocyntosis: 3/5

[Emmett · Rating 3 out of 5]

Even after finishing this, it is still puzzling to this casual reader why these two books were chosen to be collected in a single volume, when they were written by different authors, had different subject matter, and one is a novel and the other a play. The main thing they have in common, as the introduction seems to imply, is time of writing - they date to the period of Nero's reign and their themes seem to reflect the flavour, impressions and attitudes of the period. To this reader who knows nothing about Roman literature, the useful introduction provides background and history, situating these two works, their literary styles and themes among other authors and literary forms.

The Satyricon reflects (and indirectly critiques?) an age of decadent excess and egotism, sexual exploits and swindlers, where troubles and tricks are ripe for hilarity. This is a world of reversals familiar to comedy, populated by stereotypes such as the rich whose 'humility' is a vulgar medium for their self-importance, pretentious literary types, jealous lovers, and respectable characters behaving badly. How familiar they seem, in fiction and real life! The plot is episodic with crises of fortune and romance (which happen every time) raised to the heights of melodrama, but what is modern (a coincidence of recognisable style and form surely) is personally not as interesting as what isn't. In the brief moments of brutality or the cornucopia of sexual encounters, acts and positions, The Satyricon shows a willingness to go to extremes, depicting them without pause, fanfare or surprise, almost as if they are part-and-parcel of everyday storytelling, with a playfulness that makes this reader wonder whether this book was meant to shock its contemporary audience or would they have just found it very funny. Especially in its central theme of sex (with boyfriends and girlfriends, mistresses, cult priestesses, prostitutes, servants and students) and impotence, its unabashed bawdyness (recalling a similar flavour in Chaucer's tales) would make audiences of modern staples as Game of Thrones and Californication blush.

The Apocolocyntosis (literally, 'turning into a gourd') presents a caricature of the emperor Claudius, dramatising his ascent to heaven at his death, where he and the gods argue about his deification. Claudius is presented as a clod, an idiot obsessed with the law and scholarly pursuits, gambling and executing members of his family, a 'monster' who cannot walk right and in speech only makes noises not known to belong to any man (terrifying the mythological monsterslayer Hercules who encounters him for the first time). These faults and flaws, physical and in character, possibly rooted in his actions, rumours or stories of reputation have been repeated by other ancient historians. The introduction says this was written by Seneca in the context of his banishment to Corsica when Claudius was alive, and he had written supplicating pleas to return, so possibly this work represents a disavowal of those favourable sentiments and as a means of 'getting back' at Claudius. It also serves as propaganda to ingratiate himself with the new emperor Nero, who is so gilded in the text that it is positively sickening to read those passages. Caricatures are supposed to be mean but it can be difficult to read and want to read on, especially since this belongs to another world where it is acceptable to mock someone's disability. In terms of personal reception, it could be funnier and more enjoyable if it were not so cruel and purposefully so. There are more subtle instances worth appreciating, e.g. when Seneca shows a felicity for picking up on and deconstructing monarchic image-making. Claudius had opted to present himself as a member of Augustus' family and his reign as a continuity of the Augustan lineage to emphasise his legitimacy to the throne notwithstanding the strange circumstances of having arrived at that position, but in the final act of the play, the deified Augustus rejects this identification of Claudius with his legacy.

[Taro · Rating 4 out of 5]

An interesting and fun book, hard to imagine it is over 2000 years old. So lively, and you get to follow a regular, poor, Roman citizen in his daily life. Not a tale of emperors and heroes, all that usually survives this long, but regular people, the real lives of slaves, the humans that ran in Rome's underbelly. You can feel the grit and sweat caked on these peoples' brows as they run through their lives.
Unambiguously sexual, with clear MSM scenes, and the hedonism of Trimachio's banquet is legendary.
Classic philosophy ingrained in the pages, along with the perennial idea that "kids today don't know good music/art/rhetoric" < lovely that that opinion never changes along the centuries.
My favourite part, however, is the missing sections. Satyricon was hidden to the world until the Renaissance, and often in a purified edition, it is an incomplete narrative (Fellini's movie did a great filmification of this). My favourite scene is when the three men are about to take on three women, the next scene is lost, and then we jump-cut to the three men all tied up at the women's mercy (the sexual mores, they definitely have not aged well, but it is very interesting to see).


Anyway if you want a ribald, odd, but personal idea of life in Nero's Rome, this is probably the best you'll get.

What good are the laws where money is king,
the poor are always wrong
And even the Cynics who scoff at the times
will sell the truth for a song?
There's no justice in law - it is the bidding that counts
And it is up to the judge to fix the amounts.

