Some months ago, before COVID-19, Anne Carson visited the University of Toronto, her alma mater (and mine!) to give a talk. Instantly, I was reminded of why I love Carson so much, and what it had meant to me as a young Classics student to come upon her work, which at the time seemed irreverent (and her academic peers would say as much), Queer, and had opened up a realm of possibility I hadn’t been able to previously consider.
With a sizeable body of work, I still haven’t read much of Carson. I started with Autobiography of Red, which remains excellent and singular, for me, in its ability to exploit the contemporary Classics trope. I then waited for months on a library waitlist to get my hands on NOX, which was visually and tactilely explosive to my mind, but otherwise disappointing.
In advance of her talk I picked up Plainwater, after reading a few good reviews online and hoping to have it signed. The talk was wonderful (you can experience it for yourself here), but she did not offer a book signing. I felt silly for purchasing a book for the hope alone of having it signed, so I set aside whatever else I happened t be reading at the time to read Plainwater instead.
And, what can I say, other than it does not compare to Carson’s previous work. That, and I believe the culture has shifted —at least from my perspective— to think of Classical reception in much broader terms which Plainwater, unfortunately, does not age well into. These days much I am more electrified by allusions to Phillis Wheatly than Mimnermos and Godot. I am also ravenous for critique, and nearly repulsed by unabashed affection towards these figures, whether they be philosophical or mythological, especially without contextualization.