Thursday
I
recently read the following passage from Euripides's Bacchae:[1]
Agave
But
in all this, what is not well? What is so painful?
Cadmus
First
turn your eyes this way, up toward the sky.
Agave (looking skyward)
There.
But why did you advise me to look at the sky?
Cadmus
Does
it still appear the same to you or has it undergone a change?
Agave
It
is brighter than before and more translucent.
Cadmus
Is the fluttering sensation still in your
soul?
Agave
I
don't understand your question. But somehow...
(pausing for a moment)
somehow
I am coming to my senses, changes from my previous state of
mind.
Cadmus
Could
you, then, hear a question? And could you answer it clearly?
Agave
Yes,
but I have completely forgotten what you just said, father.
Cadmus
To whose house did you come when you
got married?
Agave
You gave me to Echion, one of the
Spartoi, the Sown Men, as they call them.
Cadmus
And who in this house is the son of
your husband?
Agave
Pentheus, by my union with his
father.
Cadmus
Well then, whose face do you hold
folded in your arms?
Agave
A lion's head--at least that's what
the women hunters told me.
Cadmus
Look again, straight at it. The toil
of looking is brief.
Agave
Ah! What do I see? What is this I am
carrying in my hands?
Cadmus
Look again closely so you can learn
more clearly.
Agave
I see the greatest pain, wretched
woman that I am.
Cadmus
Surely it doesn't resemble a lion, does it?
Agave
No. Wretch that I am, this is
Pentheus' head that I am holding!
Cadmus
Much lamented by me long before you
recognized him.
As a writer, I'm drawn to classic tragedy
texts that compact conflict and suspense--while also dealing with serious or
existential subject matter--in plays approximately 60 pages in length. How did
the great classical writers, such as Euripides, do it? I struggle with creating
an equivalent level of meaning, conflict, and suspense in my writing, but in
reading this above passage in Bacchae,
I have identified useful techniques that will help me attempt to do so.
In this scene, the climax of the text,
Euripides uses interrogative dialogue, incorporating questions that lead Agave
into truth from her deluded state of mind attained through worship of Dionysus,
god of access. In the notes, Stephen Esposito informs the reader that this is
the first text to ever include a "psychotherapy scene" in which through reason
and questioning Cadmus coaxes Agave, his daughter, out of her delusional state.
Here, Euripides substitutes "psychological explanations of human motivation for
traditionally supernatural ones"[2]
to draw her back into reality, deploring a way to force Agave to remember and not
repress what has happened. Cadmus asks Agave "To whose house did you come when
you got married?" and "Who in this house is the son of your husband?" Euripides
ups the dramatic stakes when he has Cadmus ask Agave a more poignant question, "Whose
face do you hold folded in your arms?" that prompts Agave to awaken and realize
she has murdered her son, Pentheus. The questions build suspense in a clear,
unique way forcing the reader to share with Agave the moment she realizes she
has murdered her son. Thus, the reader is pulled down into the tragic abyss as
they experience this moment through her eyes.
Euripides also uses the question
mark, an interrogative punctuation mark, as a clever way to indicate that
Cadmus has the upper hand and is the voice of reason. In the beginning of the
dialogue, Agave poses questions to Cadmus. She asks, "But in all this, what is not
well? What is so painful?"[3]
As the conversation progresses, Cadmus asks the questions until Agave is able
to come to on her own. This is a simple yet effective way to show that he takes
control of the situation, guiding Agave back into an intelligible state of
mind. If interrogative dialogue is the "what" that is happening in the story,
Cadmus's questions are the "how" it happens. Writers often think of elaborate
ways to show a power dynamic, conflict, or role reversal in a story. Here,
Euripides demonstrates how it can be done in a few lines of dialogue using a
single point of punctuation.
The images Euripides uses in the dialogue
are relevant and meaningful to the text, enriching the interrogative scene. For
example, when Cadmus asks Agave to look towards the sky, or the heavens, he
does so to ground her and make her aware of her surroundings in the material
world. He extracts her from the state of Dionysian delusion--a change that
occurs visibly as the lines are spoken. Cadmus guides Agave into understanding,
pulling her from the supernatural trance or psychological delusion. By suggesting
she look at the sky, he makes Agave become aware of the physical world.
Euripides also incorporates symbols in
the dialogue relevant to the text. For example, the lion's head symbolizes
Greek animal sacrifice, reminding the reader that Agave's state incurred when
she paid homage to Dionysus. The lion's head also foreshadows that Agave has
murdered her son. As the lion is known as the king of the jungle, Pentheus was
king of Thebes before his death.
