Meta Description: Join Dr. Jeff Winkle and Dr. David Noe in Ad Navseam Episode 103 as they cross the halftime threshold into the Iliadic half of Vergil’s Aeneid. Discover the profound meaning of the nurse Caieta’s burial, the pedagogical power of the Latin language, the historical magic of the oscillating fan, and a brilliant Groucho Marx parting shot.
Introduction: Snow on the Crust and The “E” Word
Welcome back, classical gourmands, to Episode 103 of the Ad Navseam Podcast! Broadcasting from the depths of the Vomitorium, your hosts, Dr. David C. Noe and Dr. Jeffrey T. Winkle, are feeling the “E-word” today—Excitement! Western Michigan has just abruptly transitioned from a glorious, 75-degree autumnal paradise into a bleak, freezing winter wonderland.
Dr. Noe is contemplating the freshly fallen snow outside his window, which naturally leads to a hilarious, derailed butchering of Clement Clarke Moore’s classic Christmas poem. Dr. Noe confidently recites, “The moon on the crust of the new-fallen snow,” before Dr. Winkle interrupts to question if the word is “crest” or “crust”. When Dr. Winkle asks who he is quoting, Noe jokingly admits he doesn’t actually know, and Winkle guesses Bon Jovi. Let’s just say the poetic rhythm of a snowy Michigan morning was slightly lost in translation, but they eventually agree that “crust” sounds suitably Midwestern and stick with it.
The Grind: Motivation and the Latin Needle
The hosts then transition into discussing the academic “grind.” It is that brutal, liminal space of the college semester between the Thanksgiving break and final exams, where students begin to despair, give up, and disappear. It is often a wash of lost time. Dr. Winkle shares a profound pedagogical philosophy regarding this slump: a teacher’s primary job is to supply the motivation and confidence for the students until they can finally generate it for themselves. Even if a student is only in the class because a registrar, a parent, or a girlfriend forced them to take it, the professor must model the curiosity and passion they want the students to emulate.
Dr. Noe enthusiastically responds to this wisdom with a brilliant idiom from the Latin language: Rem acu tetigisti. Dr. Noe breaks down the grammar for the audience: rem (the matter or topic), acu (a fourth declension noun in the ablative of instrument meaning “with a needle”), and tetigisti (the perfect tense of the verb tangere, meaning “you have touched”). Woodenly translated, it means “You have touched the matter with a needle”. In modern English parlance, it equates perfectly to “You have hit the nail on the head”.
This linguistic mastery is a cornerstone of the podcast. Dr. Noe loves nothing more than to unpack the intricate mechanics of the Latin language, showing how ancient idioms can map onto modern frustrations. Armed with this sharp linguistic needle, Dr. Winkle feels newly invigorated to go back into the classroom. Instead of despairing over the low attendance or the blank stares of his students, he can start poking his students toward academic success, using the very passion that the ancient texts demand.
Halftime in the Aeneid: Welcome to Book VII
We have officially reached halftime in Vergil’s epic masterpiece. Book VII marks the monumental transition from the Odyssean half of the poem (focused on wandering, travel, survival, and loss) to the Iliadic half (focused on brutal warfare and conquest in Italy).
Dr. Winkle vividly imagines Aeneas in the locker room, standing in front of an old-fashioned, dusty chalkboard. Aeneas and his men are weary. Continuing the football metaphor, Winkle imagines them wearing those old, leather, 1920s football helmets without facemasks—missing teeth they left behind in Sicily and Carthage.
Vergil has spent six books detailing the grueling, exhausting journey across the Mediterranean, building Aeneas’s character through loss and endurance. Now, the goal is in sight, but the hardest part is just beginning. Aeneas has to pivot from a weary refugee to a conquering general. The marching band is off the field, the brass instruments are put away, the third quarter is about to begin, and Aeneas must deliver his ultimate Knute Rockne pep talk to rally the troops. There can be no more second-guessing, no more lingering in Carthage, and no more looking back at the ruins of Troy. The venue is changing, the stakes are universally higher, and everything is on the line.
The Opening Quote: Reckford, Otis, and Latent Tragedy
To frame this massive narrative transition, Dr. Noe shares an opening quote from Kenneth J. Reckford’s 1961 American Journal of Philology article, “Latent Tragedy in Aeneid 7, lines 1-285”.
Reckford argues vehemently against a prevailing (and deeply flawed) mid-century scholarly notion that the two halves of the Aeneid are essentially disconnected epics. Instead, Reckford demonstrates how Book VII is a masterclass in “complex foreshadowing,” weaving an elaborate symbolic web of verbal and imagistic echoes from Books I through IV.
