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This book is an intellectual and compelling discussion of Sophocles' horribly beautiful play. I especially liked Segal's position that Oedipus is no "puppet of the gods" despite the fact that all roads seem to lead to the oracular truth that he was destined to slay his father and bed his mother. Segal quotes Karl Reinhardt and writes: "'For Sophocles, as for the Greeks of an earlier age, fate is in no circumstances the same as predetermination, but is a spontaneous unfolding of daimonic power.'
If only the rating had more stars!