Happy Gas by Sarah Lucas @ Tate Britain

Sarah Lucas was one of the original Young British Artists who impressed and dazzled in their 1997 ‘Sensation’ exhibition. Born in 1962, Lucas was a youthful stroppy 35 at the time of that exhibition, and her works made an immediate impact for their laddish, in-your-face, disrespectful jokiness about sex and sexual stereotypes, which felt blunt and working class, lacking all bourgeois pretence.

Lucas was very photogenic and her most memorable early works feature herself in laddish, ‘yeah, so what?’ kinds of poses, taking the mickey out of sexual stereotypes, but also just looking winningly young and carefree. Several of these images have become popular postcards, the kind you find alongside countless images of Frieda Kahlo in arty shops in the boujee parts of any English town.

‘Self Portrait with Fried Eggs’ by Sarah Lucas (1996) NOT included in ‘Happy Gas’ @ Tate Britain

Happy Gas

This is a relatively small (just four rooms) retrospective of Lucas’s career, which features works across a range of media including sculpture, installation and photography.

‘Happy gas’ is the slang name for the nitrous oxide which kids these days snort out of those shiny metal canisters you see scattered round the streets. Like lots of the other everyday objects she puts in a gallery, this common-or-garden slang phrase acquires all kinds of new resonances and implications when turned into the title of an exhibition. The curators suggest it is just the latest in her many, many insistences on the intrinsic worth of English working class culture, its words and phrases, images and unashamed chav vitality.

Sara’s quotes

A distinctive thing about the exhibition is that all the captions and commentary are provided by Lucas herself. An important part of being a contemporary artist is having the right kind of thing to say (see the career of the extremely articulate Anthony Gormley). On the evidence of this show, Lucas has perfected the art of quotes-with-attitude. What she says is not only always interesting but highly flavoured; feels like it comes from the punky, ‘street’ attitude she’s embodied right from the start.

Her comments are also consistently funny, droll, in their blank factuality, in the way she accepts the glum seediness of working class life and makes it funny. Or is surreal in a wonderfully English, cup of tea, kind of way. Thus of one sculpture she writes:

‘Reasons for making a penis: appropriation, because I don’t have one; voodoo; economics; totemism; they’re a convenient size for the lap; fetishism; compact power; Dad; why make the whole bloke?; gents; gnomey; because you don’t see them on display much; for religious reasons having to do with the spark.’

Gnomey, lol.

Room 1

You open the door into a long wide gallery space and are immediately assaulted by the massive photo at the end. A ready-to-cook chicken is placed on the groin of a young (?) woman wearing sensible knickers. The gaping hole at the bottom of the chicken, where it is traditional to put the stuffing, is carefully situated above the woman’s vulva. It’s titled ‘Chicken knickers’ (1997).

I burst out laughing when I saw this, which was my reaction to lots of the rest of Lucas’s art, but I suppose there are still lots of people who are so uptight about sex that they might be offended.

Installation view of room 1 of ‘Happy Gas’ by Sarah Lucas @ Tate Britain

In the foreground you can see two old wooden chairs, sitting on a plinth of grey breeze blocks. On one chair is a wax effigy of a dildo or penis, on the other a pair of false teeth. The work’s title is ‘The old couple’, from 1992, and it is a visual gag. Maybe the teeth have to be removed to allow the penis to get a good gumming. Or they are images of age and decay. As an older person I find it both a funny schoolboy gag and also touching. But note the presence of a) the chairs b) the concrete. We’ll come back to those.

Turning round you see the door you just came through has a lovely photo of the young artist in typically scruffy student clothes standing outside what appears to be a Men’s toilet and holding an enormous dead fish. Is this a riff on the feminist saying from the 1980s, ‘a woman without a man is like a fish without a bicycle’? The work’s title is ‘Got a salmon on’, from 1997. Is that a joke reference to having a hard-on?

The back wall of room 1 of ‘Happy Gas’ by Sarah Lucas @ Tate Britain

More than anything else, it just looks like a typical crappy, derelict London street to me, with a scruffy student in front of a typically locked-up toilet.

Covering the entire right wall is a set of three enormous blown-up images of tabloid newspapers from the 1990s. Lucas doesn’t have to manipulate them in any way, they just are what they are, horrific, hilarious, messages from another time. Similarly, she hasn’t given them fancy titles but just used the headlines themselves, from left to right: ‘Pairfect match’, ‘Sod you gits’ and ‘Fat, Forty and Flab-ulous’.

Tabloid pages about boobs blown up to huge size and framed in room 1 of ‘Happy Gas’ by Sarah Lucas @ Tate Britain

Let’s quote Lucas herself:

‘I didn’t give feminism much serious thought until my mid-20s. I came across a book by Andrea Dworkin called Intercourse and another called Pornography. I was drawn to the titles. And they… trawled through pornography and other atrocities committed against women. Fighting fire with fire… It caused a schism in my feelings towards men. At that point I started using tabloid newspapers. And really I didn’t have to add any comment. I just blew them up and put them in a gallery. And people, most of whom must have seen this stuff every day of their lives, felt in the self-conscious atmosphere of the gallery, that I was criticising them in some way. Maybe I was.’

I was talking about her super blunt use of language, at least in the works themselves. Thus, on the right in the second photo you can see a very funny sculpture of a mannekin’s hand and arm set at an angle over an old chair and attached to a machine which makes it perform a monotonous up and down motion is simply titled ‘Wanker’ (1999). This is related to the 2000 work ‘Max’s Wanking Armchair’, where a similar masturbating mannekin arm is coming out of an old armchair.

On the subject of language, there’s an easy-to-miss work on the opposite side to the huge tabloid pages, which is called Five Lists. It is simply five pieces of paper, each one containing a list of very rude swearwords. As Lucas explains:

‘When I compiled my Five Lists … I was spending summer in Rome. Impossibly hot and I had no equipment to speak of so I set myself the task of just pulling things out of my memory. It was 1990 so I must have been 27. I made five lists one for women, one for men, one for homosexuals, one for wanking and one for excrement – these seemed to be the main categories that swearing could be divided by in English. I saw the overlap. And the hatred. I was already aware, instinctively, since childhood, of a distinction between people swearing humorously or with venom and bile, I suppose we all are – but I hadn’t thought clearly until then about how whole classes of people had language stacked against them, including sexism and racism. I retaliated with Five Lists.’

