Orlando, beautiful though lazy shepherd boy on Crete, is tasked by the gods to settle a dispute: who among them is patron of the most perfect city.
His journey takes him to Alexandria where he studies under Euclid, to Florence, where he sits for a portrait by Leonardo da Vinci, to London where he falls in love with a Russian princess; then, having inexplicably but assuredly turned woman, to Paris where she joins the women's march on Versailles, then to Vienna where she chooses to dress as a man while making the acquaintance of, among others, a curious Dr Freud and a very young Ludwig Wittgenstein, and finally, now once again as a man though experimenting with drag, to New York where he experiences the creative as well as destructive forces around Warhol's Factory; before, ultimately, timeless, ageless, and without gender or agenda Orlando becomes simply Orlando.
A playful literary odyssey through 2500 years of Western civilisation.
Orlando, beautiful though lazy shepherd boy on Crete, is tasked by the gods to settle a dispute: who among them is patron of the most perfect city.
His journey takes him to Alexandria where he studies under Euclid, to Florence, where he sits for a portrait by Leonardo da Vinci, to London where he falls in love with a Russian princess; then, having inexplicably but assuredly turned woman, to Paris where she joins the women's march on Versailles, then to Vienna where she chooses to dress as a man while making the acquaintance of, among others, a curious Dr Freud and a very young Ludwig Wittgenstein, and finally, now once again as a man though experimenting with drag, to New York where he experiences the creative as well as destructive forces around Warhol's Factory; before, ultimately, timeless, ageless, and without gender or agenda Orlando becomes simply Orlando.
A playful literary odyssey through 2500 years of Western civilisation.
Preamble
Orlandoâfigment of the imagination, ideal and idol and fallible in every way conceivable but flawless in the eye of the beholderâis given to the world perfectly formed by the gods, themselves constructs of the human endeavour to conquer the unknowable and unknown.
Timeless, ageless, and deriving immense powers mostly from an indomitable spirit paired with an enquiring mind, Orlando is all human, all humanity, all humility and all pride: an articulation of the embodied consciousness we may call the experience of being alive.Â
Not good or bad, nor beyond the pale is Orlando, Orlando is wonder and discovery and surprise; and strife for self and self-knowledge and hunger for connections that mean something; and need for identity, desire for the loss of self and urge for survival; and yearning for the tender release that is death and fear of the violent crash into the absence of life that is dying. And aching for a place in history and undoing that history bit by bit. And invention, creation, as much as destruction. And cruelty and kindness and the duality of all things polar and their fusion. And the idea of being itself.Â
(Never even mind religion and statehood and status and tribe and the blood ties that bind and sin and redemption or even forgiveness.) Â
Orlando is all made up which is why Orlando is real, and Orlando, of course, is ancient as much as Orlando is new.Â
Orlando is charged by the godsâsubject as they are to their own whims and fancies and with wisdom endowed no more and no less than we can conceiveâto embark on a quest to The City.Â
And so, as we go to The City, our protagonist shall be Orlando...
Prologue
Alexandria
320 BCEÂ
Grant, Muse, that these verses may in simple truth
bear witness to the man (then woman, then
hermaphrodite) whom since the dawn of time
the gods, and mortals too, have called Orlando:Â
through the ages, yet un-ageing, bold, adventurous,
cast of an ilk of ceaseless curiosity,
journeys Orlando in the Cities â
let this be his (then her, then their) tale, told
or sung: begin upon the seas off Egypt...
Behold how through the haze on the horizonÂ
shimmer turrets white, gold and pale ochre;
Lighthouse, Fortress, Temple and Museum:
new-built Alexandria, Great Alexanderâs
monument to his own glory, yes, but moreÂ
the lasting glory of mankind: trade, commerce,
the exchange of stuffs and wares; and above all
pursuit of knowledge, learning and ideas.
But a slither in the distance is the coastÂ
as on a steady breeze the wide-hulled ship
sails south-south-east; a friendly school of dolphinsÂ
playing escort, clicking joyful greetingsÂ
to her precious passenger: Orlando.
