Many introductory courses on ancient, or indeed modern, philosophy begin from the observation that the word ‘philosophy’ itself describes a ‘love of wisdom’. Christopher Moore's wide-ranging, original, and fascinating new book sets out to examine the value of that etymology. He argues persuasively that philosophos does not, in fact, originate as a label applied respectfully to pick out a ‘lover of wisdom’ for emulation. Rather, the term is appropriated and developed from its origins as a pejorative name applied to those perceived to be striving too hard and in the wrong way to achieve the status of sophos, a ‘sage-wannabe’ as Moore has it. As he is careful to emphasize, his history of the origins of philosophos and philosophia does not and need not coincide with the origin story of ‘philosophy’ as a certain kind of discipline involving a certain way of talking about specific questions. Nevertheless, by scrutinizing the origins of these terms and their application in the sixth and fifth centuries bce, Moore sets himself up to offer some further enlightening discussion of the fifth- and fourth-century development of the discipline of ‘philosophy’.

G. E. R. Lloyd's economically persuasive study addresses the question of the universalism or relativism of rationality. Drawing careful comparisons, primarily between ancient Greek and Chinese thought, but also more widely, Lloyd introduces a range of disciplinary perspectives and specific points of focus. In doing so, he challenges his reader to think critically about their own assumptions and concepts. In particular, he asks us to consider the degree to which our own broad concepts, especially oppositions such as between rationality and irrationality, are themselves informed by their derivation from ancient Greek thought. His first chapter (‘Aims and Methods’) introduces his central commitments. Rationality and irrationality are not universal across societies in such a way that they can be judged by a single set of criteria. But nor are they just cultural constructs, so that the possibility of mutual intelligibility collapses. The truth lies somewhere in between, in the recognition of the heterogeneity to be identified in what is shared across cultures. Lloyd argues that ancient China is a particularly useful foil for a consideration of these questions, since it provides a perspective from beyond the reach of the Graeco-Roman legacy. His subtle middle road is further supported by his second chapter (‘Rationality Reviewed’), which summarizes some influential accounts of rationality and considers the ‘state of play’ across a variety of disciplines, including palaeontology, child development, and psychology, all of which present evidence of continuities between societies. The next four chapters approach the question of the diversity and commonality of reason from a range of perspectives, including cosmology, metaphysics, language, epistemology, and religion. In the case of cosmology, for example, Lloyd argues that we can identify a difference between the Greeks’ tendency to focus on the thing that is ‘Nature’, and the Chinese interest in natural phenomena and processes, absent a concept of ‘Nature’ itself. He is careful to note the difficulty of generalizing across all Greek or all Chinese thinkers. We can, however, identify a significantly similar belief in the two societies: that understanding the cosmos matters for the sake of the life you live as a result of that knowledge. In the case of the binary ‘Seeming and Being’ (as discussed in Chapter 4), Lloyd argues that the Chinese shared with the Greeks an awareness that appearances can be deceptive. However, their conception of the fundamental binary yin and yang is one of interdependence rather than sharp differentiation, such as we sometimes see in Greek thought between Being and Becoming. Throughout the volume, Lloyd argues for the need to recognize both the similarities and the differences identified as a result of careful comparative study. He ends with a recommendation for his readers to reconsider the universal applicability of certain key Western concepts, without resorting to a claim that it is impossible to recognize or communicate similarities. We must, he suggests, work from a position that demonstrates ‘due recognition both of the commonalities in human cognitive capacities, and of the differences in their deployment’ (96).