The curators lament that ‘Casual or everyday language is still not often part of the description of contemporary art’, well, hmm, whose fault is that? Who curates art exhibitions? Could it be art exhibition curators? If you want to see the extreme opposite of Lucas’s plain speaking, visit the Barbican’s RE/SISTERS exhibition, where every caption is a festival of impenetrable critical theory.

Room 2

Walking through into room 2 is a stunning experience. The room is long and vividly and dramatically lined with enormous blown-up images of the (fairly famous) image of Lucas eating a banana. She looks stunning. The photos were taken in 1990 by fellow artist Gary Hume and bring out her cocky, confident street style, her androgynous haircut and well-defined features, her great sense of humour. Bananas.

Installation view of room 2 of ‘Happy Gas’ by Sarah Lucas @ Tate Britain

But what are all these things on plinths along the middle of the room? These are what Lucas has come to call ‘bunnies’. They are tights stuffed with fabric, most often cotton wool, and then loaded with piles of comical boobs with bright pink or brown nipples.

‘I’ve been making Bunnies for a long while. The first one from the mid 1990s is in this show. I’m not constantly making them but it’s something I’ve returned to from time to time and they’ve evolved over the years. It struck me, quite recently, that they’re mostly very thin. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say I had a sudden urge to make some fleshy ones. It must be a combination of the fleshiness and the saggy tits that make them appear old to you. The latter probably. It turns out, surprisingly you may think, that a saggy tit is very expressive.’

Point one, it’s surprising how many shapes you can arrange these stuffed tights and boob explosions into, and how expressive they can be. Most are funny, some are sad, I found one or two of the artfully staged ones deliberately erotic.

Point two, the bunnies are headless. Now this arises from a simple fact which is that they’re stuffed tights and tights aren’t intended to come up to the head. It may have a secondary spin-off, a feminist interpretation satirising the way men (allegedly) regard women as sex objects. But there’s another point which only dawned on me half way round, which is that the bunnies in the middle of the room are headless but the wall is lined with heads, versions of Lucas’s head. In some voodoo way the headless stuffed tights are completed by the banana-eating artist (maybe; from certain angles…)

Third point is that, like any artist, having stumbled across a form or genre, Lucas experimented with it. Thus the early bunnies are made from nylon stuffed with newspaper or cotton wool, but about half way down she begins to branch out into other material. Some are made of plastic but the most impactful ones are the ones which were, presumably made from tights and wool, but then cast in bronze. These have a completely different vibe from the fabric bunnies. Those are funny; these, by virtue of the material, are more statuesque, enduring, strange and challenging.

Bronze bunnies from ‘Happy Gas’ by Sarah Lucas @ Tate Britain

Fourth point, chairs. Let’s talk about chairs.

Chairs

Chairs are everywhere. The first object in room 1 is an old chair, ‘Wanker’, the final object as you exit the exhibition is a swish modern armchair penetrated by fluorescent tubes. There are quite a few chairs in all four rooms and Lucas is aware of their importance to her work.

The purpose of chairs (in the world) is to accommodate the human body sitting. They can be turned to other purposes. Generally as a support for an action or object. Changing light bulbs. Propping open a door. Posing. Sex…The character of the chair lends mood and meaning to the sculpture. The progression of chair sculptures through the years adds up to a world populated by these characters.’

If you ignore the booby figures sprawling all over them, the chairs themselves amount to a kind of history of office chairs, or a Sargasso Sea of Lost Chairs. Millions of hours of office tedium redeemed by having ludicrous cartoon bodies in platform shoes exploding all over them.

‘I like the idea of using a particularly naff piece of furniture and exploring its inherent character or hidden elegance by working on it.’

Surprisingly, running deeper than all the overt feminist subject matter, one of the themes of the exhibition is the pathos of chairs.

Room 3

In contrast to the long grey concrete wall of room 2, the walls of room 3 are painted peach. This gives it a strong visual unity which compensates for the more scattered, varied nature of the exhibits.

Installation view of room 3 of ‘Happy Gas’ by Sarah Lucas @ Tate Britain

In this installation view of room 3 you can see, from left to right:

1. The concrete cast of a TV with ‘THE LAW’ inscribed on it.

2. From this a spread of pink plastic like some spilled liquid extends as far as the concrete cast of a woman’s lower body sitting astride a section of concrete pipe. You can’t see it in this photo but wedged into her buttocks is a cigarette, sticking out at a jaunty angle.

3. Hanging over the pink plastic slick is a fashionable dangling chair covered entirely in the kind of stuffed-tights boobs she perfected for the bunnies. A boob chair (in fact titled ‘Mumum’, 2012).

4. On the wall you can see two photos of our heroine as poor student, one wearing just a t-shirt sitting on a toilet (‘Human toilet’ 1998), the other sitting (wearing jeans) with her legs apart and a skull placed at her crotch (‘Self Portrait with Skull’, 1996). Strong atmospheric images but not a patch on the banana ones.

5. Lastly, you can see an enormous concrete cast of a sandwich.

Concrete

I said we’d come back to concrete. The idea is that it is one of the most common materials of our age. Traditional art galleries are finished with luxury stone like the walls of the Duveen galleries that run through the centre of Tate Britain. It was not until the breakthroughs of modern architecture in the 1920s, particularly with the Bauhaus School of Art and design, that architects began to leave the raw material of construction revealed and unfinished, as an artistic (and political) statement (against bourgeois lies).

By the 1970s entire new towns were being built of concrete which was left unadorned as a statement of fashionable modernity. An entire architectural movement, brutalist architecture, was based on it, with a classic example being the concrete-lined Barbican centre in London.

