The Odyssey

“Go blame your precious mother! She is cunning.

It is the third year, soon it will be four,

that she has cheated us of what we want.

She offers hope to all, sends signs to each,

But all the while her mind moves somewhere else.

[...]

Athena blessed her with intelligence,

great artistry and skill, a finer mind

than anyone has ever had before,

even the braided girls of Ancient Greece,

Tyro, Alcmene, garlanded Mycene—

none of them had Penelope’s understanding.” 

The speaker in this passage is Antinous, who complains that Penelope has been leading the suitors on, simultaneously promising but withholding. Athena’s blessing marks Penelope as an exceptional woman. A crossover goddess, Athena is a frequent patron of heroes (almost always male) and goddess of domains specific to both men (e.g., strategic warfare) and women (e.g., weaving). Her special attention to both Odysseus and Penelope is unusual within the body of ancient Greek myths, which Antinous alludes to here. Alcmene, for example, was Zeus’s lover and Heracles’s mother, yet even she did not possess Penelope’s exceptional skills.

“After we conquered Priam’s lofty town,

a god dispersed the ships of the Achaeans.

Zeus planned a bitter journey home for us,

Since some of us had neither sense nor morals.

Gray-eyed Athena, daughter of the Thunder,

Became enraged and brought about disaster.” 

Nestor speaks with Telemachus about the aftermath of the Trojan War. Fate had decreed that the Achaeans (the Greeks) would sack Troy, “Priam’s lofty town” (139). Not even the gods could subvert this fate, though several longed to, including Zeus, who had a beloved son among the Trojan warriors. After the Greeks sacked the city, however, some of the warriors committed outrages (e.g., desecrating temples, raping priestesses), and even the gods who had supported them, Athena included, turned against them. Though their fates marked them for success, their bad decisions angered the gods, resulting in suffering.

“When you were younger

you never paid attention to your fathers

who told you of Odysseus’ greatness.

He never spoke or acted without justice,

among the people. Lords are mostly biased;

they favor one person and hate another.

But he did not. He did no wrong at all.

Now you! Your wicked deeds and plans are clear.

No gratitude for favors from the past!” 

Penelope here addresses Medon, who has come to reveal the suitors’ plot to kill Telemachus, but her words are addresses to the suitors themselves. Athena spoke a version of this statement in Book 1 when petitioning Zeus to help Odysseus escape Ogygia. Both the queen and the goddess emphasize Odysseus’s just leadership and loving treatment of the people in his jurisdiction. His fairness is unparalleled among kings, yet the suitors do not remember or respect this and reciprocate in kind. The “wicked deeds” Penelope refers to include failing to respect the reciprocity of gifts, whether material or interpersonal.

“I know my modest wife

Penelope could never match your beauty.

She is human; you are deathless, ageless.

But even so, I want to go back home,

and every day I hope that day will come.

If some god strikes me on the wine-dark sea,

I will endure it. By now I am used

to suffering—I have gone through so much,

at sea and in the war. Let this come too.” 

Odysseus’s gentle rejection of Calypso’s offer of immortality demonstrates his acceptance of whatever fate and the gods see fit to give him. He accepts that being mortal means enduring suffering. He does not attempt to elevate Penelope above the goddess, which would be an outrage (i.e., hybris in ancient Greek, an extreme act out of proportion to the circumstances). Instead, he understands that the proper place for mortals is in the mortal realm, among their families. His understanding and acceptance signal appropriate humility in the face of the gods’ power.

“He wondered, should he touch her knees, or keep

some distance and use charming words, to beg

the pretty girl to show him to the town,

and give him clothes. At last he thought it best

to keep some distance and use words to beg her.

The girl might be alarmed at being touched.

His words were calculated flattery.” 

Odysseus here addresses Nausicaa as a suppliant after she discovers him naked and caked with brine. She fears him but, inspired by Athena, holds her ground, while Odysseus deliberates how to approach her. His methodical approach—assessing the situation, weighing his options, considering which would be most successful—is a repeating pattern throughout the poem. His impulse might be to assume the traditional suppliant pose by grasping her knees, but he is patient and thoughtful enough to realize that this might frighten her. His self-control and strategy are qualities that endear him to Athena and lead to his success.

“Now, girls,

wait at a distance here, so I can wash

my grimy back, and rub myself with oil—

it has been quite a while since I have done it.

Please let me wash in private. I am shy

of being naked with you—pretty girls

with lovely hair.” 

A hallmark of Homeric epics is the use of epithets, descriptive phrases attached to particular characters. These epithets may have served metric needs and expressed a character’s defining features. Odysseus’s epithets, for example, include phrases like “much enduring” or “man of many devices.” Wilson’s translation eliminates epithets, a source of debate among Homeric scholars. Those opposed to such omission argue that eliminating epithets can load meaning in ways not evident in the original text, as in this passage. Female characters are often described as having lovely or pretty hair. Eliminating the stock reputation imposes a lecherous quality to Odysseus’s statement that is not implied in the original, in which he uses a standard epithet about hair to refer to the young women.

“The gods do not bless everyone the same,

with equal gifts of body, mind, or speech.

One man is weak, but gods may crown his words

with loveliness. Men gladly look to him;

his speech is steady, with calm dignity,

He stands out from his audience, and when

he walks through town, the people look at him

as if he were a god. Another man

has godlike looks but no grace in his words.” 

