Writing in the first century ce, Columella delineates farming practice based on personal experience and observation. Roman attitudes towards slavery, truth, and torture are highlighted in a particularly graphic description of preparing the soil for sowing.

This article is about J. R. R. Tolkien's adaptation of Pythagorean musical elements in the ‘Song of the Ainur’ of the Silmarillion. It details Tolkien's use of Pythagorean dissonance, along with what that amounts to in terms of musical theory, and explores the epistemological origins of the concept and how it found its way into this work of fiction. On the latter point, Platonism, Neoplatonism, and early Christian theology are considered. This includes the likes of Prudentius, pseudo-Dionysius, Augustine, and Aquinas, among others. The article observes that Tolkien has deliberately chosen a somewhat esoteric element of Pythagorean musical theory, albeit highly relevant to his own historical context, in order to explore concepts of morality along with the traditional, Christian conundrum of predestination vs. free will.

The Charles Keck reliefs on the Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art in Kansas City, MO, portray the triumph of white settlers over Native Americans, who are depicted as stereotypically aggressive and ‘barbaric’. Keck's sculptures invite comparison to the metopes of the Parthenon, which depict the triumph of Greek and Athenian ‘civilization’ over ‘barbarism’. The central focus of Keck's reliefs is Fortitude, an allegorical figure whose image throughout art history is indebted to depictions of Athena and Minerva, and who serves for the Nelson-Atkins as a modern American proxy for the Athenian goddess. As the Periclean building programme proclaimed Athenian superiority and had long-term cultural and economic impacts for Athens, the Nelson-Atkins is intimately connected to the economic and urban development of Kansas City, including its history of racist real estate practices, engineered by a founding trustee of the museum, which became a national model.

An anecdote, ascribed to Dicaearchus by Athenaeus (13.603.a–b) and found also in Plutarch (Alexander 67.7–8), details Alexander's kissing of the eunuch Bagoas during theatrical contests in Carmania in 325 bce. This article examines the enthusiastic response that this encounter is said to have elicited from Alexander's soldiers. It is suggested that this impromptu kiss was read as a display of homoerotic behaviour that was fundamentally Greek, and even as a gesture of Greek domination over Persians, and that, as such, it was welcomed by the army as a momentary departure from the increasingly Persianized behaviour of the king himself and of his court. Further, consideration is given to the possibility that the choral contest in which Bagoas is reported to have competed prior to the kiss may have been an innovative form of pyrrhic dance, in which for the first time the dancers depicted Dionysus’ conquest of India.

Verse epitaphs are our main and very abundant source for responses to individual deaths. We can almost never know exactly whose attitudes or values they express, but we can assume that they embody attitudes and values that it was acceptable to express publicly. Many at all dates seek merely to commemorate the dead person or convey grief, but, from about 400 bce onwards, others adopt a position on the fate of the dead person, though often hedged with a cautious ‘if’. Very many possibilities emerge: they range from a plain denial that anything survives death, via claims that the dead person is now (e.g.) in the aither/in the home of the blessed/on Olympos/with the heroes, to, very rarely, declarations that s/he is now actually a god. Strangely enough, support for such claims is never sought in the fact of the dead person being an initiate in a cult that promised advantage in the afterlife. In all this we see not so much individual choices as the range of options available for individuals to believe in. But we must also suspect that belief in the more optimistic options can seldom have been as firm as in a society where such options were authoritatively endorsed and alternatives not publicly countenanced.

As against the abiding popular image of the ever-dauntless Spartans, serious commentators have long recognized what a central part fear played in Lacedaemonian life: fear of the helots, fear of the laws, fear of defeat and dishonour and disgrace, without hope of respite this side of the grave. Yet the full implications of such a life, forever suspended most precariously ‘between shame and glory’ as Jean-Pierre Vernant put it, have not been drawn out, especially with respect to its supposed beneficiaries, the Spartiates, who were sacrificed to its merciless logic no less than those they were keeping under such brutal subjugation. This essay proposes to close the gap by fitting together the dispersed pieces and presenting a more comprehensive picture of the silent anxieties and hidden miseries of the vaunted masters of Sparta who purchased their dominion at so frightful a price, not only to others, but also to themselves.

The present article will reconsider the historiographical value played by the 182 bc Antigonid military ritual – known as Xanthika. Firstly, in order to appraise ancient historiographical adaptations and modern analytical shortcomings, this article will retrace extant ancient sources and, secondly, its current state-of-the-art. Thirdly, the original Polybian treatment will be discerned from its Livian adaptations, and historiographical distinctions will be proposed for each version. Fourthly, the Xanthika will be reconsidered as a key historiographical device through which Polybius coupled the Hellenic themes of Alexandrian legitimacy, deep-rooted tyrannical discord, and irreversible royal decadence within a larger narrative of the Roman ascendance towards world dominance.

