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Allison Goldstein-Berger
Prof. Judith Hallett
LATN688O Ovid
Spring 2015
Transgression, Vengeance, and Brutality:
Elements of Ovid’s Actaeon Lurking in Oates’ “The Sons of Angus MacElster”
Joyce Carol Oates’ short story, The Sons of Angus MacElster, captures the sense and
texture of Ovid’s Actaeon in Metamorphoses III.138-252 through her inspired characters, setting,
plot, and themes. Ovid’s original narrative is graphic and violent at parts, and generally
disturbing – and Oates’ story retains all of these features. Interestingly, while Oates’ story is
clearly based on Ovid’s Actaeon, it is also quite original because the Ovidian details are
reworked and applied to her own unique plot and characters. Although Oates is limited by the
constraints of the English language and thus cannot necessarily feature the same sort of syntactic
enactment as Ovid does in his Latin, she is nevertheless quite skillful as she echoes Ovid’s
manner of expression at various points. For a reader familiar with Ovid’s Actaeon narrative,
Oates’ The Sons of Angus MacElster feels like a scavenger hunt, where some Ovidian elements
are more prominently and explicitly featured whereas others are far more subtle, though all are
completely intentional and ingenious. Overall, Oates does a commendable and respectable job in
her appropriation of Ovid’s Actaeon and representing it within her own original context through
skillfully crafted multidimensional layers for a new generation of readers.
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CHARACTERS
As opposed to Ovid’s text, Diana is not present - nor is any goddess for that matter - and
there is also no young hunter-turned-stag preyed upon by his own dogs. There are no entourages
of bathing nymphs or hunting companions and neither of the main characters are hunters.
Rather, Oates features a family at the center of her story, the MacElsters, consisting of six sons,
one daughter, and their middle-aged parents, all of whom manifest Actaeonesque attributes.
Angus MacElster, the patriarch whose name also starts with ‘A,’ plays the major Actaeon role,
though he also has some qualities in common with Diana. His wife plays the Diana role, and
their children, particularly their sons, play the role of Actaeon’s hunting dogs. Lastly, the only
crowd of individuals, who function as Diana’s crowd of bathing nymphs, are the men from the
bar who witness Angus’ attack on his poor wife in the street.
Whereas Ovid’s Actaeon is a sympathetic character, Joyce Carol Oates’ Angus MacElster
is characterized rather grotesquely by Oates, as he is a repulsive human being in both his
physical description and his conduct. Angus is first described as having a “handsome ruin of a
face wind-burned and ruddy” (72), who comes home for a “brief half hour” (72) to be in the
company of his wife and daughter, where he is described as “devouring cold meatloaf…breaking
off morsels with his stubby gnarled fingers” (72). Later on, additional physical description is
provided about Angus: a “sixty-one-year-old man snoring on his back, fatty-muscled torso
exposed, arms and legs sprawled in a bliss of drunken oblivion” (76). In general, Angus is far
from Ovid’s radiant Actaeon, a “youth” (iuvenis, 146), leader of men 1, a hero (heros, 198) even.
Actaeon speaks to his men as a leader, commanding them to cease their hunting for the day as it has been
successful enough: “Companions, the sword with the gore of wild animals and the day has beheld enough
fortune …we will seek the task having been put forth: Stop the present undertaking and lift up the knotty
nets!” (comites, ferrumque cruore ferarum,/ fortunaeque dies habuit satis/…propositum repetemus
opus/…sistite opus praesens nodosaque tollite lina!, 148-153)
1
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Angus’ reputation as husband and father is anything but gentlemanly and kind. Oates
states that Angus and his sons are “heavy drinkers, tavern brawlers” (72) and even after long
periods of time away from his family on coal-bearing merchant ships, there have never been
“any improvements in the man’s treatment of his wife” (73). His treatment of his seven children
is equally deficient, given that as grown men, the sons express their “hateful love” (73) of their
father, a “hurtful man…who has long betrayed them with his absence” (73). Overall, Angus
MacElster is a despicable and verbally and physically abusive man with little to no redeeming
qualities, who has neglected and mistreated his wife and children for as long as anyone can
remember.
Oates’ Angus also possesses characteristics that strongly align him with Ovid’s Diana.
