Tomyris: Standing for Women

The Greek historian Herodotus tells us a story about the death of the Persian king Cyrus that centers a fascinating female character, Queen Tomyris of the Massagetae.

Cyrus, king of Persia, wanted to expand his empire eastward into the lands of the Massagetae, a nomadic people ruled by their widowed queen Tomyris. Cyrus at first proposed marriage to Tomyris as a ruse for conquest, but she refused him. He then mustered his army and prepared to invade.

Cyrus’ adviser Croesus cautioned Cyrus against trying to fight the wild Massagetae, but since Cyrus was determined to proceed, Croesus proposed a stratagem to overcome them. Following Croesus’ advice, Cyrus led his army into Massagetae territory, then had them make camp and prepare a sumptuous feast with plenty of wine, but they did not eat it. He then withdrew with most of his army, leaving behind his weakest soldiers.

When a part of the Massagetae army led by Tomyris’ son Spargapises came upon the Persian camp, they easily defeated the Persian troops there. Then they saw the feast. Being used to living rough, they had never seen such an amazing spread of food before, so they immediately sat down and filled their bellies. When the feast had made them all drunk and sleepy, Cyrus led the rest of his army back to attack them, easily defeating the Massagetae warriors and capturing Spargapises.

When Tomyris learned of her people’s defeat and her son’s capture, she sent a message to Cyrus proposing a peaceful end to the conflict: if Cyrus returned Spargapises safe, Tomyris would allow the rest of Cyrus’ army to retreat from her lands unharmed. If he refused, Tomyris promised to satisfy his desire for blood. Cyrus refused, and when Spargapises came to his senses and found himself a prisoner, he killed himself.

Tomyris then marshaled the rest of her people and fell upon the Persians. The fighting was intense, but at the end of the day the Persians were routed and Cyrus himself was killed. Tomyris found the body of Cyrus and thrust his head into a wineskin full of blood, fulfilling her promise to slake his thirst for blood.

It’s a good story, as many of Herodotus’ are, but what are we to do with this as historical evidence? Did any of these events happen? Did Tomyris even exist?

We have reasons to be skeptical. No other historian mentions Tomyris, not even other historians who wrote about the life of Cyrus. The story Herodotus tells is full of dramatic moments that sound like they come from a Greek tragedy rather than from history. Cyrus figures as the tragic hero, a noble leader driven by ambition to attempt something that wiser men warn against and meeting an ironically fitting end. Tomyris’ line about sating his thirst for blood is a bit too on-the-nose to be real. Does anything in this story hold up?

The Massagetae at least were a real people, known from plenty of other sources, one of many nomadic cultures of the Central Asia steppes. Ancient sources are uncertain about their location, placing them anywhere between the Caspian Sea and the Altai Mountains, although whether this variation reflects the migrations of a mobile people, smaller sub-groups joining and leaving a tribal coalition, or just the ignorance of Mediterranean writers about the geography of Central Asia is hard to say. Among many ancient steppe cultures, women could wield both weapons and power. The idea that Cyrus died while leading an unsuccessful campaign against steppe nomads is likely to be true, and it is plausible that those people might have been ruled by a woman.

The rest of Herodotus’ narrative has more to do with Greek literature and oral tradition than with historical events, but that narrative also serves a larger point for Herodotus. Many powerful and wise women feature in Herodotus’ account of history. Tomyris is the first whose story he tells in detail, but she is followed by many others in both large roles and small, with Artemisia of Halicarnassus, who commanded her own ships in Xerxes’ invasion of mainland Greece, among the most prominent. Tomyris in some ways prefigures Artemisia: a wise warrior queen who gives the Persian king a chance to save himself from defeat and embarrassment, though he fails to heed her.

Tomyris appears near the beginning of Herodotus’ history, playing a role in the life of the first Persian king; Artemisia comes in at the end, taking her place next to the last Persian king to feature in Herodotus’ text. The repetition of the theme of the wise warrior woman at both the beginning of Herodotus’ history and at the end gives it a particular weight and prompts us to consider what point the historian was making. Herodotus’ text is layered with subtle messages, and many of the stories he tells have some applicability to the audience he was writing for. Herodotus lived and worked in Classical Athens, a society in which the status of women was low.

Women’s participation in Athenian social and political life was a casualty of democracy: since Athenian democracy was based on solidarity between citizen men across class lines, as manifested in all-male institutions like the voting assembly and the hoplite militia, the stronger the democracy was, the more women were pushed aside. Herodotus was a fan of democracy. His text points out how democracy, and especially the Athenian version of it, gave the Greek allies the strength and resilience to resist invasion by the monarchic Persian Empire. At the same time, he also seems to have been warning his Athenian audience that by leaving women out of public life, they were squandering one of their most valuable resources.

