The truth is, I am an absolute, shameless reveler in Romantic poetry of the most melodramatic and outrageous kind, I luxuriate in it, I sigh, I emotionally crumble. I pretty much turn into the early nineteenth century's worst nightmare of the over-affected reader. And yes, I know that Byron's fake archaic language is ridiculous, that his impassioned ecstasies are overblown, that his brooding is basically the equivalent of the 'emo phase', and do I care? No, I absolutely do not. I wantonly enjoyed every bit. It is quite hard to read without annotation, because there are so many references to historical events/myths/forgotten literary works, but when he gets going about emotions and loneliness and depression, I am in heaven. Is it good writing? I can't tell because I'm so affected by it. It's beautiful, it's powerful, and for me, highly satisfying. I'm aware of it being too theatrical by both contemporary and (certainly) modern standards, but is that really a bad thing? Sometimes I just want to wallow in emotion and be lavish about it. On a more sane note, I was very interested to read Byron's vehement protest against the removal of the Elgin Marbles from Greece. Only last month, Greece has made yet another attempt to get the sculptures back, and if you go to the British Museum right now, they have leaflets there defending their position in keeping them in the UK. Over two hundred years, and the debate still rages on. I wonder what Byron would have said today?
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