Walls Anyway, in line with her interest in street detritus, fags and old chairs and yesterday’s newspapers, Lucas likes concrete. It appears in at least three forms in the exhibition. One, it absolutely dominates room 2, where the wall opposite the big blow-ups of her eating a banana are covered, floor to ceiling, with concrete grey panels. Part of the odd intensity of the room is it feels like you’re in an underground car park or a nuclear bunker.

Plinths Second appearance is in the plinths to most of the works. Traditionally, a plinth that a work of art sits on is as luxurious as the work, radiating bourgeois value. Well, as you might expect, Lucas confounds this tradition. Instead of smooth and pristine plinths, Lucas uses concrete breeze blocks to support many of her works. The breeze blocks are not precious or finished: they are basic, practical, uncovered building blocks.

Casts For decades Lucas has created sculptures in concrete, starting with a cast of a pair of her own boots in 1999. Thus it is that these last two rooms contain a number of incongruously enormous casts of pretty common or garden objects, namely a ham sandwich and, bizarrely, a gigantic concrete marrow.

These are striking and humorous but not as funny as some of the earlier gags. There’s an absolutely huge blow-up of a photo of her torso wearing a t-shirt with two frayed holes where the nipples go. Massive but, again, not as funny as many of her classic sex gags.

Au naturel by Sarah Lucas (1994) and NOT included in ‘Happy Gas’ @ Tate Britain (© Sarah Lucas. Courtesy Sadie Coles HQ, London)

Room 4

After the ambient peach of room 3, room 4 is red. This is because it is entirely lined with 20 massive colour photos of Lucas smoking a fag in a red room or a room lit by red lights (‘Red Sky’, 2018).

Installation view of room 4 of ‘Happy Gas’ by Sarah Lucas @ Tate Britain

The obvious thing about these photos is how much she’s aged. She is no longer the enormously winning gamin from the black-and-white banana days. She looks raddled and old. Smoking will do that for you. And time.

Centrepiece of the room is a burned-out car which has been sawn in two. Inside it’s all blackened carbon and ashes. Burnt-out luxury products are so ugly, so completely devastated.

Still, I wasn’t that impressed. A few days ago I was at the Imperial War Museum which, in its central atrium, has the wreckage of a car bomb from Beirut, much more impressive. Back in 1970 J.G. Ballard displayed a handful of cars smashed up in crashes at the ICA, sparking a mini riot. Fifty-three years later it feels like nothing new to see here. Except Lucas gives an old theme a wrinkle, which is to cover the entire front half of the car, and a chair which has been thrown clear, in carefully arranged cigarettes, thus turning them into a decorative objects.

Installation view of room 4 of ‘Happy Gas’ by Sarah Lucas @ Tate Britain, showing , showing ‘This Jaguar’s Going to Heaven’ (2018)

I like ruined industrial objects but this didn’t do it for me, somehow.

Cigarettes

Talking of cigarettes, the curators have organised the show around themes (bunnies, plinths, language, concrete) and cigarettes is another recurring theme of Lucas’s work. I’ll quote the curators:

Cigarettes have featured in Lucas’s work since her 1997 exhibition ‘The Law’, and she has gone on to create several series of cigarette-coated objects. In the final room of the exhibition, we see the climax of this theme in ‘This Jaguar’s Going to Heaven’ 2018. A Jaguar car, covered in cigarettes, is split in two. The action of cutting the car in half is a destructive act. Lucas said, “When I first started using cigarettes in art it was because I was wondering why people are self-destructive. But it’s often destructive things that makes us feel most alive”. Self-portraits of the artist such as ‘Red Sky’ 2018, displayed as wallpaper here, show her surrounded in an almost ethereal or ghostly cloud of smoke. In her ‘Muses’ series, she places phallic cigarettes in the orifices of body casts of her friends.

What I liked more than the chopped up car was more of the concrete casts. As you can see in the general view photo, there’s another giant, blown-up cast of a sandwich, this time with a shiny new metal toilet placed on it and a cast of someone sitting on that.

Scattered around this final room are four or five other casts of women’s groins and legs, presumably items from the ‘Muse’ series, all of them featuring an (unsmoked) cigarette wedged into their bum cracks.

Regarding these casts of naked women, Lucas is quoted as saying gallery goers don’t on the whole like casts or images of vulvas.

‘Funnily enough vaginas seem to shock people more than a penis. Especially the plaster casts of real ones. I’ve seen people approach some of the Muses and, when they’re close enough to get the vagina into focus, about turn and walk away. Which is an experience on a par with or maybe opposite to, finding out the meaning of the word ‘c**t’. I remember, as a child, being quite baffled by this word which I’d heard bandied about a lot and definitely understood enough to know it was out of the question to ever use it in front of adults and was, seemingly, the harshest and worst term of abuse available in four letters. And I had one myself. Shocking.’

This is agreeably fighting talk but nothing on display matches it in confrontation. Instead there’s just half a dozen concrete casts of herself or women friends, taken from the waist down, and neither foregrounding nor hiding their front bottoms which are just there as part of the rest of their bodies.

I didn’t feel these had any ‘edge’ or subversive value whatsoever. On the contrary, I found them sweet and lovely. They looked like the kind of casts kept at art school for young artists to assiduously sketch and draw.

The only novelty was the chairs, the way these casts are arranged on common or garden office-type chairs, as in the arcade of bunnies.

This one (pictured below) gave me a powerful burst of nostalgia: I’m sure that at my school or at one of my early office jobs, the place was full of these dull, institutional, grey-metal-piping chairs with the cheap moulded wooden bottom and back. Far more than any ‘shock outrage’ at barely visible moulds of vulvas, I was moved by these further instances of ‘the pathos of chairs’.

Installation view of ‘Pauline’ (2015) in room 4 of ‘Happy Gas’ by Sarah Lucas @ Tate Britain

Tits in space

As I keep emphasising, Lucas’s thing is straight-ahead, unambiguous street vulgarity. The first exhibit is titled ‘Wanker’ and, when you’ve finally had enough of the red room, its broken car and fanny casts, you emerge back into the corridor containing the ticket checker and the shop, to find it completely covered in patterned peach wallpaper.

