An Odyssey in the Second Year of the Plague – Krakatoa

 

Becalmed on David Abulafia's books about the sea and drifting away from Dante (see previous blogs), I was rescued by a chance encounter with Simon Winchester's Krakatoa, an excellent book that would actually justify some of the hyperbole sprinkled over the covers of The Great Sea and The Boundless Sea.

Winchester's subject matter helps of course... the most cataclysmic explosion known in modern times... the total self-destruction of an island of six cubic miles... a sound that could be heard 3,000 miles away... and deadly tsunamis with waves up to 135ft high...

But it is his journalistic approach to all that led up to the traumatic event of 1883, the very human details of what happened, and the life-changing aftermath that makes this such a fantastic read.

Above all, Krakatoa is an illustration of the immense intelligence of the planet, the fact that human existence hangs by a thread, and the reassurance that nature and its life forces will always be unstoppable.

An Odyssey in the Second Year of the Plague – Dante's Density

 

 

A German writer seems to have caused a bit of a furore by suggesting that not only do today's Italian students struggle to understand Dante Aligheri but that the 14th-century master poet was left way behind in the immortality stakes by William Shakespeare.

A major difference between the two writers is that Dante was wrapped up in his own times and obsessions, while Shakespeare wrote for all times and left himself out of it.

In my readings of Italian history – inspired by last year's travels on the Odyssean Coast – Dante's Divine Comedy seemed to get so many mentions that I thought I'd better have a go at it.

But, even in Robin Kirkpatrick's slangy translation for Penguin Classics, I have to confess that I've been finding it close to impenetrable – and that's with also reading the footnotes that take up about a quarter of this edition.

Of course, Shakespeare was writing quite a bit later than Dante – things move on. It would, for example, be futile to start comparing the guitar playing of Bert Weedon with that of Eric Clapton.

So let's be honest... Dante's achievement was probably pretty remarkable for its time. But today one wonders if it's really worth the hard work of trying to figure out what he's on about.

Shakespeare can also be hard work... but he's still worth it.