I may make this a weekly thing. I may not. Depends on if I remember to do it.
I picked up this book after my confused, but strong obsession with the Spartans began. I had seen 300. I looked up all I could on Wikipedia and history sites. I wanted all the information I could find on these men of men. In a Santa Monica Barnes and Noble, I found Gates of Fire, a fictional account of the battle that made the Spartans famous. I immediately bought it.
I expected chapters of war and violence and honor. What I did not expect was a deeply layered and emotionally driven story of loss and love, of purpose and maturity, and what it is to be a man.
The main character of the book is not a Spartan at all, but a foreigner named Xeones. Xeones was just a boy when his parents and his city were erased from existence by a treacherous ally. He fled with his older female cousin, Diomache, and his family’s near-blind slave, Bruxieus, into the nearby mountains.
One day, while attempting to steal some fowl, Xeo is captured and crucified by the bird’s owners. Despite Bruxieus medical knowledge, the boy’s hands are disabled. He laments that he can not be a warrior anymore, exacting revenge on his parents’ murderers. During the winter, during an attempt at suicide by exposure, Xeo is visited by a figure who inspires him to take up the bow and arrow. His self-confidence renewed, he aborts his attempt.
Years later, Bruxieus dies, and the hardened wild children must find a city to settle in, as the old slave wished. Diomache begs Xeo to come to Athens, but the boy, scared by his experiences and determined to be something more than just a oarsman or tradesman, leaves his cousin and heads to Sparta.
It is from here the book explodes in detail about Sparta, the Spartans and how they may have lived, worked and thought. It tracks over years. From training to battle to marriages, travel to other cities, and a myriad of small adventures. Lessons on discipline, leadership, fear and brotherhood mark every page.
I will not spoil the book, but there is one scene that has burned into my memory ever since I first read it:
King Leonidas took Sparta to war, to a city who was on the verge of capitulating to the coin and the intimidation of the Persian Empire. Across a shallow river, the enemy had set their troops, hoping to force the Spartans to cross and slaughter them in the water. Alas, the enemy troops started to bellow and work themselves up. A frenzy of fear masked as courage. The enemy commanders couldn’t hold their men back, and the enemy advanced first.
As they advanced, Leonidas was committing a sacrifice to the Gods, praying to the heavens as the opposing force marched towards him. No Spartan moved. The enemy got closer, louder, with bloodlust in their eyes, and still no Spartan flinched. When the King had finished his prayers, he screamed his nation’s name. With the ritual done, the perfectly disciplined advance started and the King fell into the front line, vanishing into the phalanx as it reached him, only the crest on his helmet standing out.
Nothing says leader more than that.
I highly recommend this book. There are no one-dimensional characters. No hollow plots. There is just humanity, bravery, honor, war and victory; a view into one of the greatest societies Greece ever produced.
The Dying Journey 