Ellen Perry offers a clear and forthright, if sometimes oversimplified, account of the complex, highly sophisticated discourses that characterized the Roman “aesthetics of emulation.” In so doing, she seeks to transform the debate on Roman copying, with a particular focus on Roman statues of gods and heroes, so-called ideal sculpture.

This debate has important repercussions for Romanists, and indeed for the field of art history as a whole. After all, Roman ideal sculptures are familiar to most art historians—but not as Roman works of art. Instead, statues that appear stylistically Greek, such as the Apollo Belvedere and the Laocoön, have commonly been identified as “Roman copies of lost Greek originals.” Perry’s aim is to demonstrate instead that these works are a quintessentially Roman phenomenon, driven by Roman patrons and involving the creative transformation of Greek models rather than servile copying.

Many ancient art historians, myself included, find this a plausible and sympathetic argument; others will be more skeptical, and will not find all of their legitimate concerns addressed here. In particular, skeptics might question Perry’s focus on literary texts concerning emulation, while images are accorded only a secondary role. As a specialist in visual rather than literary culture, Perry addresses issues of interest to art historians, yet she sometimes slights the monuments. At the same time, her analyses of written sources can appear perfunctory in comparison to earlier treatments of the same topic by literary critics such as Thomas Greene (The Light in Troy: Imitation and Discovery in Renaissance Poetry, New Haven: Yale University Press, 1982). The book is consequently best read as a provocative rejoinder to earlier scholarship on Roman copying, rather than as the definitive statement on the issue.

The scholarship on Roman copying has a lengthy and problematic history, and Perry rightly questions many of the assumptions on which it is based (1–7). From the Renaissance onwards, scholars have interpreted Roman ideal sculptures—Greek in style, representing characters from Greek myth and history, and created in multiples—as copies of the famous Greek statues described in literary texts. This was true not only for Renaissance antiquarians and philologists but also for later, more art-historically minded scholars. So, for example, Johann Joachim Wincklemann considered the Apollo Belvedere (found in Rome, and currently dated to the early second century AD) the epitome of Classical Greek art.

This reliance on literary texts and Roman “copies” continued even after scholars had access to genuine works of Greek art. The late nineteenth-century scholar Adolf Furtwängler, for example, examined actual Greek sculptures such as the Venus de Milo, but focused his discussion on Roman works of art known in multiple versions, such as the Discus Thrower; his aim was to reconstruct their models through the method known in German as Kopienkritik (comparison of copies). He then correlated these reconstructions with ancient literary texts describing statues by celebrated artists—e.g., a Discus Thrower by the early Classical sculptor Myron—to produce a historical account of Greek art based on a succession of masterpieces.

As Perry notes, Furtwängler’s account was not universally accepted even in his own day, and it has been increasingly challenged over the past thirty years. Scholars such as Brunilde Ridgway and Miranda Marvin have questioned his methodological premises; others, for instance Paul Zanker and Tonio Hölscher, have sought to elucidate the Roman character of the sculptures and to highlight Roman motivations for the appropriation of Greek artistic styles. Due to these and other scholars, the debate over the “Roman-ness” of Roman ideal sculpture has by now become central to the field. Much of the scholarship, however, has come in the form of narrowly focused articles on particular sculptures (e.g., many of the essays collected in Elaine Gazda, ed., The Ancient Art of Emulation: Studies in Artistic Originality and Tradition from the Present to Classical Antiquity, Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2002), while analyses of the debate’s broader implications have been lacking. Perry’s book provides a rare monographic treatment of the topic for an Anglophone audience; her wide-ranging argument—with its stress on creative emulation rather than derivative copying—offers a useful overview of an important topic.

