The Philosopher Kings (Thessaly, #2)

by Jo Walton

In my opinion that’s an irresponsible way for a god to behave. I intend to do better if I ever have the opportunity.

And you don’t have to stay dead, if you choose to be a god.” It was such a scary thought. “You’ll help us?” Phaedrus asked. “What, I have to run entry-level divinity classes now? Of course I will.”

they have made surprisingly little art about what it’s like to be an incarnate god, suddenly subject to the pains of humanity, and then being tortured to death, before returning to sort things out in divine form. It’s the heart of the story, and I’d been thinking the whole time I’d been incarnate myself that they could have done so much more with it. Michaelangelo, Rembrandt, Bach, yes, but who else had truly entered into the Mystery of it? For every Supper at Emmaeus there are thousands of Annunciations and Nativities, as if the interesting thing is that Jesus was born. Everyone is born. There’s a lot of focus on the Crucifixion, again mostly in the visual arts, but surprisingly little about how he experienced his life, before or after death.

What Kebes played was not an original composition, it was Gershwin’s “Summertime.” It’s not that he broke the rules of the competition, although he did. He was a plagiarist. He cheated on art, passing off someone else’s work as his own, believing no one would know. Naturally, I would have had to punish that even if he had done nothing else.

“We are not going to have a feud over this,” Father said, firmly. “If Klymene has wronged anyone it’s me, and I refuse to have this be the cause of trouble.” Again I thought this was like something from Aeschylus, except that it was also my family. There was an awkward silence.