[Aaron Meyer · Rating 2 out of 5]

Not sure what to think of the whole thing. No doubt about it it was a crazy adventure for the people involved. The whole society it depicts as overly debauched. I do believe that my favorite part of the book had to be at the end of it. The encounter with the priestess of priapus was hilarious. It does have some similarities to The Golden Ass by Apuleius though I definitely liked the Golden Ass far more.

[Owain · Rating 2 out of 5]

Mildly interesting if mainly for the historical insights, the literature was uninteresting, or perhaps made impenetrable by the early 1900s translation of the edition I read.

The best bit was that it was signed, "this copy was present at the Tank Battle of Cambrai 1917".

[Chris Nagel · Rating 4 out of 5]

The butler did it.

[Andrew Reece · Rating 5 out of 5]

Nero's 'Elegantiae Arbiter' Joins Lucius Annaeus Seneca For A Meinippean, Seriocomic 'Plat Du Jour'.

The Roman emperor Nero possessed very high standards & had discriminating taste when it came to the literature he preferred. He wanted only the best the empire had to offer him. He also ordered the death of his mother, Agrippina the Younger, & was an absolutely tyrannical despot possessed of an in my opinion rather unwholesome moral character. Nero was not the ideal Roman emperor, though his mother Agrippina the Younger did try her hardest to set him on the right path.

The reign of Nero spanned from the year 54-68 A.D. It is known today as the Neronian Era, & considered a colorful period in the fields of art & literature, particularly in satire & tragedy.

Gaius Petronius & Lucius Seneca were two of the most renowned specialists in their respective fields, & they were totally different men with very dissimilar backgrounds. They also couldn't stand each other, from what exists of valid extant historical data. They would probably scream bloody murder if they could see that there was a book published in modern times which combined their work into a single volume.

'The Satyricon' & 'The Apocolocyntosis of the Divine Claudius' are widely believed to have been authored by Petronius & Seneca, respectively, but we are not 100% sure of that. 'The Apolcolocyntosis' is definitely of the 'Neronian Era', & 'The Satyricon' has been narrowed to a specific timeframe of possible dates. The translation work for the Penguin Edition was done by J.P. Sullivan, whom also wrote the immensely helpful introductions which accompany both of these works. There is also very copious & thorough background information taking the form of additional notes throughout the texts. Neither of these works are complete, however 'The Satyricon' contains many more 'lacunae' (lacunae is Latin for missing portions of the original text) than does 'The Apolcolocyntosis' which is almost intact.

Gaius Petronius was an offensive, uncouth reprobate; a profligate with an appetite for extravagance & keen aesthetic taste. He had style to complement his wit, which was razor-sharp. He was also very quick on his feet linguistically, making him a dangerous man to cross within the lunatic court held by Lucius Domitius Ahenobarbus.

Seneca was an educated aristocrat with an established reputation bolstered by legitimate credentials. He was born in Hispania (modern Spain) with schooling in literature & philosophy, he served as Nero's advisor & tutor because Nero's mother Agrippina the Younger had a very high opinion of him, & he was very qualified for what he practiced. He had credentials, education & aristocratic background which added esteem & lent impetus to his rhetoric as well as any counsel he offered to those soliciting it. This in turn would increase their reputations. Nothing looks better for a nobleman or woman than when they heed the counsel of a shrewd political advisor & make a crucial decision predicated upon that advice. When you took a man like Seneca into your confidence, every decision was the right one. Seneca's prose was accompanied by strong didactic undertones, which probably contributed to his popularity eventually garnering the ire of two emperors, Gaius Caligula & his successor Claudius whom exiled & recalled him numerous times, (Caligula only exiled him) before his permanent reinstatement at the behest of Agrippina the Younger as the tutor of her son Nero & later as an advisor.

While Seneca was learned, renowned, & generally regarded as a credible authority in the subjects of rhetoric & literature, Gaius Petronius Arbiter had absolutely no qualifications or credentials of any sort, whatsoever. I would equate Petronius' specific areas of expertise to be in the fields of shooting his mouth off with flagrant abandon & being a reckless, vainglorious spendthrift with no regard for consequences or repercussions of any kind. Tacitus describes him in 'The Annals' as being "no ordinary profligate" but "an accomplished voluptuary". But Petronius, in spite of his numerous deficiencies of character from what survives of him in extant writings, was a very stylish guy. He was considered an authority, if not necessarily a 'legitimate' one, in the fields of taste & luxury, probably enraging his rivals to the point of insanity. The opinion of this smart-mouthed aristocrat was apparently held in such esteem that he was given the title of 'arbiter elegantiarum' by the emperor Nero, meaning 'arbiter of elegance'. I can only imagine the warm reception at court that Petronius 'enjoyed' when he became an officially recognized, legitimate pain-in-the-ass instead of merely an informal one. There are very few actual details on Petronius' life, but he must have been at the very least a minor aristocrat whose conduct & habits were so flagrantly offensive they actually became desirable attributes, at least for him.

