Reading Homer’s “The Odyssey”

My reading project

As a special project in this new year 2020, I intend to embark upon a personal and concentrated reading of Emily Wilson’s celebrated 2018 translation of Homer’s “The Odyssey”, and will regularly write some posts to accompany my progress. Whether I can be as industrious as Penelope during her long tormented wait for Odysseus’ return is debatable!

To avoid the complication of having a separate blog, I’ll categorise and number in brackets each post (as in the header above) pertaining to my readings; collated, together with other related material, they will then be accessible as My Odyssey Reading from the main menu.

Page numbers, Book titles and other references will be cited from my hardback first edition copy: Homer, The Odyssey, trans. by Emily Wilson, First Edition, New York: W.W. Norton, 2018

*My copy of Emily Wilson’s translation of Homer’s “The Odyssey*“

writer and translator

Before getting to the book and the really very substantial introductory pages therein, firstly an introduction to the writer, poet, composer, and all the plurals of the same, that we call simply Homer, and his, her, their most recent translator Emily Wilson.

Marble bust of Homer, British Museum, London.

Whilst legends persist (the blind bard for instance) and are certainly not without interest, whether there was this one Homer to whom can be attributed the epic works of The Iliad and The Odyssey is debatable. I very much like the idea of differentiating between a historical Homer and the poet Homer, which is probably not a terribly original thought but it seems to me a bit like the way of, for instance, approaching the historical Jesus alongside he explained through the lens of Christian dogma. Also, it may be that in a literary sense, identification is better explained through the more generalised “Homeric Question”; answered also with many a dissenting voice but all with the emphasis on Homer as an oral tradition.

Unlike Homer, Emily Wilson is absolutely one real person and has a website and can speak for herself, but briefly: Wilson is a British classicist born into the right family to therefore be educated at the right places to now be Professor of Classics at University of Pennsylvania, celebrated overnight it seems with the publication of her translation and she is, loathe that I am to mention it, since the Summer a recipient of one of these so-called genius grants. None of which I begrudge her, and mercifully, though she may sound a twee bit posh, I don’t think she would hang high the “genius” label! Following is a really interesting lecture she gave in September at Columbia University, focusing on her Odyssey translation, but with more generalised remarks on her method of work.

Also, I think Emily Wilson would have appreciated this review by Gregory Hays in The New York Times with its imperative on the nuance that she brings to her translation, and this is a nice magazine piece also in the Times. Together they say something about the person as scholar and translator, and the very special art of translation. Further links I will add to the sidebar menu.

In the coming days I will post some thoughts on Wilson’s introductory and translator notes – interesting enough in themselves I must say. I am really quite excited about this (Winter!) reading project; in itself an odyssey of sorts. My only encounter in any meaningful way with classics has come in recent years via Gregory Nagy’s edX course The Ancient Greek Hero (which may be caught in a new iteration) and the private reading and study that it encouraged, so the best I can do here is present the observations of an everyman, -woman.

Famously, The Odyssey has 24 books or scrolls, but my ambitions do not stretch to writing systematically on every one of those, instead I’ll condense the purely narrative and concentrate on more thematic aspects that I find to be particularly thought-provoking.

At odyssey’s end …

At odyssey’s end,
what is to be said?
What is to be sung,
when all's said and done?
 
When great wars fought
have long been won -
in ancient lands lost
awaiting to be found?
Or upon the high seas 
that time has forgot?
 
Where human hearts beat
to the drum of the gods;
playing their game loud,
and in joyful discord?
Or to be told by another
or many more in song?
 
What is to be said?
What is to be sung -
alone or in chorus
for heroes long dead?


- Anne Dromache January 1st 2021

My reading of Homer’s The Odyssey was never meant to take a whole year! But when I conceived the project at the end of 2019, such a verflixtes year I did not even imagine! In my defence, then – the distractions have been many!

Anyway, it is just in the nick of time, that I have reached an end. (Though a lot of very clever people would insist that a reading of Homer never really ends.) My reflections along the way are collected here. What you don’t see, are the videos of my readings of each book – done to encourage the “reading out aloud” that Emily Wilson suggested. And, conscientiously having done so, I would most definitely agree.

Awaited now, is Wilson’s new translation of the Iliad – for which I think we must be patient.

Round the world in 24 hours

A reading of the Odyssey is of course never over; for me, after a concentrated yearlong effort, it is at the moment in abeyance, but surely to be returned to. For many others, their journey may just be beginning, and this recent project from Harvard’s Centre for Hellenic Studies could be an interesting starting point.

