Of Books and Bookcases

Cases of wine. Three cases, all of them empty.

Every once in a while, my beautiful wife hints that she is tired of moving stacks of books from the table. Or the armchair. Or the couch. Usually I can fix this by taking several stacks back to the library. Because I sit at the circulation desk from 10am to 6pm every Saturday, I borrow a lot of books. I know that I shouldn’t do this, that I have neither the time nor the space to bring them home. But I do.

However, a couple of days ago, after I hauled some fifteen books back to St. John’s, I came home to see several more stacks. I have accumulated too many new books. And of course, all of our existing bookshelves were stuffed to the seams mere minutes after we carried them up the stairs last August.

So I got new ones: three empty wine crates. I came home stacked them up, dusted them out, and there they are. Three new shelves.

This is actually, the second time I have done this. The first time, Melody didn’t hint. She gave me something of an ultimatum: “Off the table, or out the window.” I don’t recall how we stumbled upon the solution, but we were both very pleased with the result. After a short walk down the street to Mills, we bought six empty crates for six dollars. Melody is happy that we can sit down to supper. I am happy that I didn’t have to purchase any ridiculously overpriced sawdust glued together in planks of pressboard.

Last night, I got my new shelves for free. We have made a couple of friends at the shop. Since we like their wine, they seem to like us. Also, yesterday my banker gave me a free travel mug. All in all, I think our situation is improving. But I would still like to have a dishwasher.

As for the new books, I am really enjoying the Greek tragedians. In seminar, we just finished the Theban Cycle of Sophocles.

Question:

Who is the more tragic figure, Creon or Antigone? On my first reading, I initially saw Antigone as something of a martyr. She stands on her principles and is condemned to death. But if this is true, she demonstrating a stark beauty, not tragedy. Creon, on the other hand, is clearly tragic. Although he eventually sees the error of his decree through the aid of Teiresias, he corrects himself too late to save his niece, his son, or his wife. At the end of the play, he asks to led from the city, just as Oedipus asks at the end of Oedipus Rex.

Last night in class, however, my view of Antigone began to change. First, in the opening scene, she chastises her sister:

Be as you choose to be; but for myself
I myself will bury him. It will be good
to die so doing.

Their brother Eteocles has already received burial, but Creon has forbidden anyone to bury Polyneices because he sought to take back the throne of Thebes by overthrowing his brother. Although Ismene will not defy Creon and the laws of the city, she says that she will remain quiet. But to Antigone this seems to be even worse:

Oh, oh no! shout it out. I will hate you still worse
for silence — should you not proclaim it,
to everyone.

If the dishonor is simply that her brother is unburied, why does she respond this way? If she simply desires to be pious, it seems she would say “My brother must be buried,” not “I myself must bury my brother.” Moreover, when Antigone is brought before Creon, Ismene, overcome with grief, attempts to join in her sister’s fate, but Antigone refuses her.

Viewed this way, Antigone is no innocent martyr cut down by cruel injustice. She is just as guilty of an unrelenting pride as Creon, and has brought her fate upon herself. Interestingly, once she learns she will not be executed but imprisoned alive in a tomb, she bemoans her fate, which she had not feared earlier in the play.