The Last of the Wine (1956) is an excellent historical novel by all the standards which we usually use to judge such work. Miss Renault's reconstruction of the past is vivid and exciting, for she has been able to make us believe in a world remote from ours, but one in which we recognize problems and people who reflect our own society. The Athens of Sokrates and Alkibiades comes alive for us because Miss Renault has made it consistent, colorful, and interesting. But unlike many historical novelists who use their recreation of the past as an excuse for sensationalism or pseudo-history, Miss Renault has used her setting as a reinforcement of theme and character. Sokrates and what he teaches are central to the meaning and to the structure of the novel, though he himself remains a secondary figure…. [She] gives us a real "flavor" of the period, since we are constantly seeing people and events with which we are familiar from other sources.

In addition, the period is fascinating not only because it includes Sokrates and the familiar members of his circle, but because of the political struggles which were destroying the Athenian state…. Miss Renault makes us realize, in a way that Plato does not, how much of what Sokrates said had a particular application to his own time as well as an abstract universality. (pp. 102-03)

Miss Renault, however, is trying to do more than establish an historical period and characters who are involved in the philosophical and political affairs of the time. Essentially, The Last of the Wine is a novel about growth and maturity; the historical elements of the novel are constantly made to contribute to this theme rather than to obscure it, and symbol, style, and character work toward the development of theme as well as toward the recreation of Athens in the fifth century before Christ. (p. 103)

The growth of Alexias [the first-person narrator] from childhood to maturity is the focus and structural principle in The Last of the Wine, and it is primarily through love that he reaches the goal. The fact that, on the specific level, it is a homosexual love seems almost negligible because it is described invariably as little more than a deep friendship, in a context where this is the rule rather than the exception. Miss Renault eschews sensationalism entirely and thus makes us believe in an affection which can be described only as love, but which, because of its complete escape from the sordid and trite presentation of such things, is not only inoffensive but admirable. Love has also much broader application in the book since it is love of truth, of freedom, and of honor which serve as Alexias's guides. Miss Renault has quite literally put into dramatic form the description of love as it is given in parts of the Symposium and the Phaedrus. (p. 104)

The shape of the novel is determined by Alexias's growth, which in turn is an illustration of Sokrates' theories; the incidents of the plot are selected and arranged to present this growth. When Alexias achieves manhood in the closing pages of the novel, we have come full circle to the beginning…. Throughout the novel, Alexias's growth has been an example of the power which Sokrates envisioned as the result of love, and it has been a movement toward the kind of equanimity and integrity he achieves in the end.

While the structure and the plot are thus illuminating theme, the style of The Last of the Wine also contributes to the total effect…. Miss Renault has taken phrases, images, and ideas from Plato in order to make her portrait of Sokrates authentic and the tone of her book consistent. (p. 107)

The Last of the Wine is characterized by felicitous images and metaphors…. The last of the wine is a constant reminder of the depth and brevity of love, and as the love of Lysis and Alexias broadens, the symbol also broadens to include the moral and philosophical ideals they hold dear. (p. 108)

In The King Must Die (1958) and The Bull from the Sea (1962), Miss Renault has undertaken a much more difficult task than was involved in The Last of the Wine. These later books are technically legendary romance as opposed to historical fiction, and the problems of creating a viable world from such material are even more complex than those of reconstructing an historical past. Moreover, like the earlier book, these two novels are designed not only to interest us on the basis of their plots, but more importantly to present a theme of universal significance. Again that theme is one concerned with growth and maturity, but this time it is vastly enlarged—just as the legendary world of Theseus is vastly larger than the private one of Alexias and Lysis. In these two novels the theme takes on the proportions of classical tragedy, and the Theseus of legend, who was more adventurer than tragic hero, becomes a character patterned in the style of Oedipus and Lear.

In order to achieve this transformation (which, if it does alter the character of Theseus as we know it from Plutarch and mythology, is, nonetheless, perfectly plausible within the general outline of the legend), Miss Renault has made us vitally interested in Theseus the man without destroying the Theseus of myth. She has superimposed the former on the existing image of the latter, blending them into an harmonious and credible persona. This in itself is a remarkable accomplishment, and Miss Renault has been at pains to make the character both consistent within himself as a man and within the context of his mythological milieu as she has presented it.

In the first place, she has chosen the first-person point of view, and this choice was an extremely important one for several reasons. The King Must Die and The Bull from the Sea are Theseus's story, and only from his lips could the realistic explanations of supernatural incidents in the legend be made acceptable. In this case, the feeling of closeness to the protagonist is essential if we are to believe in him as a man and to recognize in him the thematic implications which Miss Renault is obviously trying to convey…. The first-person narrative personalizes and humanizes…. (pp. 109-10)

[Throughout] the two novels, Miss Renault carefully adjusts the attitudes and the style in which her hero speaks to parallel his growth in wisdom as well as in age. Thus, by letting us see Theseus as a child and by accommodating the style to a child's vision, we are drawn along from the beginning primarily by Theseus the man, and only secondarily by Theseus the demigod. As the novels progress, we become aware of exactly what kind of a man Theseus is, not because he is given to self-analysis and introspection, but because we are made to share his reactions and judgments…. Only by seeing … from his point of view are we brought to know Theseus as the paradoxically fallible and glorious, non-intellectual but shrewd, god-inspired but human man that he is; and we must know him in this way if the theme of the books is to be fully understood….

