The Book of Greek & Roman Folktales, Legends & Myths

William Hansen Princeton University Press 2017 Hb, xxiv + 584pp, illus, bib, ind, £24.95, ISBN 9780691170152

Hansen’s first favour to FT readers was his translation (1997) of Phlegon’s Book of

Wonders. More pertinent information came in Ancient Greek Popular Literature (1998), in which I played a small part. Since then, Hansen has produced Ariadne’s Thread (2002),

Classical Mythology (2005), and a host of concomitant articles, all catalogued with those of others by Adrienne Mayor (a warm Hansen fan, as were my

FT reviews of her books on Ancient Warfare and the Amazons) in her Bibliography in Folklore

111 (2000), 123–183 (online). This volume revives, expands, and consolidates Hansen’s works. After a prefatory settingout of his ideological stall, Hansen presents annotated extracts from a huge range of classical authors, enlivened by 28 nifty illustrations from Glynnis Fawkes (a seasoned illustrator of archæological excavations), buttressed by a detailed list of the sources, glossary of technical terms, 31-page bibliography, a selective but serviceable index, and (especially welcome) a list of international stories.

Divided into nine chapters, each with wide-ranging specific categories, almost every page has rich (as one reviewer puts it) “cultural canapés”. In Mayor’s words, “William Hansen’s marvellous treasury lets us experience for ourselves the timeless tales that made the ancient Greeks and Romans think, shudder, and laugh.” Despite his frequent animadversions against “the thrice-cursed Greeks”, I fancy its contents would have tickled Fort himself.

One suggestion. Hansen cannot find a Byzantine source for story that Hagia Sophia’s inaugural congregation was terrified lest the dome fall down. Nor can I, but seems possible it was inspired by the descriptive poem of contemporary Paulus Silentiarius which states even its architect Anthemius feared it might collapse – as it did in AD558.

The title misleadingly suggests this is yet another handbook of classical mythology. As Hansen insists, “the great majority of these stories are set not in the distant mythological past, but in the historical period, the so-called human era.” This leads me to sharp ideological disagreement. Hansen has no patience with speculating over truth or falsehood, insisting “most traditional stories, regardless of genre, are historically untrue”, going on to proclaim that “classical scholarship is unduly obsessed with this” and concluding “it is time to dispense with the oft-repeated article of faith that legends preserve a kernel of truth. Why should they?”

I say: Why shouldn’t they? It has surely been many times proved, from James Frazer to Claude Lévi-Strauss, that they do. And Hansen’s blanket condemnation involves dismissing the serious classical writers (Cicero, Tacitus, Herodotus, Thucydides etc) as credulous fools. This attitude now pervades classical scholarship. It’s become an article of faith that any ancient statement should be doubted unless there is absolute proof of veracity. I cry the opposite in a wilderness. I may be overstating the case, but there is a case to be overstated.

These reservations do not detract from my admiration for Hansen’s awe-inspiring erudition and industry. His book, an easy and endlessly rich way into human folklore (however you interpret that term), will be – in Horace’s words on his own poetry – “a monument more lasting than bronze.”