The Introduction offers an analysis of the poem’s proem to offer a first example of the methodology of the book and of Statius’ sophisticated engagement with Ovid. A discussion of the historical context in which the poem was composed warns readers about the risks of interpreting the Thebaid only in the light of the anti-Domitianic writings of Tacitus, Suetonius, and Pliny, suggesting the importance of non-literary and material sources. A critical overview of the scholarly debate on the Thebaid and the exploration of ancient reading habits – including the consideration of attestations of Ovidian stories in frescoes and monuments – suggests that intertextuality can consist of interactions of meanings (potentially independent of verbal allusions). Furthermore, texts can engage in dialogue with the semantics of both textual and non-textual narratives. Accordingly, the introduction suggests that the study of the Thebaid’s poetics and politics (broadly understood) involves the exploration of how different kinds of intertextual and intermedial interplays shape the poem’s engagement with both past literary models and the contemporary realities of Flavian Rome.

W. H. Auden made it clear in his ‘Letter to Lord Byron’ and various prose writings on Byron that what counted for him was the poet’s ‘voice’: ‘I like your muse because she’s gay and witty / […] / I like her voice that does not make me jump’.1 ‘Voice’ was no small matter for Auden, since as he famously declared in ‘September 1, 1939’ it was all he had ‘[t]o undo the folded lie’.2 Addressing Byron in the form of a verse-letter allowed him to find a new voice for himself. Within the context of Letters from Iceland, the format permitted him to talk on public matters while adopting the tone of a private communication; and, in addition, it allowed him to develop a broader conception of poetry’s scope, by finding in it a place for the non-earnest – something, as he saw it, that had been lost along the way in the development of poetry since Byron’s time. It gave a new direction to his own writing, preparing the way for the longer poems of the second half of his career.

This chapter offers a trenchant criticism of the discipline of classical philology as practised today. At its heart is a consideration of the Cambridge series, ‘Roman Literature and its Contexts,’ and the shifting view of classical philology that the series promotes. Above all, the chapter shows how the hold of the godlike author on the imagination of classical philologists is as strong as ever. The authority of a single source for meaning continues in many quarters to be upheld; its relation to the theology of monotheism remains unacknowledged. This critique is illuminated with a performance of an alternative mode of reading: a pliant, tentative, open-ended interpretation of one historically contingent text by one fallible, human, historically contingent reader. Uncovering the entanglement of classical philology and theology dethrones simultaneously both the godlike author and the godlike scholar.

Cormac McCarthy’s fiction and drama reveal his deep knowledge of and fascination with the Bible and how people interpret it. This knowledge appears in his use of Biblical diction, allusions, and typology. Given the Bible’s cultural weight in the West, McCarthy uses its language to elevate imagery or ideas to a kind of cosmic significance. Biblical allusions and typology allow McCarthy to draw various theological themes into his texts, contributing to his polyphonic style. The Bible also serves as an opportunity to explore the nature of interpretation and meaning for many of McCarthy’s characters. In The Orchard Keeper, Outer Dark, Suttree, and Blood Meridian, characters debate the proper way to interpret passages in the Bible, which reflects McCarthy’s broader interest in the way we interpret the world and the sacred. The Bible is an essential context to understanding McCarthy’s works in their fullness.