The final episode of the Anabasis dismays many readers: Xenophon takes a small group of associates to kidnap the household of the wealthy Persian, Asidates. Thereby he himself becomes wealthy. This paper examines several details of the account of that episode. The mature author gives us the unvarnished facts straightforwardly, through the uncritical perspective of the youthful agent. From these brute facts the reader may infer that the mature writer intends a negative judgement about the final episode. The mature Xenophon thus presents some self-criticism. That capacity for self-criticism may come from the influence of Socrates. There are reasons, however, to make a further judgement that Xenophon's admirable capacity for self-criticism was sadly limited. One cannot escape deep disappointment after reflecting on the final episode of the Anabasis.

Considering Roman art as a cumulative process could help resolve a small iconographical problem. Cubiculum N in the burial hypogeum under the Via Dino Compagni in Rome (c.350–75 ce) features a series of figure scenes referencing the exploits of the mythological hero Hercules. One of these scenes, presently entitled Hercules Slaying an Unknown Enemy, has no direct equivalent in extant Roman art and so has proved difficult to identify. This article suggests that Hercules’ battle with Cacus is most likely the incident referred to here. This is because Antonine medallions and coins, and third-century Roman sarcophagi, use imagery associated with the Cacus story that collectively could have contributed to the design of the Unknown Enemy panel. Further, identifying the defeated enemy as Cacus fits in with, and indeed helps to clarify, programmatic themes and associations already established in the other figure scenes in this funerary chamber.

The article takes a critical look at the idea that the gathering of men Lucretia confronts a few moments before her suicide is to be understood as an ancient Roman domestic court (consilium domesticum). Arguing from the basis that the paternal power (patria potestas) is a constitutive element of this private-law institution, it examines what supports and what conflicts with the interpretation.

In the books reviewed there is a cumulative resistance to the normative discourse, shifting our attention away from the centre and to the margins. This might mean listening to marginalized women, from the poets themselves to characters in poetry, or people today who relate to those female characters’ experiences. It might mean pushing beyond spatial boundaries and encountering dislocation and disjunction in the hazy hinterland of the non-elite. It might mean moving the human to one side, so that nature and the nonhuman can come to the fore (and teach us about what it means to be human, along the way). These books give voice to suppressed groups including women, animals, and the land. They highlight axes of oppression, and give us tools to shift the balance of power: from the language we use to the way we relate to the world around us. And with stories of prophetic horses, sympathetic lions, and pensive pigs, their interpretations – as well as the classical tales they recount – are not to be missed!

An inscription carved on the interior corner of the north-west anta of the Temple of Artemis at Sardis records the obligations of a certain Mnesimachos in return for a loan of money he received from the temple funds. Unable or unwilling to pay his loan, Mnesimachos declared his decision to convey his estate to Artemis and accept the conditions of the contract. This estate, including villages, dwellings, and peasant-serfs, had been given to him by King Antigonos Monophthalmos around 300 bce. The present work attempts to focus on the sequence of events in Mnesimachos’ life and their relation to the history and architecture of this important temple. The new reading of these events as a result of the last two decades or excavations at Sardis offers us a synthetic understanding of the Hellenistic history of the city and an insight into Mnesimachos’ willingness to forgo his estate in a financial deal that ultimately tricks the goddess.

The study of the transmission of Latin texts has received an important new addition: the second volume of Stephen Oakley's Studies in the Transmission of Latin Texts, dedicated to the text of Vitruvius, the agricultural treatises of Cato and Varro, Porphyrio's commentary on Horace (or, rather, the abbreviated commentary transmitted under his name in manuscript V and younger related manuscripts), and Priscian's Latin translation of Dionysius’ Periegesis.1 In meticulous analyses and close work with manuscripts and incunables, Oakley traces the transmission of these texts and the genealogical relationships of individual (groups of) manuscripts as well as the progress of the scholarship on their transmission. The book is nicely illustrated by fifty-one images of some of the key manuscripts, and Oakley provides information of how to access these and others online as well.

How do we read Greek literature? In the original language or in translation? With a theoretical lens or without? Bringing in our modern perspectives or trying to track ancient approaches? Identifying with characters or exercising supposed academic detachment? How we read Greek texts affects what we read in those texts. And who we are affects how we read. A number of recent publications prompt us to interrogate our reading practices by drawing on theories ancient and modern and reflecting on who we are and how entangled we are with other entities (from the objects we use to the poetry we embody to the narratives in which we are immersed).

