That ties in with the bit about Is Creon a tyrant or isn’t he, tune in next week and find out same time same station, because supposedly the Nazis let him put on that play because they thought Creon was right, and Antigone, who represented the French, was wrong.”
“The Free French,” Kate rather breathlessly said, “as opposed to the French government which had made a pact with Hitler.” She had long accustomed herself to the fact that such events, to her the very cornerstone of contemporary history, were just ancient history, and rather shopworn at that, to students who had not been born until twelve years or more after the fall of France. “A good idea,” she said to Betsy. “What has always struck me so forcibly about the
Antigone
is the way it sort of floats into the Greek theater—the whole storyof Antigone’s burying her brother contrary to Creon’s edict isn’t even part of the tradition—and then disappears until the nineteenth century. Then it’s discovered by a woman writer, George Eliot, as central to her ideas about identity and destiny.”
“It’s the sort of story that would have to wait around for a woman to pick it up,” Angelica Jablon said. “Antigone had to be a woman; it’s why Creon can keep sneering at her. ‘No woman’s going to tell me what to do,’ and that sort of thing. Only a woman was enough of a slave to like require the kind of guts Antigone had.”
“So Virginia Woolf suggests, more or less,” Kate said. “Would that be a topic for you?”
“I don’t mind if that’s what you want,” Angelica said, “but it seems to me it’s really a story of individuals against the Establishment, the military-industrial complex like, and all that.”
“I’ll do the woman bit,” Alice Kirkland said. “How about comparing it to
Lysistrata?
”
“No harm comparing it to anything you want,” Kate said, “if you think the comparison isn’t just superficial.”
“It’s not even a comparison,” Betsy said. “One is a real modern problem, the other’s the same old comic turn—woman’s only weapon is sex, so she uses it.”
“I agree,” Angelica said. “Antigone stands for humanity against arbitrary state law. That she’s a woman just makes it harder to stand up to Creon. But she doesn’t use her sex to bury her brother.”
“She uses her sex, or rather, her sex matters in her having Haemon on her side,” Elizabeth said.
“If Haemon were really a male chauvinist likeCreon,” Betsy said, “he would have gone for Ismene who’s much more ‘feminine,’ if you’ll excuse the expression.”
“Perhaps,” Kate said, “we might discuss the role of Tiresias in that connection.”
“He’s certainly one of the few—perhaps the only true—androgynous characters there are,” Betsy added.
“What I like about talking to you,” Alice Kirkland said, “is that it’s so
educative
.”
“The fact is, I wonder why someone doesn’t write a comedy of manners about
him
,” Betsy said. “Not to mention the boy he is always leaning on—in play after play, he never gets a chance to open his little mouth, like the bat boy with a baseball team.”
“So tell us what’s ‘androgynous’ already,” Angelica said.
“There goes Angelica, the Jewish mother—cut it out, Angie,” Freemond Oliver said. “Angie wrote a skit for the drama group about Saint Mary and Saint Elizabeth as Jewish mothers. It was pretty funny, I’ll admit, but let’s not make it a habit, O.K., Angie?” Her eyes, like Kate’s, were on Elizabeth, who looked embarrassed.
“O.K., Oliver, so what’s—how do you define ‘androgynous’?”
“Both men and women,” Betsy said, “have aspects of both sexes, with one sex predominating if you’re lucky, and one sex predominating too much if you’re unlucky enough to end up with a sewing circle or the Elks. Shaw called
them
manly men and womanly women, but we’ll let that one go by. Tiresias had actually been both a man and a
“The Free French,” Kate rather breathlessly said, “as opposed to the French government which had made a pact with Hitler.” She had long accustomed herself to the fact that such events, to her the very cornerstone of contemporary history, were just ancient history, and rather shopworn at that, to students who had not been born until twelve years or more after the fall of France. “A good idea,” she said to Betsy. “What has always struck me so forcibly about the
Antigone
is the way it sort of floats into the Greek theater—the whole storyof Antigone’s burying her brother contrary to Creon’s edict isn’t even part of the tradition—and then disappears until the nineteenth century. Then it’s discovered by a woman writer, George Eliot, as central to her ideas about identity and destiny.”
“It’s the sort of story that would have to wait around for a woman to pick it up,” Angelica Jablon said. “Antigone had to be a woman; it’s why Creon can keep sneering at her. ‘No woman’s going to tell me what to do,’ and that sort of thing. Only a woman was enough of a slave to like require the kind of guts Antigone had.”
“So Virginia Woolf suggests, more or less,” Kate said. “Would that be a topic for you?”
“I don’t mind if that’s what you want,” Angelica said, “but it seems to me it’s really a story of individuals against the Establishment, the military-industrial complex like, and all that.”
“I’ll do the woman bit,” Alice Kirkland said. “How about comparing it to
Lysistrata?
”
“No harm comparing it to anything you want,” Kate said, “if you think the comparison isn’t just superficial.”
“It’s not even a comparison,” Betsy said. “One is a real modern problem, the other’s the same old comic turn—woman’s only weapon is sex, so she uses it.”
“I agree,” Angelica said. “Antigone stands for humanity against arbitrary state law. That she’s a woman just makes it harder to stand up to Creon. But she doesn’t use her sex to bury her brother.”
“She uses her sex, or rather, her sex matters in her having Haemon on her side,” Elizabeth said.
“If Haemon were really a male chauvinist likeCreon,” Betsy said, “he would have gone for Ismene who’s much more ‘feminine,’ if you’ll excuse the expression.”
“Perhaps,” Kate said, “we might discuss the role of Tiresias in that connection.”
“He’s certainly one of the few—perhaps the only true—androgynous characters there are,” Betsy added.
“What I like about talking to you,” Alice Kirkland said, “is that it’s so
educative
.”
“The fact is, I wonder why someone doesn’t write a comedy of manners about
him
,” Betsy said. “Not to mention the boy he is always leaning on—in play after play, he never gets a chance to open his little mouth, like the bat boy with a baseball team.”
“So tell us what’s ‘androgynous’ already,” Angelica said.
“There goes Angelica, the Jewish mother—cut it out, Angie,” Freemond Oliver said. “Angie wrote a skit for the drama group about Saint Mary and Saint Elizabeth as Jewish mothers. It was pretty funny, I’ll admit, but let’s not make it a habit, O.K., Angie?” Her eyes, like Kate’s, were on Elizabeth, who looked embarrassed.
“O.K., Oliver, so what’s—how do you define ‘androgynous’?”
“Both men and women,” Betsy said, “have aspects of both sexes, with one sex predominating if you’re lucky, and one sex predominating too much if you’re unlucky enough to end up with a sewing circle or the Elks. Shaw called
them
manly men and womanly women, but we’ll let that one go by. Tiresias had actually been both a man and a
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