i didn't know what to expect from petronius's satyricon before i started. he is - startling - and confusing - i thought at times it felt like a sort of bawdier, scatological tom jones, though the language is closer to rochester's poems perhaps. it was prurient, earthy, improbably funny, bizarre and enjoyable, and i was awfully pleased to come on the part about the sybil at cumae. isn't that a satisfying feeling? you've always known a dislocated fragment of something through another work, and then you come upon it in the original, in context. sort of like, primo levi's the survivor and coleridge's ancient mariner. and i am happily lingering over the food bits. i daresay we wouldn't really eat some of that stuff now - but oh how he makes it all sound so gloriously delicious. giant pigs that are gutted to spill out sausages and puddings! entire goose made out of pork! pastries stuffed with raisins and honey and hosts who annouce "let's whet our throttles and not stop eating till daylight!" hear hear!