phoooooooey my GTBOOKS paper is killing me! I'm caught in that odd sort of situation where you've got a ton of ideas yet nothing to say at the very same time, which is a distinctly uncomfortable place to be in right now. Those of you who like tragedy and lots of gloom, the play The Medea will probably be your cup of tea. I'll take a brief moment to give you a better idea of what it's about. It isn't boring, I promise.

It involves a jilted woman (Medea), her children, a Golden Fleece, the woman's gormless husband (Jason) and a young princess (Glauce) he intends to marry after the divorce is finalized, the princess' father (Creon), a visiting king who happens to be infertile (Aegeus), and of course the obligatory Chorus which is made up of a dozen or so women who don't really do anything of much significance besides bursting abruptly into song at the most unexpected of intervals. Anyway so Medea is jilted by Jason even after she's helped him gain the Golden Fleece (I really don't see the beauty of a Golden Fleece, but apparently some people like that sort of thing) and gone through all sorts of trials and tribulations. And she's a really vengeful woman, you see, so she plots to kill her children (so they can't carry on the patriarchal line) as well as the lovely young thing her husband has deserted her for. But she has a problem- she doesn't know where to seek asylum after carrying out her grisly mission. Suddenly, however, Aegeus appears out of nowhere (bad move here, Euripides- it's the equivalent of ending your story with waking from a dream when you can't think of an alternative plausible ending) and Medea promises him drugs to cure his infertility in return for her seeking asylum in Athens. So he agrees, and she is happy, and off she goes to kill everyone. And her creativity in murder is laudable- she has her children carry gifts of a diadem and a dress to Glauce, so that nothing is suspect. Glauce gleefully dons the diadem and dress (Ooohh! Clothes for my wedding! How nice!) and sashays up and down along the length of the hall. But all of a sudden she starts frothing at the mouth and her skin starts peeling off, and... I can't begin to describe it, but essentially it's not a pretty sight. Oh no it isn't. And Creon has absolutely no idea what's happening and rushes to save her and in the process the poison welds him to her as well and they die in the most tragic of embraces. And after that Medea kills her children and Jason rushes out but it's far too late for him to do anything- she's already hovering ten feet above him in the air in- get this, a chariot drawn by dragons- and she gives a tinkling laugh, waves goodbye to him with the most merry of expressions, and gallops away.

So you sort of get the idea. I can just see Euripides starting to slowly rotate in his grave at my retelling of his beloved play, but whatever. Anyway below are the opening two paragraphs of my essay. I've got to get back to finishing this paper now. Enjoy!

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Moral ambiguity is a hallmark of Greek tragedy, and Euripides leaves the audience to ponder the dilemma between rationality and reason as explored in The Medea. The main character of the play, Medea, is entirely antithetical to the ancient Greek ideal of the heroic protagonist; she is female, a sorceress, and a foreigner, all of which are characteristics that work towards creating a perception of her which is inadvertently clouded by traditional bias. She synthesizes the traits that typically characterize passion and reason, in the process defying stereotypes and evoking dilemma. By transcending the rational through allowing her actions to be guided by base emotions, she reacquaints the audience with the harsh, inescapable realities of human violence. The fundamental question that Euripides evokes through the complex portrayal of Medea and her motivations stem from the correlation between sympathy for her and condemnation of her actions, culminating in the creation of dilemma- just exactly what measure of her deeds can be attributed to logical reason and thus lawfully condoned?

Euripides masterfully exploits a trick of the sophistic movement by evoking conflicting sentiments in the audience concerning Medea’s actions. Initially, the audience is inclined to sympathize with her over the blatant injustice she has been dealt by Jason, and also because she is subject to marginalization due to her position in society. However, as the play progresses, the audience is gradually introduced to the darker, horrific realities of the situation; where Medea’s deeds can no longer be attributed purely to the irrationality caused by the accompanying emotional upheaval following Jason’s actions. Rather, they are borne out of her macabre, vengeful desire for retribution that is only assuaged upon the massacre of Creon, Glauce, and perhaps most disturbing of all, her children. Herein lies the inherent ambiguity which obscures the play; the fine line between condoning and condemning actions borne out of emotion is increasingly difficult to define as the plot unfolds. At the very end of the play, amidst the fading reverberations of horror, the audience is forced to contemplate the rationale behind Medea’s deed and whether the wrongs dealt to her were deserving of the gruesome recourse she unleashed in her fury. The audience is gradually subsumed into the swirling morass of retribution as the plot progresses, swayed by the cunning ingenuity and conviction of Medea; only waking to the unpleasant realization at the end that perhaps the boundaries for justice have been trespassed.
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