Obviously, if she wanted us to believe in, to a certain extent identify with, and most importantly feel sympathy for, Theseus as a man, some major readjustments had to be made in the legend. The general scheme which she has followed is to explain supernatural events on a naturalistic basis, and in this matter she shows imagination and skill. (p. 111)

Another kind of change, yet of the same general type, is the rearrangement and enlarging of episodes from the myth. (p. 112)

In several … instances, however, Miss Renault has gone even farther, and has actually contradicted the legend to suit her purposes in the novels. This, in a way, is more daring than her etiological efforts since she cannot afford to do it often and she, in a sense, must justify such outright departures from tradition. (p. 113)

[The theme of the sacrificial death of a king] runs like a leitmotiv in the external structure and plot of the novels, complementing the internal structure determined by Theseus's tragic growth within his moira. The King Must Die is divided into five main sections, and The Bull from the Sea into four. In each of these sections a king dies, literally or sympolically; and he goes consenting to his death because he realizes that this sacrifice is directed by the gods and that it is his duty to fulfill the appointed end with pride, with honor, and with humility…. This careful structuring of the novels is far more than a device to give a neat, formal unity. It serves as a constant reminder of Theseus's moira, and from each example Theseus learns something more about life and himself.

Not only does each section focus on the death of a king, but it is also organized upon an inner tripartite structure in which Theseus is first confronted and bewildered by a problem. He accommodates himself to it and prepares himself for an ultimate assault upon it; finally, he conquers it and is, by virtue of this, ready to meet the next. (pp. 113-14)

The degree of Theseus's success with these problems varies…. But even when the material success is lacking, the gain in self-knowledge is there. With each step he becomes a wiser man because each step is a success bought at some cost to himself. Sometimes the cost is slight, sometimes great, but these limitations only serve to show that he is, after all, a man, not a god, and a man who has dedicated himself to the quest of self-knowledge and to the fulfillment of his moira with whatever honor, strength, and wisdom he can bring to it—and in the end these two goals become the same.

In broader terms, this theme is the same as Hamlet's "readiness" (though Theseus is perhaps more like Lord Jim, who also speaks of the necessity to be "ready")…. Among the many things which Miss Renault is doing in these novels, the most fundamental is the study of Theseus's movement toward the appointed end. (pp. 115-16)

Theseus lives for us in these novels not only as a man, but also as a man who has the strongest possible belief in the power of the gods in their daily participation in the affairs of men. That Miss Renault has been able to make us respond to such a man is a remarkable feat. (p. 118)

Perhaps even more important than the reconstruction of the era, however, for the purpose of endowing these novels with an atmosphere congenial to tragedy, is Miss Renault's style. She writes always with simplicity and a kind of lyric grace…. (pp. 118-19)

There are … passages in these books of vivid description, given in brilliant, primary colors; there are passages of violent action where the short sentences give a sense of movement and force; there are passages of reflection where the simplicity of the style carries a meditative, lyric intensity. Always the phraseology, the diction, and the rhythm are such that we realize we are dealing with people, events, and issues of the utmost importance. Thus, style is used to define character, to establish the mood and context of the action, and to give, by virtue of its dignity and simplicity, that aura of solemnity which attends the tragic hero's journey.

Miss Renault has made us feel, through her artistry in structure, style, and theme, the greatness and the weakness of her hero. (pp. 119-20)

[Good] as they are, Miss Renault's books have flaws. The Bull from the Sea is too episodic, partly by the very nature of the material it covers, partly because Miss Renault has been less skillful in reshaping the plot than she was in The King Must Die. In both of these books, the presentation of Theseus as a tragic figure suffers at the expense of action (interesting as that action may be for its own sake). Despite the surface restraint of The Last of the Wine, there are sections which appeal to the prurient.

But these are relatively minor faults to find in novels which have so many obvious virtues. The reconstruction of the historical era is achieved with such vitality and authenticity that setting and atmosphere play a major part in the shaping of character and theme. The prose style is flexible and at times capable of great force and poetic intensity. The structure of the books is carefully molded to define and reinforce theme. Thus, Miss Renault's novels are not merely good historical novels, they are good novels. And they should do much to alleviate the anomalous plight into which historical fiction has fallen. (pp. 120-21)

Landon C. Burns, Jr., "Men Are Only Men: The Novels of Mary Renault," in Critique: Studies in Modern Fiction (copyright © by Critique, 1963), Vol. VI, No. 3, 1963, pp. 102-21.