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dolorosa_12This was initially going to be a comment on dhampyresa's blog, but it occurred to me that I spend way too much time bouncing around the internet, trying to convince people to read the Romanitas trilogy, and it would be nice to have one post about it that I can refer back to on later occasions. So consider this a rather flaily, incoherent primer.
It helps, I think, if you understand something about my tastes in stories. I will read or watch just about any iteration of story that engages with ideas of power, privilege and dispossession: who has power, and why, and who is dispossessed by that power, and why. But I need the stories to do something more: they need to place the blame for inequality and dispossession where it truly lies, on an institutional level, and on individuals within such institutions. The stories need to centre the dispossessed, although it's an added bonus if they consider the various ways in which power, empire and privilege corrupt and dehumanise those who benefit from them. And they need to show that the strength of the dispossessed lies in them finding common ground, making common cause, dismantling the systems that oppress them, supporting one another, carving out spaces in which they are able to safely assert their humanity.
It's for this reason that I keep returning to the Pagan Chronicles by Catherine Jinks, the works of John Marsden, Galax Arena by Gillian Rubinstein and the other powerful, formative books of my childhood. It's for this reason that shows like Pretty Little Liars, Orphan Black, Avatar: The Last Airbender and Orange Is The New Black have resonated so strongly with me. In various ways, they explore these vital ideas. Their characters are the dispossessed, whether they be Christian Arab squires thrown into exile by the Third Crusade (or the Cathar heretic daughter of said squires, traumatised by the politics of thirteenth-century Languedoc), teenage resistance fighters, children stolen off the streets to artificially extend the lives of the super-rich, bullied teenage girls, clones whose creators view them as patented scientific material, or the inhabitants of a women's prison. Over and over again such stories show their dispossessed central characters banding together, supporting one another, and insisting on their own autonomy and humanity in the face of those who refuse to acknowledge it.
This is the backdrop against which my love for the Romanitas trilogy should be understood.
The Romanitas trilogy is set in a world in which the Roman Empire never ended, but spread to cover most of the world. The most visible institutions of popular culture representations of Rome remain: slavery, crucifixion, gladiatorial games, as well as an imperial family and state religion. I don't want to go into a huge amount of detail about the series' plot, but rather will focus on a few favourite moments of the series that really worked for me:
1. Even the most well-meaning Romans cannot fully grasp what it is to be a slave. One of the characters, the Emperor's nephew (and heir), is the son of abolitionists who have paid servants instead of slaves. There is a scene in which he visits his uncle's house and is disgusted with his unease and discomfort at being served a meal by slaves. Their existence is like an accusation, and he struggles with the way his guilt is so easily twisted into something uglier.
2. Resistance movements being run out of the Library of Alexandria.
3. Small moments where terrified women support one another in tiny ways. They are reduced to making small gestures, and those limits turn such small gestures into actions of monumental significance.
4. Not all slaves are people of colour; not all people of colour are slaves. Indeed, most of the named people of colour are princesses, dowager empresses, court functionaries, military and civilian leaders, public servants, resistance leaders, soldiers, diplomats, artists, tutors and so on. I wish I didn't need to stress this, but this kind of representation matters. If you can't imagine a world like this, you need to imagine better.
5. Even the 'good' Romans within the Imperial family — the ones most fired up about injustice and determined to change things — once given a taste of real power start making excuses, searching for compromises and reinforcing the very hierarchies they were passionate about dismantling. They have deep empathy for their dispossessed friends and loved ones, but the courage of their convictions is hard to find in the face of institutional inertia and the sheer weight of millennia of empire.
6. In a moment of profound personal importance to me, my favourite female fictional character, though terrified, stands up, speaks her truth and claims a name which has been denied her (a name with which she has an uneasy relationship), asserting her humanity in the face of certain death at the hands of those who don't view her as a person.
7. Victims make common cause, and surge like a wave to confront their abuser, and their presence is like an accusation. When I read this moment for the first time, I literally put the book down and danced around the room.
8. Wanting 'a nice man to come and buy [and free]' you from slavery is shown to be futile: such freedom is only as lasting as the 'nice man' who granted it. The dispossessed will not be saved as individuals at the hands of individual compassionate privileged people: they will only be free if they make common cause and dismantle the systems that deny their humanity.
This series speaks to me, it means so much to me. It is a consolation and an exhortation to do better, try harder, find common ground and carve out spaces which do not replicate toxic old hierarchies. Several elements of it have particular personal resonances, and I reread those scenes and chapters whenever I need courage and strength. It's driven me to write meta, to create a now defunct fanblog, and even to write fanfic. It's responsible for my default icon, used here on the Dreamwidth version of this post (although not the LJ mirror).