The new paradigm of ancient economic history that has dominated the last twenty years is based on New Institutional Economics; its key concepts are growth and transaction costs. It has succeeded in proving that the ancient economies were not static and in documenting the significance of ancient markets; but by excising labour, slavery, and exploitation from discussion, the conceptual limits of this paradigm are becoming apparent to more and more people. The volume edited by John Weisweiler on debt in the ancient Mediterranean and Near East is solid evidence that an alternative, non-neoliberal, paradigm is currently in the process of formation.1 The book is obviously an attempt to assess the validity of David Graeber's blockbuster book on debt for the study of ancient economic and social history.2 As with the volume on citizenship presented below, the fact that this collection of twelve essays ranges temporally from the archaic period to the early middle ages and includes Greek, Roman, and Near Eastern societies is an excellent illustration of a growing and encouraging trend in our discipline. This is a highly stimulating volume. The essays explore: the nexus between coinage, slavery, and warfare in various ancient societies; how quantified social obligations colonized various social, political, and intellectual fields; and whether Graeber's concept of the Axial Age is valuable for the study of ancient history. Perhaps unsurprisingly, Graeber's model seems to fit best the world of ancient empires (Roman, late Roman, and Sassanian), but seems to make less sense for the world of Greek poleis. This illustrates, yet again, the need for Greek historians to think seriously about the peculiarities of the Greek world and the appropriate comparisons.

Let us start with a wonderful book that shows us not only Plautine comedy, but also Republican literary culture in a new light: Emilia Barbiero's fascinating exploration of the role played by letters in Plautus’ comedies. In five chapters dedicated to Bacchides, Persa, Pseudolus, Curculio, and, finally, Epidicus and Trinummus, she develops a powerful argument for the intricate metatheatric implications of the writing, reading, forging, or not-opening of letters on the Plautine stage. Countering a scholarly trend that tends to emphasize the role of improvisation, collaboration, and preliterate forms of theatre in Plautus’ comedies, Barbiero shows that the use of letters in Plautus’ comedies – without exception employed for amorous affairs – rather points to a deep concern with writing as the basis for acting and that they can be understood as mirrors of the text within the text and as mise-en-abyme of the origins of Plautine comedy in a script.

I commence this review with six important works on mobility, diasporas, ethnicities, and intercultural relations in antiquity; after a decade of relative dearth of significant contributions, it is truly wonderful that the field is moving again. Jonathan Hall and James Osborne have edited an excellent volume on the interregional networks in the eastern Mediterranean between 900–600 bce. The volume aims to link the novel approaches to Mediterranean history espoused in the major syntheses by Nicholas Purcell – Peregrine Horden and Cyprian Broodbank respectively, with new approaches to the study of cross-cultural interaction and material culture. The editors explicitly and convincingly argue in favour of employing multiple models for explaining the Early Iron Age Mediterranean; the ten chapters exemplify both multiplicity and important common themes. Certain contributions accept the concept of globalization as a useful way of explaining the changes evident across the Mediterranean. While some contributions problematize the concept of style as a means of drawing clear ethnic lines among artists and artistic traditions, other scholars argue for the need to maintain traditional ethnic labels like that of the Phoenicians, which is facing a current deconstructive trend; equally interesting is the stress on the agency of specific groups, like mercenaries, as agents of connectivity. Particularly significant, finally, is the focus on areas that have usually remained at the margins of discussion of Iron Age interconnectivity, like the North Aegean and the Troad, the Black Sea, Anatolia and Egypt.

The first book in this review refers back to a theme we have considered repeatedly in previous reviews: cities, in this case those of Roman Italy and the new modes of investigation that are bringing them alive.1 The volume is particularly interested in looking at the diversity of these centres, laying to rest that early twentieth century faith in the regularity of the Roman town plan. Instead, the case studies in the volume show how towns in different areas of Italy fared and failed to meet the demands of their immediate surroundings as well as responding to wider political and economic changes. This changing understanding comes from two directions: our willingness to ask new questions of the cities and the use of new technology. In all the case studies, different kinds of remote sensing technology (clearly laid out by Martin Millett in the first chapter as a preamble to his case study of Falerii Novi) and drone photography allow the city to be mapped and explored in new ways. The book shows how these have allowed new evidence and questions, affecting traditional interpretations. The whole thing is finished by an epilogue by John Patterson, who pulls together some of these themes and points to new questions.

After six years, this will be my tenth survey review here – and last. Since these reviews are intended to enable some sense of the state of the evolving field, I thought I might in this swansong try to offer not just the usual smorgasbord of Roman entertainment but an attempt at a synthesis of five key directions in research. A whole host of qualifications immediately raise their heads, of course – anglophone dominance, incomplete representation of presses, and my own not inconsiderable limitations of time, ability, and interest. Still, since opportunities for such overviews over time are sparse, the exercise will hopefully be instructive even so hamstrung.

Paul Woodruff, who sadly passed away last year (28 August 1943–23 September 2023), left us an extraordinary and timely gift in his book Living Toward Virtue,1 a masterpiece on practical ethics that engages with and goes beyond the Socratic philosophy found in Plato's dialogues. The book is a tour de force of scholarship, intellectual humility, and philosophical acuity. It offers a neo-Socratic approach to virtue ethics – often contrasting it with neo-Aristotelian virtue ethics – based on the Socratic idea of taking care of our souls, which entails relentless self-examination that maintains us aware of our cognitive limitations and could help us avoid moral injury.