Structurally, Section III is the dramatic centre of the novel, yet it is also the ‘quietest’
most serene section of the narrative. Priam and Somax journey to the camp of
Achilles, a journey that might have been expected to present great challenges or
obstacles to be overcome in epic fashion. In keeping, however, with Priam’s original
vision the journey is described as an entirely ordinary affair, leading Priam to ponder
on the nature of ordinary reality. This section is notable also for the role that Somax
plays as a story-teller of the most ordinary, even mundane realties as with his
description of the making of the griddle cakes which becomes almost allegorical in its
evocation of humble work and the sustaining pleasures of honest labour. As Somax
tells the story of how the pikelets came to be made, Priam is transported into the
world of his subjects, a universe he appears to have very little acquaintance with.
The details of this story come to be seen as completely in keeping with Priam’s
vision of approaching Achilles, not as a king, but as a father. Somax’s story
expresses his own pride and pleasure in the work of his daughter-in-law who is
sketched in language akin to that of a still life portrait:
‘It’s a real pleasure to watch the batter bubbling and setting and turning a golden
brown, as you can see, around the edges. The lightness comes from the way the
cook flips them over. Very neat and quick you have to be. The daughter-in-law, she’s
a good girl, uses her fingers — it’s a trick you have to learn — and if she happens to
burn them she pops her fingers into her mouth ...’. (p.119)
Priam listens intently to this story as it transports him into another sphere, the sphere
of ordinary experience, a world fundamentally different to the one he usually inhabits.
The details of ordinary life come before him as so many reminders of what it is to be
human, water, fish, birds and insects: ‘They were not in the royal sphere. Being
unnecessary to royal observance or feeling, they were in the background, and his
attention was fixed always on what was central. Himself’. (p.122) The formality of his
royal identity is what Priam watches melt away, the ‘world of ceremony’, as he listens
first to Somax/Idaeus recount the details of common experience; then, more
dramatically when he hears of the death of Somax’s two sons, which constitutes an
important narrative counter weight to the story of Hector’s death and the mission
they are on to retrieve his body. The stories Somax tells of his own family have
nothing of the epic quality of the siege of Troy that afflicts the Royal House of Priam,
but the details he evokes of injured children conveys a simple colloquial power that
entrances Priam. Somax speaks in a colloquial voice that examines the nature of
filial and paternal bonds, the very heart of Priam’s quest. Somax explains that when
he left that morning his daughter was running a fever:
To tell the truth, sir, just at the moment she’s a worry to me. If I’ve been a bit absent
at times, and wrapped up in my own thoughts, it’s because I’ve been thinking of her,
poor soul, as you do, sir, when they are all that’s left of your own blood’. (p.130)
Somax/Idaeus expresses the very human qualities of filial devotion, pain,
compassion, selflessness and care which have consumed Priam, who, up until this
moment has struggled to find an opportunity to express them himself. This story of
the sick daughter gives way to more haunting memories of the death of sons, ghosts
of the past that continue to torment Somax and force their way into stories. The
chronicles Somax describes about the deaths of his sons, is contrasted with the epic
scale of the death of Hector. However, these are presented as equally affecting for
the narrator telling the story. Whether it is the death of a hero on the plains of battle
or in the mud attempting to free a cart the shared feeing is one of profound sadness
and regret, of inconsolable longing that is the abiding legacy of a father who has had
to bury his son. Somax speaks in a language that deeply affects his listener,
confirming the justice of his vision and the rightness of the mission he has embarked
upon. Yet Priam also comes to understand that the nature of Somax’s connection to
his sons is one of a ‘violent intimacy’ that he has never known:
‘Did he regret these human occasions, and the memory of them that might have
twined his sons more deeply into his affections and made his relationship with them
more warm and particular?’ (p.138)
For the remainder of their journey Priam and Somax are joined by a mysterious
guide who appears suddenly in the guise of a Greek soldier but is unmistakably a
god, Hermes, sent to guide them to the camp. They pass through a region that has
been transformed: ‘The landscape they were entering was one of utter devastation’.