Aside from the fact that his perpetual tendency to punish and abuse is certainly in the spirit of the
hostile and angry Diana whom Ovid depicts, most noteworthy is that both characters have
domains which appear to be sacred to them and are off-limits to those not of their respective
genders. Each has his or her own watering hole, as it were: Diana’s domain is her spring (fons,
161) within her sacred valley of Gargaphie (Vallis erat.../nomine Gargaphie succinctae sacra
Dianae, 155-6) and Angus’ domain is his bar, the “Mare’s Neck.” Whereas Ovid’s Diana and
her nymphs are in a female domain, exclusive to Diana and her throng, men particularly
excluded: “In this place, the goddess of the woods, tired from the hunt, was accustomed to bathe
her virgin limbs with pure water” (hic dea silvarum venatu fessa solebat/ virgineos artus liquido
perfundere rore, 163-4), Oates’ Angus “drinking with his old companions” (73) is in a male
domain, evidenced by the presence of the onlookers, “a loose crowd of beyond twenty men has
gathered” (74), who “watch, some of them grinning and laughing”(74) while Angus publically
humiliates his wife. As an example of how craftily Oates has interwoven Ovidian details into
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her short story, consider that while Angus’ bar, the “Mare’s Neck” is his male domain, its name
is certainly a nod toward Ovid given that ‘mare’ has a feminine association given its meaning of
‘female horse.’ Thus ironically it references Ovid’s Diana’s female realm, although it functions
within Oates’ story as a male domain, from which Mrs. MacElster is excluded.
The MacElster sons are explicitly characterized as dogs by Oates as they play the role of
Actaeon’s hunting dogs, who ultimately kill their master, Actaeon, just as the MacElster sons kill
their own father, Angus, in the end. The sons’ perspective is described by the narrator, as they
have felt a “willful withholding of love” (73) by their father to the point that they state:
We longed like craven dogs to receive our father’s blessing, any careless touch of his
gnarly hand, we longed to receive his rough wet despairing kisses the on the lips
[like]…the kind he’d given us long ago when we were boys before the age of ten, so the
very memory of such kisses is uncertain to us. (73)
Just as loyal dogs, once they learn from their sister that their father has returned home to Glace
Bay, all of the brothers return to their parents’ home to wait for their father to return from the
bar. As dogs, they find themselves “shuddering and shivering in anticipation of his
return…yearning for his return as a dog yearns for the return of the very master who will kick
him, praying that he would not cuff us, or beat us, or kick us” (75). Then later on, before they
kill their father in the barn, they are described to be “panting [as] we circle him, our eyes
gleaming like those of feral creatures glimpsed by lamplight in the dusk” (76). Essentially,
Oates offers an abundance of adjectives, verbs, and explicit similes that liken the MacElster sons
to dogs and thus their parallel role to Ovid’s Actaeon’s hunting dogs is undeniable. The question
that Oates poses to her reader is whether or not the murderous sons can be held accountable for
their father’s murder; or rather, if they are truly perceived as hunting dogs, then perhaps they are
guiltless just as Actaeon’s dogs, who only did what they had been trained to do.
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Aside from simply acting as canines, Angus’ sons also possess Actaeonesque features
given their repeated attempts for recognition just like Actaeon to both his companions and dogs
after his transformation into a stag. Throughout Oates’ story, Angus’ sons make repeated efforts
to make peace with their father as Oates repeats their sentiment “even at this late hour our hearts
might yet be won” (73, 76). This group is seeking remediation with their father, dying for his
affection and acceptance, as noted above. Ovid’s Actaeon tries so hard to be recognized despite
his misleading animal appearance and not having a voice; he still tries to say his own name and
announce himself as his dogs’ master: “’I’m Actaeon: recognize your master!’ [But ] words are
not present within his character” ('Actaeon ego sum: dominum cognoscite vestrum!'/verba animo
desunt, 230-231); then, having been called by his companions, Actaeon turns his stag’s head
upon hearing his name: “But his unaware companions urge on the swift pack with the usual
encouragements and they strive toward Actaeon and they shout for Actaeon (he turns his head
back [upon hearing] his name) as if he is certainly absent” (at comites rapidum solitis hortatibus
agmen/ignari instigant oculisque Actaeona quaerunt/ et velut absentem certatim Actaeona
clamant/[ad nomen caput ille refert], 242-5). Unfortunately, Actaeon’s efforts for recognition
are to no avail. Similar to Actaeon, through their openness to reconciliation but equally in vain,
Angus’ sons would like nothing more than to be recognized as worthy of their father’s attention.
Just as Actaeon ultimately succumbs to his dogs’ betrayal and brutality, the sons also meet their
father’s verbal abuses: “old Angus curses us, calls us young shits, spits at us, tries to stumble to
his feet to fight us, even as the first of our blows strikes” (76).
Oates’ Mrs. MacElster character is identifiable as Ovid’s Diana not only through plot
descriptions of public exposure, but also through specific physical description. Ovid’s Diana’s
naked body cannot be effectively covered up through her nymphs’ efforts simply because of the
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great goddess' stature. Namely, she towers over them: “Still taller than the others, the goddess is
her very self and from her neck and above, she stands out above everyone” (tamen altior
illis/ipsa dea est colloque tenus supereminet omnis, 182-3). Oates echoes this characterization as
she emphasizes the large details of Mrs. MacElster’s physique: “her enormous breasts, milk-pale
flaccid breasts hanging nearly to her waist which she tries to hide with her arms” (74), which
causes her exposure to be even more humiliating for her. Beyond this, just as Ovid’s Diana
verbally threatens Actaeon with foreboding words: “She added these words, foretelling of future
disaster: ‘Now if you will be able [to tell], you may say that I was seen by you without my
clothes’” (addidit haec cladis praenuntia verba futurae:/'nunc tibi me posito visam velamine
narres,si poteris narrare, licet!' nec plura minata, 191-3), Mrs. MacElster also curses Angus
MacElster: “She’d cried Disgusting! How can you! – disgusting! God curse you!” (73).
