The Odyssey, by Homer

The Odyssey, that most memorable ‘second work of western literature’. Like The Iliad, it is a Greek epic ascribed to the semi-legendary poet Homer, and forms a sequel to that long and violent rumination on the Trojan War. I reviewed The Iliad in June earlier this year, and found it a little hard-going – but recently I think that this might be due, at least in part, to my particular choice of translation, because for The Odyssey I went for that tried-and-beloved brand: Penguin Classics, and found it considerably more to my taste (I apologise for plugging, but I feel in this case it needs to be mentioned).

          The story of The Odyssey, and indeed the title, is all down to the main hero Odysseus, a strategist and secondary character from The Iliad who, at some point between these two epics, is fundamental in finally bringing the Trojan War to an end in victory for the Achaeans by using a giant wooden horse. When The Odyssey begins, ten years have passed since the war ended and all the surviving Achaean leaders have made their way back to their native kingdoms, but Odysseus is missing in action; presumed dead, or at least very, very lost. On his home island realm of Ithaca, Odysseus’ wife Penelope and their son Telemachus find their home invaded by a horde of men seeking to win Penelope’s hand in marriage, and thereby claim Odysseus’ property, status and wealth; under the thin veneer of being ‘guests’, these Suitors spend their time eating, plotting and partying under Odysseus’ roof, while young Telemachus watches in frustration as his inheritance is gobbled up by these scumbags. What he really needs is for his father to come back home right about now, and put these Suitors in their place; but what the hell has actually happened to him?

          While Telemachus spends the first few chapters journeying Achaea and chatting with some familiar faces from The Iliad – Nestor of Pylos, and Menelaus of Sparta, with Queen Helen restored to his side – it transpires that Odysseus has been, essentially, held hostage on a remote island by the Nymph Calypso for the past seven years, having to endure a tough regime of nightly love-making with a goddess. Having finally persuaded Calypso to let him go with a little divine help, Odysseus can once again resume his journey homewards, chatting with a helpful king and recalling the eventful voyage that led to his delay, before finally arriving back in Ithaca and facing the Suitors who have invaded his home, plotted against his son, and courted his wife in his absence.

          Now to talk about translations. This Penguin edition has toned down the verse-format, instead presenting the book as more of a novel than a poem, with sentences and paragraphs rather than a rigid line-format. It still adheres to the line-numbering structure of an epic poem, but it feels friendlier on the eyes than Fitzgerald’s Oxford edition of The Iliad that I subjected myself to. Meanwhile the translation of the text itself feels more creative, as though Rieu’s Penguin edition has been liberally treated to make the poem not only work in modern English, but to also revel in it. Rather than the flat, quite literal word-for-word approach that made my experience with The Iliad such a bore, this particular translation of The Odyssey feels as though it’s meant to be enjoyed, which it most certainly was. The characters felt like proper characters, the action actually appeared in my mind’s eye as I read it, and I was fully engaged with the story. Seriously, I was curious about what would happen next. I know first-hand how much licence the translator has taken with the text, as I myself have actually been exposed to small sections of the original Greek. It’s a devilish business, having to make the necessary compromises between an ancient epic and a modern novel, but I praise Rieu for his stylistic choices, as he has brought this ancient tale into a fully accessible and enjoyable format that kept me awake long into the night. 

Conceivably I would actually enjoy The Iliad, and have more praises to dump upon it, were I to seek out the Penguin translation of that particular Homeric epic, although I still stand by some of my previous criticisms with regards to it – criticisms that I am glad The Odyssey does not warrant. Whereas The Iliad was simply a collection of fight-scenes and godly dialogues fixed around a certain place and time, involving hundreds of relatively meaningless minor characters whose only purpose in the story is to die horribly at the hands of somebody else, The Odyssey is a story about homecoming, whose characters are generally more vivid, whose plot-progressions are a great deal more noteworthy and varied, and whose scenes of action and violence are much more sparse, and handled much more interestingly. Everything is leading up to the great confrontation at the end between Odysseus and the Suitors, but the numerous diversions the book ambles through in order to get there are all the stuff of excellence. Odysseus’ arrival in the land of the Phaeacians, and the recounting of his adventures prior to becoming Calypso’s prisoner is all the stuff of legend (quite literally) – it’s here we find all of the most famous stories from The Odyssey, the Lotus-Eaters, the run-in with the Cyclops, the Sirens, Circe, the voyage to the Underworld and back again, and the sea-monsters Scylla and Charybdis. None of these fantastical events happen in real-time, but are told by Odysseus to King Alcinous of the Phaeacians; they’re not strictly part of the story itself, but are instead just a cool diversion from the main plot.

Because the story of The Odyssey is not of the journey, as such, or of the fantastical trials that the protagonist has to face, but rather it is a tale about the momentous homecoming of a hero after a two-decade long absence. A total of half of this epic takes place after Odysseus arrives back in his homeland of Ithaca, and the trial of reclaiming his home and rescuing his family from the Suitors forms the backbone of the plot; the famous stories of the Sirens and the Cyclops are essentially just character-development. Really, when people refer to an ‘odyssey’, they should be talking of an arrival home after a long voyage, not the journey itself.

In terms of characters, Odysseus naturally is the main protagonist – but not the sole one. Telemachus, his son, plays a prominent role throughout the epic, and for the first few chapters (or books) he serves as the main character, searching for word of his father in a sort of ‘coming-of-age’ sub-plot to Odysseus’ homecoming story. One of the great moments of this epic is the belated reunion of father and son – Odysseus has been gone for twenty years, meaning he last saw Telemachus when the lad was an infant – and this pairing, of a young hero and a veteran, results in an awesome partnership who then have to work together to defeat the Suitors, first as secret allies when they sneak Odysseus in under the Suitors’ radar, and then fighting shoulder-to-shoulder when the shit finally hits the fan.

Of the other characters in the tale, Penelope – Odysseus’ estranged wife – is memorable and compelling, trapped by her circumstances but being wily enough to parry the advances of the Suitors. The Suitors themselves are a disreputable bunch of arseholes, flocking to Odysseus’ home like flies to a carcass and hounding his family for their own benefit and amusement. There is no moral ambiguity as in The Iliad; these people are the villains of the tale, and the wrath of Odysseus at the climax is well and truly deserved. The gods, meanwhile, are an ever-present force as they were in The Iliad, but here the limelight is taken by one particular god – or goddess to be specific. Athena is one of the main driving-forces behind the plot, offering a helping hand and sound advice to each of the main characters at various points throughout - a much needed ally, especially when her uncle Poseidon is all too keen to make life difficult for everyone.

So there we have it; The Odyssey is actually a really good book – at least if you get a friendly translation. While The Iliad is a generally sombre reflection on the horrors of war, detailing unending violence and the cruelty of humanity, this critically-acclaimed sequel is a heroic romp across the Bronze Age Mediterranean, with men fighting against all obstacles to reach that treasured goal: home and family. Again, I must stress the importance of which ‘version’ you decide to read, as it could make or break your opinion on the work itself. I hate to plug any publisher over another, but I feel compelled to say I’ve found that the Penguin Classics translation is enjoyable and accessible to a broad readership - and there is no readership more broad than myself. If you want something less obviously geared towards entertainment, and more word-for-word straight from the original Greek, then there will be a good number of alternatives to choose from, or you could try it in the full Homeric. I wouldn’t, personally.

The Biblodyssey

Homer. The Odyssey. Translated by E.V. Rieu. Revised Edition. Penguin: St. Ives. (1991 [First Published 1946])