Mythical Sex, Death, Redemption and More

June 1st, 2009

Why the gloomy posts on the death of Eurydice and Orpheus’ doomed quest to bring her back from the underworld?

Well, it’s a myth that has always fascinated me for its exploration of human frailty, our inevitable poor judgement at times. And like most of the Classic myths it has inspired a plethora of creative work. Tennessee Williams and Orpheus Descending, Jean Cocteau and his trilogy of Orphic films, Seamus Heaney and his poem Midnight Verdict, Sarah Ruhl and her play Eurydice, the operas La Boheme, Orpheus and Eurydice, Baz Lurhman and his film Moulin Rouge.

Yes, but don’t you write romantic comedy, my reader asks. The fate of Eurydice and Orpheus is not funny, it has to be said, but myths often provide the template or structure for a story and writers are always poking around looking for motifs or metaphors. And so I have settled on this old favourite of mine, but with the twist being my male protagonist takes the role of Eurydice, and my female has the Orphic quest ahead of her.

As with all myths we can assign our own meaning and our own personal mythology. I was moved when reading last week of one of my favourite Australian sculptors, Ken Unsworth, and his installation, ‘A Ringing Glass (Rilke)’ on Cockatoo Island in Sydney Harbour, which he has turned into a tribute to his dead wife. Unsworths installation, ‘The Forest of Wistful Thoughts,’ has stayed with me for twenty years, and I am eager to take the boat to Cockatoo Island as soon as I can.

His wife Elizabeth was a musician and Unsworth’s muse for fifty-three years. As Unsworth has personalised the myth with homage to his creative and intimate relationship with his lost Elizabeth, I am using the themes of loss, descent into the underworld and redemption as the basis for a romantic and humorous story. Perverse, maybe, but without perversity there is often no challenge and without a challenge there is no writing.

Even though the myth ends in the deaths of both Orpheus and Eurydice, as I pick over the myth for my own purposes, I know the deaths can be whatever I want them to be - symbolic or metaphorical. Because the myth also explores, according to Baz Lurhman, ‘Idealism and adulthood, and the recognition that life throws up things beyond our control: the death of loved ones, relationships that don’t last…according to the Orphean myth, this will either destroy you or you will go into the underworld, face it and return having grown from the experience.’

Orpheus showed his human frailty through his momentary lack of faith. This loss of discipline and his second guessing caused him to turn back, thus losing Eurydice forever. This loss of faith is a large stone that many couples stumble and fall over. When you lose trust and belief in the other, if only for a moment, then usually your judgement fails as a consequence. We act in ways we regret, seek solace elsewhere or do something that inevitably in hindsight we wish we had never done. Redemption and renewal rarely come and a lifetime of regret awaits us. Orpheus sought solace in his music but eventually died, torn apart by furious Maenads, as many of us end old and alone with our memories to tear us apart instead.

This test of faith in one another is the obstacle without which a good romantic story dwindles into a tedious recitation of who, how and where, ending up in front of the telly with a cup of tea and a digestive biscuit. Where would Romeo and Juliet be without that wretched balcony? Scarlett and Rhett without their pride and stubborness, Mr Bingley and Jane with their chronic niceness. And will my lovers redeem themselves and mend their love? I don’t know, because I’m only halfway through writing the manuscript.

Here’s an extract….

A small ancient Roman relief of a woman struck Lily as being similar to the woman on Steven’s frieze. She stared at it, unmoving, until William wandered over to her, and putting his hand on her waist said, ‘That’s Orpheus and Eurydice.’
‘It’s like Steven’s frieze.’
He could see where her mind was traveling and kissed her neck. ‘Yes, Hermes is taking Eurydice back to the underworld, back to the darkness. And he takes the woman on Stevens frieze to the boatman who will row her to-‘
‘I know the rest,’ she said, giving a shiver.
‘Do you know the story of Orpheus?’
She shook her head.
‘On his wedding day to Eurydice she was bitten by a snake and died. Orpheus descended to the underworld to beg Hades to return her. He played and sang so sweetly Hades agreed, on one condition that as he led Eurydice from the shadows he was not to look back at her. But he couldn’t resist and she returned to the ghost world.’
Lily blinked. ‘All these myths are sad,’ she said, wiping a tear away.
He laughed. ‘You are a soft touch, crying at an old sculpture. Or maybe you’re hungry.’ He looked around for the exit. ‘Lets have some lunch.’
They left the Academy and as they emerged into the daylight and the bustle of Piccadilly Circus, Lily said, ‘Well, it is a sad story.’
‘It gets worse,’ he said, taking her arm as they crossed the busy road. ‘There’s an Italian place over here you’ll like. It’s a bit late but I’m sure we can get something.’
‘How does it get worse?’
‘Poor old Orpheus, lost his true love twice, and the second time it was his stuff up that did it. Now that would be hard to live with.’
They entered the restaurant and were seated within a minute. Lily left the food to William and wiped away the tears that wouldn’t stop.
‘Why are you crying, Lilushka?’ he said, taking her hand.
‘But what about Eurydice? It must have been hard for her too? Life as a ghost on her own.’
He sighed. ‘Well Orpheus gets torn to pieces by Maenads.’
‘What’s a Maenad?’
‘They were the female worshipers of Dionysus, insane women who couldn’t be reasoned with. They tore him apart in a frenzied orgy of sex and violence.’ He held her hand and played with the pearl ring on her finger. ‘You remind me of a Maenad when you’re hungry, about to tear me to pieces.’
She snatched her hand away. ‘I am not a Maenad.’
A bottle of water and some fresh rolls were brought to the table. Lily glared at William over the white linen table.
‘No, you’re not a Maenad. Have some bread.’
She picked up the roll and bit into it, chewing and staring at the tablecloth. ‘Dionysus was the’-‘
‘Can we move on to another topic?’ he said.
‘Wasn’t he the Greek version of Bacchus, the plump one with the grape vines?’
‘Bacchus is the Roman copy of Dionysus. Dionysus is much wilder, more deadly, abandoned and ecstatic. ‘
The waiter served two bowls of spinach risotto.
Lily asked, ‘What shall we do after this?’
Taking a deep breath he replied, ‘I think a good lie down is in order, don’t you?’
She laughed and sipped her water, ‘A Dionysian romp?’
He watched her for a moment as she ate. His chest filling with an ache for her, as if she had already gone back to Sydney.”

Related posts

• From The Editing Crypt (2)
• Reading the paintings (0)
• Luxury Lingerie at The World of Suzy Wong (1)
• I don’t think it’s funny! (6)
• From Rome to Lucca (0)

Categories: culture, on writing | Tags: Greek mythology, Lily, Orpheus, William, writing