In addition to playing the role of Mrs. MacElster, she is also Actaeonesque. Firstly, the
abuse that she endures from her husband is reminiscent of Actaeon’s treatment by his dogs,
though her treatment does not result in death. Oates’ verbs, relating to “restraining” and
“tearing,” appear to reference Ovid’s description of Actaeon’s demise: “[Angus] seizes the collar
of her old cardigan sweater she’d knitted years ago, seizes it and tears it, and as idlers…stare in
astonishment he tears her dress open, cursing her…ripping her clothes from her, exposing our
cringing mother” (74). Likewise, Actaeon is also held down and then torn apart by his own
hunting dogs: “With those [dogs] restraining the master” (dominum retinentibus illis, 235) and
“Beneath the appearance of a false stag, they tear apart their master” (dilacerant falsi dominum
sub imagine cervi, 250). Secondly, Mrs. MacElster violates the sanctity of her husband’s male
domain, his bar, just as Actaeon violated the sanctity of Diana’s spring in her sacred grove, albeit
accidentally: “Behold the grandson of Cadmus (Actaeon) came into the sacred grove [of Diana]
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wandering not with certain steps through an unknown forest” (ecce nepos Cadmi…/ per nemus
ignotum non certis passibus errans/ pervenit in lucum, 174-6). The fact is that Actaeon
transgressed into female space, clearly evidenced by the response of the violated nymphs,
inhabitants of the space upon his entry: “after the man (Actaeon) was seen, the nude nymphs beat
their breasts and filled the entire woods with sudden shrieks” (nudae viso sua pectora
nymphae/percussere viro subitisque ululatibus omne/inplevere nemus, 178-80); Mrs. MacElster
is guilty of the same sort of transgression against her husband, whom she had gone to see “in
reckless despair” (73). Interestingly, just as Actaeon is unnamed at the point of his entry into
Diana’s space 2, being referred to patronymically, geographically, or otherwise: “grandson to
you, Cadmus” (nepos…tibi, Cadme, 138), “the Boeotian youth” (iuvenis…Hyantius, 146-7),
“Cadmus’ grandson” (nepos Cadmi, 174), “Autonoeian hero” (Autonoeius heros, 198), “That
guy” (ille, 228), Mrs. MacElster is only named in terms of her husband, “Mrs. MacElster;” she is
the only main character in Oates’ narrative without a first name.
As noted above, the crowd of onlookers function as Diana’s throng of nymphs, whom
Ovid describes to have crowded around Diana: “Having draped themselves around, they covered
Diana with their bodies” (circumfusaeque Dianam/corporibus texere suis, 180-81) in an attempt
to protect her modesty against Actaeon’s gazing male eye. Oates’ tale notes that after Angus has
finally left his wife alone, a “hysterically weeping woman”(74), a couple of the male “idlers”(74)
play the role of these nymph protectresses through their gesture: “one or two of the men wrap her
in their jackets [to] hide her nakedness” (74). While these men are successful at covering up her
body, the harm that Angus MacElster has done is still present, evident through the description of
the traumatized and injured Mrs. MacElster, who is later seen “weeping deranged with shock and
2
Actaeon is not named until line 230, when he wishes to identify himself to his own dogs
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humiliation, her mouth bloodied, and Katy [her daughter] tending to her white-faced and shaking
as if she too had been stripped naked in the street” (75). Although she is not angry like Diana
whose rage endures until Actaeon’s death, Mrs. MacElster’s trauma seems to linger beyond the
scene of her humiliation, which will be addressed below.
SETTING
Both Ovid and Oates feature remote locations where Ovid’s is in Boeotia (Hyantius, 147;
vallis erat…nomine Gargaphie, 155-6) and Oates’ is in 1923 Nova Scotia. (Interestingly, it may
be worth noting that these settings rhyme!) Whereas Ovid sets the scene within a valley (Vallis
erat, 155) with an amazing nature-crafted sylvan cave (antrum nemorale recess, 157), a spring
for Diana’s bathing (fons sonat a dextra tenui perlucidus unda, 161; hic dea… solebat/ virgineos
artus liquido perfundere rore, 163-4), and wooded paths “through the cliffs” (per rupes
scopulosque adituque carentia saxa, 226), all located on a “mountain blood-stained from the
slaughter of wild beasts,” (mons erat infectus variarum caede ferarum, 143), Oates’ setting is
primarily either at a bar, the Mare’s Neck (or on the street just outside) and in a barn. Despite
their seeming differences, all of the locations by both authors are connected to animals and
liquids: blood, water, or ale/alcohol.
