This chapter takes the history of literary history beyond the confines of the classical period, and past the formal parameters of prose. Its focus is Philostratus’ depiction of the Second Sophistic, one of most instrumental and contentious ancient models of epoch-making. The Second Sophistic is conventionally considered a world of prose. I make the case for the central role of poetry in Philostratus’ conception of its literary identity. After some preliminary remarks on the complex construct of the Second Sophistic as a cultural phenomenon, and the undoubtable but controversial role of Philostratus at the centre of it, I offer a close reading of the multiple moments of poetry within the Vitae Sophistarum, which shed new light on Philostratus’ approach to the textuality and temporality of this milieu. The chapter ends by discussing the Heroicus, which contains Philostratus’ most elaborate verse compositions, and sees the voices of ancient poets resurrected into new sophistic poetry. This close encounter with Philostratean verse reveals an active and experimental approach to the poetic tradition which treats canonical verse texts as both bounded and closed, and inherently unfinished, and where the lines between old and new, verse and prose, exegesis and literature are interrogated and undermined.

Throughout Varro’s fragmentary corpus is a seeming obsession with textual afterlives, his own as well as of others. This was not merely a literary trope, but an idea grounded in Neoptolemus of Parium’s ars poetica and its counter-intuitive definition of ‘poet’. In his theory of poetry, ‘poet’ refers not to the historical poet who creates a poem, but to the meaning or ‘mind’ of a poem, and this ‘poet’ (the poet scriptus) acquires an immortality denied to the flesh-and-blood poet (the poet scribens). Varro’s approach to literary history is informed by this definition of ‘poet’, and when he writes about Rome’s literary past, his interest is less in biographical data about historical poets than in poetic self-preservation through mimesis. An examination of fragments from the De poetis, the De poematis, the De comoediis Plautinis, and the poetic epitaphs preserved in Gellius demonstrates how Varro’s interest in literary immortality and mimesis was misread as literary history in the narrow sense.

In a famous passage of his Metamorphoses Ovid describes the via Lactea, leading from Earth to Heaven and to the Gods of Olympus, by comparing it to the city of Rome (1.173–6). But if Heaven is like Rome, Rome too is like Heaven: in his exile poetry Ovid represents the emperor as ‘Jupiter on earth’, and it is an obvious consequence that the places inhabited by him may appear as a sort of Olympus on earth. Augustus’ house is thus described as Jupiter’s royal palace (Tr. 3.1.33–8 uideo fulgentibus armis | conspicuos postes tectaque digna deo, | et ‘Iouis haec’ dixi ‘domus est?’ quod ut esse putarem, | augurium menti querna corona dabat. | cuius ut accepi dominum, ‘non fallimur’, inquam, | ‘et magni uerum est hanc Iouis esse domum’), and this reversal of the normal spatial hierarchy becomes a standard encomiastic/panegyric trait of the Imperial age (cf. Statius’ description of Domitian’s house at Silv. 4.2.18–21, and many of Martial’s references to Domitian’s courtly world). Rome, being the seat of imperial power, thus looks like a heavenly city: a paradoxical anticipation of (or maybe a hint of?) the Christian idea that will be elaborated by Augustine.

This introductory chapter reflects on the importance of monuments, topography and symbolic space in the production of Augustan ideology, both reviewing the manifold ways in which the princeps sought to impose himself on the urban and Italian landscape, and seeking to contextualise these within wider patterns in the literary and cultural construction of space in the first century BC. After a brief review of the ‘spatial turn’ in Classical Studies, it goes on to identify six broad categories within which the construction and representation of space in ancient literary texts has typically been considered in recent scholarship: the relation between written and physical cities; the relation between space and hegemonic power; the contrasting paradigms of hodological and cartographic space; the relation between centre and periphery; space as a site of cultural memory; and the conceptualisation of poetics in spatial terms. A final section traces some key themes that emerge from the volume’s remaining chapters and relates them to these wider trends in Classical Studies.

