2. Book 6
2.2 Narrators & Narratees
narrative perspective in the middle of 6.11, from Thersander and Melite (6.11.1-2) to Sosthenes and Leucippe (6.11.3-4), shows how “the subdivisions are at times fairly arbitrary”.94 Night, nonetheless, is not yet over, as the focus switches from Leucippe and Sosthenes (τὰ μὲν δὴ κατὰ Λευκίππην εἶχεν οὕτως, 6.13.4) to Clinias and Satyrus on their way to visit Clitophon (Κλεινίας δὲ καὶ ὁ Σάτυρος… τῆς νυκτὸς εὐθὺς ἐπὶ τὸ οἴκημα σπουδῇ παρῆσαν, 6.14.1). The μέν… δέ construction that bridges these two sections allows for a clear link and “retrospective summary” to be established between the two narrative phases, while still remaining non- specific as to the exact timing of each event (cf. 6.2.6n., 6.5.5n.).95 Clinias and Satyrus also receive instruction from Clitophon to return at dawn (περὶ τὴν ἕω, 6.14.2), a reiteration of the same temporal marker given to Sosthenes (6.7.9). Thus, when day finally breaks (ἡμέρας δὲ γενομένης, 6.15.1), the separate narratives are primed to set off simultaneously once more (ὁ μὲν Σωσθένης ἐπὶ τὸν Θέρσανδρον… οἱ δὲ ἀμφὶ τὸν Σάτυρον ἐπ᾽ ἐμέ, 6.15.1). Here, finally, the rapid simultaneity is relinquished (for this Book at least) as the narrative leaves Clitophon incarcerated but in the company of his friends and instead follows Sosthenes and Thersander to eavesdrop on Leucippe and eventually confront her (6.16-20). Bk. 6 breaks off directly after Leucippe’s defence of her virginity (6.21-22), and no time passes between Bk. 6 and 7, which opens with Thersander’s emotional reaction to her impassioned speech (ταῦτα ἀκούσας ὁ Θέρσανδρος παντοδαπὸς ἦν, 7.1.1). The new day, which began at 6.15.1, continues into Bk. 7 with Thersander’s plan to deceive Clitophon and concludes with Clinias visiting Clitophon once more (ἐκείνην μὲν οὖν τὴν ἡμέραν…, 7.6.6). The following day begins with Clitophon being led to court and the ensuing courtroom drama (τῇ δ’ ὑστεραίᾳ ἀπηγόμην ἐπὶ τὸ δικαστήριον, 7.7.1).
novel opens with a description of the city of Sidon by an anonymous first-person internal narrator.97 After giving thanks at the temple of Astarte for surviving a storm at sea, this narrator observes a votive painting depicting the rape of Europa, which inspires an elaborate and erotically charged ekphrasis of the picture (1.1).98 Opining aloud at the great power of Eros, he draws the attention and commiserations of a nearby young man (our hero, Clitophon), whose adventures the narrator is keen to hear (1.2.1-2).99 They retire to a grove of plane trees (1.2.3) and the narrator introduces Clitophon’s tale (ὁ δὲ ἄρχεται λέγειν ὧδε, 1.3.1).100 At this point, Clitophon takes over as a first-person internal narrator. Beginning with customary introductions of provenance and name, he then launches into the story of his ill-omened betrothal to his half-sister Calligone (1.3.1-2). The anonymous primary narrator is not mentioned or alluded to again.101 Thus, technically speaking, Clitophon is the secondary narrator of his own tale, as it is embedded in the introductory frame narrative, while the unidentified primary narrator, as Clitophon’s ostensible audience, becomes the secondary narratee.102 Perry (1967: 109-112) argues that the tactic of deflecting narratorial authority is specific to the sophistic novelists, namely Longus and AT, and takes for granted that the initial
6; Morgan 2004 and 2007; Marinčič 2007; Whitmarsh 2003 and 2011a: 77-93; Novikov 2014; De Temmerman 2007a, 2009 and 2014: 152-205; Repath 2015.
97 For definitions of the narratological terms used here, see e.g. the ‘Glossary’ in de Jong et al. 2004: xv- xviii.
98 Scholars have noted the metaliterary connection between this ekphrasis and Clitophon’s embedded narrative, see Harlan 1965: 94-106; Bartsch 1989: 48-55; Selden 1994: 50-2; Martin 2002; Morales 2004:38- 48; Reeves 2007; De Temmerman 2009.