Euripides's treatment of interrogative dialogue
and images in Bacchae inspired me to try
similar techniques in a flash fiction story "Water Bug Season, Again." The
story is about husband and wife that have a marriage scarred by professional
jealousy. The wife wakes up to find that her husband has become a water bug,
and the following scene takes place, incorporating interrogative dialogue and
the image of a water bug, which represents the alienation present in the
couple's marriage:
It
was the second day after her husband, Roy, disappeared that Bea noticed the
enormous water bug in the kitchen sink.
"You. What are you doing here?" she asked the
water bug.
The
bug answered, "I have just as much right as you. But I'll tell you. Turn your
eyes to the bookshelf, up towards the ceiling."
Bea
looked at the row of dusty books. "Why do you want me to look up there?"
"Did
something you learn from one of those books appear to you now? Something you
might have forgotten?"
She
scanned the books. Margaret Atwood. Poe. Twain. Irvine Welsh. Kafka.
"Oh,
Kafka," she said. It was his complete works collection, but other than a
talking bug, Bea didn't see the connection. She was puzzled.
"I
don't understand your question."
She
pulled the book down and thought more. Kafka had influenced her to write a
detective series, earning her commercial recognition. As a screenwriter, Roy had
been an abysmal failure. For years, Bea downplayed this, but she no longer cared.
Roy said she rubbed it in. They fought. Bea didn't want to always placate his ego.
She was more successful, and he should just deal with it.
"Can
you please answer my question?"
"I've
forgotten it."
"Here's
another--where did your husband go?"
"I
don't know," Bea said.
"Do
you know why he left?"
"No."
"Could
it have been something you've done?"
"Clearly
not," Bea said.
"Well,
then, have you fought recently with your husband?"
"Yes."
"Why
have you fought?"
"He's
jealous of me," Bea said.
"Why
is he jealous?"
"I
don't know," she said. "I'm more successful. Professionally."
"Will
you look again at what you're holding?"
"I'm
looking closely at it."
"What
do you see?"
"I
see a story about an artist, oh," Bea said. "'Metamorphosis.'" Bea would kill
to be like Kafka. She had fantasies about being a character in his stories.
"Surely
that one is telling, no?"
It
took her some time, but Bea began to see what the bug was getting at. She asked
questions--how it knew so much about her, was it some sort of god coming to speak
divine wisdom to her, and if it could tell her where her husband was.
She
sat rocking at the kitchen table, greatly disturbed by the real-life
metamorphosis. The bug, however, remained in the kitchen sink doing stuff that
bugs do, crawling around and such. It bothered her--the kind of discomfort she
felt when witnessing a couple fight in public or at a dinner party.
This
is how it would be from now on, the bug told her. She became angry at how
absurd it was. When she was done being angry, she became upset. Roy willed this
to happen just to spite her. She knew it.
Day
in and day out, nothing changed. Bea went to bed every night with the talking
water bug in her kitchen sink. She grew more sympathetic towards it. While she
had earned her success, Roy shouldn't have had to suffer for it. But life had
delivered her a cruel injustice. Each morning, she woke up imprisoned. "Why
does he get to be the bug?" she
cried.
Writers may want to try using
interrogative dialogue techniques within scenes, supported by powerful,
relevant images. It offers a great way to create meaning, conflict, and
suspense such as what I have attempted to do in the flash fiction story, "Water
Bug Season, Again." I hope that other writers can accomplish this in their
writing, too.
Bibliography
Euripides. Bacchae, translated by Michael R. Hallaran, in Euripides: Medea, Hippolytus, Heracles, Bacchae, edited by Stephen Esposito, 205-267. Newburyport: Focus Classical Library, 2004.
Author's Note
Tiffany Sumner is a flash fiction writer, aspiring novelist, and degree-candidate in Rosemont College's MFA in Creative Writing Program. Earlier this year, she relocated to Philadelphia by way of Brooklyn and is earning a living writing about shoes, mobile apps, education and taxes. Yes, taxes. She is a contributing fiction writer for Red Door Magazine and a pretty a-okay cook. Originally from Virginia, Tiffany lives in South Philly with her boyfriend and their two cats--Stitches and Madame Snugglewhiskers. Learn more about Tiffany on her blog Roja ChaCha.