'The Satyricon' reads with a relaxed degree of humor & sarcasm which I don't believe was intended to delve too deeply into its subject matter; it's written with a fair amount of seriocomic social commentary (seriocomic means combining serious & humorous into the same thing; in this instance it would be serious in intention but jocular in manner) also seasoned with humorous cultural references which probably would've gone over my head had I not read the expanded notes in the text provided by J.P. Sullivan. The notes help immensely with learning about the nature of the expressions or euphemisms that the characters in 'The Satyricon' use when they speak or narrate. Characters like 'Trimalchio' & 'Eumolpus' at times engage in behavior so ludicrous that you can't help but laugh out loud at their escapades. The fragmented nature of the text is unfortunate, Sullivan's often-informative & sometimes-humorous notes make the experience more enjoyable. There are numerous characters appearing in 'The Satyricon' so the translator has also included a glossary with a character list & descriptions for every character appearing in the text. Immensely helpful. Reading 'The Satyricon' is a pleasantly brisk experience, kind of like being at a party with a bunch of people, & instead of spending the entire time talking to the same three or four, you spend time moving around, chatting with different people for a short while before moving on & proceeding to the next.

'The Apocolocyntosis of the Divine Claudius' which is believed to have been written by Seneca, reads quite differently. For one, it's a lot shorter. It's also very scathing, from a critical perspective in regards to the "potency" of the sarcasm which permeates the literature. The bottom line is as follows : Nero was a very spiteful emperor, & he wished to portray Claudius as a politically-incompetent, inept administrator; in layman's terms, a buffoon of the highest caliber. Seneca had been exiled by Claudius, so he already hated him without Nero telling him to do so, so IF Seneca wrote this, which we aren't even sure of, he most assuredly did it in an effort to garner favor with Nero. The plotline of this farce centers around a comical accounting of Claudius' journey to the afterlife following his death where he is depicted as an utter incompetent of such magnitude, it practically defies description. He petitions heaven (or whatever the Romans equated with heaven) for entry & deification, only to have another, almost equally-ludicrous portrayal of a deified-Augustus give voice to an objection that reads like it was concocted by a 5-year old child throwing a temper tantrum. It's seriously freaking hilarious, this is really what satire should be like, in my opinion. It's clever, witty, & intelligent, the way it's written bespeaks of a sharp mind & a keen intellect that's very aware of which attributes to blow out of proportion for specific people within in the narrative. After being denied entry to the afterlife & refused deification, Claudius then proceeds to hell, where he is put on trial & subjected to further humiliation, before being placed under the supervision of his nephew, Caligula, & made to work as a law clerk, which is where 'The Apocolocyntosis' ends. Even the word, 'Apocolocyntosis' is a play on words intended to ridicule Claudius; 'apotheosis' is the Latin term for 'when a person is deified', 'apocolocyntosis' means something along the lines of 'when a person is turned into a pumpkin'.

'The Satyricon' & 'The Apocolocyntosis of the Divine Claudius' is a fantastic way to discover how brilliant our ancestors in the Roman empire really were with the comedy they created, especially as pertains to the arts of satire, ridicule, & witty social commentary that they infused with a simple love for their own culture. I am not an expert on Latin-to-English translation work, but given the fact that I enjoyed reading both of these short novels I think Sullivan was probably well-above average in his field. The introduction to 'The Satyricon' & its companion piece are both extremely interesting as well as being informative to the reader. I would most emphatically recommend you read it if you enjoy anything about Roman history, satire, the late Julio-Claudian Era, or maybe if you want to try something new. It's a very worthwhile expenditure of your time.

[Petruccio Hambasket IV · Rating 4 out of 5]

"The addictions, the low pleasures, the mental spark guttering out with the wine..."

Jesus Christ, where to start with this one. Due to the missing fragments embedded throughout the work reading the Satyricon often feels like you're lapsing in and out of a debauched cycle of Roman nightmares. The tale feels incredibly modern and often reminds me quite a bit of Apuleius' way of setting the stage, I reckon mostly because both are first person Latin novels (possibly frame narrative?).

