Some Thoughts on The Alexiad

It took me four months to read this book.

alexiad

I’ve talked about my struggles with The Alexiad before. Though it took me an embarrassing amount of time to make it to the last page, I deem the journey well worth it. I still don’t trust everything Anna Komnene wrote. Ultimately, however, I feel that far more of the story she tells is authentic and important than it is self-justifying or intentionally embellished. She speaks about a crucial period in world history from a primary-source perspective. There are sections of the book that are clearly from Anna’s direct point of view, written in first person. I found those sections of the book to be most compelling, imbuing the account of that time — Alexios’ reign, from 1081-1118 CE — with urgency.

Her insights and immediacy to the events recounted bring them to life in a way that is unique. There are times when she apologizes for “straying from the history” with personal interjections. I understand her concerns. As she tries to present an objective recounting of events, she is likely resisting what she has been taught: that adding personal details affects the integrity of a classically-told history. But the beauty of her work is greatly enhanced by her presence in these pages, even as it brings into question the purity of her recounting.

Anna lived in a convent the last 30 years of her life, her husband dead. It is suspected that she tried to take the throne from her brother John II Komnenos, but failed. The 15 books of the Alexiad were written over the last ten years of her life, and apparently finished as Anna herself was dying. My suspicion is that she knew she was dying for the last book and a half, based on a change of tone and focus that begins in Book XIV, at times shifting away from a recounting of events in and around the Empire and focusing more on her own situation. Here again, however, she is not explicit. She tells us that she is not free, but she doesn’t explain why.

In my estimation, an estimation backed by numerous other historians, Anna Komnene was brilliant. I once saw Ted Kennedy speak at Lesley, and he was a bright light and a very astute politician. He was whip-smart, a very fast thinker. He spoke in the Marran Theater at Lesley, and the force of his personality filled that stage in a way that I have seen no one else manage.

My sense of her is that Anna was easily as bright as Ted.

If Anna was brilliant, she clearly follows upon the brilliance of her father. His reign was a titanic struggle to revive the Byzantine (Eastern Roman) Empire. Anna claims all of this in the beginning of her book, but when you first read it in Anna’s voice, you think “this is just the great man’s daughter’s bias.”

But by the end, she has made her case, as far as I’m concerned. When Alexios I Komnenos made his putsch, the Byzantine Empire was on the ropes. Anna doesn’t say this explicitly, but based on the sheer number of fires Alexios immediately has to put out, it seems clear to me that the Empire wouldn’t have lasted very much longer if he hadn’t seized power. Its coffers were empty and there were several invasions of the Empire just in the offing. Alexios met each challenge in turn, and though it was at times in doubt that he would be able to meet those challenges, I believe he extended the life of the empire for another 300 out of the next 350 years, barring an interregnum from 1204-1261 CE, when the Latins — the Catholics of the Holy Roman Empire — held the city. (Those dates represent the second and third sackings of Constantinople.)

Still, it’s a question worth pondering: did Alexios save the Empire or destroy it? He extended its life, certainly, but nobody came along after him and completed the work he began. Some of the measures he took, I have learned elsewhere, are considered to have weakened the Empire’s long-term prospects irreversibly. Constantinople fell to Mehmet II on June 4th, 1453, and was sacked for the fourth time. For the next 470 years, it was the capitol of the Ottoman Empire.

Alexios was, arguably, both its savior and its doom. His army was the first to sack Constantinople, proving that such a thing was possible, when the city had previously been thought to be impregnable. A deal made with the Venetians to enlist the aid of their navy against the invader Robert Guiscard ultimately curtailed the Empire’s ability to fund itself. I’m sure that Anna knew this, but glosses over it in her recounting. We learn nothing from her about concessions to the Venetians, only that some were made.

Much of the book is a litany of the many battles her father fought. So. Many. Battles. The Empire was beleaguered on all sides, including from within. Constantinople was the prize every pirate wanted to take, the job of Emperor many a man’s dream. There were many willing to take it, and some of them had armies. Alexios’s time as Emperor was battle after battle, and battle of wits after battle of wits, and he almost always won. His brilliance is most evident to me in Anna’s accounting of his conduct during the First Crusade, which happened in the latter half of Alexios’s reign. I won’t recount his actions in any detail here, but I will refer you to the book Anna wrote.

The very beginning, the Prologue (which annoyed me when I read it, for reasons I’ve detailed elsewhere), the last chapter and a half (which more than justifies the Prologue), and a few different points in the course of The Alexiad is most vivid. Those are the places where Anna reveals herself, and in doing so elevates her telling of her father’s story.

It must be said that not everything in the book will meet modern eyes and sensibilities with a heroic luster. She details two genocides that Alexios and the Romans committed during his reign; a heretical sect called the Bogomils, all of whom either recanted, died in prison, or were burned, and the Patzinaks, a tribe of Scythian nomads who invaded the empire and were “wiped out in a single day.” In the former case, Anna casts the wiping out of the Bogomils as Alexios’ last great victory. She presents the destruction of the Patzinaks as a tragedy.

People talk about American Exceptionalism, but the American version of this attitude is slight when compared to medieval Roman Exceptionalism. Anna writes about every people but her own as various sorts of barbarians, and in each case gives her reasons why. It’s true that the Empire was beleaguered, and that peoples in every direction were trying to destroy it. How much did Roman attitudes contribute to those who sought its destruction’s motivations?

