Finlay McQuade

Henry James wrote a short story called “The Birthplace,” in which Morris Gedge and his wife are chosen to be the docents in the house where William Shakespeare was born. It’s obviously Shakespeare’s birthplace, although James never mentions Shakespeare by name. He is always He or   Him, and t he people who come to visit the birthplace are always They . Feeling privileged and personally responsible for preserving and passing on the Truth about Him, Morris can’t bring himself to dramatize his tours with any unsubstantiated detail, as Mrs. Gedge, who has no such compunctions, enthusiastically does. Morris acknowledges that he does not know precisely where in the house He was born; Morris isn’t even sure that He was born in that house. But They are not impressed and attendance declines. Morris is reprimanded by the higher-ups who hired him. Finally, in danger of losing his job, he relents, and in the final scenes of the story he concocts an elaborate picture of the childhood genius crawli

From The Innocents Abroad: “This has been a stirring day. The Superintendent of the railway put a train at our disposal, and did us the further kindness of accompanying us to Ephesus and giving to us his watchful care. “At ancient Ayassalook, in the midst of a forbidding desert, we came upon long lines of ruined aqueducts, and other remnants of architectural grandeur, that told us plainly enough we were nearing what had been a metropolis, once.” In 1867, the year Twan visited Ephesus, there was a railway station in Selcuk (then called Ayasoluk), but not much else. The railway connected various farming communities with the port city of Izmir. Twain was one in a group of tourists en route to the Holy Land. Nowadays, most of the tourists visiting Ephesus travel by bus from monstrous cruise ships that dock in Kusadasi. The few who stay in the boutique hotels of Selcuk get there by taxi, or, if they’re fit, they walk. There were no taxis in Twain’s day, and it was too hot to walk. He and

Once a year, camel wrestling comes to Selcuk. For up to a week in advance of the main event, one hears the dull sounds of a cowbell, “clink, clink, clunk; clink, clink, clunk,” and looks around, because “clink, clink, clunk” is a sure sign that a c amel is coming down the street. Maybe two or three are parading into town, led by their proud owner. Every day, more camels come to the town square. They are dressed in their gaudiest attire, hand-woven drapery decorated with mirrors, sequins, and buttons of colored glass, lavishly set off with colored scarves and ribbons that dangle to their feet. And what is that? A knitted nosebag intended to catch the foam coming out of each camel’s mouth--but not entirely succeeding. T here could not be more noticeable advertising for the camel wrestling to come. Lynne, my wife, took some photos and recorded some of her observations .  Camels Ready to Enter the Arena On the big day, we arrive at the site by scooter to find it filled with people and the

  A Roman Aqueduct in Selcuk      I live in Brunswick, Maine, a very pleasant college town with a main street of restaurants, gift shops, and food shops in 19th  century buildings. In mid-winter, the streets might be deserted, but in summer they are populated by hundreds of “summer people” strolling up and down, window-shopping, or enjoying a meal in the pleasant sidewalk sunshine. I have lived here for over 20 years, but on any day of the year I could walk the length and breadth of the town without ever meeting and greeting someone I know.       Not possible in Sel ç uk, a town in Turkey about the same size as Brunswick. My wife and I lived there for eight years. From the moment we stepped out of our garden gate, in winter or in summer, we’d meet and say hello to neighbors, shopkeepers, restauranteurs, and any number of local people enjoying a meal, or drinking tea, or playing backgammon out-of-doors. Shopkeepers and waiters, when they were not busy serving customers, would stand i

     If you do a search for ‘Ephesus’ in any search engine, you will find a picture of the Library of Celsus. That, I suppose, is the modern meaning of the word ‘iconic.’        It was built around 117 CE by Tiberius Julius Aquila Polemeanus in honor of his father, Tiberius Julius Celsus Polemeanus. Celsus started his  cursus honorum  as a junior officer in a legion, and continued through successive promotions to become the Legate of a legion, a Senator, a Consul, and, eventually, the Governor of Asia. Aquila, who also attained the rank of Consul, buried his father in a vault beneath their new library. His statue occupied a place of honor in the reading room. From “The Missing Book” Celsus "Although Meliton loved his new job, on this particular day, 910 years since the founding of Rome and four days before the Ides of April, he was momentarily bored and walked outside just as the sun rose above Mount Pion and spread its warmth across the plaza between the library and the st

  An Artist's Conception of the Temple     W hen the poet Antipater in the 2 nd century BCE saw the Temple of Artemis and proclaimed it the greatest of all the wonders of the world, he was looking at a temple built upon the inexhaustible wealth and boundless ambition of Croesus, King of Lydia, in the 6 th century BCE.      It survived until 356 CE, when Herostratus, for reasons unknown, set fire to everything in it that was combustible and brought the whole magnificent structure tumbling to the ground. The motive attributed to him at the time was a fervent desire to be famous, but I have never believed that story. So I wrote a different story and gave him a different motive.      Coincidentally, the Temple was destroyed on the very day that Alexander the Great was born…well, maybe it wasn't a coincidence. Alexander preferred to think that the goddess had popped across the Aegean Sea to assist at his birth in Macedonia, leaving her Temple unprotected. Alexander accepted so

         C uretes Street is always full of people. They come from all over rld to see the dug up, cleaned up, tastefully reconstructed metropolis of Ephesus. As you walk down this avenue of long-ago splendor, you hear snippets of all the languages you think you recognize and just as many that you don’t.      Each time I visited Ephesus, I liked to linger a while by the State Agora, where this picture was taken, to admire the panoramic view, past Hadrian’s Temple on the right and the on the Terrace Houses on the left, down to the elegant façade of the Library of Celsus, and beyond the Library, beyond the colonnaded quadrangle of the Agora, what remains lay beneath the distant orange groves, the legendary academy for gladiators? The route of the Sacred Way?—(which features in my story about Herostratus).        The Curetes in Greek mythology were guardian spirits assigned by Rhea to protect the infant Zeus from Cronos, his infanticidal father. The Curetes banged their shields with their

  The Temple Today       T his is one of my favorite photos of the ruins of Ephesus, although I think that for many tourists who take a picture from this same spot, it’s a picture of disappointment. They come to Ephesus knowing that the Temple of Artemis was one of the Wonders of the World, and if they hadn’t known in advance, they soon find out. The poet Antipater, writing in the 1st century BCE, is widely quoted. After listing six of the Wonders of the World, he added, “But when I saw the sacred house of Artemis that towers to the clouds, those other marvels lost their brilliance, and I said, ‘Lo, apart from Olympus, the Sun never looked on aught so grand.’”          Instead of something worthy of awe, tourists see a teetering column of stones in a swampy field. When I took my picture, a gaggle of geese advanced from the pond and threatened to bite me. A pack of mean-looking dogs slumbered in the sun. Upon hearing the geese, they raised their heads to look, but found nothing worth ge