Perry’s discussion centers on three concepts she sees as central to Roman aesthetics. The first is decorum (appropriateness, chapters 1–2). Her contention is that Greek master sculptors were valued by Roman patrons “not so much because they produced works that the Romans wanted to copy outright, but in great part because they discovered suitable, socially sanctioned representations of particular subjects” (44). The second concept she covers is eclecticism (chapter 4), defined here as the use of multiple models for the creation of new works of art. Such works were appreciated, she argues, because they referred back to an authoritative tradition while also extending it (149). The third concept is phantasia (artistic vision/inspiration, chapter 5). Artists’ visions were expected to be truthful and emotionally affecting, but not necessarily unique. This, in Perry’s view, helps to explain the repetition seen in Roman ideal sculpture, which reflects consensus on how the gods “really” looked, rather than lack of creativity. She also includes a critique of previous scholarship, focusing on the practice of Kopienkritik. This is located rather curiously in chapter 3, while the introduction provides only a very brief review of the literature. And Perry concludes with a discussion of Roman attitudes toward Greek art as expressed in literary sources.

Several of the book’s chapters are particularly strong, bringing new evidence and ideas to bear on issues of copying and emulation. I would single out the compendium of literary texts dealing with decorum in chapter 1, as well as the concluding treatments of phantasia and Roman attitudes toward Greek art. The first builds on previous scholarship, for instance Miranda Marvin’s influential article “Copying in Roman Sculpture: The Replica Series”; (Kathleen Preciado, ed., Retaining the Original: Multiple Originals, Copies, and Reproductions, in Studies in the History of Art 20, Washington, DC: National Gallery of Art, 1989, 29–46). But Perry has compiled a richer selection of literary texts than previous scholars; taken together, these sources effectively illustrate the authoritative character of decorum, which governed matters ranging from the morality of suicide to the scale and arrangement of rooms within an aristocrat’s house (cf., Cicero, De Officiis 1.112; Vitruvius, De Architectura 6.5.1–;3). Perry also adds to the discussion by highlighting the manner in which decorum was frequently defined via social consensus, particularly that of the educated, powerful, and deeply conservative Roman elite (48). This is helpful in situating artistic practices within a well-defined social context.

The religious context for Roman ideal sculpture is likewise critical. In chapter 5, Perry has assembled an illuminating selection of texts dealing with phantasia, and has used them to show that—for images of the gods, at least—Romans valued truth and emotional effect more than originality. As she argues, this helps to explain why a particular god might be represented in the same way time and again, although this conclusion raises two further questions: First, under what circumstances was innovation appropriate? And second, why were the forms chosen so often Greek?

The discussion of literary sources on Greek masterpieces is likewise valuable, both for the evidence presented and the questions it raises. Perry treats instances in which statues were copied for cultic reasons, for example, when an oracle demanded the promulgation of an established cult like that of the Artemis of Ephesus in a new city. She also discusses famous statues by unknown or obscure artists and Roman theories of copying. Perry highlights the varied motives that drove Roman artists to copy or emulate Greek works, ranging from the need to promulgate a cult and its cult statue (172–77) to the attempt to satisfy an aristocrat’s demands for elegant and storied objets d’art (187). Her discussion should help us to move beyond the dichotomous view of Roman ideal sculptures—as either derivative copies or original creations—still prevalent in the scholarship.

Some of Perry’s arguments are likely to encounter objections, however. Particularly at issue are questions of method, which come to the fore in her treatment of previous scholarship, her use of literary sources, and her analysis of Greek art vis-á-vis Roman. As regards previous scholarship, she mounts a sustained attack in chapter 3 on Furtwüngler’s methods. But she is fighting a straw man. In his analyses of Roman replica series, Furtwüngler often mentioned, but discounted, the evidence of “free copies,” that is, works which seemed indebted to particular models but did not follow them exactly. Perry champions these works, seeing in them “the very aspects of Roman art that patrons may have valued most” (78). This is possible, but was hardly Furtwüngler’s concern; his focus was on Greek art. At the same time, her chosen comparison—between several Amazon statues that clearly copy Classical types and a caryatid “free copy” from the villa of Herodes Atticus at Loukou—does not effectively prove her point. The exact copies are top-quality works: monumental in scale, expertly crafted, visually stunning. The Loukou Amazon is a more modest piece, with a simplified visual format and abbreviated carving technique appropriate to its architectural function. Perry’s challenge to previous scholarship is thus problematic; she attacks Furtwüngler for failing to make good use of “free copies”—a topic which fell well outside his purview—without making a convincing case for them herself.