The Alexiad is one of the greatest books I’ve ever read, but I also had problems with it, as I’ve noted. As Anna is writing her book, she is engaged in realpolitik, and conscious of her influence. In spite of that, she is very honest about a number of things she could have glossed over easily: she told of her father’s failings in the same matter-of-fact tone that she applied to his successes. Her lively, clear mind balance her great love for and admiration of her father.

Mid-Season Hiatus

Hi, all.

Just a quick note to let you know that I’ll be taking a brief amount of time away from the blog while I sort out what happens next.

Thank you to everyone who has looked at this blog over the course of 2018, and who continues to be interested. You have sustained me, and you continue to.

There is definitely more to come!

Your correspondent,
Diane

Meta

I’m submitting work for publication elsewhere, and editors who are on the fence about my work come to this blog to see what other writing I put out there online. Every once in a while, I look at tracking information for this site and see one viewer look at several entries on this blog… and then two or three days later I’ll get a rejection from some literary magazine or other.

This makes me think about whether a weekly blog is a worthwhile activity or not. I admit that I’m not sure what the answer to that is. For the immediate future, I’m committed to doing this project. After a little consideration, I think I’ll keep going. I’ll simply have to make sure that I’m making as much sense as I think I am in the moment that I click “publish.”

Any reader who happens on these pages may look at what I just wrote in the above two paragraphs and think, “Are you going to take your own advice?” because I appear to be starting this post with a long digression that has little to do with the title of this entry. You’d be right to point that out, without question.

But this also seems like a good opportunity to talk about my process.

What process?

Exactly.

No one who looks at this blog could be surprised to learn that I am doing this by the seat of my pants. For good or ill, this is largely off-the-cuff, show-and-go writing. I start each blog post with “What am I going to write about this week?” and often end up revising things after I’ve published them. I did a lot of that this week, even going back several posts and sorting out sentences and sense from some of my recent posts: in effect, hitching up the pants the seat by which I steer after the fact.

I started this blog as a means of keeping myself accountable, and to prove to myself that I could consistently produce work I’m willing to let the public see. That willingness is a bar that varies in height, depending on self-esteem, on who I suspect may be looking at what I’m doing, and what kind of feedback I perceive myself to be getting. A standard that variable is difficult to meet.

Winter Blues

You may have noticed that last week’s winter haikus were downers, for the most part. It’s not surprising, if you know me. The sadness that comes with the lack of light and heat, the bunker-hunkered-down-ness of this time of year spills over into every aspect of my life. I avoid leaving the house while at the same time feeling trapped inside. I wake up in the dark, and by the time I’m done with work for the day, it’s already dark out again. I work in an office with no natural light, so I see daylight generally for an hour on my commute on weekdays. Such is life in the north.

I wake up in the middle of the night worrying about things I can’t do anything about. I brood during the day. I tend to do this anyway, but especially in the dark months, I subject myself to scorchingly hateful self-talk. I’ve had therapists tell me I do this as a means of protection: if I say these things to myself first, I pre-empt anyone else hurting me by saying them.

I don’t know why I do this more at this time of year. But this year is almost as bad as two years ago, which was a very hard year for me, and has the potential to be worse. But it could also be better. There is a faint glimmer of promise, but the gloom in the world, the gloom in my soul, the gloom outside my window… they are weighing me down.

My mom had a health scare yesterday. She’s 84 and has Alzheimer’s disease. Her physical health is actually pretty good for someone her age. She has sciatica and her skin is brittle. But she still has all of her teeth, is mobile and she’s up for adventures. My brother Michael is her caretaker. They own a house together in a small southwestern city.

Today she was vomiting and she fell twice. My brother took her to the emergency room. It was busy and it took them a while to get to her. In the meantime, she vomited some more. They did some diagnostic tests and found that she was super-dehydrated. I think that the treatment she is having to undergo is probably not the most pleasant thing she’s ever had to deal with, but I think she’s going to be OK for now.

But I need to understand that in the not-too-distant future, it won’t be. My brother is with her, witnessing her precipitous decline, but I can’t be. My life is 2500 miles away. And damn right, I feel guilty.

I’ve been having these short bouts of crushing depression. They feel sort of… chemical. I’m down, I mean really down, for a predictable three or four hours, and then gradually I come out of it. I had one of my anvil-around-neck phases earlier this week .When I came out of it, it was sudden, like snapping my fingers and suddenly my mood was about 50% better. It was weird. But these down times are intense. I don’t know what causes them.

I wear these estradiol patches — they’re always a pain, these frigging things. They don’t breathe, so my sweat gets trapped under them and my skin prunes up and the itching drives me crazy. I’ve been experimenting with trying different spots and today when I applied new patches, I think I may have found a better spot than the others I’ve tried. My mood was really good in some ways, and I’ve felt connected to what’s going on around me in a way that I haven’t for a while. I attribute this to fresh patches. I still hate the constant demanding itching, but at least I know I’m getting some value out of them. I am going to ask my doc if there’s some other form of estradiol I can take.

From a larger perspective, I am watching the world struggle with authoritarianism and delusion, nationalism and race hatred. It feels like we’ve all gone crazy. Everybody is ideologically aligned, and they don’t trust anyone who doesn’t agree with them, and people are trying to force their will on each other concerning what’s “right.” I feel like I’m watching humanity try to throw itself off a cliff.

All of this… stuff, and other things too that I haven’t gone into here hover in and around my head all of the time. Worry and self-hatred, trapped in darkness… that’s what my emotional state is right now. I can’t wait for the long days and warm weather to return. I feel so much better when it’s nice out.