Dr. Noe points out that Brooks Otis’s legendary 1964 work, Vergil: A Study in Civilized Poetry, effectively served as the final “nail in the coffin” for the disconnected-halves theory, proving the epic’s brilliant, cohesive architectonic structure. While Aeneas receives a warm, “honeymoon” welcome from King Latinus early in the book, Reckford reminds us that this is merely the calm before the destructive, tragic storm.
Corrigenda: The Tossing and Turning over Alba Longa
Before sailing up the Tiber, the hosts must issue some Corrigenda (corrections) from the previous week. First, they forgot to mention that the end of Book I does indeed feature a major narrative moment reflecting the loss that characterizes the end of the early books. Second, Dr. Noe corrects a geographical blunder: Alba Longa is not 12 miles northeast of Rome; it is 12 miles southeast.
The hosts jokingly apologize to the gentle listeners who were undoubtedly tossing and turning, losing sleep, and engaged in deep, rage-filled lucubrations over this cartographical error. It is easy, they note, to get your ancient maps mixed up when you are entirely distracted by the mythical Buffalonians.
The Death of the Nurse and the Oscillating Fan
Book VII opens not with a triumphant fanfare, but with a somber funeral. Aeneas buries his elderly nursemaid, Caieta, giving her name to the geographical region. Dr. Winkle initially finds this a bit perfunctory and “tacked on,” questioning why Vergil feels the need to leave Aeneas’s specific fingerprints on every single piece of Italian terrain.
However, Dr. Noe defends this as a deeply sympathetic, crucial touch. Caieta represents the absolute last living connection to Aeneas’s old life in Troy. His father is gone, his wife is gone, his lover is gone, and his pilot is gone. Burying her on the new shores of Italy is a profound marker of transition. It is the ancient, literary equivalent of the Israelites carrying the bones of Joseph out of Egypt to bury them in the Promised Land. The old world is finally being laid to rest in the soil of the new foundation.
As the Trojans sail past the island of the sorceress Circe—hearing the howling of her transformed animal victims—the hosts note the deliberate “Homeric nod”. It is a classic example of “fan service,” tipping the cap to the adventures of Odysseus.
This leads to a discussion of how Hollywood uses ‘fan service’—like Bill Murray popping up in a modern reboot to farm cheap applause. But for Dr. Noe and Dr. Winkle, the real ‘fan service’ is literal. This prompts a digression from Dr. Noe on the true meaning of “fan service.” To a kid growing up in the sweltering, humid, pre-air-conditioned summers of Michigan, the greatest fan service in human history was the invention of the oscillating fan.
Before that, you only had the terrifying, heavy metal box fans where you could easily lose a finger in the grate. The magic of pushing a button and watching the fan head slowly sweep across the room was revolutionary entertainment, even if it meant the cool breeze only hit you half the time.
The Muses and Erato’s Romance
Slipping safely past Circe, the Trojans finally reach the mouth of the Tiber River. Here, Vergil pauses to invoke a specific muse: Erato. Why invoke Erato, the muse of erotic and lyric poetry, to kick off a bloody war epic? Because the upcoming conflict is entirely driven by a tragic romance and a vicious fight for a royal bride.
The hosts run through the roster of the nine muses—Calliope (epic), Clio (history), Euterpe (music)—before Dr. Noe reveals his personal favorite: Thalia, the muse of comedy and pastoral poetry. Dr. Noe notes that Thalia’s influence is desperately needed when wading through the heavy, blood-soaked pages of the Aeneid. Without a little comedic relief, the weight of Roman destiny would simply be too much to bear.
Sponsors & Shout-Outs: The Rapid Response Team
As always, this deep dive into classical literature is made possible by the incredible team behind the podcast. The hosts take a moment to thank their “Rapid Response Team”:
- The Audio Engineer: A massive shout-out to Mishka, the intrepid audio engineer who can turn an episode around in 90 minutes and makes the hosts sound far better than they actually are.
- The Guitar Shredders: Thanks to Scott Van Zen (whose playing is a brilliant blend of Stevie Ray Vaughan and Eddie Van Halen) and Ken Tamplin for the blistering guitar intros, arpeggios, and bumper music.
The Gustatory Parting Shot
We conclude Episode 103 with a masterclass in comedic banter. Dr. Winkle delivers a Gustatory Parting Shot from the incomparable Groucho Marx, the man who practically invented modern comedic timing:
“Two women at a resort discussed dinner. ‘The food here is lousy,’ the first noted. The second added, ‘You’re right. It’s such small portions!'”Until next week, when we hit the gridiron of Latium and see what the second half of the game brings. Valete!