Oates’ MacElster clan lives in far-out “Glace Bay at the wind-buffeted easternmost tip of
Cape Breton Island” (72). Just as Ovid’s far-off sylvan setting is a place for animals to be
hunted and happens to be drenched with their blood from the get-go, Oates’ setting centers on
animals. The Mare’s Neck bar references an animal through its name, as a mare is a horse.
Additionally, the second important setting location is a barn, which by no stretch of the
imagination is related to animals, being that it is a place to shelter them.
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Just as Ovid foreshadows the violence of his narrative through noting impending bloodspillage for his addressee: “the dogs nourished on the blood of their master” (canes satiatae
sanguine erili, 140) as well as setting his scene on a wooded “mountain stained with blood of
beasts” (Mons erat infectus variarum caede ferarum, 143), Oates sets the same tone by
describing the blood already on her characters’ hands. The background that Oates provides for
this “accursed” (72) MacElster family is that they have “emigrated from the wind-ravaged
highlands north of Inverness to the new world with blood…on their hands, and murder in their
hearts” (75). Thus, previously spilled blood underlie both stories. With regard to a more
physical representation of blood within Oates’ story, there is no lack of gore: following his
murder in the barn, his sons see “[Angus’] blood gushing hot and shamed on the to the straw and
dirt floor of the barn a glistening stream bearing bits of cobweb, dust and straw as if a sluice
were opened” (76).
PLOT
Both Oates’ short story and Ovid’s Actaeon include scenes of physical exposure, where
the act of seeing represents a violation. Both Actaeon’s and Angus’ stories feature the violation
of a female body, one of a virginal goddess with “chaste limbs” (virgineos artus, 164) and one of
a middle-aged wife. The men involved in these exposures are guilty of different crimes and play
different roles in relation to the nudity. Actaeon’s crime, according to Diana’s own words is his
having seen the goddess “without her clothing” ('nunc tibi me posito visam velamine narres,/ si
poteris narrare, licet!', 192-3), which had been already taken off with the help of her nymphs:
She handed over the spear, quiver, and bow to one of her squire nymphs and another
nymph took her removed cloak under her arm, and two unfasten the sandals from her
feet; then more skillful than the rest, Theban Crocale gathers her hair, scattered on her
neck into a knot, although her own is loose. [The other nymphs] draw water and pour it
[over their mistress] by means of large water pots (nympharum tradidit uni/armigerae
iaculum pharetramque arcusque/retentos, altera depositae subiecit bracchia
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pallae,/vincla duae pedibus demunt; nam doctior illis/Ismenis Crocale sparsos per colla
capillos/colligit in nodum, quamvis erat ipsa solutis./excipiunt laticem Nepheleque
Hyaleque Rhanisque/et Psecas et Phiale funduntque capacibus urnis, 165-172).
The female exposures are quite different in the two stories: in Ovid’s Actaeon, a man, Actaeon,
unintentionally stumbles upon Diana and happens to see her naked, as opposed to Angus, who
actively and violently strips his wife nearly naked in the street in front of a crowd. If anything,
the above description of Diana’s disrobing is cinematic, descriptive, and possibly even erotic.
The nudity attributed to Mrs. MacElster, however, is simply disturbing and grotesque - certainly anything but erotic. Unlike Actaeon, Angus’ terrible crime is his active role in first
“rais[ing] a hand to [his wife]” (73) and then stripping his wife bare while “idlers…stare[d]”
(74). Oates’ narrator details the scene:
In a rage [Angus] seizes the collar of [Mrs. MacElster’s] old cardigan sweater she’d
knitted years ago, seizes it and tears it, and as idlers…stare in astonishment he tears her
dress open, cursing her…ripping her clothes from her, exposing our cringing mother in
the halter-like white cotton brassiere she must wear to contain her enormous breasts,
milk-pale flaccid breasts hanging nearly to her waist which she tries to hide with her
arms, our mother publicly shamed pleading with our father Angus, no! Stop! I beg you,
God help you – no! Yet in his drunken rage Angus MacElster strips his wife of thirty-six
years near-naked, as the poor woman shrieks and sobs, and a loose crowd of beyond
twenty men has gathered to watch (74).
Mrs. MacElster, like Diana, is hugely humiliated. Whereas Diana’s rage turns into her own
vengeful act and not feeling vindicated until after Actaeon’s life has ended: “unless [Actaeon’s]
life has been ended through very many wounds, the anger of quiver-bearing Diana is not said to
have been satisfied” (nec nisi finita per plurima vulnera vita/ira pharetratae fertur satiata
Dianae, 251-2), there is no indication from Oates that Mrs. MacElster’s emotional and
psychological trauma is resolved after Angus’ death.