What is the pattern? It’s two of her cigarette boob sculptures, cut out and arranged as repeating pairs across this very striking, dominating peach wallpaper. And Lucas’s name for it? Something subtle? Something intellectual, maybe using a foreign language to evoke multiple layers of meaning and resonance? If you think so even for a minute, you don’t know our girl and you haven’t been paying attention. She calls it ‘Tits in space’.

The lobby to Lucas’s ‘Happy Gas’ exhibition, entirely covered with the ‘Tits in space’ wallpaper

This title made me laugh but I laughed even more when I discovered that this wallpaper is on sale to members of the public, to you and me. A roll of ‘Tits in space’ 10 meters long by 52 cm wide will set you back a princely £480. I think it would look perfect in the downstairs loo, don’t you?

Summary

Obviously the curators, most of the reviewers and Lucas herself go along with the feminist view that her art ‘subverts’ this or that gender stereotype or sexist convention. Here are the curators’ own words:

  • Her everyday language (which forms the narrative of this exhibition) is humorous and accessible, but inflected with a feminist edge as it subverts patriarchal traditions of writing about art.
  • For many feminist artists, textiles have been a shorthand for ideas and experiences imposed on women, as well as an opportunity to subvert them.
  • Using ordinary objects in unexpected ways, she has consistently challenged our understanding of sex, class and gender over the last four decades.
  • Lucas creates a unique visual language which she uses to challenge stereotypical notions of identity and gender.
  • Breaking boundaries with humour and daring, Lucas shows us the whole spectrum of what it means to be human.

If you think a chair with a dildo on it or sculptures made out of stuffed tights or blown-up tabloid newspapers from 30 years ago are really ‘subverting’ patriarchal power systems, then you’re welcome to your optimistic beliefs.

I take a different view. As with all the YBAs, I’m still as thrilled and excited as I was by their exuberance and energy and irreverence as when I first saw them 25 years ago. They seemed then, and still seem to me today, to be saying ‘fuck off’ to all kinds of polite conventions about what art is, how it should be displayed, and how you can talk about it. It was a punk rebellion against stifling conformity.

What this retrospective tends to show is that, although some of her approaches have hardened into mannerism (I wasn’t that impressed by the car, the concrete sandwich or marrow), there’s still plenty which is irreverent, in-your-face and funny. Her best works consist of jokes which are still very amusing, gags which still make you laugh (well, make me laugh, anyway).

In the world as it is today, I personally think this is more of an enduring achievement, more something to be celebrated, than all the curatorial clichés about ‘subverting the patriarchy’. Laughter is good for everybody’s mental and physical health. This exhibition is a tonic.


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The Satyricon by Petronius Arbiter

‘Here you are, gifted with talents enough to make your fortunes and you still lead a life of misery, and every day you bring new torments upon yourselves, as the fruits of your own acts!’
(Eumolpus castigating Encolpius and Giton in the Satyricon, Fragment 98)

I admit I have done many wrong things. After all, I am a man…
(Encolpius in a letter to Circe, Fragment 130)

A text has come down to us in many manuscript copies, titled the Satyricon. It consists of over 100 fragments, some as short as a single sentence, most a paragraph or so long, and a handful of longer, more complete, episodes. What we have, collected together, makes about 150 pages of paperback text. Scholars think the original text had upwards of 80 chapters and would have been as long as a huge eighteenth century novel like Tom Jones, five or six hundred pages long.

Menippean satire

The work was a satirical medley, meaning it was a deliberate hodge-podge or prose and poetry, a loose narrative giving room for digressions about contemporary art and literature, interpolated folk tales (such as the ones about a werewolf and witches told during Trimalchio’s feast), traditional stories (the woman from Ephesus, Fragment 111), lots of poetic interludes of varying lengths in varying styles, and so on. The combination of humorous prose and mock poetry was known as Menippean satire.

This form was developed in ancient Greece and named after its chief practitioner, Menippus. Menippus of Gadara (3rd century BC) was a Cynic satirist. All of his works are lost but later authors described him as both an important purveyor of Cynic philosophy and a major comic influence.

According to later summarisers, Menippus discussed serious subjects in a spirit of ridicule; he particularly mocked the two main philosophical schools of Epicureans and Stoics. The translator of the Penguin edition of the Satyricon says it was the distinctive characteristic of Menippean satire that it mixed humour with philosophy (or whatever aesthetic principles the author might substitute) (Introduction, page 18).

Thus the Satyricon‘s author uses characters to criticise contemporary art, literature, rhetoric, education, poetry and – in the long chapter on Trimalchio’s feast – the behaviour, manners, vulgarity and crude display of the Roman nouveaux riches.

What makes the Satyricon distinctive is that this Menippean approach (humour mixed with occasional serious subjects) was combined with a completely different genre, the idealising and sentimental Greek romance.

This is present in the Satyricon at least two ways: one is the long-running relationship between the loved-up narrator, Encolpius, and his handsome 16-year-old boy lover or ex-slave or rent boy, Giton. They’re constantly bursting into tears and forgiving each other for their lovers’ tiffs and jealousies: ‘Come to my arms, dear Giton.’ More narrowly, it colours the sentimental romance between Encolpius and Chrysis in the final passages of the text.

The translator of the Penguin edition, J.F. Sullivan, characterises these two elements vying in the text, as the satirist and the novelist, because Petronius selects subjects common in satire – low city life, sexual decadence, vulgarity of the nouveaux riches – but he doesn’t judge them with the same moral fury that satirists from Juvenal to Swift use. He is more detached than that, interested and amused by the behaviour of his characters in themselves rather than as epitomes of the usual moral rules.

It is this combination of the satirical tone and frequent reversion to poetry (of Menippean satire) with a consistent (if episodic) narrative, and an overall lack of moral judging, which was, apparently, something quite new in Roman literature.

