Before his exile, Ovid is a “metropolitan poet,” a public figure and agitator who spurns Rome’s culture of duty and nationalism. His life is carefree, colorful, and devoid of any responsibility. After Ovid is exiled to Tomis beyond the edges of Roman society, he finds that his formerly frivolous lifestyle leaves him utterly inept to live and operate in such a harsh environment. At the same time, Ovid recognizes that the villagers in Tomis err in the other direction, leading lives of such barren utility that they lead colorless, joyless lives. Through Ovid’s former frivolity and the villagers’ extreme utilitarianism, David Malouf argues that neither creates a healthy life—rather, the ideal life is a balance of self-sufficiency and playfulness.
In exile, Ovid quickly realizes that his formerly frivolous lifestyle makes him ill-suited to the hardships of Tomis, whose villagers condemn such lightheartedness and rejection of responsibility. Before his exile, Ovid is one of Rome’s leading poets and social figures. Since Rome enjoys a new era of peace and luxury and no longer needs to be so militaristic, Ovid calls for “no more civic virtues […]. No more patriotism. No more glorification of men at arms.” Instead, Ovid argues that Rome is in its “age of play” and that life should be nothing more than “gay, anarchic, ephemeral, and […] fun.” This indicates that Ovid’s frivolity is only possible in a society that is unusually free of conflict or struggle. Ovid’s former carefree life appears to be partially enabled by the fact that he is heir to a wealthy estate, which is maintained by slaves that his family owns. This suggests that Ovid’s frivolity is enabled not only by Rome’s peace, but also by his own lack of self-sufficiency, since everything he needs growing up is provided for him. He is only frivolous by being a burden on other people, suggesting that such a lifestyle is only possible when one burdens someone else. In Tomis, Ovid quickly realizes how ill-suited his comfortable life has made him for hard living: he is neither strong nor capable. Next to Ryzak, the village headman, who is “tough as [Ovid has] never been,” Ovid feels “foolish” for his own lack of self-sufficiency. Even Ryzak seems embarrassed that he must show Ovid how to do simple things like ride a horse without a saddle so that he can hunt with the other men, suggesting that the villagers regard such skills as basic knowledge everyone must know. Although Ovid’s former life was frivolous and untroubled, his struggle to survive in Tomis exposes his lack of self-sufficiency, suggesting that Ovid’s carefree life rendered him soft and ill-equipped to take care of himself, operate in a challenging environment, or contribute to the village.
Although Ovid admires Ryzak’s “stern nobility” and toughness, he recognizes that the villagers tend to be so utilitarian that they lead a joyless life, suggesting that just as one can be overly-frivolous and irresponsible, one can also be overly practical. Ovid has deep respect for Ryzak and his apparent power. Looking at Ryzak’s strong body and severe demeanor, Ovid wonders, “What can I know of the forces that have made this man, this tamer of horses, whose animal nature he somehow takes into himself and gentles?” indicating that Ovid recognizes the necessity of such toughness for surviving in Tomis. However, when Ovid plants wildflowers next to his hut to make a small “garden” in an attempt to add some color and life to his surroundings, the village women think him “foolish beyond belief” for spending time and energy on something that cannot be eaten. Ovid realizes that everything in their world “exists purely for use,” and though the women are capable seamstresses, nothing they make has any ornamental or aesthetic element. In Ovid’s mind, the villagers are so practical that they lack any concept of “play,” suggesting that one can be so tough and utilitarian that they are unable to appreciate and enjoy creativity, beauty, or pleasure. Although Ovid recognizes his own past frivolity, which made him weak, he argues that “to play is to be free,” since one plays for no reason other than simple pleasure, to give flavor to life. The villagers’ inability to play thus suggests that extreme utilitarianism leads to a hardy and self-sufficient but joyless and constrained life. Ovid thus condemns the villagers’ ultra-utilitarian outlook, just as he condemns his own former frivolity.
David Malouf depicts the Child, the feral boy Ovid finds in the woods, as the ideal balance of frivolity and practicality, suggesting that the best life is one which complements self-sufficiency with joy and playfulness, allowing one to be both capable and free. The Child forages in the wilderness for food and survives on his own, thus embodying the same self-sufficiency and toughness as the villagers in Tomis. He survives the harsh environment and takes care of himself without burdening anyone else. At the same time, the Child plays in the snow, marvels at nature, and excitedly points out hidden animals in the forest to Ovid, demonstrating that he maintains his ability to play, enjoy life, and do things simply for pleasure. Although the Child is capable enough to survive on his own, he does not let his practicality take away his enjoyment of life. This mixture of self-sufficiency and ability to play makes the Child the freest character in the story, neither dependent on anyone else nor constrained by extreme utilitarianism. This ultimately suggests that the ideal life is one that balances toughness and self-sufficiency with enough frivolity to maintain one’s ability to enjoy oneself and exercise one’s own freedom.
Frivolity vs. Practicality ThemeTracker
Frivolity vs. Practicality Quotes in An Imaginary Life
After a century of war in which whole families had destroyed one another in the name of patriotism, we were at peace. I stepped right into it—an age of soft, self-indulgent muddle, of sophisticated impudence, when we all seemed to have broken out of bounds at last into an enlightenment so great that there was no longer any need for belief.
My life has been so frivolous. Brought up to believe in my own nerves, in restlessness, variety, change; educated entirely out of books, living always in a state of soft security, able to pamper myself, to drift about in a cloud of tender feelings, and with comfortable notions of my own intelligence, sociability, kindness, good breeding; moved by nothing I couldn’t give a name to, believing in nothing I couldn’t see.
Of the the two of us it is my brother who should have survived. I am the frivolous one, who will achieve nothing in the world. It is my brother who would have saved the last of our lands, won important public office, done all a good son can be expected to do in the way of piety toward his family gods. I know this is true and feel my life, my whole body’s weight in the saddle, as a burden.
As a Roman citizen of the knightly order, the descendant of a whole line of warriors, with the law and the flower of Roman civilization to protect against barbarians, I scoffed at such old-fashioned notions as duty, patriotism, the military virtues. And here I was, aged fifty, standing on guard at the very edge of the known world.
For these people it is a new concept, play. How can I make them understand that till I came here it was the only thing I knew? Everything I ever valued before this was valuable only because it was useless, because time spent upon it was not demanded but freely given, because to play is to be free. Free is not a word that exists, I think, in their language.
I too know all the boundary stones of our land, but to me they mean something different. They are where the world begins. Beyond them lies Rome and all the known world that we Romans have power over. Out there, beyond the boundary stones, the mystery begins.