While contemporary Greek philosophers and playwrights were denigrating women’s capacity for rational thought and scoffing at the idea of them playing a role in politics, Herodotus had a different message. In his narrative, women can both lead military forces to victory and give sound advice on political matters, two areas of life that Athenian women were barred from. Herodotus’ women keep their heads in a crisis, and powerful men would be better off if they listened to what women told them.

Tomyris may be a fictional or heavily fictionalized character, but she helps us understand a critique of Athenian democracy as framed by someone who both lived with and admired it.

Image: “Head of Cyrus Brought to Queen Tomyris” via Wikimedia (Museum of Fine Arts, Boston; c. 1622-1623; oil on canvas, by Peter Paul Rubens)

Repurposing Old Wind Turbine Blades as Bike Shelters

Apparently, for a good long while, retired wind turbine blades were difficult to deal with. (Sounds like recyclable blades have since been created.) They were made of materials that can’t easily be recycled and are bulky to just dump.

Repurposing used blades has been an obvious solution. But as what? Among others, they’ve been turned into utility poles, playground equipment, bridge girders, and park benches, for example. In addition, in Aalborg, Denmark, sections of old, disused wind turbine blades have been set up as bike shelters.

WEF Siemens Gamesa Turbine Bike Shelter

This is an older project by now, but I thought it clever and worth noting. Also, it’s cool how the shape of the repurposed section nods just a tiny bit towards the Art Nouveau spirit.

Image by Siemens Gamesa, found via World Economic Forum

Trailers for The Fantastic Four: First Steps

For a long time, superheroes and mutants were kept apart in Marvel Cinematic Universe screen adaptations due to contractual hassles. No more! Wolverine & Deadpool started opening doors and pulling characters from their earlier, separate silos into a more comprehensive world.

The Fantastic Four is now getting a new adaptation. The group’s gone through a few attempts before. I haven’t seen the 1994 version, but it looks like the lovechild of ST:TOS, the original MacGyver series, and Indiana Jones. I am okay with the 2005 and 2007 adaptations as far as the characters and actors are concerned. Alas, the 2015 abomination was dreadful all round, except for Michael B. Jordan and Kate Mara.

The upcoming movie looks to integrate the Fantastic Four into the MCU. Here’s the teaser trailer…

The Fantastic Four: First Steps | Official Teaser | Only in Theaters July 25 by Marvel Entertainment on YouTube

…and the first full trailer…

The Fantastic Four: First Steps | Official Trailer | Only in Theaters July 25 by Marvel Entertainment on YouTube

…and the final trailer:

The Fantastic Four: First Steps | Final Trailer | Only in Theaters July 25 by Marvel Entertainment on YouTube

It seems quite cheesy at first—very sixties, and the tv show intro that the full trailers start with is so corny. The Silver Surfer and Galactus seem appropriately celestial, but these clips don’t really give us much; they just imply a run-of-the-mill slugfest. I’ve gathered that’s not all, though, that the multiverse is somehow involved.

I do like Pedro Pascal’s work, but I can’t quite see him as Reed yet. Vanessa Kirby should also be fine as Sue, but I know next to nothing of Joseph Quinn (playing Johnny Storm) or Ebon Moss-Bachrach (Ben Grimm; although technically I have seen him in Andor s1, but am drawing an absolute blank on his role).

A month to go and I still have no idea whether it’s worth seeing this on the big screen. MCU’s really struggling lately.

FF:FS is set to premier on July 25, 2025.

Winter Light, Summer Light

One of the things I love so much about living in Finland is the light. In every time of the year, the sunlight is beautiful, but the winter light and the summer light are so different from one another that it can be striking to see.

One day last winter we had a particularly beautiful day of clear skies and sunlight after a big snowstorm. I tramped out in our local woods and took a few pictures of the winter light on the snowy trees. Now that midsummer is here, I went back and took pictures of the same scenes to compare the summer and winter light.

Every season has its own special beauty.

Images by Erik Jensen

Quotes: Online, I Can Be in My Head and with Interesting People

In an older article about disclosure when writing online, author Roxane Gay includes the following explanation of what being an introvert online means for her:

“For me, one of the biggest draws of the Internet has always been how I can be alone and yet find connection with other people. I am an introvert. I can fake extroversion, but it is exhausting. I prefer quiet, even when I am happily around other people. I spend an inordinate amount of time in my head. Online, I can be in my head and with interesting people. I can be alone but feel less lonely.”

