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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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
Kindred spirits, our hero and his guardian goddess. Considered in a favorable light, a case could be made that the characteristics that unite Athena and Odysseus are those of intelligence, cleverness, shrewdness and super quick with a plan for all occasions. A couple of strategists you could say! Less charitably, but equally apt, is that we have here a duplicitous pair of incorrigible schemers and tricksters! And the sympathy Athena and Odysseus share for one another is tempered by their conceits, be they godly or very human. Just who is the cleverest of us all? I am! – cries she. No, I am! – returns he. Between these two, stuff is always complicated. But before they can go toe to toe and show off their stuff, Odysseus has to get home.
And it is Odysseus’ long delayed homecoming that opens the next book of the epic. Having survived the dangers of foreign shores and treacherous seas, nostos describes the very special return of the Ancient Greek hero, one such as Odysseus, to the land of their fathers.
And the time came for Odysseus to bid farewell to the Phaecians; they who were such a willing audience to his tales of tribulations and conceits, and offered so much hospitality in return. With all honor hosts and guest feasted together for one last time, and then King Alcinious sent Odysseus on his way – and with his finest ship and crew and a trove of gifts.
Odysseus slept at last the sleep of the contented, and when he woke the crew had left him with all his abundant gifts near the Nereids’ cave on Ithaca shore; so disguised by Athena that Odysseus would not recognize it as his home (to what end? ). Not so lucky the brave crewmen who, upon their home journey, met their fate at the hands of the ever vengeful Poseidon. The Phaecians must pay highly for their Gastfreundshaft.
Athena reveals Ithaca to Odysseus
Athena transforms Odysseus into a beggar
Scenes from Homer’s “The Odyssey” Book 13 – Guiseppe Bottani (1717-1784)
Athena, under the guise of a shepherd boy, tells Odysseus that he is on Ithaca, and, delighted as he may by these words that he so longed to hear, he is not convinced, and in turn does not reveal himself but spins a tale of Crete, of Troy, of murderous and heroic escapades. To which Athena is mightily impressed and unmasks herself with words as much about herself as about Odysseus:
"To outwit you
in all your tricks, a person or a god
would need to be an expert at deceit.
You clever rascal! So duplicitous,
so talented at lying! You love fiction
and tricks so deeply, you refuse to stop
even in your own land. Yes, both of us
are smart. No man can plan and talk like you,
and I am known among the gods for insight
and craftiness.You failed to recognize me:
I am Athena, child of Zeus. I always
stand near you and take car of you, in all
your hardships...
"The Odyssey" Book 13 [292-303]
The ever wary Odysseus, still doubting of Athena’s rectitude, is only persuaded of the reality of his homecoming after the goddess raises the mist she has cast, and he sees there before him indeed his beloved land – and kisses the fertile ground he has so longed to have beneath his weary feet. Athena tells Odysseus of all the hardships faced by his wife and son at the mercy of the ill-intentioned suitors, and together they plan the demise of this disreputable troop of young men; and this, like most things with Athena, means undercover work – and a disguise! Our hero with a tap of the goddess’ golden wand is now a shriveled beggar, and soon the pair part ways – Athena to fetch Telemachus, still in Sparta, and Odysseus to seek information of his family and the all the goings-on from the loyal swineherd.
BOOK 14: a loyal slave
pp. 332-349
In the preposterous disguise conjured by Athena, Odysseus goes to the humble abode of the slave, Eumaeus; a simple swineherd, who has remained loyal to the memory of his master and to his family during his long absence; irrespective that he believes Odysseus to be long lost to the mortal world. Eumaeus saves Odysseus from a savage dog, welcomes him, is hospitable and generous with the little he possesses – and his generosity is certainly tested by his probing guest. He gladly feeds, clothes and lodges the stranger in his midst; listens to his story, falls for his tricks. Odysseus reiterates somewhat, and augments even more, the false history of his person that he had tried to spin to Athena (and we know how far he got with that!), all the time testing the loyalty of the swineherd. Eumaeus proves himself in every way – but that Odysseus lives he doubts still.
The way to true light is not always clear, obscured as one may be by dark and murky waters and disoriented by an expectation of the lineal course of things, and getting something else instead. What goes around comes around.