Chris Davies’ Blockbusters and the Ancient World is the latest addition to a growing body of scholarly literature on cinematic receptions of antiquity. The author takes as his focus the swathe of ancient world epics produced since the 9/11 terrorist attacks in 2001, ranging from movies set in the ancient Greek world (including the 2004 films Troy and Alexander, and, from 2007, 300) to the Roman occupation of Britain – as seen in King Arthur (2004), The Last Legion (2007), Centurion (2010), and The Eagle (2011) – as well as those which concentrate on aspects of Christianity (Agora, of 2009, set in Alexandria in the early fifth century ce, as contrasted with the 2004 biblical epic The Passion of the Christ). Structured around a series of case studies of these individual films, the book undoubtedly adds a set of valuable contributions to the scholarly literature on each piece; its real strength lies, however, in the way in which the author draws comparisons between these case studies while simultaneously situating the movies within their wider historical, political, and cultural contexts. Davies’ introduction alone – with a broad overview of the development of cinematic depictions of antiquity from the birth of cinema to contemporary productions, along with definitions of key terms – provides an excellent starting point for those new to thinking about ancient world films, and a comprehensive filmography of works referenced is a useful research tool. There is much here too, however, which will be of value to those seeking more in-depth discussion. Detailed analysis of the films themselves – with attention to staging, casting, and characterization – is accompanied by discussion of critical responses and evidence from published interviews with directors and producers. The author is careful to point out that artistic products often resist straightforward interpretation, and that multiple readings of each film are possible (for example, the critical reception of a movie may infer a different relationship to contemporary politics than the stated intentions of its creative team). He also explores the development and fluidity of genres, and the ways in which several of these films hybridize more than one genre (for example, traces of the western are strongly evident in the Roman Britain epics; and The Passion of the Christ carries striking elements of the horror genre). What results is a sensitive exploration of the films’ relationship to US politics, in the particular context of the ‘War on Terror’ and the US-led invasions of Iraq and Afghanistan, which examines ways in which the films ‘have inspired allegorical and metaphorical readings in which the past has been used to contextualise, warn or parallel the present’ (209).

Bloomsbury's Imagines series, edited by Filippo Carlà-Uhink and Martin Lindner, focuses on classical receptions in the visual and performing arts. It has blazed into 2020 with three edited volumes and one monograph. The monograph by Carlà-Uhink is on the reception of classical Greece in theme parks, and the edited volume that has landed on our desk is Classical Antiquity in Video Games. In this attractive volume, clad in the stylish graphics of Alientrap's Apotheon (2015), Christian Rollinger has assembled a vital collection of essays on the underexplored subject. As he emphatically proclaims, ‘Video games are everywhere’ (xiii) and this book is a lifeline for countless university teachers faced with the task of supervising students enthusiastically writing about the ever-expanding mass of classically inspired games.

When I set out to read the new complete English translation of Cassiodorus’ letters (the quotation is from the preface to Book 1, paragraphs 4–5), I certainly did not expect to be transported to the picket lines of the currently ongoing industrial action of the British University and College Union, and yet the overwhelming administrative workload and the avalanche of tasks that Cassiodorus describes have much in common with the academic pressures many are facing today. Nevertheless, Cassiodorus persevered and published many works, including a collection of no fewer than twelve books of letters, the latter in the middle of the eighteen-year Gothic War (536–54). He did not have to worry about his pension, though, as he was a scion of long line of wealthy and prominent property owners and aristocrats from Calabria and was himself a highly placed magistrate at the court of the Ostrogothic Kingdom of Italy. Cassiodorus was responsible for official state correspondence, and his letters are either written in the name of the Amal kings Theoderic, Amalasuntha, and Athalaric, or are appointments to public office, honorary titles, and legal and administrative decisions. They span thirty years of his career in administration and are a prime source for the political and social history of Italy in the sixth century ad.

Structures of Epic Poetry is a monumental, four-volume compendium which aims to classify, analyse, and compare epic structures across Greek and Latin epic poems (and beyond) in a systematic and overarching way. While the individual Bauformen (‘structural elements’) have been the focus of the study of epic for decades, a comprehensive analysis providing a systematic overview of all structural elements in the totality of ancient epic is obviously not a one-person job. The editors, Christiane Reitz and Simone Finkmann, gathered an international group of experts for this herculean task. The compendium provides a set of broad cross-sectional papers on the individual epic structural elements, using a consistent terminology. It has to be said that the editors’ understanding of what constitutes an epic structural element is very broad: it includes the ‘type-scenes’, but also the narrative patterns such as catalogue and ecphrasis, and stylistic hallmarks such as similes; in fact, structural elements as understood by the editors come closest to genre markers.