The adventures of Encolpius

For at its core, long and rambling with many digressions though it appears to have been intended, the Satyricon nonetheless has a simple premise: it is a first-person account of the peripatetic adventures of Encolpius, and his companion, slave and boyfriend, Giton.

The deep driver of the plot is the wrath of the god Priapus (god of procreation; guardian of gardens and vineyards; personification of the phallus) against the hero. At some point, before the narrative we have opens, Encolpius had offended Priapus (maybe by looting a temple of his?), and now the offended god dogs and frustrates his every move. This is intended as a mockingly knowing reference to the way the offended Poseidon blocks Odysseus’s return to Ithaca in Homer’s Odyssey and the offended Juno blocks Aeneas’s journey to Italy in the Aeneid.

(To be candid, although all the introductions make much of this alleged persecution of the hero by Priapus, when you come to read the actual text it only really crops up in the Quartilla passage at the start, and then re. his problem with impotence and encounter with the priestess of Priapus, Oenothea, towards the very end.)

The surviving sections of the novel begin with Encolpius traveling with a companion and former lover named Ascyltos, who has joined Encolpius on his adventures. They appear to be in the port town of Puteoli (not explicitly named, so scholars debate this). Meanwhile, Encolpius’s boyfriend, Giton, is back at the lodging house they’ve rented. As the text we have progresses we learn that Encolpius and Ascyltos have made some kind of pact, to undertake illegal activities together, and also to share Giton’s affections. Encolpius at one point says of himself: ‘I escaped the law, cheated the arena, killed a host.’ (Fragment 81). They also appear to have stolen gold from someone they murdered (?) and hidden it in a tunic, which Encolpius then managed to lose.

But the overall point is that the narrative takes us through a series of adventures among the middling and common people of Rome i.e. the mass of the population who we never hear about in the predominantly aristocratic literature which has come down to us.

Obscure descriptions of sex

In particular, the work describes Encolpius’s involvement in orgies: in the wider sense of riotous dinner parties (Trimalchio’s banquet), and in the narrower sense of scenes of eroticism and sexual decadence.

For a long time, throughout early modern history and into the Victorian era, this meant the book was often published in limited editions, with scandalously explicit illustrations. However, reading it nowadays, the most noticeable thing is that: a) there aren’t as many explicitly sexual scenes as you might expect, and b) they aren’t very explicitly described, in fact they are so obscurely or elliptically described that I barely noticed some of them or, when I did, was frequently puzzled by what was going on.

For example, here’s a fragment (Fragment 21) from the scene where Quartilla, her maid Psyche, and their little girl, are joined by a male prostitute in invading the lodgings of Encolpius, Ascyltus and Giton.

Finally, up came a pansy dressed in myrtle-green shaggy felt, which was tucked up under his belt. He pulled the cheeks of our bottoms apart, then he slobbered vile, greasy kisses on us, until Quartilla, carrying a whale-bone rod, with her skirts up round her, put an end to our sufferings. (p.40)

Now, I can see that this is certainly intimate what with their buttocks being pulled apart, presumably to expose their anuses. But in a standard porn narrative you’d expect the next step for them to be buggered. I don’t follow the logic of pulling someone’s buttocks apart and then…kissing them? Kissing their faces or mouths presumably involves turning them round to face you? Or are they turning their heads sideways and backwards to be kissed while the pansy buggers them? Or is the pansy meant to be kissing their anuses? I suppose it’s possible, but it’s not, I’d have thought, the obvious thing to do.

And I don’t understand at all why Quartilla is then introduced into the scene nor why she is holding a whale-bone rod? Is it to bugger them with?? Are the male prostitute’s slobbery kisses by way of lubricating their anuses in preparation for Quartilla using the rod to sodomise them? But if so, how could this be described as putting an ‘end’ to their sufferings, when it sounds very much to me as if that would be the start of their sufferings?

A lot of the sex scenes in the Satyricon are like this: something very rude and intimate is definitely going on, but the descriptions are bewilderingly at odds with any description of sexual acts I’m used to, for example in the surprisingly explicit novels of David Lodge, let alone ‘Fifty Shades of Grey’-style modern erotica.

In summary, I didn’t find any of the sex scenes in the Satyricon at all erotic; I generally found them as puzzling as a Wordle problem or a jigsaw.

Outline synopsis

There’s a fairly detailed synopsis of the work in the Wikipedia article. This is a list of key incidents:

In Puteoli

  • Argument with Agamemnon The text starts in mid-sentence with Encolpius arguing with Agamemnon the sophist against the florid Asiatic style and false taste in literature
  • Wrong directions Lost in this strange town, Encolpius asks the way of an old lady and is led to a brothel.
  • Reunion Encolpius finds his way back to the boarding house to be reunited with Ascyltos and Giton.
  • Lovers’ quarrel Later, Encolpius tries to have sex with Giton but is interrupted by Ascyltos, who assaults him after catching the two in bed. They all make up.
  • At the market The trio go to the market where they appear to discover the tunic filled with gold but there is an argument with the stallholder which threatens to escalate so they escape back to the boarding house.
  • Quartilla and the great debauch Here they are confronted by Quartilla, a priestess of the god Priapus, who condemns their eavesdropping on the cult’s secret rites (something which obviously took place before our text begins). Our three companions are overpowered by Quartilla, her maid Psyche and a gay prostitute. This leads to an orgy which is described in scattered and puzzling fragments. In the final part, Psyche suggests to Quartilla that they get the little 7-year-old girl they’ve brought with them, Pannychis, ‘married’, so they hold a little ceremony wedding her to young Giton then bundle them both into a side room to , while Quartilla spies on them through a crack in the door, dragging Encolpius down to share the view and kiss him in her excitement.

Trimalchio’s dinner

  • Trimalchio’s dinner Next day, recovering from their ‘ordeal’, Encolpius and companions are invited by one of Agamemnon’s slaves to a feast at the estate of Trimalchio, a freedman or liberti of enormous wealth. After a preliminary meeting at the town baths, the guests proceed to Trimalchio’s huge mansion where they are entertained with ostentatious and grotesque extravagance.

