The Odyssey

Your experience with the Odyssey will hinge on the translation you read. Here is the criteria I advise you to use.

1. Do you want florid, archaic, antiquated language, or modern, simple vernacular?

2. Do you want to lean into translation-as-adaption, or do you prefer the author remain very close to the original Greek?

If you want a florid adaptation, I recommend Pope's translation. If you want a florid translation, I recommend Fitzgerald. If you want a simple adaptation, I recommend Wilson. If you want a simple translation, I recommend Fagels.

Rating: 9.7/10

Even though I've always been enamored with mythology, Greek lore in particular, I had never got around to reading the Odyssey, Homer's epic poem. Multiple blogs I follow raved about this new translation by Emily Wilson, the first ever female translator of the Odyssey. After devouring it, I completely understand the hype. While I might not be the best judge of translation accuracy, this work was phenomenally readable and gripping. For a thousand year old work, it holds up extraordinarily well. I was struck by how much of the Odyssey is actually the story of Telemachus, Odysseus's son put in a difficult position by the ignominious suitors. I also had no idea just how involved Athena was in the trials and tribulations of her favorite mortal, Odysseus. From disguising herself as Mentor to making Odysseus stronger at a moment's notice, she makes her godly presence known constantly throughout the work. Emily Wilson did such a fantastic job bringing this storied tale to life in a new translation, I honestly have nothing bad to say about it. Strongly recommend.

Side note: I also thoroughly enjoyed the Translator's Note at the beginning of the book showing Emily Wilson's thought process and musings about the struggles of translating such a momentous epic.

What an incredible translation of the book. Translation is always tricky. Translations of Homer err on the extremes of either woodenness or flowery-ness. This one excels in plain-ness and clarity which, according to Wilson's INCREDIBLE introduction in the book, is ACTUALLY how Homer's Greek would've been experienced in the ground by his audience. So while this isn't as “poetic” as other translations, it is beautiful in how it captures Homer's timelessness and expression of the transcending human condition–aspects I never really “got” before reading this particular translation.

Additionally, this being the first major translation by a woman, I must admit that there is a dimension this adds. There is a tenderness and restraint in certain moments (and it's incredibly effective), and Penelope has been brought to the fore in her strength, intelligence, and cunning in a way I never noticed before–in a way that seems plainly closer to Homer's intention towards her as a character. Indeed, Wilson's translation brings dimension and subtlety to all the major women characters who are usually flattened out as mere roadblocks or temptresses to Odysseus. In fact, Odysseus and the men have their flaws and weaknesses shown as just that–flaws and ways of being that ought to be interrogated and lamented rather than wholesale celebrated and admired as archetypes of strength of masculinity.

Lastly, a note. Having studied translation in a couple of languages, I ought to stress for those that haven't: me saying that certain aspects are “brought out” or “emphasized” in this translation does not at all mean that she has veered from the text, added things in, ignored other things, or has had an “agenda” driving her work. This is not a “Feminist” reading of The Odyssey. Wilson speaks for herself quite capably in her Translator's Note on how her own experience as a woman might affect her translation, and I encourage you to read that. Suffice it to say that her experience as a woman in academia has actually led her to have a GREATER fidelity and care to the text tjan most male translators, who approach their task more as an act of submitting the Greek text to English forms and language rather than immersing the text with its own integrity to see it as it emerges on its own–an approach I feel suffused Wilson's work here. It is remarkable and fantastic and deserves to be read.

In fact, in my humble opinion, it deserves to be the new dominant text used in high schools and undergraduate institutions; not simply because a woman did this work, but because she has produced the greatest example I know of balancing both absolute faithfulness to the text with a stunning colloquial clarity that goes down so smoothly and easily, you inevitably will forget to stop and marvel at how difficult a task that is with ancient texts. She makes this Promethian task look so easy; which, after all, is what women have been having to do for millennia.

Now, I've not read the Odyssey since middle school probably. But one of my friends shared with me this EP called Epic: Official Concept Album and I couldn't fly to my bookshelf fast enough after listening to it. I hadn't remembered the story was so emotional and sad. I suppose looking at this classic through the lens of one who has grieved is different than a kid trying to pass their midterm English exam. Anyway, refreshing myself with Homer's epic was everything I wanted. An adventure that will reside in my head forever, rent free.

Please give my Amazon review a helpful vote - https://www.amazon.com/gp/customer-reviews/R9G85B7ER3OKP?ref=pf_ov_at_pdctrvw_srp

There's a reason that the Iliad had remained a best seller for nearly three-thousand years. Namely, it is a fun read (or listen.) This is my second journey through the book - the first time involved listening to an audiobook version - and I was surprised by all that I had missed the first time through, namely the comedy bits involving Zeus and Hera, Aeneas's substantial involvement, and the graphic “slasher film” elements. I was surprised to find that Homer seemed to be staking out some part of all genres that we 21st-century moderns would expect to find on television in his epic.

If you haven't read the Iliad, it begins ten years into the siege, spans about thirty days of the war, and ends long before you have the Trojan horse or the fall of the city. Despite its compressed time span, it covers thousands of lines of poetry that should amaze us when we think that someone memorized and orally recited all this in the granular detail of the life details of scores of subsidiary characters who walk on the stage, are identified by name, share their life stories, and are slaughtered with an arrow through the spleen or a sword cut removing tongues or a spear strike through the back of the head, knocking eyes to the ground.

The story starts with the rage of Achilles as Agamemnon takes away his war prize - Briseis - to compensate for the loss of his own war prize - Chriseis - the refusal to return to her father, a priest of Apollo, has provoked the wrath of Apollo. From that point, Achilles sulks and plots with his mother Thetis to take Greek fortunes so low that they will come begging for his return to war. There is, of course, the unintended side-effect of Hector killing Patroclus, which returns Achilles to the fight and results in the almost human scene of Achilles and Priam, King of Troy/father of Hector, sharing a moment of grief together.