The dinner scene with Trimalchio has to probably contain my favorite insult in the world,

" But you're still wet from your mother's milk and not up to your ABC yet"

as someone already suggested this type of writing feels incredibly Rabelaisian. It's not hard to imagine Panurge blurting something like this out. But if we are to compare what Petronius has done here with Rabelais' work (any book) we mustn't get too ahead of ourselves in terms of style. The Satyricon is not an encyclopedia of philosophical discourses and it surely doesn't fling shit on the Sorbonnes any chance it gets. The Satyricon rather presents a more up front type of humor, letting you see the action as if you yourself were a diner sitting beside Encolpius, occasionally whispering some funny witticism in his ear.

A fun read, real shame that it's missing gargantuan (sorry) chunks.

[Joe B. · Rating 4 out of 5]

The Satyricon was hilarious in parts. Unfortunately only fragments remain. This reads more like a novel than anything else from antiquity, in a picaresque mode like Don Quixote. It’s fair to warn that modern readers will have to overcome the easy Roman acceptance of pedophilia in order to enjoy the book without having to cringe on every other page. Probably impossible for most to understand without reading the introduction and all the copious footnotes.

The Apocolocyntosis is a very short satirical piece by Seneca on the “apotheosis” of the emperor Claudius and his refusal by the court of heaven and subsequent banning to hell. Also a fun, quick read.

[Risa]

if you love food and bawdy tales....

[Readius Maximus · Rating 2 out of 5]

I honestly don't understand the positive reviews of this book especially the Satyricon. It is not uplifting to one's soul or intellect and while it is somewhat entertaining it is intrinsically foul.

The Satyricon: I would not recommend this book to anyone unless they are interested in the foulest smell of decadence. The only positive aspect is learning that the US hasn't sunk to the bottom of the cesspool just yet. If you are a student of decadence then this book can be very valuable. You will know we have reached the Roman rock bottom when women have to compete with underage boys for men's affection but give us a year or ten and I am sure we will be there.

Many seem to be impressed with the humor and artistic style I do not see it and even if it were there surely one could find better style that was better for one's soul as well.

Encolpius is the main character who spends most of the story pursuing his under age boy lover Giton until the last arc where he distances himself to save his failing virility for the enchanting woman Circe who is turned on because she thinks he is a slave. Her handmaiden is attracted to Knights but falls for Encolpius somehow, but the text doesn't explain and only a fragment remains to inform us.

The first part of the story Encolpius fights with his former friend for Giton and then they somehow end up trapped by a woman who has a male prostitute have his way with them in a very gross manner. They the woman decides to marry Giton to her seven year old handmaid and they watch the young couple while kissing.

They then go to a dinner party that is exceptionally dry as the host is a new multimillionaire and he tries to sound all sophisticated but he gets everything wrong and is completely ignorant of his cultures past much like our elites. Two of the wives get drunk and start kissing.

Then they flee on a ship only to find themselves in the boat with this same woman but the get shipwrecked.

Once on land they devise a plan where Encolpius and Giton pretend to be this older man's slaves so the legacy hunters will shower them with gifts. This is where Circe tries to have sex with him but he loses his virility.

The theme seems to be like the Odyssey but Encolpius is haunted by the god of sex. Just about everyone wants to have sex with the couple and are chassed constantly. Homosexuality and pedophilia are a constant theme.

Seneca's Apocolocyntosis: Is basically just Seneca making fun of Claudius after his death as he creates a story about Hercules trying to petition the god's to make Claudius a god only to have Augustus turn everyone against him. Full of jokes at the lame and newly deceased emperors expense.

[emilia · Rating 3 out of 5]

A few select parts of this were really absurd and good in that sense, but most of it was a bit of a slog, and the commentaries and introductions and paratext were sort of informative but only on a very mundane, unstimulating level. For the Seneca part I really just did not have enough knowledge of the political/historical context to appreciate or get much out of the satire.

The reason I read this was for 'The Satyricon' which is alluded to in 'The Great Gatsby' as Gatsby is likened to Trimalchio, and Fitzgerald considered naming the novel 'Trimalchio in West Egg'. I think I could have done with just reading the part called 'Dinner with Trimalchio' (the only relevant part of me), which can't have been more than 50 pages long, but I for some reason decided I might as well read the full physical text... Anyways it was very obscene and creatively ridiculous and I definitely would recommend that (I think you can get it in a mini Penguin edition for £1). Other than 'Dinner with Trimalchio', the only part I can say I enjoyed was the last (remaining) part of 'The Satyricon'; which is called 'Croton', in which there is a parody of Circe, who has a wild affair with the narrator Encolpius, which I found interesting as I have been thinking a lot about Circe at the moment, and it was nice to feel like I knew some of the context if nothing else. I will say that all the gay affairs were very interesting to read (from what I know, in Ancient Rome homosexuality was accepted amongst privileged men) in this very different societal context, but again I just didn't know enough about said context to be able to make a proper judgement. As you can see, there really isn't much praise (for me personally) I can squeeze out of this - basically I only recommend the 'Dinner with Trimalchio' part.