I take the opportunity here to refer to (and give a taste of) Gregory Nagy’s The Ancient Greek Hero in 24 Hours, the stunning accompaniment text to his edX course (that played a major role in igniting my enthusiasm for the ancient and classical world) of the same name. The following excerpt is I think about as good a bridge from Book 11 to Book 12 as one can imagine (and all the before and afters available freely online):
10§31. After his sojourn in Hādēs, which is narrated in Odyssey xi, Odysseus finally emerges from this realm of darkness and death at the beginning of Odyssey xii. But the island of Circe is no longer in the Far West. When Odysseus returns from Hādēs, crossing again the circular cosmic stream of Okeanos (xii 1–2) and coming back to his point of departure, that is, to the island of the goddess Circe (xii 3), we find that this island is no longer in the Far West: instead, it is now in the Far East, where Hēlios the god of the sun has his ‘sunrises’[…] Before the hero’s descent into the realm of darkness and death, we saw the Okeanos as the absolute marker of the Far West; after his ascent into the realm of light and life, we see it as the absolute marker of the Far East.[29] In returning to the island of Circe by crossing the circular cosmic river Okeanos for the second time, the hero has come full circle, experiencing sunrise after having experienced sunset.[30] Even the name of Circe may be relevant, since the form Kirkē may be cognate with the form kirkos, a variant of the noun krikos, meaning ‘circle, ring’.[31] As we will now see, this experience of coming full circle is a mental experience – or, to put it another way, it is a psychic experience.
Hour 10. The mind of Odysseus in the Homeric Odyssey – Nagy, Gregory. The Ancient Greek Hero in 24 Hours. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2013.
And so Odysseus’ tale continues: of the return to Circe’s island; of the funeral rites due, and promised, to the young Elpenor, and now fulfilled; of Circe’s precise instructions of “what to do next” in their homeward quest. The crew with ears deafened by wax and Odysseus tied firm to the mast, do not succumb to the tempting sounds of the Sirens. But, then, six men fall to Scylla; for Odysseus must choose the lesser of two evils, either confront that gruesome monster or face certain death in the whirlpool of Charybdis; and the lesser claims her tribute as Circe had prophesied and Odysseus reckoned with. Says Odysseus to his Phaecian audience: “That was the most heartrending sight I saw / in all the time I suffered on the sea.” [lines 258-259]
Reaching the island of the Sun God, Helius, and mindful of the warnings of Tiresias and Circe, Odysseus had tried to convince his crew of the foolhardiness of landing on the island. Alas, in vain, for angry and tired and hungry they want only to rest upon this island – and Odysseus in the end cedes to their wishes, demanding only that they feed not from the grazing cattle so prized by Helius. Later Odysseus learns from Calypso, as told by Hermes, that whilst Odysseus slept, his men, persuaded by Eurylochus, slaughter and feast upon the meats, and that on hearing of this a furious Helius pleads with Zeus to redress the situation. And this he does, for once on open sea, Zeus retaliates with all his might and the remaining crew were swept away, depriving them of a homecoming.
Alone now, Odysseus was swept back towards the dangerous waters of Charybdis and Scylla’s rocky home. Only by the will of Zeus did he survive this ordeal, and after ten days adrift reach Calypso’s island. So Odysseus tells it. And so his narration comes a full circle, and the Apologoi that began in Book 9 concludes.
Another sort of “Odyssey” – James Joyce’s Ulysses. That one day wonder, or is it wander – through the streets of Dublin – on 16th June, 1904. Yes, I plead guilty to not having…! Virginia Woolf, however, did read it (in the end) and had opinions; not all good, for reasons which I am no longer sure of and would have to return to her diary to clarify (which I will!)[*Which I now have – see for instancethis VW diary entry]. I do remember her sounding off about it to all who would listen, and provoking heady discourse where she could; meaning I suspect that it also interested her madly and she wanted to talk about it. Impossible! did she say of it? …or worse – obscene! vulgar! But I am fairly sure that Woolf suggests that they, that is she and Leonard, that is, their Hogarth Press, only turned it down because of the length and the complicated structure and typography required, supposing the manual setting would be time consuming to the detriment of their own work and other publications. A personal musing: am I the only person to wonder at the Leonard Bloom/Leonard Woolf/Bloomsbury/Jewish coincidental? I can’t think that Joyce ever knew the Woolves. Coincidence.
But it got published anyway, and has a life of its very own, a day of its own, and from one end of the world to the next, first and foremost, in Ireland, it is celebrated; this year a little differently – “Bloomsday to Zoomsday” quips The Guardian. In that spirit here is a selection from the James Joyce Centre in Dublin.