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Diana’s nymphs react before the goddess herself does to Actaeon’s physical presence,
which transforms their calm oasis of cleansing and female companionship to one of chaos, alarm,
and humiliation. In addition to the previously-discussed nymphs’ alarmed response and Diana’s
inability to be concealed from Actaeon’s violating gaze, Ovid describes the sudden change in the
goddess’ complexion, indicating her humiliation: “the color of clouds stained by the opposing
shafts of the sun, or Aurora’s brightness, was in the face of Diana, seen without her clothes,”(qui
color infectis adversi solis ab ictu/ nubibus esse solet aut purpureae Aurorae,/ is fuit in vultu
visae sine veste Dianae, 183-5). While Mrs. MacElster’s complexion is not highlighted in quite
the same way by Oates, there are nature-oriented similes for both her and her husband’s hair at
this point in the story, which come across as rather Ovidian. Angus’ description notes that “the
flame in his greying red hair [was] the colour of fading sumac in autumn” (74) and Mrs.
MacElster’s includes notes that “her hair [was] the colour of tarnished silver loosened in the
wind.’ Such description seems to echo Ovid’s description of Diana’s face as well as his general
tendency in many of his Metamorphoses and other texts 3 to highlight characters’ hair; Diana’s
hair, in this particular episode is described to be arranged by a nymph whose own hair was down:
“she arranges the hair scattered along her neck into a knot” (sparsos per colla capillos/ colligit in
nodum, 169-170). These nature, hair, and color-oriented descriptions come across as rather
Ovidian.
Whereas Diana’s response to Actaeon is anger, Mrs. MacElster’s is shock; both are
humiliated. Mrs. MacElster is obviously upset, evident through her ‘shrieks and sobs’ during her
abuse while the crows of men ‘stare[d] in astonishment’ with “some of them grinning and
3 The Packard Humanities Institute's online Latin word search and concordance database reflects that
Ovid referenced ‘hair’ (forms of “crines” or “coma”) 23 and 80 times, respectively, in his literary works.
This is not even an exhaustive count, considering that there are other possible synonyms.
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laughing but most of them plainly shocked” (74). Diana’s first instinct after her exposure is to
reach for her “ready arrows” (ut vellet promptas habuisse sagittas, 188), which are out of grasp
since she had been in the midst of bathing; instead she “drew up the waters and poured them on
[Actaeon’s] manly head while also sprinkling his hair with the avenging waves” (hausit aquas
vultumque virilem/perfudit spargensque comas ultricibus undis, 189-90). Mrs. MacElster’s
response to her humiliation is to first accept the covering offered to her by a couple of the onlooking men, who “wrap her in their jackets [to] hide her nakedness” (74) and then to simply go
home to her daughter, where her sons later hear the story and play the role of avengers for her
since her own response and subsequent actions are nothing like Diana’s.
In addition to scenes of public exposure, both Ovid’s Actaeon and Oates’ The Sons of
Angus MacElster feature men who transform into animals. Whereas Actaeon’s is a real physical
transformation from man to stag, caused by Diana’s vengeance, Angus’ transformation is more
figurative, supported not only by descriptive metaphors and similes, but also through setting.
Angus, upon entering the Mare’s Neck bar, which references the female horse, is transformed
from man to horse.
The anger and humiliation that Diana feels from Actaeon’s violating eyes on her nude
body, are manifested into her vengeful transformation of poor Actaeon, thus terminating his
ability for human speech. Actaeon’s metamorphosis is described such that “[Diana] gives horns
of a living stag to his head, length to his neck and pointed tips of his ears, she changes his feet
for hands and long legs for arms, and she covers his body with spotted hide” (dat sparso capiti
vivacis cornua cervi,/ dat spatium collo summasque cacuminat aures/ cum pedibusque manus,
cum longis bracchia mutat/ cruribus et velat maculoso vellere corpus, 194-7). Diana’s final
touch to Actaeon’s transformation is her addition of “fear” (pavor, 198). Interestingly, Actaeon
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does not even initially realize that he is a stag, even as he is seen marveling at his speed: “He
admires himself, so swift in his very running” (se tam celerem cursu miratur in ipso, 199). It is
only when he comes across his reflection, in which he sees horns, tries to exclaim how wretched
he is, but is unable to articulate since his voice is gone, that he realizes his new non-human form:
“Truly as he saw his face and his horns in the water, he was about to say, ‘Wretched me!’: no
voice followed” (ut vero vultus et cornua vidit in unda,/ ‘me miserum!' dicturus erat: vox nulla
secuta est (200-1). Even his tears are not his own, as he seems to be trapped inside an animal
body with his human mind: “tears not his own flowed along his face; only his mind remained as
it was” (lacrimaeque per ora/non sua fluxerunt; mens tantum pristina mansit, 202-3). Actaeon
cannot figure out what to do with himself in this new state, and before he can figure out a course
of action, he is spotted by his hunting dogs, which sets his demise into motion: “While he
hesitates, the dogs have spotted [him]” (Dum dubitat, videre canes, 206).
