#electra play

House Atreides descends from King Agamemnon, but we're never told through which of his children, so here's a speculating case for each:

Orestes

This feels like the fitting (but not the only) answer. Orestes and Paul are both driven by the need to avenge their fathers' deaths through treachery by a relative. They're heirs sent away for protection, only to return to fulfill their family duties, inheriting not only their birthright but also a cursed legacy. There's also the lineage factor. Orestes marries Hermione, the daughter of Menelaus and Helen of Sparta. Since Atreides means "of Atreus" and was used to describe both Agamemnon and Menelaus as Atreus' sons, having the House descend from Orestes—and by extension, his son, Tisamenus—would unite the two family branches. House Atreides would quite literally be "of Atreus" in absolution, and Paul is already the product of generations of inbreeding by the Bene Gesserit.

Electra:

She's the most interesting, and my personal choice. Paul carries generations of his ancestors' memories and unresolved grievances, and few figures in Greek tragedy embody the latter better than Electra. She spends years unable to act, trapped in mourning and anger, awaiting for a justice she couldn't personally give. There's something poetic about her rage echoing through thousands of years until finally manifesting into descendants who get to deliver the vengeance she spent her life yearning for. And fittingly, it wasn't Paul who killed the Baron. It was Alia, his sister.

Chrysothemis:

At first, it's hard to imagine Paul and Alia descending from someone so meek that she didn't try avenging her father's death, let alone protest it, but wouldn't that be the perfect twist? The most important people often come from the most unexpected places. So imagine if House Atreides, one of the most influential noble houses who rise up to emperor-status and reshape civilizations, come from Agamemnon's most overlooked child? So imagine if House Atreides—one of the most influential noble houses, rising to imperial status and reshaping civilizations—came from Agamemnon's most overlooked child?

Iphigenia:

I know she's dead, but what if you take into account the traditions where Artemis spared her? That would mean House Atreides owes its existence not only to an act of divine mercy, but also to powers beyond its control. And isn't Paul's whole life shaped by a destiny he never fully wanted and could never truly shape as his own, much like Iphigenia's?

After reading Euripides' Electra, it's become my favorite interpretation of the titular character, not because it's triumphant, but for being the messiest.

Sophocles' Electra feels idealized. It's about overthrowing tyrants, restoring the right heir, and ensuring that justice finally prevails.

It's a rare, nice ending for a tragedy, but Euripides goes in the opposite direction because, at the end of the day, Orestes and Electra aren't just killing two usurpers.

They're killing their mother, and Euripides never lets us forget it.

Electra reflects this shift best. Years of poverty and humiliation has left her bitter, and revenge is the one thing keeping her going.

Instead of simply waiting for Orestes to return and standing in the side lines, in a sharp contrast to Aeschylus and Sophocles, she becomes the mastermind behind the murders.

Even Clytemnestra is more nuanced than I expected. She isn't absolved for killing Agamemnon, but she isn't reduced to a monster either.

Like in Aeschylus' Agamemnon, she points out the double standard between men and women, how women are condemned for crimes that men commit without the same scrutiny.

And while Aegisthus wanted Electra dead, Clytemnestra was the one who convinced him to marry her off instead. It's still cruel, but it shows some care, dare I say love, for her daughter beneath all that pain.

And when confronting with Electra's hatred, she says:

"I will forgive you, and I will admit I'm not too comfortable with what I've done. Those plots and schemes I made! It was too much, that rage against my husband. I regret it." - Line 1096-1100

Regret isn't a word you usually use to describe Clytemnestra.

The woman who once strode with absolute certainty in Agamemnon became someone who admit her rage went too far, and everything that came before cannot be undone.

She can't undo Agamemnon's murder, bring back Iphigenia; Electra cannot unlive years of resentment and Orestes years of exile. The whole family has reached a point of no return.

And when we reached the revenge part itself, Euripides refuses to romanticize it.

Aegisthus isn't slain in a glorious duel. He's stabbed from behind during a sacrifice, his spine shattered as he slowly dies.

And much like Libation Bearers, Clytemnestra bares her breasts, Orestes hesitated, but this time, Electra guides his knife into her.

That's what I love the most about Euripides' version.

To the very end, instead of having Orestes being urged to think only as Agamemnon's son, Clytemnestra never stops being their mother.

So when the siblings emerge from the hut, there's no celebration nor relief, only horror.

When Orestes hands Electra a cloth to cover Clytemnestra's body, she says:

"Look, I'll put the cloth around her, our unkind kin, the enemy we loved." - Line 1230-1231

"The enemy we loved" has to be one of the most heart wrenching descriptions of Clytemnestra I ever read.

She was both their enemy and mother, neither truths canceling the other, but there was no happy ending waiting for them.

The Dioscuri decree that Orestes must leave for Athens to stand trial, while Electra is to marry Pylades and leave with him.

The siblings who spent the entire play trying to find each other again are separated almost as soon as they're reunited.

They walked out alive, not victorious.

It's another reminder that the House of Atreus still has dark clouds hanging over it before things can ever get better.

Was he watching a production of the play in an amphitheater, thought, "Really, she knew it was her long-lost brother from a footprint? We're actually doing this?," then turns left and right, sees no one looking weirded out by it, and "WAIT, IT WORKS?"?

Now, that doesn't mean Euripides disliked Aeschylus. The latter was this towering, almost legendary, player in the world of tragedy by Euripides' lifetime.

Heck, the whole joke only works if his audience knew of Aeschylus' Oresteia and could understand the reference.

Maybe not the same comparison, but we can enjoy a movie or play but still have that one scene that we roll our eyes to or just cringe to.

I just finished Sophocles' Electra, and I was struck by how much more romanticized the events are than Aeschylus' Libation Bearers.

In that version, Orestes' actions never feel clean. Even as Apollo commands him and everyone reminds him to avenge Agamemnon, we never forget that this is still matricide. It's as horrifying as it's necessary, and that's reflected in the ending, with Orestes being consumed by guilt, pursued by the Furies, as the family curse continues to haunt him.

Sophocles, however, takes a very different approach

Electra is similar to his Antigone. They're both heroines defined by their unyielding determination to honor their fallen kin and refusal to compromise, even at the risk of their own lives, while having sisters who serve as cautious foils. Antigone acts for her brother Polynices' burial. Electra for father Agamemnon's vengeance.

The biggest difference, though, is the ending.

When Clytemnestra and Aegisthus die, it isn't treated as tragic. Instead of a family being destroyed once again, it's a triumphant celebration of the overthrow of tyrants. There are no Furies, no madness, nor any immediate consequences waiting around the corner.

What's fascinating is that Sophocles and his audience would have known the tradition where Orestes is pursued after the murder. Yet the play ends before any of that can happen.

As a result, the same myth feels completely different depending on the playwright. Aeschylus presents the murder of Clytemnestra as another link in a cycle of violence. Sophocles presents it as justice finally being delivered.

Personally, while this play does an excellent job of exploring Electra's character far more than Aeschylus' version, it also removes much of the curse that hangs over the House of Atreus, which makes sense given that Aeschylus was far more interested in that aspect of the story.

[An excerpt from a play. five women stand on-stage as part of the chorus. Woman 01: “... her mother.” Woman 02: “She wants revenge.” Woman 03: “She chooses violence.”]