Reviews
Shahnameh: The Epic of the Persian Kings by Hamid Rahmanian, Abolqasem Ferdowsi, Ahmad Sadri
books_against_the_current's review against another edition
adventurous
emotional
hopeful
inspiring
sad
tense
medium-paced
4.0
jgkeely's review against another edition
4.0
The history of the world is a history of jerks. Starting with Gilgamesh, our earliest epic hero, who makes everyone wrestle him until they are exhausted then goes off to sleep with their wives while they pray to the gods to deliver them, to Achilles sulking in his tent, the Athenians sentencing Socrates to die because he talks too much, or Tacitus writing of how Caligula, Claudius, and Nero ruled through assassination and manipulation.
Sure, there are always a few level-headed, intelligent fellows, like Caesar, Odysseus, the Sire de Coucy--and in the Shahnameh, Rostam--but even they can't escape the machinations of the headstrong, foolish jerks that surround them. As far as Epics go, the Shahnameh is one of the darkest I've read, with a jerk quotient that's off the charts. The whole thing progresses as a series of blood feuds, deadly (and tragic) misunderstandings, endless duels over minor points of honor, fathers against sons, sons against mothers, uncles against everyone, mistrust and malicious rumor, and greed-driven betrayals.
Sure, there are a few genuinely reasonable guys throughout, but you can always bet that, in the end, some unstable noble with a chip on his shoulder is going to mess everything up. However, that isn't to say that the jerks are nonsensical or comically evil--pretty much every one has a good side, a sense of honor, a family--it's just that most of them seem to have the emotional self-control of a toddler.
It reminded me of the nobles in A Distant Mirror who would spend all of their crusading gold on matching green silk doublets and then show up to the battle without armor or supplies. Certainly, I never found the characters' actions unlikely, though I would have appreciated a bit more explanation from Ferdowsi on precisely why certain individuals kept making the same stupid errors. Much of the depth and sympathy in the Iliad stems from the fact that Homer uses the power of rhetoric to make it easy to understand the motivations behind all the pointless conflicts.
Ferdowsi is a masterful writer, however, and his prose is full of a vital energy, a poetry of odd and evocative metaphors that made the scenes something more than simply real--made them mythical. The image of an elephant's legs being so stained with man's blood that they seem to be 'pillars of coral', or Rustam's statement that, though he serves the Shah, he is still king of the world, his horse a throne, his sword a seal, his helm a crown, or this description of the coming of a Great Prophet (though I am unsure which one) to Persia:
Unfortunately, this translation is incomplete, ending before the coming of Eskandar (Alexander the Great), the full poem being longer than the Iliad and Odyssey combined, so it seems the rest shall have to wait.
Also delightful, particularly for the devoted fantasist, is the depiction of remarkable and wondrous magics of many sorts, from guardian spirits and races of magical beings, both fair and wicked, to great wizard-kings who transform into poison-spitting serpents and watch the world through crystal globes. It is always inspiring to witness depictions of magic that truly surprise and mystify the reader, capable of suggesting a marvelous world somewhere beyond our own.
Of course, to any student of the tradition of the cultural epic, the great work which captures the spirit of a people and an age, and sets the precedent for all works to follow, few works are equal in scope, artistry, and influence--perhaps only that of Homer and Virgil, the Ramayana and Mahabharata of India, the Four Great Novels of China, and the Bible.
Sure, there are always a few level-headed, intelligent fellows, like Caesar, Odysseus, the Sire de Coucy--and in the Shahnameh, Rostam--but even they can't escape the machinations of the headstrong, foolish jerks that surround them. As far as Epics go, the Shahnameh is one of the darkest I've read, with a jerk quotient that's off the charts. The whole thing progresses as a series of blood feuds, deadly (and tragic) misunderstandings, endless duels over minor points of honor, fathers against sons, sons against mothers, uncles against everyone, mistrust and malicious rumor, and greed-driven betrayals.
Sure, there are a few genuinely reasonable guys throughout, but you can always bet that, in the end, some unstable noble with a chip on his shoulder is going to mess everything up. However, that isn't to say that the jerks are nonsensical or comically evil--pretty much every one has a good side, a sense of honor, a family--it's just that most of them seem to have the emotional self-control of a toddler.
It reminded me of the nobles in A Distant Mirror who would spend all of their crusading gold on matching green silk doublets and then show up to the battle without armor or supplies. Certainly, I never found the characters' actions unlikely, though I would have appreciated a bit more explanation from Ferdowsi on precisely why certain individuals kept making the same stupid errors. Much of the depth and sympathy in the Iliad stems from the fact that Homer uses the power of rhetoric to make it easy to understand the motivations behind all the pointless conflicts.
Ferdowsi is a masterful writer, however, and his prose is full of a vital energy, a poetry of odd and evocative metaphors that made the scenes something more than simply real--made them mythical. The image of an elephant's legs being so stained with man's blood that they seem to be 'pillars of coral', or Rustam's statement that, though he serves the Shah, he is still king of the world, his horse a throne, his sword a seal, his helm a crown, or this description of the coming of a Great Prophet (though I am unsure which one) to Persia:
He reared throughout the realm a tree of godly foliage, and men rested beneath its branches. And whosoever ate of the leaves thereof was learned in all that regardeth the life to come, but whosoever who ate of the branches was perfect in wisdom and faith.
Unfortunately, this translation is incomplete, ending before the coming of Eskandar (Alexander the Great), the full poem being longer than the Iliad and Odyssey combined, so it seems the rest shall have to wait.
Also delightful, particularly for the devoted fantasist, is the depiction of remarkable and wondrous magics of many sorts, from guardian spirits and races of magical beings, both fair and wicked, to great wizard-kings who transform into poison-spitting serpents and watch the world through crystal globes. It is always inspiring to witness depictions of magic that truly surprise and mystify the reader, capable of suggesting a marvelous world somewhere beyond our own.
Of course, to any student of the tradition of the cultural epic, the great work which captures the spirit of a people and an age, and sets the precedent for all works to follow, few works are equal in scope, artistry, and influence--perhaps only that of Homer and Virgil, the Ramayana and Mahabharata of India, the Four Great Novels of China, and the Bible.
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