24 hour reading of the 24 books of “The Odyssey” – performed December 8-9 2020

Here is the complete YouTube play list.

The Odyssey (13): Books 23 – 24

When I lay me down to sleep

Child or man or woman; all, at journey's end - be it of just one day, or many, or of a lifetime - a well-worn bed awaits; of warm feather or of cold board. Shared with those loved, out of fealty, or some casual convenience, or necessity - or alone like the dead.

- Anne Dromache, December 10th 2020

Book 23: The olive tree bed

pp. 494-506

Penelope is no man’s fool – this she wants us to know. Sheltered from the carnage of the previous hours, and confronted now with the news of her husband’s return, whatever sympathies she may have towards this stranger, she tempers with caution, even suspicion. The years of estrangement have taught many lessons, and wariness of the motivations of others amongst them. And patience she has learnt. Long has she waited, she can wait some more – and be this truly Odysseus, he can too!

*The Big Oak*, by Gustave Courbet (1843)

Embedded in the midst
of hallowed chamber,
Entwined the branches
of olive or of oak.
Sturdy, immutable.
A sign - of knowledge
and Nature's fidelity.

Anne Dromache, December 15th 2020

Penelope looks for a sign of truth from this man, who, scrubbed up by Athena, now even looks like Odysseus; some sign that only he and she share. And, it occurs to her, that it is there to be found in their marriage bed; for it is embedded in the very centre of their bed-chamber, a living reminder and an immutable sign of their union. Only Odysseus could know its secret. The recognition is complete. Together they weep and they sleep, and Penelope hears all; of the odyssey that will define her husband until the end of days.

book 24: restless spirits

pp. 507-525

It’s never over until it’s over – or until the end of song. And our singer can not resist an encore in the House of Hades – even the suitors deserve choral accompaniment as they exit life’s stage. And, should one listen carefully, one may well hear Agamemnon and Achilles in earnest exchange: each having found the end they deserved. And, for Agamemnon, the wife he deserved; unlike the bold Odysseus who, in the fair Penelope, one loyal and true.

As with his son, it remains now for Odysseus to be reunited with his father, Laertes. Remaining true to himself – how could it be otherwise – this too must he make complicated. There is no joyous greeting – no, not from Odysseus! – rather, another devised twist in the plot. Gladly, brief this diversion, for faced with a grieving father’s tears, the legendary gift of deceit deserts him and a son is revealed; and bitter tears turn sweet.

…Oh, and Zeus and Athena make arrangements, as they so often do, such that the strife on Ithaca finds, too, its end. With a minimum (!) of collateral damage as three generations stand side by side in a last bloody hurrah, a truce of sorts is parleyed; vengeful thoughts and deeds are put on hold. Forever? Or, until some fateful day, when the gods come out again to play?

The Odyssey (12): Books 21 – 22

Let the Bloody Show Begin

At day's end what's left to be said? 
What use a play of false forbearance,
or calculated regret? 
Too late now for redress,
for false pardon or indulgence.

Fate and a song have long decreed
those favoured few to be reprieved. 
A bōw, or a bŏw, and a change of dress,
changes not the bloodied scene.

- Anne Dromache November 24th 2020

Book 21: An archery contest

pp. 460-475

Penelope with slaves in tow, 
fetches Odysseus' famed 
and curved bow.

Well armed her beaus 
with arrows aplenty,
that will quiver and spin
when strung and aimed
at axes hung all in a row.

So ordained be their will.
Alone, aloud be it said:
here only one destined to win -
the rest, they will be dead.

- Anne Dromache November 24th 2020

Astute she may be, but Penelope is oblivious that she too now is slave – to Athena’s scheme, so assiduously brought to fruition in cahoots with Odysseus, and nearing its fulfilment!

The swineherd and cowherd pass their final test of fealty; and with that the lives of Eumaeus and Philoetius saved, and Odysseus reveals to them his person and receives them as co-conspirators.

One after the other, the cocky crew of “wanna be’s” show off only the limitations of their prowess, and Antinous seeing what lays ahead for him – no, not that; his prescience only stretching as far as the contest – suggests the competition be held over for one day, as this day is Apollo’s day and the god obviously angered at their meddling in what famously is his sport.

Odysseus will try, and is roundly rebuked, but Penelope takes his side, and Telemachus too. Having played her part, a role of which she knows not of, to perfection, mother Penelope’s exit is insisted upon. For the eyes of neither mother nor wife is that which follows fit. The die is cast; the bow is passed into great practised hands and his gifts and person then displayed. As the book ends, father and son stand united:

With his eyebrows
he signaled, and his son strapped on his sword,
picked up his spear, and stood beside his chair
next to his father, his bronze weapons flashing.