Just as Ovid’s Actaeon becomes doomed the moment he enters Diana’s cave and
approaches her sacred spring, Angus also becomes doomed as soon as he enters the Mare’s
Neck, his watering hole. Following his departure from the bar, to confront his wife in the street,
Angus MacElster is depicted as a beastly man with animal features. Angus reacts to his wife
with “eyes bulging like a horse’s and red-veined with drink” (74). Then later on in the barn,
when he is confronted by his sons, who wake him from his ‘drunken slumber,’ he is seen again
with “bulging red-veined horse’s eyes, blinking up at [his sons]” (76). Additionally, it is as an
animal that Angus MacElster enters the barn, an animal domain: “Angus sinks insensible into the
straw, like a horse in its stall…because he was drawn to sleeping in the barn, in his clothes, in
his boots, luxuriant in such deep dreamless animal sleep” (74-5). There is no doubt that Oates
depicts Angus MacElster as an animal, who like Actaeon, is killed as an animal. Oates drives
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this point home when she describes Angus’ animal “hide,” pierced by his sons’ “blades sharp
enough and strong enough to pierce the hide of the very devil himself, and in a fever of shouts
and laughter we strike, and tear, and lunge, and stab, and pierce, and gut” (76). The
transformations that take Actaeon and Angus from man to animal bring them closer to death.
Both Ovid’s and Oates’ stories culminate with graphic descriptions of their respective
protagonists’ deaths: Angus MacElster is hacked to death to the point that his eyes are gouged
out, bones are broken, skull is crushed, and his blood is streaming:
And in a fever of shouts and laughter we strike, and tear, and lunge, and stab, and pierce,
and gut, and make of the man’s wind-roughened skin a lacy-bloody shroud and of his
bones brittle sticks as easily broken as dried twigs, and of his terrible eyes cheap baubles
to be gouged out and ground into the dirt beneath our boots, and of his hard skull a mere
clay pot to be smashed into bits, and of his blood gushing hot and shamed on to the straw
and the dirt floor of the barn (76)
Actaeon’s gory end is rather drawn out from lines 206 to 250: the dogs, each specifically named,
“gave the signal first through barking” (primique Melampus/ Ichnobatesque sagax latratu signa
dedere, 206-7) and “begin to inflict wounds on [Actaeon’s] back and clench onto his arm: “
(prima Melanchaetes in tergo vulnera fecit,/proxima Theridamas, Oresitrophos haesit in armo,
232-3), and then “with some holding Actaeon down, the pack of dogs comes together and sinks
their teeth into his body to the point that there are no more places to inflict wounds” (dominum
retinentibus illis,/cetera turba coit confertque in corpore dentes./iam loca vulneribus desunt,
235-7) and finally poor Actaeon is torn to pieces (dilacerant falsi dominum sub imagine cervi ,
250) “under the appearance of a deceiving stag.”
Oates has an incredible ability to capture the essence and style of Ovid’s words that
describe the awful death of Actaeon, particularly in the scene that depicts Angus’ sons and their
instruments for murder. Just as Ovid describes Actaeon’s hunting dogs in a long list of over 40
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names and epithets, which takes up nearly 20 lines of his narrative 4, Oates rambles off Angus
MacElster’s sons’ names in a similar style as she mentions their weapons of choice for patricide:
Glaring-eyed Rob has taken up the double-edged axe…and Cal the resourceful one has
brought from home a twelve-inch fish-gutting knife, Alistair has a wicked pair of shears,
John Rory and John Allan have their matching hunting knives of eight-inch stainless
steel, and I have a newly honed butcher’s knife from my own house…and the six of us
enter the barn to see the old man snoring in the twilight, in a patch of damp straw, and
panting we circle him, our eyes gleaming like those of feral creatures glimpsed by
lamplight in the dusk. (75-6)
‘Glaring-eyed Rob’ is in the same spirit as Ovid’s description of “keen-scented Ichnobates,”
(Ichnobatesque sagax, 207) and “swift-footed Pterelas and trail-scenting Agre” (pedibus Pterelas
et naribus utilis Agre, 212) while ‘Cal the resourceful one’ is similar to “Poemenis, the trusty
shepherd” (pecudesque secuta/Poemenis, 214-15) and “speedy Lycisce with her brother
Cyprius” (Cyprio velox cum fratre Lycisce, 220).
Although both Actaeon and Angus are murdered, one by his pack of dogs, and the other
by his group of sons, their reactions to their would-be-murderers are entirely different, which is
precisely what makes Actaeon such a sympathetic character and Angus such a despicable one.