99 A character’s experience of a painting that leads to an encounter with a stranger “seems to be common in the ancient novel” (Schmeling 2011: 353). In Petronius’ Satyricon (83-4), it is the narrator Encolpius who views a painting and bemoans the effects of love, leading to his encounter with the stranger Eumolpus.
Longus (p.1.1-4) also introduces his novel with the description of a painting which inspires the narrator to recount the love story.
100 As scholars have often noted, this locus amoenus as a setting for amatory discussion invites comparison with Plato’s Phaedrus 228e-230e, see Trapp 1990: 155; Fusillo 1991: 168; Marinčič 2007: 172-4; Ní Mheallaigh 2007: 232-9; De Temmerman 2014: 157; McHugh 2020: 10-11. On Platonic elements in the preface, see Repath 2001: 136-152; Morales 2004: 50-6; Laplace 2007: 77-87; further on Phaedran elements in Bk. 6, see Intro. 2.4.4.
101 See Intro. 2.4.1 on the failure to return to the frame narrative at the end of the novel.
102 Morgan 2004: 493-4 and 2007: 107 n. 7. The primary narratee (the addressee of the primary narrator) is
“more or less invisible” in the short space of time devoted to the initial frame (Morgan 2004: 493).
narrator is identifiable with the author himself.103 On the one hand, this cannot strictly be supported as the primary narrator is never named;104 on the other hand, ancient readers were likely to associate the ‘I’ of the primary narrator with “the author’s own voice”.105
Framing the first-person narration as a reported account allows for an exploration (and exploitation) of narrative boundaries that might not otherwise have been possible. Thus, although initially faithful to the limits of homodiegetic narration, it becomes apparent that Clitophon’s narrative approach fluctuates on a sliding-scale between strict first-person verisimilitude and almost authorial omniscience.106 This variegated narrative strategy means that in times of dynamic parallel action, as in Bk. 6, a less restrictive point of view can be employed, allowing for a more immersive experience of the other characters’ motivations and escapades. For the most part, the narration tends to hover somewhere in the middle: Clitophon is the apparent ego-narrator but has access to information that defies the logic of a strict first- person narration.107 To this end Clitophon makes use of both paralipsis – suppression of knowledge, usually to create suspense – and paralepsis – inclusion of information to which he should not strictly have access at that point in the narrative.108 In Bk. 6, he relies mainly on the latter technique in order to portray several simultaneous narrative threads in which characters rotate in a “veritable amatory fugue” of chance encounters and emotionally charged clashes.109
103 Likewise, Hägg 1971: 124-5; Konstan 1994: 65; Plepelits 1996: 400. Cf. Most (1989: 133) who considers the initial narrator as “of course, a stand-in for the reader”. AT’s use of first-person internal narration is a unique measure amongst the Greek Romances (Hägg 1971: 125; Morgan 2004: 493; Whitmarsh 2011a: 91).
That is, “if we restrict the corpus to the canonical five”, as The Ass, Lucian’s True Histories, and Antonius Diogenes’ Marvels Beyond Thule also utilise first-person narration (Whitmarsh 2003: 191 n. 1).
104 Unlike, the narrators of Callirhoe (Charit. 1.1.1) or the Aethiopica (Heliod. 10.41.4) who ‘identify’
themselves as the author - naturally bearing in mind the established narratological principle that the “narrator cannot automatically be equated with the author, even when he bears the same name; rather, he is a creation of that author” (de Jong 2004: 1).
105 Whitmarsh 2011a: 78; see also Whitmarsh (2009c), where he argues (convincingly) for caution when applying modern narratological approaches to ancient works. Cf. Morgan (2007: 107) who describes the primary narrator as “not biographically identical to the author”.