Never has his heart yet beaten faster,Â
have his eyes gazed harder at the glorious sight,
his nostrils smelt the scent of sea salt keener,Â
his hands, fine-fingered, tighter clasped a rope,
nor have his curls danced lighter, has his skin
more giddy felt the airâs caress than now
with the approaching prospect of the city:
planned, built and peopled surely to perfection,
jewel of Greek provenance on Egyptâs soil,
in Hellasâ crown its youngest, finest pearl.
The ship glides into harbour with the sun
low in the orange-purple sky, Orlando
poised to jump ashore, eager to gatherÂ
what he may: symbols, writings, artefacts,Â
medallions, coins; anything portable,Â
anything proof, if such exists, of what,Â
if anything, makes cities good, for thusÂ
the mighty gods themselves have set his task.
No task, no challenge, such as this could beÂ
accepted lightly, and nor could it failÂ
to fuel zeal in someone like Orlando:Â
he is to travel Greece in search of proofÂ
to settle a dispute which, days ago,
broke out between the gods. (That he should nowÂ
be just about to land in Egypt is, in turn,
their doing, but of that twist more anon:Â
we mortals are but playthings of the gods!)
On that day, Mount Olympos was aflare
with fury: Hera, in a huff over some
minor matter had admonished fair Athena;
she quipped back, and before long an argument,Â
involving several other gods, ensued,
which rapidly grew loud and would, no doubt,Â
have turned tumultuous too if thunderous Zeus
had deigned to get involved; but he did not.
(At least not while he tried to have a nap...)
The quarrel soon abated and the gods,
four of them left, Apollo and sweet Eros
besides Hera and Athena, now discussed,
rather than argued, which of the great cities
each patroned merited the epithet
of âperfectâ or âcompleteâ or, by deduction,
âunimprovableâ; what Thomas More, much later,
failed to call âEutopiaâ: a good place, where
naught is amiss; to Mount Olymp itself
for mortals an equivalent. Each god
extolled their cityâs virtues: queen Hera
spoke of Argos, Perseusâ birthplace, and itsÂ
gentle, peaceful people whose pristine and
modest dwellings cluster at the foot of the
magnificent acropolis, harmonious,Â
exquisitely arranged and amply furnished
with necessities from mountains, fields and sea:
what more could from a city mortal souls desire?
âWhat more?â incensed, cried Ares, god of war,
and entered straight a plea for Sparta, homeÂ
of warriors. âNo gardens, no fine buildings,
no temple of great note: these are peripherals!
Sparta, more than any place, has discipline,
valour and strength: the art of the Agoge!â
Apollo was appalled: âWhat Spartans do
in their Laconic ways is the antithesisÂ
of art and culture: how can you begin to think
of âcityâ and not think its streets, its courts,
its alleyways, its amphitheatre, its games;
not think its dramas and its comedies,
its music, poetry; and to protect it all
a sturdy wall with seven gates: think âcityâ then,Â
think Thebes: that is a place fit for the gods.âÂ
Athena sat in silence for a while.
Then she stood, calm, gracefully and in aÂ
quiet, gentle voice declared: âYou make me laugh.â
A pleasant titter rippled from her lips
and down towards the earth as a soft whiff
of fragrant mountain air that freshens the stale heat
of noon; but this was followed by a frown âÂ
a measured mien of mild concern betokeningÂ
a worry for her fellow gods: âBut please
be serious: a city perfect in both shape
and population; ideally positioned,Â
with monuments that will be celebratedÂ
for as long as humans live and far beyond;
in art, in sculpture, in democracyÂ
and in philosophy, in military strength
and in the soft delights of love, be they
in passion felt or quietly in friendship kept;Â
a city where the merchants and the warriors,
the scholars and the politicians and the poets
and the athletes and the women and the slaves
all thrive, each in their rightful way, in harmony:
that is a city worthy of a goddessâ name;
a name which I, Athena, lend with pride and joy
most willingly to Athens, in this noble world
of cities, queen.â With that she sat and silenceÂ
settled over Mount Olympos once again.Â
But for a short while, to be sure: for a
hiatus barely long enough for all the godsÂ
to catch their breath, before, aroused from blissfulÂ
midday slumber, thundered Zeus: âWhat is itÂ
with you children, wife, wherefore this waffle?â
The gods explained. Upon which Hermes, drawn
into the hall by all the noise and Zeusâs roar
offered a way to solve the matter, once,