In this excellent blog post, author Suzette Field gives a forensic summary of all aspects of the banquet given by vulgar, bragging parvenu Trimalchio and his fat, ex-chorus girl wife, Fortunata, listing the guests, detailing the astonishing dishes, the music and entertainments (including a mock hunt), the rambling variety of conversational topics, including guests describing encounters with a werewolf (p.73) and witches (p.74).

  • The escape Sickened by the food and the vulgarity, Encolpius and his companions make their escape but only with some difficulty and after falling into a big fishpond, and after the party has made such a racket the local fire brigade are called to break it up.
  • The argument Back at the inn, next morning the trio fall out after Encolpius discovers Ascyltos in bed with Giton. He forces the boy to choose between the two men and is shocked when Giton chooses to leave with Ascyltos.
  • The soldier After two or three days sulking Encolpius sets out sword in hand to find and take revenge on Ascyltos but is disarmed by a soldier he encounters in the street.

Eumolpus the poet

  • The art gallery Wandering into a nearby art gallery Encolpius meets an old poet, Eumolpus. a) Eumolpus describes an affair with a youth in Pergamon while employed as his tutor but who wore him out with his sexual demands b) the pair discuss the inferiority of modern painters and writers to the good old days: ‘but we, besotted with drink and whoring, don’t study any arts with a tradition.’
  • Eumolpus stoned Eumolpus had ended their discussion with a long poem on the subject of the Trojan war and, comically, this prompted all the passersby to pelt him with stones. Feeling sorry for him, Encolpius invites Eumolpus to dinner (90).
  • Reunited with Giton Back at his lodgings Encolpius encounters Giton who begs him to take him back as his lover. They are reconciled. ‘I hugged him to my heart.’ Eumolpus arrives from the baths and reveals that a man there (evidently Ascyltos) was looking for someone called Giton.
  • Comedy suicides Encolpius and Eumolpus fight over Giton. Eumolpus grabs Giton, runs out the door and locks it from the outside. Encolpius is so distraught he decides to hang himself and is dangling from a belt when the pair return and hurriedly take him down. Giton in turn is distraught and grabs a razor from Eumolpus’s servant and slashes his own throat, falling to the floor. Encolpius snatches up the razor and cuts his throat only to realise it is a ‘practice’ razor for apprentice barbers to use. Farce.
  • The fight At this moment, the landlord of these seedy lodgings, Marcus Manicius, arrives and accuses our boys of being runaways slaves or preparing to abscond without paying. Eumolpius slaps him in the face, the landlord throws a pot which hits him on the head, and the two stumble out into the landing where the landlord’s slaves get involved, plus an old hag bringing up a guard dog, and the whole thing degenerates into a big fight. Encolpius enjoys watching it through a spyhole in their bedroom door. When soft-hearted Giton suggests intervening he boxes the boy on the head, so he retired crying to the bed.
  • Bargates The ‘agent for the building’ Bargates intervenes to break up the fight. He recognised Eumolpus and asks him to write a lampoon against his mistress.
  • Reward At this point a ‘cryer’ accompanied by Ascyltos and a crowd arrives announcing a reward of 1,000 sesterces for information on the whereabouts of a curly-haired boy named Giton. Encolpius tells the boy to hide under the bed. When the search party arrives at their room, Encolpius has bolted the door so the searchers have to pry it off its hinges with axes. Then Encolpius throws himself at Ascyltos’s feet and offers his neck to the axe to be killed. Ascyltos assures him he means no harm, he just wants the boy back.
  • The sneezes They don’t find Giton hiding under the bed, so leave. At this moment Eumolpus re-enters the bedroom. Encolpius lies, assuring Eumolpus that Giton has disappeared off into the streets and weepingly begging him to help find him. He’s nearly persuaded him, when Giton lets out three loud sneezes, thus revealing his position under the bed to Eumolpus. (All this is literally a bedroom farce.) Eumolpus is upset at the deception but Giton, with characteristic gentleness, treats Eumolpus’s head wound then gives the old poet his own cloak, thus winning him round. Giton laments that he should be the cause of endless fights between his two lovers (Encolpius and Ascyltos). Eumolpus castigates the threesome for failing to use their talents and instead contriving to lead a never-ending life of misery.

Ship and shipwreck

  • Boarding ship Eumolpus suggests they escape all their troubles by taking ship, so they do, along with Eumolpus’s hired servant, later named as Corax.
  • Lichas and Tryphaena Suddenly they hear two voices which strike terror into them. Eumolpus explains the ship belongs to, and is captained by, an old enemy of theirs, Lichas of Tarentum. Scholars calculate, from scattered hints, that Encolpius had a) stolen something from Lichas b) seduced his wife c) somehow publicly humiliated him in the portico of a temple to Hercules – all this must have taken place in lost passages earlier in the text. It certainly explains their horror at now finding themselves in Lichas’ power. The other voice belongs to Tryphaena, who appears to have taken a fancy to Giton, also in an earlier, lost, section.
  • Disguise They discuss plans to escape the moving ship but settle on a scheme to pretend to be Eumolpus’s slaves, shaving their hair off and having their faces printed with the formula for renegade slaves (usually this is tattooed into the skin; our heroes have it done in ink). To no avail, and Lichas and Tryphaena recognise them.
  • Fight onboard Eumolpus mounts a mock defence of the pair, which doesn’t work. Encolpius threatens Tryphaena if she tries to take possession of Giton and this escalates into a fight, with Lichas’ men taking one side, our heroes, Emolpus and his servant the other. Giton tries to stop the fighting by threatening to cut off his cock and balls (‘the cause of all our misery’) as a threat to Tryphaena, who clearly wants him for sexual purposes. In the end the navigator parlays a truce, and both parties sign a mock peace treaty (p.118).
  • Wigs Since so much appears to derive from Tryphaena’s unfulfilled love/lust for Giton, her maids take the boy belowdecks, give him a wig and paint back on his eyebrows, so he emerges looking prettier than ever (110).
  • The widow of Ephesus At first she planned to starve herself to death in her husband’s tomb, but she was seduced by a soldier guarding crucified corpses, and when one of these was stolen she offered the corpse of her husband as a replacement.
  • The storm A big storm blows up and the ship is wrecked (114). Giton ties himself to Encolpius with a belt so they’ll survive or drown together. Tryphaena is bundled into a lifeboat by her maids. Encolpius, Giton Eumolpus and the latter’s servant all get to shore safely. Here Encolpius observes Lichas’ corpse being washed ashore, triggering stock reflections about fate, Fortune, the fickleness of man’s estate etc. The build a pyre for him and Eumolpas writes an epigram.