I hope that helps at least in laying out the reasons why this series works for me. I love it. I hope that other people love it too.
dhampyresa's blog, but it occurred to me that I spend way too much time bouncing around the internet, trying to convince people to read the Romanitas trilogy, and it would be nice to have one post about it that I can refer back to on later occasions. So consider this a rather flaily, incoherent primer.It helps, I think, if you understand something about my tastes in stories. I will read or watch just about any iteration of story that engages with ideas of power, privilege and dispossession: who has power, and why, and who is dispossessed by that power, and why. But I need the stories to do something more: they need to place the blame for inequality and dispossession where it truly lies, on an institutional level, and on individuals within such institutions. The stories need to centre the dispossessed, although it's an added bonus if they consider the various ways in which power, empire and privilege corrupt and dehumanise those who benefit from them. And they need to show that the strength of the dispossessed lies in them finding common ground, making common cause, dismantling the systems that oppress them, supporting one another, carving out spaces in which they are able to safely assert their humanity.
It's for this reason that I keep returning to the Pagan Chronicles by Catherine Jinks, the works of John Marsden, Galax Arena by Gillian Rubinstein and the other powerful, formative books of my childhood. It's for this reason that shows like Pretty Little Liars, Orphan Black, Avatar: The Last Airbender and Orange Is The New Black have resonated so strongly with me. In various ways, they explore these vital ideas. Their characters are the dispossessed, whether they be Christian Arab squires thrown into exile by the Third Crusade (or the Cathar heretic daughter of said squires, traumatised by the politics of thirteenth-century Languedoc), teenage resistance fighters, children stolen off the streets to artificially extend the lives of the super-rich, bullied teenage girls, clones whose creators view them as patented scientific material, or the inhabitants of a women's prison. Over and over again such stories show their dispossessed central characters banding together, supporting one another, and insisting on their own autonomy and humanity in the face of those who refuse to acknowledge it.
This is the backdrop against which my love for the Romanitas trilogy should be understood.
The Romanitas trilogy is set in a world in which the Roman Empire never ended, but spread to cover most of the world. The most visible institutions of popular culture representations of Rome remain: slavery, crucifixion, gladiatorial games, as well as an imperial family and state religion. I don't want to go into a huge amount of detail about the series' plot, but rather will focus on a few favourite moments of the series that really worked for me:
1. Even the most well-meaning Romans cannot fully grasp what it is to be a slave. One of the characters, the Emperor's nephew (and heir), is the son of abolitionists who have paid servants instead of slaves. There is a scene in which he visits his uncle's house and is disgusted with his unease and discomfort at being served a meal by slaves. Their existence is like an accusation, and he struggles with the way his guilt is so easily twisted into something uglier.
2. Resistance movements being run out of the Library of Alexandria.
3. Small moments where terrified women support one another in tiny ways. They are reduced to making small gestures, and those limits turn such small gestures into actions of monumental significance.
4. Not all slaves are people of colour; not all people of colour are slaves. Indeed, most of the named people of colour are princesses, dowager empresses, court functionaries, military and civilian leaders, public servants, resistance leaders, soldiers, diplomats, artists, tutors and so on. I wish I didn't need to stress this, but this kind of representation matters. If you can't imagine a world like this, you need to imagine better.
5. Even the 'good' Romans within the Imperial family — the ones most fired up about injustice and determined to change things — once given a taste of real power start making excuses, searching for compromises and reinforcing the very hierarchies they were passionate about dismantling. They have deep empathy for their dispossessed friends and loved ones, but the courage of their convictions is hard to find in the face of institutional inertia and the sheer weight of millennia of empire.
6. In a moment of profound personal importance to me, my favourite female fictional character, though terrified, stands up, speaks her truth and claims a name which has been denied her (a name with which she has an uneasy relationship), asserting her humanity in the face of certain death at the hands of those who don't view her as a person.
7. Victims make common cause, and surge like a wave to confront their abuser, and their presence is like an accusation. When I read this moment for the first time, I literally put the book down and danced around the room.
8. Wanting 'a nice man to come and buy [and free]' you from slavery is shown to be futile: such freedom is only as lasting as the 'nice man' who granted it. The dispossessed will not be saved as individuals at the hands of individual compassionate privileged people: they will only be free if they make common cause and dismantle the systems that deny their humanity.
This series speaks to me, it means so much to me. It is a consolation and an exhortation to do better, try harder, find common ground and carve out spaces which do not replicate toxic old hierarchies. Several elements of it have particular personal resonances, and I reread those scenes and chapters whenever I need courage and strength. It's driven me to write meta, to create a now defunct fanblog, and even to write fanfic. It's responsible for my default icon, used here on the Dreamwidth version of this post (although not the LJ mirror).
I hope that helps at least in laying out the reasons why this series works for me. I love it. I hope that other people love it too.