if not perhaps for all... â âWhy not,â swift-witted
and wing-footed Hermes made propose, âdispatch
into the world in search of evidence
a mortal who has never been to any city
and has never seen its sights or heard its sounds
nor yet inhaled its fragrances nor metÂ
its people, who has lived in plain simplicity
upon a hill, and yet whose spirit, mind and soul
are lively, quick and eager; who may learn and then
impart to you such wisdom as he finds;
whose unencumbered, fresh and hungry heart,
in short, will, without prejudice, present
to you the perfect city on a plate.â
There was another stillness in the hall, until:
âWhom do you have in mind?â Athena asked,
and not without some slight suspicion, knowing
the wily ways of her half-brother well, who
with a winsome smile replied: âOrlando.â
âHe in Crete?â There was, in all of Greece, but oneÂ
Orlando: Heraâs question was superfluous;
Orlando (he in Crete) was well known to the gods
for was he notâno god or mortal could be sureâ
the offspring of Dionysus and a youngÂ
shepherdess? What could be known for certain
was that heâd been found, and taken in and
cared for by the man he called his father
and his buxom wife, and that of all the boysÂ
(six brothers and three sisters in their brood)
Orlando was by far the fairest and most gentle,Â
most refined, most clever and most curious,Â
though also, if here truth be told and so it be,
when tending sheep the laziest. So prone
to getting lost in thought and in the process
losing some, orâas on one occasionâall, Â
his fatherâs sheep was young Orlando that
his father (and his brothers, though less kindly, too)
indulged the boy, allowing him to mainly lie
among the olive groves or vineyards and compose
sweet songs and poems that he would perform
at early even time for their diversion.Â
All the gods, including Thunderthrower Zeus,
were smitten with Orlando and would make
small gestures of affection secretly devised
to favour him among his village clan, and
none therefore were doubtful now that Hermes too
had plucked the youth from his obscurity
to feed (and still) a lingering desire,Â
but the gods, as is their wont, will make allowance
for such feeblenesses as among themÂ
they are only too familiar with, and so
none hesitated nor did anyone object,
but readily did they endorse the stratagem
wing-sandalled Hermes had devised, and swiftly now
at once did Hermes swoop to Crete to find
Orlando on the hillside underneath
his favourite olive tree, as usual, sound asleep.
Alighting by Orlandoâs feet, the messenger
did pause and gaze, enchanted, at this face
that, carefree in repose, and, with the speckled
sunshine through the leaves playing an undulating
patterned game of light and shadow on his cheeks,
seemed made of nacre, marvellous and fragile
and mysteriously soft yet to the touch,
and on Orlandoâs forehead Hermes laid his wandÂ
to gently waken him. This did not work:
too deep in slumber had Orlando sunk;
lost, dreaming of a loverâs warm embrace,
in tender fantasies, which partly now came true
as Hermes cupped his hand around his neck
and drew him near to kiss him on his lips,
which brought Orlando back from dreamland in a flash.
âI have,â spoke Hermes, as they both reclined
(following a short, impassioned tussle
that was certainly no dream, Orlando thought,Â
and yet too dreamlike to be taken quite as real)
âa task for you, which we, the gods, are certain you,
Orlando, are ideally placed to make your own.â
Orlando, still aglow, glanced as if throughÂ
the messenger godâs face and, mesmerised,
replied, âI will.â â âYou have not heard yet what it is.â
âI will do anything you, in the name of gods
or mortals or such creatures as you may invoke,Â
command me to.â â âBut I do not command,â
protested Hermes, âI invite you, if you choose,
to acquiesce.â â âI acquiesce wholeheartedly!â
exclaimed Orlando, flung his arms aroundÂ
the god once more and kissed him many dozen times:
âWhat is it you would have me do?â â Hermes demurred:
âIt is not me that you will please, nor shall I be
recipient of your service: but the gods
on whose behalf I speak, bid you set forth
and journey to the cities of our lands
to find what makes the fairest fair, the strongest strong,
the most agreeable and pleasant so,
and bring back evidence that may, at last,
settle the question vexing them: who holds
as patron the epitome of cities.â
At this he rose and, looking deep into
Orlandoâs eyes, gave him one more kiss on the lips
and, âyou will have guidance, counsel and good speed,â
he said, before he took his air-bound leave.