Book 21 [lines 431-434] The Odyssey, trans. Emily Wilson

Book 22: Bloodshed

pp. 476-493

More than expose himself; a deadly exposition:

Odysseus ripped off his rags. Now naked,
he leapt upon the threshold with his bow
and quiver full of arrows, which he tipped
out in a rush before his feet, and spoke.

"Playtime is over [...]

Book 22 [lines 1-5] The Odyssey, trans. Emily Wilson

Illustration from Schwab, Gustav: “Die schönsten Sagen des klassischen Altertums” (1882)

Hardly surprising; Antinous, the most troublesome of all is the first to fall, and ever lurking Fate and the goddess Athena, guised as Mentor or hovering in the rafters orchestrating the carnage, decrees all the suitors to follow suit on their bloody way to meet their own fate.

Spared only are Phemius, the famous singer – thinks Odysseus in this moment of his legacy to be told in song? And, for his son’s sake, the house boy Medon – he, who calls Telemachus “friend”.

At the hands of the other herdsmen, an ugly death awaits the goat herd Melanthius – does Odysseus think this a favour, an honour, that he grant them this gruesome deed? Eurycleia is too easily “forced” into role of denunciator – twelve slave girls will pay, but not before they have cleaned Odysseus’ house of the massacre and its remnants – a cruel extra, known well enough in modern times.

A final fumigation; as a cure against lurking evil. But, will it cleanse the soul? And, the hero weeps. Or does he? For more precisely: “…seized by sweet desire to weep…” [500-501]. The condemned slave girls; they did really weep as they made rid of the hero’s bloody carnage, to then be ushered to a drawn out death.

And, for Odysseus, has home been at long last reached? And, was it worth it?

The Odyssey (11): Books 19 – 20

A washing of feet & a final feast

Some of the things I find myself thinking about in my reading of Books 19 and 20 are remarkable, though I can’t believe original. As old Eurycleia washes the feet of the beggar king, the truth of his person is told in the story of a scar; a mark of the youthful and impulsive Odysseus, before the years had left their mark. And, I imagine the scene of another King, and running in reverse, and he washing the feet of those who serve Him, before supping in their midst for the last time (Maundy Tuesday). In this context, I wonder at the symbolism that could be attached to the ritualistic washing of feet; so integral to hospitality customs as practiced in ancient civilisations – an intimate act of cleansing that respects, reveals and absolves.

**Odysseus and Eurycleia**, by Christian Gottlob Heyne

If there were not enough Kings to speak of; this a much more pop-cultural reference: “The Lion King”. There are, I think, some fairly obvious structural and thematic similarities between the Disney film(s) and aspects of The Odyssey – the father and son relationship, the homecoming, the circular storytelling. Mostly, though, it was the “scar” micro-narrative that moved me to this diversion; in the epic, Odysseus’ scar is a physical reminder of how an intelligent, attentive man learns with time and experience from past mistakes, but in “The Lion King”, the envious brother and uncle is defined, redefines himself (in renaming himself “Scar”), by the bitterness and envy that fester in the wake of his mistakes.

book 19: the queen and the beggar

pp. 424-444

Preparations are afoot for the planned mayhem, but first Odysseus manoeuvres himself in position to talk with Penelope, who easily confides in him of how she had to “spin schemes” to keep the wretched suitors at bay, and how she literally did spin of a day and unweave of a night the promised shroud for Laertes. A pledge that must be abided by before marriage proposals could be considered – thus, at least for some time, she had been able to deceive the suitors; to only then be betrayed (the slave girls are really in trouble now!) And, for his part, Odysseus spins his familiar tale of Crete and Troy and adventures galore, and of the great “Odysseus” and his imminent homecoming; and is convincing enough.

And, then, the aged Eurycleia, as much a reminder of the past as the scar upon his leg, is sworn to secrecy. Penelope conflates dreams with schemes, and resolves, even in her choosing of a new husband, to honour alone the old. Odysseus pride in his “good woman” is barely concealed. What the morrow will bring?

book 20: the Last Banquet

pp. 445-459

Each wake otherwise to the new day. Through the night, enraged by the slave girls cavortings with the suitors, Odysseus is now touched by the weeping sounds of Penelope (and Athena doing her thing!). Telemachus is bothered that Penelope has not accorded the respect due to Odysseus – those fears unwarranted, assures Eurycleia. And the old woman is full of energy and orders her “troops” – this feast day will be like no other.