[Mallory McGuire · Rating 4 out of 5]

The Satyricon is a picaresque comedy novel written during the time of Nero. It's goofy, smutty, horny and genuinely very funny. It's accessible and modern-feeling, and is one of the oldest novels in history, or perhaps even the oldest. It is easy to get into, and is not very deep in themes but is fun. There isn't really much more to it than that, it's just escapist and comedic pleasure reading, and proof that the Romans were capable of such a thing. The star off is due to Petronius's prose being somewhat dry at times. I've encountered multiple translations and this dryness does not vary from translation to translation, which shows that it is a flaw of the original text. That said, I enjoyed the story and characters, I felt immersed in the world of the Pax Romana, and I laughed numerous times. For that reason, this is one of my favorite books that I read in 2020.

[MH · Rating 2 out of 5]

Petronius's picaresque tale of the sexual adventures of Encolpius and his changing companions has only survived in fragments - there are five extant chapters from a work that was probably ten times as long. These disparate episodes involve a shipwreck, some brawling, a famous dinner party scene, and a jaw-dropping amount of sex, plainly described - in the first chapter alone men, women, and children get busy in a wide variety of combinations, some consensual and some not, all presented as saucy and comedic. The jolly episodes of rape and child sex made the Satyricon difficult for me to read for pleasure, although Sullivan's introduction and thorough notes are excellent and there is a half-fascinated shock value to reading vulgar comedy from the ancient world.

[Brad · Rating 1 out of 5]

Both Paul the Apostle and Petronius believe that the world is full of debauchery and sin. But Paul says that you can be in Christ and be a temple of the Holy Spirit--he reminds us that we can be born again. Petronius says don't judge, in Epicurean fashion--he glorifies the wicked ways of Rome in this satire. Rape. Brothels. And much more.

Repulsive. Disgusting. Sad. Decay.

I would not recommend this book unless you have a few hours blocked out afterwards for prayer and solitude for it will remind you of the human condition in such crude ways, you will feel the need to weep.

May God have mercy on us all.

I didn't read everything, but only portions for a research project.

B. Grizenko

Age 21+

[Miranda Alford · Rating 4 out of 5]

One of the saddest things that we only have fragments off. But I will say what we do have is very snazzy indeed. When one thinks of the Ancient Romans one thinks of somber occasions, gladiators and evil emperors but then you get this which could have been written last year. You get this kind of line "'Oh my! I think I've shit myself.' For all I know, he did. He certainly shat on everything else." which is just brilliant.

The dinner at Trimalchio's part is definitely the best part as it is hard to understand the story as the rest of the parts are slightly fragmentary. Moreover all the description of extreme excess is funny and like I said earlier very apt for today's world.

[Nihar Mukund · Rating 4 out of 5]

I only read it because my friend had ordered it for himself, but he left for home before it could be delivered, so I gained a copy. And thank god this was my plane(s) read because OMG, I was constantly giggling like a schoolboy who has discovered "age-restricted" texts (YA-levels of spice). I will be revisiting this text multiple times, probably when I'm no longer dealing with exhaustion or jet lag. The lack of a 5th star is owing not to Seneca's shorter text, but my lack of reading comprehension resulting from being up for more than 40 hours without proper rest.

Apparently this is a less subtle translation, so thank you J.P. Sullivan.

[Gabriel Morgan · Rating 5 out of 5]

Greatest book ever written? In what sort of a universe do the shepherds of Qum continually find more and more bits of all that Abrahamic filth and Essene nonsense to extenuate and qualify all the dreary shyte that was already canonical, while most of Satyricon continues to be missing? What demiurge is responsible for this!?

[literaryluci · Rating 2 out of 5]

I hated the Satyricon with everything in me, so disgusting. The Apocolocyntosis was a lot better and I found it super interesting when read as a warning to Emperor Nero. I would give that 5/5 but the Satyricon was just too awful— and maybe I’m looking at it with a modern mindset but I don’t think I want to look at it any other way.