Orlando, in a daze, sighed, âwell, I may,
if all this is to come to pass, make my way
down from this hill now to Heraklion, where
cousin Lefterisâ friendâs father owns a ship
that sets off frequently from Crete to Athens:
the only other place of which I know
they call it âpolisâ; thence, I have no doubt
I shall find other âpoleisâ that serve to prove
or disprove any argument the gods dispute
and if it pleases Hermes that I please them so,
it pleases me to be their eyes and ears
and gatherer of evidence (if such exists).â
And without bye or leave or much ado
thus did Orlando; which is how it came to pass
that within days he found himself at sea,
embarked upon a voyage of discovery
to Athens. Athens. â Not Alexandria.
Earth-shaker and god of the seas Poseidon,
reeling from his loss of Athens to Athena
(though many centuries by now had passed),
acquainted by Nerites of Athenaâs boast,Â
and young Orlandoâs quest and voyage thither,
threw his trident in a rage down to the ground
and caused the sea off Milos to rebel and swell
three fathoms high, letting the skipper of
Orlandoâs ship fear for his and his cargoâs life
and sail as safely as he could around the isle,
then between Milos and Sifnos bear due east,
where gusts inflated by Poseidonâs ire
propelled them further down and further still:
no end in sight there seemed, for day and night
and day again, and night, until, at last,
with the sun rising for the third time since
theyâd spotted land, some calmer waters gave
the fragile vessel a long longed-for welcome
to plain sailing and respite. Orlando,
who had never been at sea, had turned in hue
as pale as the thin hazy clouds that lingered
in the distance between sea and sky, and
with supplies of food and wine now far too lowÂ
to risk returning to their erstwhile course
the skipper offered an alternative
as thrilling, he assured his fare, as Athens:
throbbing, thrusting, thriving Alexandria.
Orlando did not mind. Out on the deck again
and gently rocking on the soothing waves
he reasoned that a detour of this kind
was, like as not, the godsâ intent, and who,
he thought, was he to ponder on their will.
âThe gods,â Orlando mused, though to himself,
âin Alexandria will make it known to me
what in their name I might be doing there,â
and off he dozed. â The gods were not so sure.Â
For Alexandria was new. And none of them
did know it well, nor had the citizensÂ
of Alexandria yet cared to call uponÂ
a deity as their patron; no, their sole intent,
it seemed, was at this point to grow, and grow
their city did: with every day more people
came to stay, eager to build and keen to trade,
prepared to dare, to put at stake
their livelihood, if not their dreamed-of future,
in the new place named after the emperor
who brought the world he made his own to them.
And did it come: from far afield as China,
India and Arabia did wares arrive:
spices, gems, dried herbs and fruits, and ivory,
skins and silks and drapes and rugs and mosaics
and plants and medicines and, prized above all:
knowledge. Knowledge as had not been known before:
not only were new thoughts here thought â new ways
of thinking thoughts, ideas of what ideas might be
and records of such thoughts as had been thought
now found their home in Alexandria:
a hub of trade and commerce that became
a haven for enquiry and reason.
Orlando, who had never been to school,
but whose bright mind was ready soon to burst
with curiosity, had scarce set foot
on firm Egyptian soil before he found himself
in the Mouseionâs hallowed halls where not the gods
but all the muses were revered, and within days
illiterate country boy of yore, Orlando
found a teacher like none other in Euclid
and formed a college with some peers who much like he
had never once before soaked so in knowledge;
Orlando felt his mission was already done.Â
Here, surely, was the city of all cities
a place where people relished everything!
What multitudes he witnessed coming, going
sometimes standing in a spot, in conversation,
and what conversations he so overheard
and soon felt bold enough to have himself:
he would, thought young Orlando, simply stay
here for some time and learn and practise what he learnt
and then return and take with him some papyrus
and write downâsoon he would be able to!â
everything heâd seen and heard and done.
Beyond that, he was now convinced, need be no search:
perfect, indeed, was Alexandria.
At this point, Chronos entered in the fray.
