Classical worlds

Classical art, though ancient, is not static in modern scholarship. The recent revelation of key sites (such as the villa of Herod Atticus at Astros), or fresh interpretations of familiar monuments (such as Joan Connelly's inspired re-reading of the Parthenon Frieze), dance mischievously around the elephantine feet of an encyclopedia such as this, half-proving it ephemeral. But I liked what I saw of the Dictionary; and learned from it too.

E. H. Gombrich's account of a "Greek revolution" in his globally sold Story of Art has buttressed the antique art-historical primacy of ancient Greece. The Dictionary prefers to give considerably more space to ancient Egypt, however; and there is a surprisingly substantial section allowed to the Etruscans, too. While the user-friendliness of the Dictionary is remarkable, the realities of where those readers are, and why they might consult this book, seem to have been given scant consideration. As far as Greek and Roman art is concerned, the obvious move would be to dismember those parts from the whole, and market them separately. They deserve wider usage.

The entry on Greek painting, for instance, must be saluted as the best summary of the subject available. The knowledge and gusto of Manolis Andronicus was caught just before his demise; his site of Vergina supplies us with the most secure evidence for the delicacy of Greek frescoes so far discovered. But the dictionary also contains remarkably worthwhile vignettes of celebrated painters for whom there are no extant works (such as the entry on Zeuxis, by Susan Matheson). And its editorial policy of attending to the decorative arts, and explaining the "craft" aspects of painting and sculpture (recalling Diderot's personal fascination with art-as-production in the 18th-century Encyclopedia of the Philosophers), is laudable. When it comes to Greek vase-painting, then, technical aspects are lovingly covered, followed by a medley of entries on individual painters.

Excursions on meaning and interpretation are kept very brief. Naturally, given the nature of the enterprise, what is wanted is a system of knowledge: so Reinhard Stupperich's survey of monumental sculpture risks creating a spuriously neat world in which artists were aware that their work was "severe", "early rich", "high classical" and so on. But the circus of performers ensures some flexibility of both approach and tone.

Of course one could carp about the sparse distribution of images, but the text is admirable throughout.

Nigel Spivey is a fellow, Emmanuel College, Cambridge.