I’ve been thinking a lot about acknowledgements sections recently. This is a bit preemptive given that I’m not going to submit the thesis until at least early autumn, but bear with me.

Acknowledgements are essential – we have to credit everyone who’s significantly important in our academic and personal lives, but this doesn’t make it easy. After the funders (thanks AHRC!), supervisors (you’re awesome), and relevant institutions (here’s to you, LMU) there’s not much space left for anyone else. In fact, it can be a delicate balancing act where you don’t want to come across as too embarrassingly effusive (because scholars can’t have emotions) while also wanting to say a few simple thank yous (because we are, after all, human beings).

Nevertheless, because of all of this there’s a traditional format for acknowledgements sections. Important people up front, family and friends towards the rear, and a final statement about any remaining errors being the author’s own. Tradition rolls ever onward.

Anyway, on with the Martial blog. I’ve pondered how I’d write my acknowledgements section, and one idea that’s really stuck with me is Martial’s second preface. It’s a masterpiece that toys with these ideas of tradition and the bored reader who might be tempted to skim over yet another vainglorious prefatory letter of dedication. I like to call it Martial’s anti-preface. Here it is:


“What use to me” you say “is a letter? For do we not do enough for you if we read your epigrams? What more will you say here that you could not say in your verses? I see why tragedy or comedy receive a letter, forms which are not allowed to speak for themselves; epigrams however do not need a herald and are content with their own (i.e. bad) tongue. They make a letter in whichever column [of text] suits them. Therefore don’t, if you deem it proper, make the matter ridiculous and introduce the character of a dancer in a toga. In short, consider whether you’d like to go up against a retiarius with a twig. I sit among those who protest straightaway.” By Hercules, Decianus, I think you speak the truth! What if you knew with what and how long a letter you would have had dealings? And so may it be what you demand. If anyone happens upon this book they will owe it to you that they don’t come through to the first column worn out!

In short, this is a preface concerned with why Martial needn’t actually write a preface. Epigram, he says in the mouth of his patron Decianus, speaks for itself – each poem is short enough to contain everything you need to know about it. Further, the epigram isn’t as important as tragedy or comedy, high dramatic art forms, but should be ranked as light entertainment like dancing. To Martial’s ‘Decianus’, a preface to a book of epigrams would be far too pretentious and ambitious. But Martial still writes the preface. Indeed, that’s the whole joke.

Martial – as ever – irreverently challenges the generic preconceptions of his audience (here Decianus, but also general readers like you and me) to make a larger point about his contemporary readers. In the following poem (2.1) Martial bemoans readers who want to skip through his books, and judges them as easily bored and inattentive a few epigrams later (2.6). This preface, then, is a breath of fresh air. It openly acknowledges the problems the poet faces in writing a preface, apologises for the act of writing a preface, and then writes one anyway. Scathing assault on poor readers, jumped-up attempt at achieving higher-genre accolades, and (most importantly of all) comic gold, this preface certainly stands out as an example of Martial’s dry wit.

For me, writing an acknowledgements section in the style of an anti-preface like Martial’s offers a way out from the traditional boring format while still giving the honest thanks to the people who’ve helped me out along the way. But let’s see what actually happens in the end, eh? I might just chicken out at the last moment!

And while I’m here and discussing acknowledgements it’d be remiss of me not to say a quick thank you. To all of you – friends, family, supervisors, even those of you reading this blog – thanks for putting up with me for however long you do/have done, and continuing to support this silly little PhD of mine. I’m absolutely certain I couldn’t have got this far (and won’t get to the end) without you all.

And if you’ve got through all this drivel expecting something worth reading at the end, you can blame Decianus.