Actaeon repeatedly attempts to make himself known to his dogs and comrades, as noted above,
by trying to state and respond to his name. But when that fails, he assumes a suppliant posture:
“As a suppliant with his knees leaning forward and similar to one begging, he moves his silent
face around, as if [he were] bringing his arms around [in a suppliant gesture]” (genibus pronis
supplex similisque roganti/circumfert tacitos tamquam sua bracchia vultus, 240-1). Despite
these attempts, as an animal, he is unrecognizable, and in the end, poor Actaeon is destroyed as a
pitiable young man-turned stag. Ovid conveys through his own narrator and word choice from
4
Ov. Met. III. 205-224, 232-3
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the very beginning of the Actaeon episode that there is no malice in Actaeon. He is simply a sad
victim of fate: “You will not find wickedness in him, [but instead] a crime of Chance; because
indeed has wandering been considered a crime?” (Fortunae crimen in illo,/non scelus invenies;
quod enim scelus error habebat?, 141-2).
Angus initially seems like Actaeon, though not for long. Angus’ sons, who believe that
“it would be wrong to murder [him]…in a bliss of drunken oblivion”(76) wake Angus MacElster
up and “at once old Angus opens his eyes… blinking up at us, knowing us, naming us one by
one his six MacElster sons as damned as he” (76). Actaeon would entirely relate to Angus’
ability to recognize and name each and every one of his killers, but whereas Actaeon recognized
his dogs and chose to flee in fear away from them: “he himself fled from his own subordinates”
(famulos fugit ipse suos, 229), the dogs cannot recognize him while they pursue and ultimately
tear him apart. Unlike Actaeon’s killers, Angus’ killers know and recognize their target before
they slaughter him; poor Actaeon dies unrecognizable as master to his own multitude of dogs,
but Angus is murdered intentionally and mercilessly by his own flesh and blood.
Furthermore, whereas Actaeon does nothing to further anger or inflame his attackers,
Angus does precisely that, which is why he dies a seemingly deserved violent death, for which
Oates’ narrator shows no sympathy. Again, although his sons give him a chance to save himself,
emphasizing that “even at this late hour, [their] hearts might yet be won,” (76) Angus is not
interested. Unlike Actaeon, whose voice is taken away from him, Angus, with his capable one,
instead chooses to do what he always does: verbally abuse and threaten violence – for it seems to
be the only actions he knows, and it is exactly what traps him in his fate. Unlike Actaeon, a
humble suppliant in his final gestures, Angus catalyzes his sons’ violence against him when
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“[he] curses [them], calls [them] young shits, spits at [them], tries to stumble to his feet to fight
[them], even as the first of [their] blows strikes” (76).
THEMES
Ovid’s Actaeon and Oates’ The Sons of Angus MacElster both represent liquid as
foreshadower of violence where Ovid’s common element is water and Oates’ liquid is whatever
Angus imbibes at the Mare’s Neck, though he is by nature a violent man, as his character is
inherently associated with the water given Oates’ description of his job and the circumstances of
his arrival. Additionally, both tales are concerned with speech and the danger of the voice.
Lastly, fate is the driving force behind both stories, where Ovid specifically names Fate and
Fortune as the causes for Actaeon’s misfortune and Oates mentions the curse that dooms the
MacElster family.
Actaeon’s exposure to Diana’s water brings about his demise in the same way that
Angus’ association with water and drink condemns him from the get-go. In Ovid’s Actaeon,
water is abundantly visible and audible through a “resounding spring and transparent wave”
(fons sonat a dextra tenui perlucidus unda, 161) in Diana’s cavern. Water also causes Actaeon’s
disfigurement and eventual death: “thus [Diana] drew up and poured the waters, sprinkling his
manly face and hair with the avenging waves” (sic hausit aquas vultumque virilem/perfudit
spargensque comas ultricibus undis, 189-90).
Ill-omened liquids are present in Oates’ story in the forms of both water and drink. First,
Angus spends the majority of his time away from his family and on the water, such that the
context for Angus’ presence in Glace Bay is that he has just spent “three months on a coalbearing merchant ship out of Halifax, returning home to Glace Bay on a wet-dripping April
midday” (72) and was only going to be in town for “three weeks” (73). The second liquid that
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foreshadows Angus’ violence and ultimate demise is his drink. Upon initial arrival back to
Glace Bay, before he even arrives back to his house, Angus is already “ruddy with drink” (72).
Once he is at home crudely eating leftovers, he is “washing down his lunch in haste with ale he’d
brought with him in several clinking bottles” (72-73). Immediately following this, Angus “was
off to the Mare’s Neck as usual, and drinking with his old companions” (73). The prevalence of
these liquids in Oates’ story are echoes of Ovid’s ‘avenging waters’ of Diana. Interestingly,
Angus’ blood seems to be regarded as poison, as his sons wonder in the end “will the steaming
poison-blood of Angus MacElster singe our boots? – sully our boots? – will some of us be
tainted by this blood and others, the more agile, the more blessed, will not (76-77)?”