This chapter outlines a profile of Cicero as a literary historian, starting from the idea that his interest in the historical development of literature relates to a broader and more comprehensive interest in history and historiography. The analysis of some digressions about literary history in the dialogues of the fifties (De oratore and De legibus) and forties (Brutus and Tusculanae disputationes) shows that Cicero is interested in placing literary figures on a timeline according to a chronology that he constructs on the basis of synchronisms and other chronological schemes. His method is influenced by contemporary intellectual debates, in which he engages, that led to the production of antiquarian and chronographic works. Therefore, in addition to discussing Cicero’s literary history in light of his intellectual and historiographical interests, this chapter shows how the literary-historical dimension of his oeuvre attests to a lively contemporary context in which various forms of historical knowledge and writing flourished.

In the two loci classici about Roman satire, Quintilian and Diomedes famously draw a bifurcation of the history of the genre into two strands, which often comes in handy for modern scholars. This chapter argues that this bifurcation is the result of a stratification of, and compromise between, at least two different views: a communis opinio held by most authors of satire of the Republican period and their readers, and the single but ‘authoritative’ view of Horace, who established meter as a formal criterion to define satire. This chapter traces the origins of both views by discussing the relevant sources, and shows how Horace’s Satires appropriated pre-existing ideas about the nature and history of the genre, innovated on key aspects of them, and became a source of original ideas in turn. A similar scheme applies to Quintilian and Diomedes too: their perspective combines previous stances, but this combination itself represents an innovation which influences our own view of Roman satire in turn. Thus, while focusing on Roman satire, this chapter discusses a more general dynamic in the creation of literary histories.

Relatively few works of ancient literature survive intact. Many more are known only as fragments or through the testimony of other authors. How should literary history acknowledge the fact and the consequences of such extensive loss? This chapter reviews the difficulties in identifying and presenting the evidence for lost works, explores what (besides their hypothetical reconstruction) can be learned from their remains, and considers how accommodation of the lost and the fragmentary challenges historians of literature to rethink the objectives and the methods of their enterprise.

This chapter examines Propertius’ poetics of space, particularly as it relates to Roman imperialist rhetoric. Beyond the relatively obvious metapoetic images of height and lowliness, it suggests that Propertius employs a range of other spatial metaphors in his construction of a poetic self-image, drawing notably on the language of boundaries and boundlessness, centre and periphery; here, elegiac poetics capitalises on what the author terms the ‘centrifugal’ and ‘centripetal’ aspects of imperialist discourse, whereby Rome expands to fill the world, but also subsumes or draws in the products and characteristics of all other nations. In his more confident moments, the elegist represents himself not merely as echoing or collaborating with, but as surpassing the achievements of Augustus himself. A similar symbolic rivalry may be seen in Propertius’ self-representation as triumphator; the author links this in turn to the poet’s references to monumental architecture, particularly the ecphrasis of the Temple of Palatine Apollo in 2.31, which may be understood as a figurative monument to the power of poetry, dependent on but not identical with its counterpart in the physical landscape of Rome.

In his oft-cited and still fundamental Criticism in Antiquity (1981), Donald Russell wrote that ancient literary history was ‘very rudimentary by modern standards’. Going far beyond Russell’s brief chapter on the subject, this volume seeks to understand ancient literary history on its own terms. The introduction places the present volume in context by considering how the recent history of modern literary history, both inside and outside the discipline of classics, puts us in a better position to re-evaluate its ancient congener. Embracing a more expansive and less essentialist approach to the objectives and methodology of the modern study of ancient literary history can enable us to approach the ancient study of literary history in a fresh light. In other words, abandoning misconceptions about both ancient and modern literary history is a necessary condition for a full ‘rehabilitation’, as it were, of an often neglected subject within Classical Studies: the Greeks and Romans’ perception, study, and representation of their own literary pasts. The introduction closes by drawing out some of the overarching themes of the volume and provides a short introduction to each chapter.