A second methodological issue arises with the interpretation of literary texts, which provide the primary source material and foundation for the book’s argument (17–22). While the book aims to demonstrate broad cultural consensus, the texts do not always support this conclusion. Most notably, Roman authors do not speak with one voice about emulation. Rather, their discourses are distinctly varied and highly ambivalent, as one might expect for a subject so central to artistic creativity. So, for example, Cicero in his early treatise De inventione highlights the theme of eclecticism; in writing his treatise, he claims to have examined a number of models and selected the best of each (2.2.4). In the later De oratore, by contrast, the aspiring rhetorician Sulpicius succeeds through close observation of a single model, his more established predecessor Crassus (2.21.89). And in the still-later Orator, Cicero implicitly rejects all use of historical models and argues instead that the one should imitate an (distinctly Platonic) ideal of oratory, present in the mind and never fully achieved (9). For later writers also, there is no uniform conclusion as to the proper way to imitate, but a proliferation of conflicting directives and metaphors (cf., the discussion in Greene’s The Light in Troy, cited above, esp. 54–80). This lack of consensus calls into question Perry’s argument that the Romans consistently valued an eclectic and rivalrous emulation over copying of a particular model, and her application of this argument to art.

Furthermore, one might question Perry’s application of methods of analysis appropriate to written sources to the discussion of Roman art objects. In considering the Roman Empire—when the readers of literary texts were a small, cohesive elite, and the audience for visual culture potentially much wider—is reading always a good model for viewing? It is particularly tempting for art historians to posit patrons and viewers who are observant, visually sensitive, and historically minded. Some no doubt were, but this needs to be argued, not assumed. And some space should be made for other, less focused and sophisticated, “ways of seeing.” Sometimes the most obvious interpretation of a work of art might be the right one.

The difficulties resulting from Perry’s method of analysis appear, for example, in her reading of a third-century sarcophagus now in the Villa Ada, which has a series of mythological figures based on familiar sculptural types. Perry’s discussion assumes that these figures would be recognized by viewers as multivalent. So, for example, she suggests that one such image—a half-nude Venus turning to the left, and with her left leg raised and bent, in a visual format resembling the Venus de Milo—would be appreciated by its audience for its simultaneous references to the following models: a Greek sculptural type known as the Venus Capua; Roman imperial coins and medallions; monumental private portrait groups with Mars; imperial statues of Victoria inscribing a shield; and images of Venus Victrix (140). This is a great deal of interpretive weight to put on one figure in a small mid-level sarcophagus of rather schematic execution—what if most viewers were content to recognize Venus?—and the same objection applies to Perry’s analyses of other art objects (e.g., a sarcophagus associated with the daughter of Herodes Atticus, 65–76, and a caryatid Amazon, 99–108).

Finally, Greek art often seems the “elephant in the room” in this monograph. Most of the works of art Perry analyses adopt the visual format of Greek prototypes; so, too, they make use of Classical styles, for an overall effect that is distinctly Hellenic in character. This must be intentional, but the attraction of Greek art for Roman patrons receives insufficient attention here. Perry has done an excellent job explaining why the Romans appreciated imitation; the problem that remains to be addressed is why they chose to imitate Greek art.

In sum, this book is a useful addition to the debate on Roman copying: a sustained, monographic argument against long-established notions concerning the derivative nature of Roman ideal sculpture. The aim is forthrightly polemical, and this is both the book’s strength and its most significant weakness. In contrast to earlier scholars, who have largely focused on particular works of art, Perry sets out the case for aemulatio in a broad-ranging treatment of Roman aesthetics. This allows for a more comprehensive evaluation of her position, one that has been often endorsed (e.g., by many scholars writing in Gazda’s volume cited above), but rarely so fully explored. A full analysis reveals both the advantages and the disadvantages of the hypothesis, offering enhanced understanding of the Roman context for emulation, but taking insufficient account of Greek contributions. It is not the whole story, but Perry’;s book offers an extensive critique of previous scholarship and a thoroughgoing investigation of the implications of more modern approaches. In so doing, Perry’s book challenges art historians on both sides of the issue to re-examine their beliefs, and it should stimulate further, more nuanced consideration of this important topic.