On the road to Croton

Croton was a former Greek colony on the toe of Italy. Sullivan in his notes points out that the narrative in this section is more fantastical and less realistic than the section in Puteoli because a) Petronius was a lot less familiar with Croton, and b) the subject – the iniquity of legacy hunters – was a familiar, stock literary topic, therefore the section is more invented, literary and bookish. In fact, it has the fantastical feel of medieval allegory or Gulliver’s Travels.

  • The farmer A farmer explains that the inhabitants are notorious legacy-hunters, that anyone who has and raises children is despised, whereas childless parasites are held in the highest opinion.
  • The scam They cook up a scam that Eumolpus will pose as a man of enormous wealth who has recently lost his son, and just been shipwrecked, but owns vast estates with countless slaves in North Africa. Encolpius and Giton will pose as his slaves, alongside his servant Corax.
  • Parody of Lucan As they walk towards Croton Eumolpus delivers a serious lecture on the shortcomings of contemporary poetry, which he claims has abandoned depth of meaning, the apparatus of divine involvement in human affairs, and smooth flow in favour of shiny epigrams. He then proceeds to regale his companions (and readers) with an extended rendition (nearly 300 lines) of his own poem on the subject of the Civil War between Julius Caesar and Pompey. This has universally been taken of criticism of, and a parody of, the Pharsalia of Petronius’s contemporary, Marcus Annaeus Lucanus, known simply as Lucan. (It is notable that Sullivan deliberately echoes the Cantos of Ezra Pound in the style of his translation of this passage [see p.132] as he warned us he would in his introduction, an interesting indication of how widespread Pound’s influence still was in 1964; Pound only died in 1972. Unfortunately, Sullivan’s idiosyncratic version makes it impossible to compare with the relatively sensible translation of the Pharsalia by Anthony Kline which I’ve just finished reading.)
  • Arriving in Croton They find the legacy-hunters very willing to believe Eumolpus is an heirless millionaire, so he receives invites to multiples homes and they all compete to put their finances at his disposal (in the hope that they’ll be named heirs in his will). In other words, their scam is working.

In Croton

There is then a Big Gap in the text. When it resumes, the companions have apparently been in Crotona for some time.

  • Chrysis Encolpius, as part of his pose of being Eumolpus’s slave, has adopted the name Polyaenus. Chrysis is a maid of the beautiful Circe. The fragment opens with them talking together in some kind of public park. Chrysis describes her mistress as the type of woman who likes a bit of rough i.e. gladiators slaves. The type of woman who is aroused by kissing the whipmarks on slaves’ bodies (p.143). Whereas Chrysis explains that she aspires to more upmarket lovers. In other words, each woman is aroused by the opposite class to themselves.
  • Circe Chrysis now swiftly introduces Circe, who is breath-takingly beautiful and wants to become Encolpius’s lover. She knows about his love for Giton, and says she is willing to be Encolpius’s girlfriend alongside his boyfriend, an interesting comment on Roman tolerance in relationships and complete acceptance of bisexuality. They lie down on the grass and start snogging.
  • Encolpius’s impotence In the next fragment Circe is upset because Encolpius can’t get an erection. She asks Chryses if she smells or something about her is ugly, then runs off to a temple of Venus leaving Encolpius feeling mortified.
  • Letters Circe sends a letter hoping Encolpius will recover his ‘strength’. Encolpius sends a reply, confessing he is a terrible man, he has ‘killed a man and robbed a temple’, but he will be restored to virility if she will punish and redeem him.
  • Proselenus Next morning Chrysis brings round the wizened old crone, Proselenus, who uses crude magic (spit, dust, hot pebbles) and gives Encolpius a magnificent erection.
  • Failure and flogging However, when Encolpius goes to Circe’s house and she invites him onto her couch and after much kissing prepares to be embraced…he can’t get an erection, again. Infuriated, Circe has him whipped, assembles the entire household to spit at him, has Chrysis flogged and Proselenus thrown out. Oh well.
  • Punishing Percy Encolpius is tempted to cut off his penis but makes do with giving it a stern telling off.
  • Prayer to Priapus Encolpius goes to the temple of Priapus and delivers a long prayer from which we deduce that, earlier in the narrative, he stole something from another temple of Priapus. Now he begs forgiveness and promises lavish offerings, when he has the money…
  • Thrashing Old Proselenus appears, berates Encolpius for his failure to get an erection, leads him into a side room of the temple and delivers a sound thrashing. What I don’t understand is a) Encolpius makes no resistance even through the thrashing cuts him and b) it cuts him in the groin so she appears to be whipping his front.
  • Oenothea priestess of the temple arrives. Proselenus explains Encolpius’s impotent and Oenothea, who is also a sorceress, says she can cure him.
  • Cooking In a sentence-long fragment Oenothea lays on a bed and kisses Encolpius. But we don’t get any sex because the fragment immediately following describes her starting to cook a knackered old piece of ham and ordering him to shell some beans i.e. there’s a sizeable gap.
  • The geese Suddenly it is the old woman who is cooking, and a stool she’s standing on breaks and she knocks over the pan into the fire and gets her face covered in soot. While she goes off to clean up, Encolpius is suddenly attacked by the temple’s sacred geese. He beats one to death with a leg from the rickety stool.
  • Oenothea’s horror Encolpius hides the goose, bathes his wound in vinegar and is just about to leave the cottage when Oenothea returns. When she asks where the beans are he was meant to be shelling, he explains that a bunch of geese invaded the house and ate them but he managed to kill one and shows her. Oenothea is horrified, claiming these are holy geese sacred to Priapus. He could be crucified for this crime and she could be expelled as priestess. Encolpius desperately offers to replace the dead goose with an ostrich.
  • Cash Proselenus returns to the cottage and is equally horrified. Encolpius offers them two gold pieces as compensation.