You can see how the ancients could milk the depth of the Iliad for insight. While the characters are mostly Bronze Age warriors caught up in honor/glory/face-saving, there are moments when a more civilized ethose may be breaking out. Thus, we have two passages that I found most effect. The first is when Achilles spurns Hector's offer to treat the body of the defeated warrior in their duel with respect. Achilles answers:

“Hector, stop!
You unforgivable, you...don't talk to me of pacts.
There are no binding oaths between men and lions -
wolves and lambs can enjoy no meeting of the minds-
they are all bent on hating each other to the death.”

Later, Priam comes to Achilles with an offer of a ransom for the return of Hector's body:

“Revere the gods, Achilles! Pity me in my own right,
remember your own father! I deserve more pity...
I have endured what no one on earth has ever done before -
I put my lips to the hands of the man who killed my son.

Those words stirred within Achilles a deep desire
to grief for his own father. Taking the old man's hands
he gently moved him back. And overpowered by memory
both men gave way to grief. Priam wept freely
for man-killing Hector, throbbing, crouching
before Achilles' feet as Achilles wept himself,
now for his father, now for Patroclus once again,
and their sobbing rose and fell throughout the house.”

So, Achilles goes from someone who cannot recognize the enemy as human to someone who can share a moment of grief, perhaps.

I read this as part of the Online Great Books program. I found the structure and teleconference-style seminars to be quite helpful.

I would also recommend Fagles' translation. As you can see from the above, Fagles communicates the text in clear and vividly accessible prose.

This book is part of the heritage of Western Civilization. It would be a shame for you to miss out on it during your short course on this earth.

An enjoyable book about journeys home and what it takes to get there. The three main characters (Odysseus, Telemachus, Penelope) all use cunning in an attempt to return to family (home) or keep the memory of family (home) alive. Odysseus uses it to return to Ithaca. Telemachus uses it to find news of his father. Penelope uses cunning to restrain the suitor's advances.

It can also be read as a tale of hope and despair. Both Odysseus and Telemachus strive to have a reunited family. Penelope is in despair, believing her husband is dead, but wanting no one else.

I recommend this book to be read at least once. It is not as violent as The Illiad. A reader can easily connect to the characters and the journeys they take to be reunited.

I don't watch many movies about war, and rarely read any books about battle, either. For the most part, I am happy to think of war as something I am thankful to live without: living in a peaceful time, in a peaceful place is a privilege that I am grateful for, every day.

The few movies about war I have watched recently have all been conflicting: for the most part, they are good at depicting the horrific reality of wartime, but inevitably end up glorifying some part of it—whether through the heroism of soldiers or civilians, through the celebration of new technologies, or through the edification of global political machinations—in order to make the film more palatable and to advance a narrative. Rarely have I seen a movie that is simply about the horror of war, about the rampant destruction and death and nothing more.

This makes sense: if film is an escape, an opportunity for immersion in a world outside our own, then crafting a story that has no redeeming nature would be counterproductive to the medium. A movie cannot simply immerse its audience in ruination and disaster without providing an opportunity, however slim, for escape or redemption.

I thought of this, deeply, as I read The Iliad. That it took me almost to the age of 35 before I picked up the Homeric epic was surprising even to myself; that it took me this long to realize that The Iliad was, at its core, a war story like any war movie shown on a cinema screen demonstrates an ignorance of which I am not proud.

“Generations of men are like the leaves.

In winter, winds blow them down to earth,

but then, when spring season comes again,

the budding wood grows more. And so with men:

one generation grows, another dies away.”

(The preceding was an overview of the notes I took while reading Homer's The Iliad in January 2017. Originally published on inthemargins.ca.)

Absolutely gorgeous. This was my first time reading The Odyssey and at first I was disappointed by how seemingly plain the poetry was. I have always fallen so easily for poetry that fans out its peacock feathers, delights in its elegance, and dances along the wind. Not to say that I am not a fan of simpler writing like Bukowski, Hemingway, and so on, but going into this book with the preconception that it would be an epic tale from thousands of years past, from one of the most famous poets of history, I had the assumption that the writing would fit my preconceived notions of grandeur. When this didn't pan out, I was sad and even considered not finishing it. I am so glad that I did. Once I had become accustomed to Fagles' and Homer's simple but fierce style of speaking, delighting in emotions and wonders and twists and turns, I fell in love. Though there is a lot of old-school sexism and masculinity baked into this story (along with their grossly casual acceptance of slave labor; yes, I know this is “how things were back then.” It does not make it less disturbing), this is not the sort of nonsense machismo with which we are inundated today. Men cry in this book, frequently. Goddesses rally men to battle while also serving as voices of reason. The bard, the song, the dance, are all placed in equal importance to the farmer, the laborer, the warrior. When the family is whole again at the end of the novel, I found myself tearing up along with all of the heroes of the story.

In terms of dealing with the gross stuff, I would compare reading this to reading John Milton. There is a lot of lip service paid to the backwards attitudes of the time, but more often than not the characterization contradicts this. Characters will talk about the inconstant hearts of women or such other misogynistic things, yet the characters thrown into the spotlight (such as Penelope and Eurycleia) not only debunk these ideas, they make the consideration of them a folly. Much like real life, characters will try and predict the actions of a person based on a group they belong to, only to be proven wrong because every character in this poem feels like a truly individual human.

tl;dr A wonderful translation of a wonderful story. Some parts are more upsetting to us today than they would have been when this poem was once performed, but the majority of the story is still incredible. I cried happy tears at the end.