You are either with me or against me, he might as well have said. Eumaeus clearly is, and now the herdsman, Philoetius, shows respect and where his loyalties lie. For the opportunist, Melanthius, fate will not be so kind I fear.

Omens abound, and the suitors falter – hesitate in fulfilling their intent – and for the moment retreat, to instead revel in the preparing of the feast. One knows, peace will not reign for long; for so is it with the suitors. And, Athena must nudge just a little bit for them to return to their former spite, and only the prophet Theoclymenus sees the shadows fall, the writing on the wall, and makes haste. Telemachus is left to the suitors’ taunts and ever alert to his father’s command, and the beautiful Penelope sits and watches.

The Odyssey (10): Books 17 – 18

A Beggar’s Banquet

A mask may easily enough be dropped - 
oft by design, and sometimes not.
When the former; that revealed 
just that which was intended.
And, when the latter; a face is shown,
alas that better left unknown.

- Anne Dromache, October 3rd 2020

Oh, what a thing would it be
should every Beggar's Banquet be
every bit fit enough for a king -
(or better still a queen!)
What when the art of Gastfreundshaft:
simple kindness and fine manner;
conducted in kind and manner likewise,
and no matter one's stand in life -
nor the given or guessed circumstance.

- Anne Dromache, October 3rd 2020

book 17: insults and abuse

pp. 386-407

As Telemachus sets off to the palace where his mother awaits him, Odysseus returns to his disguise as he furthers his plot against the suitors. Heading into town with Eumaeus, he soon discovers that not everyone will treat an old, impoverished beggar with the respect and kindness accorded to him by Eumaeus and in his first meeting with his son.

Firstly, the goatherd Melanthius, in cohorts now with the suitors, maligns and assaults him, and then at the palace he is ridiculed by the suitors, and most especially Antinous who will not even give him some meagre food scraps. Odysseus learns the hard way that there is hospitality for some, and only hostility for others.

Some interesting interludes. Again – a dog. But this time the reaction is different; the old stray, once Odysseus’ favourite puppy Argos, and now neglected and dying, sees behind the guise to his first master from twenty years before. What happens to a dog’s soul in those bare moments between the joy of recognition and death? And, as he stands at the portal of his house, his palace, momentarily Odysseus is so overwhelmed that, in describing so precisely the layout, he almost reveals himself to Eumaeus – who registers surprise at the old beggar’s familiarity with this place, but puts it down to gifts of observation.

In the midst of the raucous feasting, Penelope is made aware of the continued bad behaviour of all those young men seeking her favour, and their treatment of an old man who had travelled from afar and wanted only a morsel to stem his hunger. That he should have heard of Odysseus and his fate, does she wonder, and ask of Eumaeus. She must now seek counsel with this stranger.

book 18: two beggars

pp. 408-423

Even beggars have a place to defend, and as medieval knights may duel on a question of honour, so must a beggar fight for the meagre favours that may be tossed his way. And Odysseus must now contest his right to be tolerated on the fringes; and do so against the beggar Irus, and cajoled by the suitors with an appetite for blood equal only to that for dripping roasted meats. Strangely, the suitors are taken aback, but no more, at the gladiatorial muscles revealed beneath the rags of the bedraggled old man, and his victory gives Odysseus the opportunity to warn the best amongst the suitors, Amphinomus, that he should find a reason to depart, for bloody times lie ahead. Alas, the die is cast. Amphinomus never had a choice.

Penelope, as an instrument to Athena’s scheme, makes herself impossibly glam, and with seductive gestures enters the banquet fray. With promises of a forthcoming decision on whom she will favour with her self, Penelope coerces an abundance of gifts and treasure. Something which impresses the attentive Odysseus no end! Not so the behaviour of the slave girls, earning only his displeasure – and one fears they too will pay a price.

Tempers are frayed amongst all gathered, but Telemachus displays an acumen of which his father would be proud, and after final drinks are drunk each of those doomed suitors is called by the promise of warm bed and sleep.

The Odyssey (9): Books 15 – 16

Letting the mask drop

What does it mean to finally come home? Place is one thing, but what of the heart? And should those loved remain distant, or never there? Now, that a much more complicated matter, and for each alone to decide.

The scene has been set, the rehearsals are over, but the characters – sometimes costumed, sometimes not – are ready in the wings; the time approaches to tread the boards, reveal their true selves, and see where fickle Fate may lead.