A fantastic explanation—which, of course, means that it lines up with my experience of the world, heh heh. 🙂

I’m sure if you’re reading this you know that in general introverts do not hate people—that would be misanthropy—nor do they fear social encounters—that’s shyness. (Well, of course they can, but it’s not baked into every introvert.) It seems there’s now more understanding in general that introversion is about social energy, and that introverts recharge by being alone.

I’ve come to realize that alone time is just a part of how my introversion manifests itself. I feel enormously better, for example, if my home is in a corner instead of the middle. Text-based communication is better than voice. Listening before leaping is a better strategy at meetings or gatherings. And sometimes, when I want to be around people but don’t have the energy to actually engage, it’s enough to hang out in a library or a less-busy corner of a mall, or go out to eat, or spend time browsing in a brick-and-mortar store.

Life is so much easier when you know what makes yourself tick. 🙂

Gay, Roxane. “The Danger of Disclosure.” Creative Nonfiction 49, https://creativenonfiction.org/writing/the-danger-of-disclosure/

My Gnomecore Moodboards

I was checking something about the cozy fantasy genre the other day when I suddenly fell into a deeeep rabbit hole.

(And, by the way, long post warning. This post is not far from the dreaded “Let me tell you about my character” trope, so read or skip accordingly… TL;DR: Playing around with cozy gnomecore-themed photographs to make moodboards for my latest D&D character.)

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A Decade of Co-Geeking!

We started this blog together back in June 2015 with no grand ideas or plans, just wanting a place where each of us could post about the things we geek about and where we could post jointly about the things we geek about together. We had no idea what the next decade would bring us, but it’s been a fun ten years, and we’re still at it!

2025 05 Vanha Porvoo yhteiskuva

For a little celebration, we decided to take a short trip to a place we’ve both been interested in visiting for a while: the old town of Porvoo. Porvoo is a small city on the Finnish southern coast a little to the east of Helsinki. It’s like most Finnish cities except for its remarkable old town.

2025 05 Porvoonjoki ja rantamakasiinit

A large portion of the northern half of the city is made up of well-preserved colorful old wooden houses along cobblestone streets, all surrounding a medieval church.

2025 05 Porvoon keskiaikainen kirkko

While many of the house exteriors are legally protected, it’s not a museum or living history exhibit, just a part of town where ordinary folks and families live. Walking around there, though, is a little bit like stepping back in time.

2025 05 Vanha Porvoo Kellokujan aurinkokello

Whatever brought you to Co-Geeking, we hope you’ve enjoyed our work. We look forward to another ten years, and who knows how many more!

Images by Eppu Jensen

The Reimagining of Laocoon

The sculpture of the death Laocoon and his sons is one of the mot famous works of ancient art. Carved from several pieces of marble that were fitted together with metal pins, it represents a dramatic moment from the legends of the Trojan War. When the Greeks carried out their ruse, pretending to withdraw from Troy but leaving behind a giant wooden horse, the Trojans were skeptical. While some Trojans wanted to bring the horse within their walls, the priest Laocoon warned the Trojans not to trust the Greeks. The god Poseidon, who favored the Greeks, sent a serpent from the sea to kill Laocoon and his sons, which convinced the Trojans to reject Laocoon’s advice and bring the horse behind their walls, unwittingly sealing their city’s doom.

This marble statue, depicting that dramatic mythological moment, has a dramatic history of its own. It was found in pieces in the soil of an Italian vineyard in 1506 and quickly gained attention. One of the first people to see it was the artist Michelangelo. Classical scholars noted that the Roman author Pliny had described with admiration a similar statue of Laocoon, and believed that this work was the very one that had impressed Pliny. The fragments were acquired by Pope Julius II for display in the Vatican palace. Several of the major artistic names of the Italian Renaissance worked on restoring the fragments and carving replacements for parts that were missing, among them not only Michelangelo but Raphael and Bramante.

In some ways, the Laocoon was the perfect sculpture for time in which it was discovered. Interest in relics of Greco-Roman art was growing, and the rich and powerful were starting to regard the acquisition and display of antiquities as a useful mark of status. Among those antiquities, large-scale marble sculpture was the most highly prized. The belief that the Laocoon statue was the very same one that Pliny had praised conferred upon it a special aura of authenticity. It was not just any ancient statue, but an ancient statue with a known origin and history, whose quality was vouched for by one of the great names of Roman literature.

