Next after him comes Alkibiades, whose Homeric epithet is “Plato-loving.” His mother is the runner Kryseis. Alkibiades lives in Athenia, and he didn’t leave quietly—the rows must have shaken the city. He said he thought Plato’s original system was the best—and he said it at great length and with no originality whatsoever. Mother and Father both argued with him. Almost everything I know about how the Festivals of Hera actually worked when we had them here comes from those arguments, as I won’t be able to read the Republic until I’m an ephebe. Alkibiades thought it was a wonderful arrangement to have a simple sanctioned sexual union with a different girl every four months forever. Mother’s question of what happens if you fall in love and Father’s question of what happens if you don’t fancy some particular girl you’re drawn with didn’t give him any pause at all. He answered every problem they mentioned by saying that if they’d kept doing it properly, the way Plato wanted, it would have been all right. I had only been thirteen at the time, and about as uninterested in love and sex as anyone could be, but I could see both sides. Having it all arranged without any fuss had advantages. But people did just naturally fall in love. Look at Mother and Father. It would have been cruel to stop them being together.

After Alkibiades left, our house got a lot quieter. I was sorry because he had always been my favorite brother—he was more generally prepared to put up with me than any of the others. He even took the trouble to say goodbye, though I didn’t realize it until afterward—he took me to Sparta for a meal with some of his friends, and bade me joy afterward as I ran off to work in the fields. I didn’t know until I got home late that night that he had left. He had left on my bed a copy of Euripides he had won as a school prize—they don’t allow drama at all in Athenia, or even Homer.

Next in age come Phaedrus and Neleus, who both still live at home in Thessaly. Phaedrus is Father’s son by Hermia, who lives in Sokratea. I’ve never met her, but she once sent Phaedrus an amazing skin drum which we still have. He looks a lot like a darker jollier version of Father. He excels at wrestling—he has won a number of prizes. He also sings beautifully—we sing together sometimes. He’s a gold. Phaedrus’s epithet is “Merry,” because he is—he’s the most fun of all my brothers, the readiest to laugh, the fastest to make a joke. It’s not that he can’t be serious, but his natural expression is a grin.

Neleus is his complete opposite. He’s Mother’s son by somebody called Nikias, whom I’ve also never met because he left with Kebes. He must have been dark-skinned, because Neleus is darker than Mother. He unfortunately inherited Mother’s jaw and flattish face, so his Homeric epithet could have been “Ugly,” but in fact it’s “Wrathful” because he’s so quick to anger and he bears grudges so well. He never forgets anything. He’s a swimming champion, again like Mother, and he can’t sing at all. He’s a gold. He had a close friendship with a boy from Olympia called Agathon, and since that broke up a few months ago he has been worse-tempered than ever.

I have three more brothers, but I don’t know them very well. Euklides and his mother Lasthenia live in Psyche. He visits for a few days every summer. Porphyry and his mother Euridike live in the City of Amazons. He’s been here to visit twice. I always feel shy with both of them. I know Euklides better than Porphyry. He is a silver. Porphyry is a gold, and I don’t know all that much about him. And I have another brother, somewhere, whose name I don’t know and who I’ve never met at all. His mother Ismene went off with Kebes before he was born.

It’s a complicated family, when I write it down like this, but most of the time in Thessaly we’ve just been five Young Ones with Mother and Father.

To begin again, I was born in the Remnant City fourteen years after it was founded, and I am now fifteen years old. If you consider that is too young to write an autobiography (Ficino does), then consider this an early draft for one, a journal or commonplace book in which I shall record what will become an autobiography in due course when I have more life to record. Though it seems to me that my life has been quite eventful so far, and that there is a lot that has already happened to me that is worthy of note.

I was born four years after the Last Debate. The cities had already divided themselves by then, though they were not in the state of almost constant skirmishing that they are now, and relations between them were generally cordial. Everyone knew each other in all the cities. About a hundred and fifty people had gone off with Kebes and left the island. We don’t know what they did, though speculations about it are a favorite topic of conversation. Sometimes people call them the Lost City, or the Goodness Group, after the name of the ship they stole. There keep being rumors that people have seen the Goodness, but the truth is that Kebes left the island and nobody knows where he is or what he’s doing or anything about his group.

Everyone else stayed on the island, and they all wanted to create Plato’s Republic only to do it right this time. This was the case whether they stayed, or left the original city to set up their own. I believe there were fierce debates before everyone sorted themselves out. My parents stayed. By the time I was born, everything was more or less organized again, the new cities were well on the way to being built, and people seldom changed their minds about which city they wanted to live in, because the cities collected people by philosophical temperament, and people’s temperaments don’t tend to change all that much.

Psyche, the Shining City, was set up by the Neoplatonists, who wanted their city to reflect the mind, and the magic of numerology. It attracted those with a melancholic disposition. Sokratea, which was begun by those who believed that Sokrates was right in the Last Debate, that the City shouldn’t have been founded, and that every point needed much more examination, attracted the choleric, though Sokrates himself was nothing like that from all I have read and heard. Athenia, founded by those who believed the opposite, that Athene had been right, and who tried to live even more strictly according to their interpretation of Plato, attracted the phlegmatic. That left the sanguine, who all wound up in the City of Amazons, founded on the principle of absolute gender equality.

Those who stayed in the Remnant were those whose humors were mixed. The other cities characterized us as lazy and indecisive and luxury-loving. At first, because we were the mother city, they came to us frequently to use the libraries and other facilities, but later this happened less and less often. We had a higher proportion of Young Ones than most of the other cities, because many people didn’t take their babies with them when they left. This isn’t as callous as it may sound, because they didn’t know which babies were theirs. Some people could recognize their own babies, or thought they could. Many just couldn’t. And none of the Children had been educated to expect that they’d bring up their own children; they’d had them on the understanding that the City knew how to do it best. So there are plenty of people here, like my good friend Erinna, who have no idea who their parents are. Now that we have families there won’t be any more people like that, though of course they’re still doing that in Athenia, and maybe in the City of Amazons too, I’m not sure.

People did change cities sometimes, as indeed they still do. As young people come of age and find themselves in a city that doesn’t suit their temperament, they often leave it for another, the way Alkibiades did. And one of the first things I remember is Maia coming back. My earlier memories are muddled and confused with the cute baby stories Mother told about me—my first word was “beauty” and my second word “logos.” (It might sound conceited of me to record that, but honestly, anyone living in this house whose second word wasn’t “logos” would have to be deaf.)