Book 15: the prince returns

pp. 350-368

Athena in her inimitable way, of deception and persuasion and prophecy, arranges that Telemachus make a quick departure from Sparta and from his host Menalaus. En route, in Pylos, he bids farewell to this new friend, Pisistratus, avoiding King Nestor who would surely demand he stay, before embarking again upon high seas – there is a time to enjoy the fruits of hospitality and a time to make haste.

Back on Ithaca another gifted story teller joins the fray. Eumaeus tells Odysseus his tale of a life robbed from him as a child through wicked circumstance and the avarice of others, and offered to the highest bidder; to be enslaved, but saved from the worst by the generosity of Odysseus’ father, Laertes, and finding favour with his mother and sister. Does Odysseus even wonder why it is that he does not know this story of his noble slave?

Book 16: Father and son

pp. 369-385

I note with interest that on his arrival at Eumaeus’ hut, Telemachus is greeted not only with delight by the loyal swineherd but with calm and familiarity by his dogs; previously, had Eumaeus not intervened, Odysseus would certainly have been mauled by them. This says something I think about time – at least one canine generation has passed since Odysseus left his home shores; these fierce (fiercly loyal) dogs know only his son to be their master’s master. Again, does Odysseus wonder? I say “again” because it sometimes occurs to me that for someone supposedly so clever, Odysseus has a way of overlooking the obvious in his midst. Does his heart swell not just a little with pride and does he not think: “My son has garnered the respect of these beasts, and that is no easy thing; he is the lord they know not I.”?

Telemachus is interested in this “stranger” that he finds in Eumaeus company, accords him courtesy and respect – a noble manner that does impress Odysseus – and when Eumaeus has departed to tell Penelope of her son’s safe return, the opportunity arises for Athena to transform Odysseus once again into some version of his younger self; least ways a version that quickly convinces Telemachus that this is indeed his father. Emotionally charged is an understatement to describe their reunion, but swiftly the mood changes into one of vengeful plotting. At the palace, the target – that pesky band of suitors – peeved at their unsuccessful efforts to date, is also making plans to have another go at ridding themselves of Telemachus (not unanimous granted – Amphinomus is a voice of dissent). Penelope confronts them with her knowledge of their wicked plans, of which they are quick to deny, and Athena must help to bring sleep to this grieving wife and mother that night.

And as if she had nothing else to do, Athena’s busy wand must transform Odysseus back to his old beggar self before Eumaeus return. But now another is privy to his disguise; for he has a co-conspirator (“But what about me?” Athena may well haughtily demand!), and what better person than one’s own flesh and blood. Father and son would surely sleep well this night.

A pig in a poke

In a blog entry for the LRB in 2018, Emily Wilson gave a lesson in reportage gone awry – lost in translation or just plain misunderstood. Whichever, the claims circulating in the media at the time that a clay tablet discovered near Olympia, with lines from Book 14 of the Odyssey, was perhaps the oldest extract from the epic, were way off-base – for all the reasons she explains in her entry.

For my purposes, I mention this in passing only because of where I am at the moment in my epic reading, and Emily Wilson’s comments in respect to the nature of the inscription. Following is some of the passage on the tablet, and in her own translation:

His yard was high and visible for miles,
of fieldstones topped with twigs of thorny pear.
He built it in the absence of his master,
with no help from Laertes or the mistress.
Around the yard, he set a ring of stakes,
of wood with bark stripped off. Inside the yard,
he made twelve sties all next to one another, 
...

Book 14 [lines 8-14] The Odyssey, trans. Emily Wilson

Of course, we have here the beginning of Book 14, and Odysseus, in the beggar’s guise created for him by Athena, is approaching the humble yard of the swineherd, Eumaeus. It is this descriptive passage that leads Wilson to wonder at the purpose of the artefact – the subject matter is hardly the most profound; perhaps its origins were of a more mundane or utilitarian nature than cultural.

Not exactly a pig in a poke, but close. Just as it is wise to check your purchases, so it is to double check sources of information. Emily Wilson ends on a positive note anyway:

The bright side to this inaccurately reported story is that it reveals a hunger among the general public for news about the ancient world. […] Maybe this fake news story will inspire more people to investigate the ancient world for themselves, and also to realise that the stories told about the Odyssey are – like the poem’s wily, scheming, deceitful protagonist himself – not always to be taken at face value.
LRB Blog, 14 JULY 2018, “Making a Pigsty” by Emily Wilson