Dear Everyone,
The Professor Speaks – “Oxford Gladiator”
Dear Everyone,
“Oxford Gladiator” by Professor Gabriel O. Emerson, Associate Professor of Italian Studies, University of Toronto
I am not a man who makes decisions lightly. But when I want something, I pursue it relentlessly. If a woman catches my eye, I won’t rest until we’ve managed to press our bodies together and she’s panting my name. And I never back down from a challenge.
After I graduated from Princeton, I went to Magdalen College, Oxford, where I studied Dante and Virgil.
My interest in these two poets led quite naturally to an interest in the customs of ancient Rome, especially the lives of the gladiators.
Gladiatorial contests straddled the space between public entertainment and religious sacrifice. On the one hand, Romans enjoyed the spectacle staged combat provided. On the other, the contests provided plenty of bloodshed and death to feed the hunger of the city gods. One could view the loser in such a match as providing a human sacrifice to the gods of Rome.
My interest in gladiators took a somewhat unexpected turn one evening when I was accosted by a group of loud, drunken Christ Church students. I was walking from the Bodleian Library to my room at Magdalen, carrying a book on gladiators, when I bumped into someone. He pushed me, cursing loudly. I called him a Neanderthal and shoved him back.
Catching sight of the book I was carrying, the Neanderthal, (who I will now call “Brutus”), challenged me to fight him like a gladiator. I was shocked that such a behemoth was literate, let alone able to string together a complete sentence.
I told him to name the time and place.
That’s how I found myself on the meadow of Christ Church College just after dawn, holding a sword that Brutus and his friends had conveniently “borrowed” from one of the suits of armour owned by the college. They’d also procured a couple of breastplates and two shields. I fastened the breastplate to my chest but spurned the shield. The broadsword weighed at least a kilo and I would need both hands to wield it properly.
Brutus was a mountain of a man, tall and wide. He was easily a head taller than my own six feet, two inches and outweighed me by about a hundred pounds. He also had an overabundance of facial and body hair, which gave him a bear like appearance. He looked like someone who could have fought with the Germanic tribes against the Romans, centuries earlier.
As we prepared to do battle, a rag tag group of students gathered. I was the only sober one among them until a theology student was untimely ripped from his bed and told that he would act as referee. (Poor chap)
“Right,” he said, wiping the sleep from his eyes. “The warrior who draws first blood wins. Shake hands, gentlemen.”
Brutus crushed my hand with his meaty paw, fixing me with a severe eye. He winked before shoving me backward.
I swore an oath as I stumbled, struggling to regain my footing. With an incoherent cry, he rushed me, swinging his sword at my head. I dodged, then pivoted behind him and struck his kidney with the flat of my sword.
With a roar, he grabbed his back, flailing wildly. I bobbed once again, plowing my foot into his knee.
He threw an elbow, which glanced off my jaw. I ran my tongue over my teeth to make sure they were all intact before spitting out blood.
Brutus grinned treacherously, raising his sword. The blade whistled through the air before the clash of metal against metal rang in my ears. The impact of our swords jarred my arm all the way to my shoulder. I could feel my entire body shudder, rattling my teeth.
I withdrew and swiped at his midsection, scraping across his breastplate. But I was wildly off balance. He swung at my side, striking the place where the breastplate ended, and I fell to my knees. I curled inward in pain.
Brutus stood over me, slightly winded, before lifting his sword.
“Et tu, Brute?” I whispered, before tackling his knees.
The giant fell like a great oak tree, cut down in his prime. I stumbled to my feet, clutching my sword.
As the last pinks and greys of dawn gave way to a pale blue sky, I pressed a knee to his chest and with the tip of my sword drew blood just beneath his left ear.
Breathing heavily and sweating profusely, I removed my breastplate, stabbing my sword into the dewy grass. My opponent groaned and pressed a hand to his neck.
The crowd was silent. They stood aside as I passed through them, walking the slow steps of the victorious but battered warrior.
“Who was that?” Someone asked, pointing at me.
I turned around.
“Gabriel Emerson, president of the fencing club.”
