In the previous posting, I
got the closest so far over this current set of blog posts to Hercules – via “Phil,”
one of the sidekicks through whom Owen Suskind would work through issues and
communicate with his father, Ron. I’m inching towards putting the focus on Hercules.
I’m going to do this inching forward with care.
I said at the end of the
previous posting that I’d be turning next to “Hercules in a strange place.” But
I’m going to defer getting to the strange place until the next posting now, as I want to spend a bit of time first reflecting
on what it entails to pick Hercules as a topic for activities for autistic
children. I’ll do this against the backdrop of Ron Suskind’s book and of a
problem that runs deep in classics as a discipline whose elitism runs deep.
Where there would be
footnotes, I’m going to put details in the text in response to a comment form
Adelaide Dupont on how the footnote links aren’t working in my recent postings.
Adelaide has also made
several other comments on these postings and I’m currently reflecting on these
and thankful for them – and without them I might not have decided on this ‘intermission’
posting.
The good guy?
Firstly, what autistic
people sometimes like are not the heroes of a story, or at least not those
generally regarded as the heroes, but the outsiders: those on the margins, anti-heroes…
villains. What Owen Suskind really liked are sidekicks as reflected, for
example in the subtitle of his father’s book about Owen and his journey through
childhood and young adulthood: Life Animated: A book
about sidekicks, heroes and autism. When I was sharing my project at an
event where I consulted with autism specialists in October 2019, one of the participants
– an advocate for autistic people’s participation in research into autism –
said that what he has always responded to are ‘villains, such as the black-hat
wearers of Westerns.
The greatest hero of all? |
The hero for children |
Beyond antiquity, stories
about Hercules have been, and continue to be, retold and recast more than any
other figure from classical myth. As Alastair Blanshard writes in his book exploring various times
when Hercules has been received since antiquity:
“The myths about Hercules have exercised a fascination for Western culture ever since the time of the Ancient Greeks…Hercules stands at the boundaries of our imagination” (Hercules: A Heroic Life, London: Granta, 2005, xvii.).
And, when Emma Stafford wrote the
volume on Hercules for the Gods and
Heroes of the Ancient World series, which I edit, the book, like all
others, had an ‘Afterwards’ section which traces moments in reception after
antiquity. (As I write this posting, the publisher’s pages are down, though
Emma discusses the book here.)
With Alastair Blanshard during an afternoon sharing Hercules activities at a showcasing public engagement event, CA/FIEC congress, London, July 2019 |
Emma’s ‘Afterlives’ section
was necessarily longer than in any book to date in the series, and it’s longer
than any other such section will likely ever be. But, still, Emma was able only
to scrape at the surface and she began the Leeds Hercules Project after that to
explore the phenomenon of Hercules as received since antiquity.
Can there be a place for
Hercules in autistic culture? Can there be a place for this hero who is at the
heart of so much – as the ‘civiliser,’ and as the epitome of culture who keeps defeating
those who challenge it? Can the hero at the centre be relevant to autism?
I am going to make a case
for a ‘yes,’ including because it is possible to pull from classical uses, and postclassical
uses, of Hercules topics relevant to autism. I’m going to set out, starting
soon, that it is possible to use Hercules to explore what it is to experience the
world as autistic: to show non-autistic people what it is like to be autistic
and to explore ways to negotiate such issues as dealing with difficult choices,
helping understand how people behave and helping deal with anxieties and obstacles.
Epitome of ‘Classics’ and ‘Western Civilisation’?
But that still leaves me
with another problem: Classics. When, last week, I presented my autism and myth
activities to a class of Special and Inclusive Education students, one of them
commented on just how elitist classics is. I completely agree. Indeed, I’d add that the
figure of Hercules is bound up with what ‘Classics’ is and what ‘Western Civilisation’
is. Hercules, indeed, is a figure who has long been taught to children because
his stories are deemed worthy ones, a trend that Lisa Maurice explores in the latest edition
of the Journal of Historical Fictions.
When Hercules is received, ‘Classics’
is being received, and ‘Western Civilisation’ is being received. As Alastair Blanshard
says in the quotation I included earlier in this posting, Hercules has provided
a source of “fascination” since ancient Greece for “Western culture” (emphasis added). As
Alastair continues, Hercules “stands at the boundaries of our imagination”
- the “we” being the receivers of Western civilisation.
And, so, in designing activities
for autistic children, what am I doing? Am I offering classics as some kind of
gift to autistic children, to give an access to key aspects of Western culture?
This is what Nicola Grove and Keith Park discuss the possibility of doing in
the case of another key classical mythological hero, Odysseus, in the activities
for people with learning disabilities they present in their Odyssey
Now. And, as they say – as I discuss in a posting from February 2017 - one reason they picked Odysseus was precisely because of that hero’s
deep-rooted place in Western culture.
When I pick up again after
the easter weekend, I’ll continue to explore why, as the epitome of the hero,
Hercules can be relevant to autism, I’ll also look further at Hercules as a figure
who forms part of a set of stores – indeed provides the best example of a set
of stories that epitomise ‘classics’ and classics for children. One option would
be to turn away from anything classical. The route I’m going to adopt is to engage
with Hercules to help critique and reflect on the state of the discipline and
its role in children’s culture.
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