At the same time, while the authentic antiquity of the sculpture was crucial to its value as a collector’s prize, it was also particularly suited to contemporary tastes. The fine delineation of the figures’ musculature in a pose of high emotional drama was perfectly adapted to the interests of artists of the Italian Renaissance. Even though it was a product of pagan Rome, the subject and its execution had resonances for a Christian audience. The agony of Laocoon’s body in a moment of divine intervention made a parallel to the agony of Jesus on the cross. The slithering serpent attending on a moment of fateful choice echoed the tale of Adam and Eve. For a Christian pontiff who was also a powerful political figure and a connoisseur of Classical art, it is hard to imagine a more perfect sculpture.

(The sculpture was so perfect for Julius, in fact, that one scholar has suggested that it was not an actual ancient sculpture but a forgery by Michelangelo himself. The evidence for this idea is weak, however, and it has not found wide acceptance among scholars.)

Yet, as perfectly adapted as the Laocoon sculpture was to the time in which it was discovered, times change, and the sculpture has changed with them. Since the Pope’s artists first reassembled the sculpture pieces and created their own replacements for the missing parts, the Laocoon has not remained the same. Over the past five centuries, artists and restorers have repeatedly gone back to the sculpture and changed it, readjusting the positions and postures of the figures, creating new replacements, and treating the surface. The position and postures of the two smaller figures has been changed. The angle of the main figure’s arm has been revised. Traces of paint were cleaned away to make the marble gleaming white. The Laocoon that we can see today in the Vatican Museums is, in important ways, not the same sculpture that came out of the vineyard soil in 1506.

Whenever we look at an artifact from the past, we must bear in mind that what we are seeing is usually not what the object originally looked like. The Laocoon statue is perhaps an extreme case, given how much attention it has garnered since it was first excavated, but we always remake relics of history to better fit what we in the present think the past should look like. Julius and his artists wanted a complete and glorious masterpiece of Classical art, so they made one out of the pieces from the vineyard. Today we want an instructive and historically accurate piece of sculpture, so we have removed many of the replacement pieces carved by the pope’s artists and rearranged the original pieces in ways that we think are more authentic. Yet since long before 1506, no one has seen what the Laocoon sculpture originally looked like, and no one in the future ever will.

Thoughts for writers

Just as Michelangelo and his fellow sculptors reimagined a relic of the past, whenever we look to the past to inspire our writing, we are always creating our own version of it for our own needs. However much we may seek and value historical accuracy, we are telling stories in and for our own times; they will always reflect what we believe and value about ourselves. This is a strength of fiction and fantasy, not a weakness. The important thing is to be thoughtful and purposeful about how we use and reimagine history when we look to it for inspiration and not let our unexamined, unthinking biases shape how we understand it.

Image: Laocoon and his sons, photograph by Wilfredo Rafael Rodriguez Hernandez via Wikimedia (found at Rome, currently Pio Clementino Museum, Vatican; 1st c. BCE-1st c. CE; marble; believed to be by Agesander, Athenodorus, and Polydorus of Rhodes)

Living Vicariously Through Social Media: Red Lights in the Vatican

In his work, video director, photographer, and art director Aishy plays with color and light. One of his most striking projects is the Red Lights: Vatican series. Interior views from St. Peter’s Basilica in Vatican City become striking and very different from their everyday state.

Instagram Aishy St Peters Basilica Dome

Aishy’s work is often described as having a sci-fi or cyberpunk flair. However, what his Vatican photos remind me of is how ancient Mediterranean statues and buildings in their original state were not the bland off-white or grey we currently know, but vibrantly painted.

Instagram Aishy St Peters Basilica Vault

And to get back to the cyberpunk idea: wouldn’t it be more interesting—or at the very least less ubiquitous—if your next dystopia were not visually mostly black or grey, but eyeball-bustingly garish in color? Surely that could also be quite dystopic, right?

There are some specific examples I can think of. The throne room in Star Wars: Episode VIII – The Last Jedi, for starters, looks magnificently arresting. I’m just a little tired of red (or the combination of red and black). Sure, it’s a strong color often linked to strong emotions, but it tends to be overused. How about orange instead, like the Las Vegas of Blade Runner 2049? Or in Jupiter Ascending? Perhaps purple, turquoise, or chartreuse?

Just tone down the use of those ever-present blacks and greys, thanks.

(As a sidenote, the ancestry festival in Star Wars: Episode IX – The Rise of Skywalker delighted me for its happy colors, even if the planet itself was another desert.)

Images by Aishy via Instagram: Dome. Vaulted ceiling.