One of my thrilling new discoveries recently is the ancient Greek novel, and a certain author within this genre named Achilles Tatius, who is this week’s most-honored Greek.
He worked during the Roman era, so during the Roman era. He wrote a long (and very popular) romance novel called Leucippe and Clitophon in the early 2nd century AD. This is a romance tale that involves star-crossed lovers, bandits, shipwrecks, torture, elopements, improbable rescues, etc. The plot is just about as sappy as any dime-store romance novel you could wish for.
And the author’s name was Achilles. Seriously, how much more awesome does it get?
I imagine that he looked something like this, and with a name like Achilles, he really wanted to think he was really intimidating:
In reality, he was probably a harmless, helpless, hopeless romantic who sat around in the evening working on his romance novel and envisioning scenarios in which star-crossed lovers prove their love for one another.
Yep, the ancients wrote terrible, trashy romance novels. And now your faith in the wisdom of the ancients has been shattered.