An additional similar theme represented by both Ovid and Oates is the simultaneous
representation of the power and fear of speech. Diana clarifies to Actaeon that his crime is
seeing her naked, but rather than giving him a punishment that relates to his ability to see – such
as blinding him – she takes away his ability to speak. The goddess ominously states to Actaeon
just before enacting his transformation that “it is permitted for him to tell others of her
nakedness…if he is able to” ('nunc tibi me posito visam velamine narres,si poteris narrare,
licet!’, 193). Through such words, it appears clear that her impetus for transforming him into an
animal is to prevent him from speaking.
Throughout Oates’ story, there are frequent comments about the fears and dangers of
gossip and talking. The very second sentence states that the MacElster family was the talk of the
entire area “from New Glasgow to Port Hawkesbury to Glace Bay” (72). The entire account
about the mother’s treatment by the father outside the Mare’s Neck was something the sons
“were told” (73). Furthermore, the family curse is also something “rumoured” (75). The
narrator states that the sons, having realized that the public humiliation of Mrs. MacElster
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“would be the scandalized talk of all who knew the MacElsters and countless others who did
not…talk to endure for years, for decades, for generations to this very day: and seeming to know
this as a fact” (75), “wasted no time” (75) and made their decision to confront their father and
ultimately kill him like an animal in the barn.
On a related note, speaker and addressee are equally poignant in both Oates’ and Ovid’s
work. Whereas Ovid’s Actaeon directly addresses Actaeon’s grandfather, Cadmus, in the first
line of this episode (tibi, Cadme, 138), Oates’ narrator comes generations later than the featured
MacElster family. The effect of Cadmus’ address is to evoke sympathy, given the introductory
sentence telling of tragedy: “The first cause of mourning among so many favorable things for
you, Cadmus, was your grandson” (Prima nepos inter tot res tibi, Cadme, secundas/causa fuit
luctus, 138-9). On the contrary, Oates’ narrator adds irony to the story. As mentioned above,
although Oates’ MacElster family fears and resents being the talk of the town and beyond, this
very story ironically represents that they appear to be the talk of their own family for generations
to come. The narrator provides his identity at the end that “this old family tale come to me from
my father’s father Charles MacElster, the eldest son of Cal” (77). Overall, the narrator or
addressee in both tales are family members to the respective victims, Actaeon and Angus, and
whereas Oates’ narrator tells Angus’ story generations later through the voice of his future
offspring: Angus’ great-great-grandson, Ovid’s speaks to a forefather, Cadmus, about Actaeon, a
member of his future progeny.
An additional common theme found in both Ovid and Oates’ stories are their mutual
representations of Fate as a driving factor of misfortune. While Ovid is able to convey this
theme rather overtly through his word choice: “But if you look carefully, you will find that it was
the fault of Fortune and not wickedness” (at bene si quaeras, Fortunae crimen in illo,/ non scelus
Goldstein-Berger 20
invenies, 141-2), as well as “[Actaeon] came into the grove: thus the Fates were bearing him”
(pervenit in lucum: sic illum fata ferebant, 176). Thus, Fortune and Fate are what drive the
entire Actaeon episode, which is why Actaeon finds himself in “the unknown grove erring with
uncertain steps” (per nemus ignotum non certis passibus errans, 175) when he comes upon
Diana’s watery domain. While Oates does not attribute Fate and Fortune by name as Ovid does,
she does convey the notion that the MacElsters may not have control over their own fate. She
describes them as “accursed” (72), which would certainly carry the sense that the MacElsters are
damned regardless of what they do.
Overall, there are many layers of Oates’ Ovidian touches throughout her short story, The
Sons of Angus MacElster, which serve to convey Ovid’s narrative of Actaeon in Metamorphoses
III.138-252. While some echoes of Ovid’s Actaeon are louder than others, there are a
tremendous number of references to Ovid’s characters, plot, settings, and themes, not to mention
word choice and style. Oates’ members of the MacElster family serve as her representative
Actaeon, Diana, and hunting dog figures, though there are many overlaps in character references.
Setting locations incorporate blood and animals, and both Ovid and Oates feature the same major
plot elements: public exposure of the female body, transformation from man to animal, and
horrific scenes of death. Lastly, both convey underlying themes relating to liquids as being
connected to or even foreshadowing of violence, the power and danger of speech, and the driving
force of Fate behind it all.
Works Cited:
1. Naso, Publius Ovidius. "Ovid: Metamorphoses III." Ovid: Metamorphoses III.138-252.
Web. 08 Feb. 2016. Actaeon.
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2. Oates, Joyce Carol. “The Sons of Angus MacElster." Ovid Metamorphosed. Ed. Phillip
Terry. London: Chatto & Windus, 2000. 72-77. Print.
3. "PHI Latin Texts - Word Search." PHI Latin Texts - Word Search. Web.