Chronos has no time for trivial pursuits
such as the games his fellow deities
enjoy to play so frequently on humans;
he has no need for tributes and vain offerings,
for temples or for shrines, or cities given
to his name; Chronos is the god of time,
and time is endless for as long as there is time;
and there is nothing anyone can do to hasten
or to slow time in its pace, and Chronos knows
that every moment present next becomes
a moment past, and that the past is but
a future presently unmade by time, and time
itself is but the way we witness our decay,
to be reshaped as something else or maybe
something similar, in constant cycles,
ever-growing, ever more enlarged, until
time ceases to exist and we are gone.
Love may not be timeâs fool, but time is no-oneâs fool
and, irked by the bickering of his cousin gods,Â
Chronos decided here to intervene.
âMinions,â he cried, mostly to himself, for they,
as usual, cared not and paid no heed to him,
âwhat is perfection in the now when time
yet writes the histories, yet moves the skies,
yet makes a future certain though it be unknown,
yet turns each fleeting moment to a lasting past,
each monument to rubble, every pantheon
to dust: speak you of the city of all cities
and think not of time and cities yet to come?
Oh vanity, oh unsupportable conceit!
You may be gods and think yourselves beyond
the ravages and promises of time,
but what you speak of is not so: your witness
shall bear witness to this too and travel
far beyond the realms alone of land and sea,â
and for his purpose called upon swift Hermes,
just as the other gods had done before.Â
He to Orlando and with Hypnosâ help (the
limitations of his own caduceus known)
sent him to gentle sleep, but not before
reminding him that time was short (the opposite
would prove the case, but this Hermes did not relay)
and coaxing him, with promises of wonders,
wisdoms and of winsome folk more worthy
of his admiration than what he found here,
upon a merchant vessel, large and tall.
And thus Orlando, worldly now, acquainted
with philosophy and algebra, and art
and poetry and history; conversant
in both Greek and Latin, and in Arabic:
a young man now of learning and some wealth
(Tyche, unsurprisingly, had smiled on him)
did sail across the sea of Mid-Terrania
bound, in deepest slumber, for Byzantium.
(This time, none other than Dionysus,
god of ritual and fertility,Â
religious ecstasy, the theatre,
harvest, winemaking and indeed of wine
in all its wondrous workings was to blameâÂ
if âblameâ can be a word employed to name
the impact of the gods on our fateâ
that the strong ship in which Orlando sailed
did veer off course again and make headway
elsewhere: the seas were calm, the windsÂ
unfurious but fair; it was the captain
at the helm who savoured all the pleasures
that Orlandoâs rumoured father stood for
just too much to keep a steady hand andÂ
soon landed, haphazardly, in Italy...)
It is a tale through the ages. Travelling through time from Alexandria 320 BCE, Florence 1504, 1600s London, Paris 1789, Vienna 1905, and New York 1960s.
Orlando is sent by the gods in search of the most wonderous city to settle a dispute among them. Trained in the arts and language, he embarks on a journey of a lifetime. Through the ages, and even through the eyes of a man and a woman, Orlando experiences marvellous adventures that highlight history, and bring to light perhaps what has been lost.
The writing is almost like a song, a poem that describes the emotions and experiences of the man sent by the gods. It feels as if the character is talking or singing directly to us, as we are drawn back in time with Orlando to the age of wonder and imagination.
This is not an action-packed tale, simply a uniquely-told story that uses words in a lyrical way that drew me in. I was more connected with the story by the way words were used, rather than the close connection with the characters. It is a story that takes its time, yet is not boring, if you enjoy the classical era.
Â
The characters in this tale seem to be created as a way to explain the times, and to showcase some of the most pivotal and wonderous events that occurred within that era, rather than for the reader to connect with them. Â
The author has successfully taken each era and written in the style that fits the era and country to the way they would entertain the people of the time. From Greek sagas, to an Italian poem, an English play, a French novella, and a modern-day drama.
It is rather engaging how the author narrates each historical element in the story, portraying the tale how it would be told befitting to the era. It cumulates historical events and pivotal historical characters to depict a colourful journey of history through the eyes of a rather unique character.
Readers looking for a bit of an adventure and enjoy history and the classical era, you might enjoy this read.