B. discusses a single word in five Greek novels. The choice to use an untranslated Greek term, sōphrosunē, reflects the complex nature of the virtue discussed. Sōphrosunē, literally something like ‘stable-mindedness’, invites different translations, depending on the genre of the work and the gender of the person to whom it is applied. The virtue was discussed by H. North in a 1966 study, which also used the Greek word, but added ‘Self-Knowledge’ and ‘Self-Restraint’ as a subtitle. Incidentally, North spelled the word with ‘y’, following Latin usage, as in hydria. The decision to write sōphrosunē, with ‘u’, leads to inconsistencies in B.'s text: ‘Fate’, for example, is spelled Tyche (and the spelling sophrosyne appears on page 54).
In the Greek novels sōphrosunē is exercised mainly in sexual matters. But in Achilles Tatius 4.9–17, when Leucippe experiences dementia, the verb sōphronō is used to describe her return to sanity, and the only time that Chariton ascribes sōphrosunē to Chaereas is when he remains ‘level-headed’ in the stress of battle (7.4.9). B.'s discussion of Achilles Tatius (1.4.6, pp. 88–93) argues that possible allusions to Plato's Charmides may introduce a sexual element in that case. She acknowledges that the passage in Chariton has no sexual reference, but suggests (1.1.3, p. 33) that Chaereas’ aidōs (‘shame’) at recounting his actions ‘could lead to sōphrosunē in an ethical sense’. This I find a little forced and unconvincing, but note that B.'s discussion of aidōs illustrates her careful delineation of the distinctions between Greek terms that allude to sexual behaviours, clarifying how sōphrosunē should be differentiated from enkrateia (‘self-control’), hagneia (‘purity’), aidōs (‘shame’) and parthenia (‘virginity’).
An introduction reviews examples of sōphrosunē in (other) Greek literature that are relevant to its treatment in the Greek novels. Besides looking at such well-known texts as Xenophon's Cyropaedia, B. (pp. 13–14) follows North in stressing Aristotle's treatment of sōphrosunē in the Nicomachean Ethics. Like all virtues in Aristotle, sōphrosunē represents the mean, which should be remembered when examining the extreme position taken, for example, by Habrocomes in Xenophon of Ephesus. B. makes good use of Aristotle's distinction between the nature of sōphrosunē in the ruler as opposed to the ruled in her discussion of the Persian King Artaxates in Chariton (6.3.4) (1.1.2, pp. 28–9). In later sections B. does not return to Aristotle's differentiation of the nature of sōphrosunē in men and women, but it is well illustrated in her conclusion (p. 183) that ‘women ought to possess sōphrosunē in relation to their lover/husband, while men should possess it regardless of their relationship status’.
One text that B. does not consider is IG 7, 1828, a dedication from Thespiae in which the Emperor Hadrian asks Eros, who in the novels disrupts the sōphrosunē of the male protagonists, to be saophrōn (in Ionic dialect) towards him. Hadrian's Eros is highly relevant to the narrator's request in Longus (Preface 4), that ‘the god’ permit him to be sōphrōn while writing the (erotic) experiences of others, and to Eros’ appearance in a dream to Dionysophanes (4.34.1), relaxing his bow and consenting to the marriage of Daphnis and Chloe.
Chapter 1 shows how the virtue is described in each of the novels, with an emphasis on characterisation, and on how much the characters self-identify as sōphrōn. The sōphrosunē of the males remains subject to question; that of the females, expressed as emotional fidelity to their partners, as in the case of Chariton's Callirhoe (1.1.4, p. 38), is far more secure. Longus (1.3, pp. 55–66), who ascribes sōphrosunē to nobody besides the narrator, is difficult to fit into B.'s line of argument. I find her suggestion that it is the exposure of Daphnis by the servant Sōphrosunē/Sōphronē (4.2.1) that ‘requires us to ask … is sōphrosunē absent in Daphnis’ education?’ (1.3.1, p. 56) somewhat far-fetched, and would rather explore why urban slave-owners would name a servant ‘level-headed’. The sections on Achilles Tatius and Heliodorus (1.4 and 1.5, pp. 67–123) are the most sophisticated, especially in the treatment of the problematic narrators; the sōphrosunē of Achilles Tatius’ Leucippe and Clitophon is hard to define because of Clitophon's self-interest in describing it. The sōphrosunē of Heliodorus’ Theagenes emerges as ‘secondary to his desire for his beloved’, while Chariclea's is ‘central to her characterization’, but also ‘give(s) her an ethical stance which goes beyond that of other protagonists’ (p. 123).
Chapters 2, ‘Reader as Voyeur’, and 3, ‘Erōs and Sōphrosunē’, discuss sōphrosunē on the part of the novels’ readers. Reader response is an important theme in the ancient novels; both Chariton (8.1.4) and Apuleius in the introduction to the Golden Ass use the term ‘reader’, and Longus uses the second person singular (1.1) to address a narratee who is probably a reader.
Chapter 2 discusses passages that have ‘the suggestion of a sexual frisson’ (2.1, p. 127), such as Callirhoe's bath (Chariton 2.2.2), the description of Europa in Achilles Tatius (1.1.10) or Pelorus’ peek at Charicleia in Heliodorus (5.31). The theme is well illustrated by Achilles Tatius 1.5, where Clitophon says that ‘an erotic story is the fuel (hypekkauma) of desire’. B. argues for a readership that would exercise sōphrosunē and ‘would not be overwhelmed by the more titillating factors’ (p. 142). In discussing Heliodorus 5.4, when Theagenes becomes sexually aroused, but is returned to sōphrosunē by Chariclea's words, she maintains (pp. 142–4) that readers may also question whether ‘their own desire … is something which should be allowed free rein’. It is hard to figure out what a third-century ce reader might think; this twenty-first-century male reader is mainly amused by the euphemisms for sexual arousal and is more convinced by interpretations that focus on the ‘male gaze,’ such as H. Morales's 2004 study Vision and Narrative in Achilles Tatius’ Leucippe and Clitophon.
Chapter 2 concludes (p. 152) with a discussion of the heroines who are ‘at once alluring and resistant to the desiring gaze’. Not all gazes are male, B. argues, and proposes that the texts discussed also invite the potential for sōphrōn reading and ‘do not exclude the possibility of a female readership’. This intriguing suggestion, based solely on the treatment of female characters in the texts, is not developed further, and there is no reference to any external evidence for female literacy or access to books.
Chapter 3 extends the study from readers’ possible voyeurism to their desire for a story to be told in a particular way, with complex plot twists, for example, or with a generically and socially conventional ‘happy ending’. Note, for example, Achilles Tatius 8.2, in which a priest states that stories with twist and turns (periplokas) are ‘not unpleasurable’, versus Chariton's promise (8.1) of readers’ pleasure at the end of the story after all the adventures of the previous 7 books. When Clitophon enters Leucippe's room (Achilles Tatius 2.23), B. asks (pp. 162–3) whether the reader's response is to desire-exciting narrative events, like a sexual encounter, or to worry that such activity would undermine the generic expectation of a much longer story and a proper marriage at the end. Much in in this chapter depends on the complex narrative structure of Achilles Tatius’ and Heliodorus’ works, typified by Cnemon, the narratee of much of Heliodorus, sōphrōn in neither his erotic experience nor in his insatiable desire for stories (3.7, pp. 174–8). This section is densely argued and requires an understanding of the technical language of narratology (mise-en-abîme, prolepsis), but will reward what Apuleius calls the studiosus lector with real insights.
This is a profound and fascinating study of a virtue that is central to the understanding of ancient Greek (and, incidentally Latin) novels.