106 Thus, Hägg 1971: 127-8, 318-322; Reardon 1994: 81-4; Morgan 2004: 499; Marinčič 2007: 176.
107 On this point, see especially, Hägg 1971: 126-136; Fusillo 1991: 166-181; Reardon 1994.
108 Thus, Morgan 2004: 496-7.
109 Quote from Reardon 1994: 88.
Sometimes these apparent excursions from strict ego-narration are accounted for later in the novel. In Bk. 6, for example, Sosthenes’ full confession when faced with torture explains Clitophon’s knowledge of the private exchange between Thersander and Sosthenes outside Leucippe’s hut (οὐ παρέλιπε δὲ οὐδὲ ὅσα ἰδίᾳ πρὸ τῶν τῆς Λευκίππης θυρῶν διελέχθησαν πρὸς ἀλλήλους περὶ αὐτῆς, 8.15.1); likewise, his knowledge of Leucippe’s struggles and confrontation with Thersander is briefly and conveniently explained (ἡ Λευκίππη δέ… τὰ συμβάντα μετὰ ἡδονῆς διηγεῖτο, 8.15.3). However, this explanatory strategy is unevenly applied, and at other times we are left to surmise that a similar exchange must have happened, such as in the case of his knowledge of Melite’s plans (6.8) or the private conversation she shared with Thersander (6.9-11.2). One conspicuous contravention of the first-person narration in Bk. 6 is Clitophon’s apparently unique window into Thersander’s psychological motivations and emotional upheavals (6.7.7, 6.11.1-2, 6.17.5-6.18.2, 6.20.1).110 In these cases it is not possible to cite Sosthenes’ confession as an explanation since, as Reardon (1994: 85) points out, the steward “cannot be credibly represented as reporting Thersander’s unspoken thoughts”.111 Indeed, Thersander’s emotional state becomes the excuse for a digressive pseudo- physiological excursus on psychological affects that is a self-conscious reminder of Clitophon’s nebulous narratorial presence (6.19; see Intro. 2.4.4). A similar effect is achieved by Clitophon’s persistent interruption of his own narration with sententious remarks (see Intro.
2.4.3).112
The inevitable enigma posed by AT’s unconventional approach to first-person homodiegetic narration is the degree to which Clitophon - or even the anonymous primary narrator - has coloured or customised the tale to his own ends. Much recent scholarship on AT focuses on examining the slippage between Clitophon’s idiosyncratic portrayal of himself and the actual, deeply ironic, depiction that emerges from the narrative.113 This ‘Contean’ approach examines the influence of the “hidden author” who, through various hints and signposts (both covert and overt), draws attention to the narratorial dissonance inherent in Clitophon’s tale.114
110 Cf. Morgan 2004: 499 and 2007: 106.
111 Also, Hägg 1971: 134-5 and Morgan 2007: 106
112 See Whitmarsh 2003: 193; Morgan 2004: 496.
113 See Núñez 2019: 300.
114 Conte, in his renowned treatment of Petronius’ Satyricon, describes the “hidden author” as “the implied self-image that Petronius creates as author of his text” who operates behind his ego-narrator’s back to
Morgan (2007: 105-110) adumbrates how Clitophon, through his rendition of the direct speech of other characters, attempts to curate an approved self-image. While Whitmarsh (2003: 193) concentrates on how the proliferation of narrators creates a “crisis of focalisation”, exacerbated by the incongruity between the seeming worldly experience of Clitophon ‘the narrator’ (as depicted in the prologue) and the naive ignorance of Clitophon ‘the agent’ (as depicted in the body of his story).115 On the other hand, Marinčič (2007) finds the notion of the “hidden author”
an unnecessary addition, pointing out that since Clitophon’s first-person narration is presented as a speech in his own words, it is Clitophon-as-narrator who is in control of revealing his own posturing and pomposity in the narrative. While Morales (2004: 55-6) argues that Clitophon’s Phoenician heritage, which he reveals to us in the very first words of his tale (ἐμοὶ Φοινίκη γένος, 1.3.1), plays upon the stereotype of Phoenician mendacity, which, coupled with Clitophon’s own admission of doctoring the account of his liaison with Melite (8.5.2-3), suggests “the possibility that Clitophon has fabricated his account”. The play between truth and fiction is palpable, and, as L&C is in fact a fictional tale, Clitophon’s untrustworthy narration becomes a kind of metonym for the fictionality of the novel itself. Narratological nuances notwithstanding, it becomes apparent that Clitophon’s ego-narration increasingly emerges as a sort of fictitious, sophistic exhibitionism that relies on half-truths and rhetorical grandiloquence to camouflage the less heroic elements of his personality and conduct.
Consequently, at times I refer to Clitophon as Clitophon-auctor versus Clitophon-actor to distinguish (on some level) between Clitophon, the narrator of the tale, and the projection of himself that he narrates.
“[ensure] that the protagonist and narrator reveals himself and his own naïveté and then leaves him without the protective illusions that the narrator has constructed for himself” (1994: 22).
115 In this analysis, Whitmarsh (2003: 193) takes the ‘Contean’ approach to its logical narratological conclusion, identifying the primary narrator with the “hidden author”, thus making the initial anonymous character the secondary narrator, which, presumably, would mean that Clitophon is the tertiary narrator.
Although this represents the most technically correct narratological paradigm, it may well be an unnecessary over-complication, since, as laid out above, most of the scholarship identifies the anonymous narrator as the primary narrator, and indeed, in a later study, Whitmarsh does the same (2011a: 81-93).
2.3 Dramatis Personae