A new advocate has come to the bar, Bucephalus,
Alexander the Great’s horse. The narrator acknowledges that, as a horse,
Bucephalus will have an awkward time. No sooner does the narrator introduce
Bucephalus than his mind drifts towards the horse’s past, to Alexander the
Great. Where have the great men gone. But, being gone, perhaps it is better to
be like Bucephalus. Abandon the battlefield, and devote oneself to quiet study.
That is the plot, but this story is not a
plot. Progressive sentences do not unfold events, but unpeel the narrator’s
mind, his prejudice, nostalgia, tone-deafness. The narrator, by telling us
about Bucephalus, shows himself. Bucephalus is an Othered individual – it
doesn’t matter exactly what marginalised group he stands for. What matters is
how the narrator, a member of the dominant class, views this Other.