(p.155) Just prior to entering the Greek camp Priam experiences a moment of almost
divine inspiration when he realises that the young god has been addressing him as
father:
‘Now with the play about to begin in which he was to represent ‘the father’ — and in
a way he had never until now attempted — he was moved by the invocation of the
sacred tie, and took it, from a god’s lips, as an endorsement and blessing’. (p.161)
This endorsement foreshadows the climactic encounter with Achilles and focuses
what has been the principal dramatic concern of Section III.
most serene section of the narrative. Priam and Somax journey to the camp of
Achilles, a journey that might have been expected to present great challenges or
obstacles to be overcome in epic fashion. In keeping, however, with Priam’s original
vision the journey is described as an entirely ordinary affair, leading Priam to ponder
on the nature of ordinary reality. This section is notable also for the role that Somax
plays as a story-teller of the most ordinary, even mundane realties as with his
description of the making of the griddle cakes which becomes almost allegorical in its
evocation of humble work and the sustaining pleasures of honest labour. As Somax
tells the story of how the pikelets came to be made, Priam is transported into the
world of his subjects, a universe he appears to have very little acquaintance with.
The details of this story come to be seen as completely in keeping with Priam’s
vision of approaching Achilles, not as a king, but as a father. Somax’s story
expresses his own pride and pleasure in the work of his daughter-in-law who is
sketched in language akin to that of a still life portrait:
‘It’s a real pleasure to watch the batter bubbling and setting and turning a golden
brown, as you can see, around the edges. The lightness comes from the way the
cook flips them over. Very neat and quick you have to be. The daughter-in-law, she’s
a good girl, uses her fingers — it’s a trick you have to learn — and if she happens to
burn them she pops her fingers into her mouth ...’. (p.119)
Priam listens intently to this story as it transports him into another sphere, the sphere
of ordinary experience, a world fundamentally different to the one he usually inhabits.
The details of ordinary life come before him as so many reminders of what it is to be
human, water, fish, birds and insects: ‘They were not in the royal sphere. Being
unnecessary to royal observance or feeling, they were in the background, and his
attention was fixed always on what was central. Himself’. (p.122) The formality of his
royal identity is what Priam watches melt away, the ‘world of ceremony’, as he listens
first to Somax/Idaeus recount the details of common experience; then, more
dramatically when he hears of the death of Somax’s two sons, which constitutes an
important narrative counter weight to the story of Hector’s death and the mission
they are on to retrieve his body. The stories Somax tells of his own family have
nothing of the epic quality of the siege of Troy that afflicts the Royal House of Priam,
but the details he evokes of injured children conveys a simple colloquial power that
entrances Priam. Somax speaks in a colloquial voice that examines the nature of
filial and paternal bonds, the very heart of Priam’s quest. Somax explains that when
he left that morning his daughter was running a fever:
To tell the truth, sir, just at the moment she’s a worry to me. If I’ve been a bit absent
at times, and wrapped up in my own thoughts, it’s because I’ve been thinking of her,
poor soul, as you do, sir, when they are all that’s left of your own blood’. (p.130)
Somax/Idaeus expresses the very human qualities of filial devotion, pain,
compassion, selflessness and care which have consumed Priam, who, up until this
moment has struggled to find an opportunity to express them himself. This story of
the sick daughter gives way to more haunting memories of the death of sons, ghosts
of the past that continue to torment Somax and force their way into stories. The
chronicles Somax describes about the deaths of his sons, is contrasted with the epic
scale of the death of Hector. However, these are presented as equally affecting for
the narrator telling the story. Whether it is the death of a hero on the plains of battle
or in the mud attempting to free a cart the shared feeing is one of profound sadness
and regret, of inconsolable longing that is the abiding legacy of a father who has had
to bury his son. Somax speaks in a language that deeply affects his listener,
confirming the justice of his vision and the rightness of the mission he has embarked
upon. Yet Priam also comes to understand that the nature of Somax’s connection to
his sons is one of a ‘violent intimacy’ that he has never known:
‘Did he regret these human occasions, and the memory of them that might have
twined his sons more deeply into his affections and made his relationship with them
more warm and particular?’ (p.138)
For the remainder of their journey Priam and Somax are joined by a mysterious
guide who appears suddenly in the guise of a Greek soldier but is unmistakably a
god, Hermes, sent to guide them to the camp. They pass through a region that has
been transformed: ‘The landscape they were entering was one of utter devastation’.
(p.155) Just prior to entering the Greek camp Priam experiences a moment of almost
divine inspiration when he realises that the young god has been addressing him as
father:
‘Now with the play about to begin in which he was to represent ‘the father’ — and in
a way he had never until now attempted — he was moved by the invocation of the
sacred tie, and took it, from a god’s lips, as an endorsement and blessing’. (p.161)
This endorsement foreshadows the climactic encounter with Achilles and focuses
what has been the principal dramatic concern of Section III.
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