Enjoy your day everyone. Thanks for reading,
SR
Food and Hospitality
Dear Everyone,
I just finished a fifteen day blog tour that was organized by KLB Virtual Events. I’d like to thank KLB, all the blogs that participated and especially my publisher, Omnific, for providing giveaways of “Gabriel’s Inferno” at every stop. And thank you, the readers, for reading the reviews and features and entering the contests. Congratulations to all the winners. (If you’d like to request a Kindlegraph, you can do so here.)
One of my readers suggested I explore the role of food in my novel. This suggestion prompted me to think about the role of food in society. For example, religious holidays as well as rites of passage are frequently celebrated with specific foods or feasts.
One can also think about the role of food in guest friendship and hospitality. When someone visits our home, one of the first things we do is to welcome them and to offer them a drink or something to eat. So to feed a guest is a way of welcoming him or her.
There is an excellent example of the importance of hospitality in the film version of Harper Lee’s “To Kill a Mockingbird.” In the film, there is a scene in which Scout, a young girl, scolds her schoolmate and lunch guest for “drowning his dinner in syrup.” The housekeeper, Calpurnia, calls her into the kitchen to point out that Walter is her company and as such, she will let him do whatever he wants at the table, including “eating the tablecloth.” To welcome someone into one’s home is to commit to being kind and hospitable – no matter what.
A rather different portrait of hospitality is found in the film “Babette’s Feast.” In this story, Babette cooks and serves an elaborate multi-course meal to her benefactors and their friends as a way of honouring their hospitality. When she fled to Denmark from the French civil war, two sisters took her in. Instead of returning to her native France, she chooses to stay with them and serve them as their cook.
The idea of hospitality and guest friendship is an old one. You can read about it in the Bible and in Greek and Roman works, for example. But Calpurnia’s simple observation that one’s company must be welcomed even when he or she displays dubious table manners, is an important one. Few people would insult a houseguest. But how many of us think it’s permissible to insult someone outside the home? Do the obligations of hospitality extend to the workplace, the Internet and social media?
As a sensualist, Professor Emerson is fixated on the pleasures of the body and this fixation extends to food and drink. The narrator notes that the Professor is impatient with mediocrity and so when he has the opportunity to take Julia to dinner, he chooses a very expensive steakhouse in downtown Toronto. On one level, the choice is all about him – he only eats steak at the finest restaurants. On another level, the choice is all about her – he feels remorse for having embarrassed her at her apartment and so he decides to buy her an extravagant meal to make up for it.
Can food really do such a thing? Can sharing a meal with someone be a means of apologizing or offering comfort?
There are several scenes in the novel in which Julia and Gabriel eat together and food has a slightly different role in each of them. I won’t spoil the story by listing all of them, but I’ll point out that you can glimpse some of Gabriel’s motivations by reflecting on the food (and drink) he chooses.
Many of you have been asking about the sequel to “Gabriel’s Inferno.” I’m encouraged by your support. I’m pleased to report that the sequel is progressing nicely, but I don’t have a release date yet. As soon as one is set, I’ll be able to announce it. Thanks for your patience.
Thank you also for suggesting “Gabriel’s Inferno” to your friends, relatives and Book Clubs. I’m consistently surprised and pleased at how the story is finding its audience through the kind words of readers who enjoyed it.
Today is the Feast day of St. Francis of Assisi. I have many reasons for admiring him and his mission, but today let me focus on the way in which Francis and his companions provided food and hospitality to the sick and the poor, even to the point of seeking out bandits in the wood in order to feed them. One of the finest examples of the mission of hospitality is St. Francis Table in the Parkdale neighbourhood of Toronto. The Franciscans and their volunteers serve the community with dignity, compassion and hospitality.
All the best and thanks for reading,
SR
PS. It’s said that the character of Dill in “To Kill a Mockingbird,” is said to have been based on Harper Lee’s childhood friend Truman Capote.
Measuring …
Dear Everyone,
St. Francis, Paperbacks and Road Trips
“Lord make me
an instrument of your peace
Where there is hatred,
Let me sow love;
Where there is injury, pardon;
Where there is doubt, faith;
Where there is despair, hope;
Where there is darkness, light;
And where there is sadness, Joy.
O Divine Master grant that I may
Not so much seek to be consoled
As to console;
To be understood,
As to understand;
To be loved as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive,
It is in pardoning that we are pardoned.
And it is in dying that we are
Born to eternal life.”
You can listen to a musical version of St. Francis’ prayer performed by Sarah McLachlan, here.
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