In its last pages the text disintegrates into a series of very short, often one-sentence fragments, which give snapshots of successive scenes:

  • Oenothea opens the dead goose and uses its liver to foretell Encolpius’s future.
  • Then she cuts it up and cooks it and they all enjoy a very good meal.
  • Oenothea brings out a leather dildo, rubs it with oil, ground pepper and crushed nettle seed, and inserts it into Encolpius’s anus.
  • She mixes the juice of cress with some southern-wood, soaks his cock and balls in it, then starts whipping them with a fresh stinging nettle stalk.
  • Cut to Encolpius, presumably having fled this treatment, being pursued through the street by the two old women.
  • In one sentence, Chrysis declares her undying love for Encolpius.
  • A paragraph of Encolpius begging to be taken back into Circe’s house so he can prove himself.
  • Suddenly he is back at base with Giton, who tells him a very elegant lady came asking about him the day before.
  • Chrysis clasps him to her bosom and tells him she will love him forever.
  • One of Eumolpus’s new servants tells Encolpius that his master is furious at him for being absent for two days (presumably he was kidnapped by Proselenus and Oenothea?).

In the last substantial piece of text (one page long) we are told about an aging legacy-huntress named Philomela. Now too old to seduce rich men, she prostitutes out her son and daughter and is now proceeding to ‘place’ them with Eumolpus, ostensibly for their education.

A comic sex scene which, for once, I did understand: Eumolpus has told everyone he is a martyr to gout and other ailments in order to secure loans and favours from all the legacy hunters. Therefore he cannot have sex with the daughter in the usual athletic way. Therefore he lies on a bed, gets the girl to straddle him, and gets his servant, Corax, to lie directly underneath him, under the bed, and move his thighs and hips up and down, so that Eumolpus’s penis enters and exits the daughter’s vagina, without Eumolpus actually moving. Presumably this had Nero’s courtiers in fits of laughter when read out to them.

Encolpius finds the brother watching this performance through a spy hole.

(This is a recurrent theme of the narrative. Early on in the text, Encolpius watches Giton and the 7-year-old having some kind of sex through a crack in the door; then watches Eumolpus being beaten up through a spy hole. In his notes, Sullivan refers to this recurring theme as scopophilia which means, literally, ‘love of looking’.)

Anyway, in this fragment, despite the boy being willing, Encolpius yet again can’t get an erection, attributing it to the recurring theme of ‘divine hostility’ i.e Priapus’s enmity.

However, abruptly, in the next fragment, he can! attributing his blessed cure to Mercury. He lifts up his tunic to show Eumolpus his erection and the old poet, just to be sure, ‘held in both hands the gift of the gods.’

In the last few one-line fragments, someone is warning Eumolpus that the ships of wealth he had told everyone would soon arrive from Africa have not showed and therefore the many legacy-hunters they’ve been bilking are starting to get impatient and suspicious.

A sentence, apparently from Eumolpus’s will, promising that all his creditors will be paid but only on condition that they cut up his corpse and eat it in front of the people.

Then the implication that one, at least, of the creditors, blinded by greed, was ready to do this.

The final paragraph lists reasons for agreeing to cannibalism – pretend you’re eating something else; an hour of disgust will buy a lifetime of wealth; all meats are disgusting, that’s why we season them – and some historical examples of cannibalism in cities under siege.

And with this gruesome little fragment, the text of the Satyricon ENDS.

Petronius Arbiter

All scholars and introductions devote some time to the problem of identifying the author of the work. The manuscripts of the Satyricon ascribe the work to a ‘Petronius Arbiter’. Most scholars identify this with the young author and dandy named Petronius who flourished at the time of the emperors Claudius (41 to 54) and Nero (54 to 68). Tacitus mentions him in his Annals, telling us that Petronius had been at one time governor of Bithynia in Asia Minor. On his return to Rome the young man-about-town was brought into Nero’s inner circle as its arbiter elegantiae or arbiter of taste, elegance and wit.

According to Tacitus, Petronius fell victim to ‘the jealousy of [Nero’s secretary] Tigellinus against an apparent rival, more expert in the science of pleasure than himself’, Tigellinus turned Nero against him and, as with Seneca, as with Lucan, Nero compelled him to commit suicide.

The Satyricon is one of the very few light-hearted/humorous prose works from the Roman period and helped to found the picaresque tradition. This is the tradition of prose narratives describing a young hero (or picaro, in Spanish) having a series of rambling comic adventures, generally with a sidekick and comic companion, which was, from the early modern period (1550) to become such a major thread in European literature, enduring, in some comic writers, up to the present day.

Two translations

I read two translations in tandem, the Penguin Classics version by J.P. Sullivan, first published in 1965, and the online Project Gutenberg version, which reproduces the 1922 translation by W. C. Firebaugh (with wonderfully solid illustrations by Norman Lindsay).

The style of the 1922 is cumbersomely Victorian BUT it includes passages of text which scholars now think are later forgeries by otherwise unknown authors named Nodot and Marchena, plus the readings introduced into the text by a scholar named De Salas. The point is that these much later interpolations were made to smooth out the narrative and they do, making the Victorian version a much more enjoyable and continuous read.

By contrast the translator the Penguin edition, J.P. Sullivan, takes the intellectually reputable line of sticking solely to what scholars think Petronius actually wrote – with the result that his text is much more fragmented and puzzling. The Gutenberg edition may be old fashioned, and include blatant forgeries, but it is the better read.

There’s also a 2018 translation by A.S. Kline. This is a little more lucid than the Sullivan version but, like him, excludes all the forgeries and interpolations, and so shares the same fragmentary feel.


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