Odysseus obliquely critiques the bad behavior of the athlete who taunted him. The “godlike” man who has “no grace in his words” (226) is meant to insult the athlete. More than just a retort, though, Odysseus’s comment foreshadows an element of Demodocus’s poem about Hephaestus, Ares, and Aphrodite. Hephaestus is referred to as the lame god, while Ares and Aphrodite represent ideals of their respective sexes (marital and beautiful respectively), yet Hephaestus succeeds in catching them. Odysseus’s warning to the athlete that the gods bestow different kinds of gifts is a larger warning to make the best of whatever the gods grant, and it resonates throughout the poem.

“Odysseys was melting into tears;

his cheeks were wet with weeping, as a woman

weeps, as she falls to wrap her arms around

her husband, fallen fighting for his home

and children. She is watching as he gasps

and dies. She shrieks, a clear high wail, collapsing

upon his corpse. The men are right behind.

They hit her shoulders with their spears and lead her

to slavery, hard labor, and a life

of pain. Her face is marked with her despair.

In that same desperate way, Odysseus

was crying.” 

Odysseus weeps while listening to Demodocus sing about the Trojan horse that Odysseus himself devised, which led to the Greeks’ victory and the enslavement of Troy’s women. The extended simile collapses boundaries in two ways. First, it describes Odysseus’s experiences in terms of those he caused the women of Troy; the victor experiences what the vanquished did. Second, the simile evokes Penelope’s experiences in Ithaca. She fears that she is a widow and lingers over memories of Odysseus, longing for his return but fearing that she will be “lead” into “a life of pain” by being effectively forced to remarry.

“They took the olive spear, its tip all sharp,

and shoved it in his eye. I leaned on top

and twisted it, as when a man drills wood

for shipbuilding. Below, the workers spin

the drill with straps, stretched out from either end.

So round and round it goes, and so we whirled

the fire-sharp weapon in his eye. His blood

poured out around the stake, and blazing fire

sizzled his lids and brows, and fried the roots.

As when a blacksmith dips an axe or adze

to temper it in ice-cold water; loudly

it shrieks. From this, the iron takes on its power.

So did his eyeball crackle on the spear.” 

This graphic description of Odysseus and his men blinding Polyphemus incorporates two similes—a shipbuilder and a blacksmith. The shipbuilder draws attention to what Odysseus has said the Cyclops do not do: build ships. It is Odysseus’s own narration, as he tells his story to the Phaeacians. The double simile demonstrates the pride Odysseus takes in crafting his and his surviving men’s escape. Lingering over the blinding may also be Odysseus’s attempt to emphasize his cleverness and distract from his failure to heed his crew’s advice to raid the cave and run.

“[M]y Ithaca is set apart, most distant,

facing the dark. It is a rugged land,

but good at raising children. To my eyes

no country could be sweeter. As you know,

divine Calypso held me in her cave,

wanting to marry me; and likewise Circe,

the trickster, trapped me, and she wanted me

to be her husband. But she never swayed

my heart, since when a man is far from home,

living abroad, there is no sweeter thing

than his own native land and family.” 

Describing Ithaca to his hosts, the Phaeacians, Odysseus remains clear-eyed. It is a “rugged land” that is remote and shadowed. Odysseus longs for Ithaca without romanticizing it because it is his home. Similarly, he longs for Penelope not because she compares with the goddesses but because she is wife. They can offer him what Penelope cannot, but it would not be his proper mortal life. In the post heroic-age after the Trojan War, home and family are the proper identity for mortals.

“Cyclops! If any mortal asks you how

your eye was mutilated and made blind,

say that Odysseus, the city-sacker,

Laertes’ son, who lives in Ithaca,

destroyed your sight.”

In Polyphemus’s cave Odysseus told the Cyclops that his name was “Noman” (251). He had anticipated that Polyphemus would call for help after being blinded and took care that his cries would be ignored, yet just as he and his men are about to escape, Odysseus reveals his true identity. It is a moment of reckless pride. Having his cleverness acknowledged by the man he has beaten is more important in that moment than safeguarding his and his men’s lives. Though the poet blames his men’s demise on their foolish choices, Odysseus is at least partly responsible for the troubles they subsequently encounter.

“Inside the glade they found the house of Circe

built out of polished stones, on high foundations.

Round it were mountain wolves and lions, which

she tamed with drugs. They did not rush on them,

but gathered around them in a friendly way,

their long tails wagging, as dogs nuzzle round

their master when he comes back home from dinner

with treats for them. Just so, those sharp-clawed wolves

and lions, mighty beasts, came snuggling up.

The men were terrified.” 

When Odysseus’s men first approach Circe’s home, tame wolves and lions surround them, like dogs begging for treats. The analogy creates an inversion of expectation. One might expect the men to be relieved that they are not attacked, but they are terrified. Their fear results from seeing something that they know is unnatural. It should have been a warning, but they proceed into her house and are subsequently turned into pigs. Odysseus’s survival is partly due to his being more considered in his actions and his ability to demonstrate self-control.

“[T]he earth sustains all different kinds of people.

Many are cheats and thieves, who fashion lies

out of thin air. But when I look at you,

I know you are not in that category.

Your story has both grace and wisdom in it.

You sounded like a skillful poet, telling

the sufferings of all the Greeks, including

what you endured yourself.” 

Alcinous praises Odysseus for the stirring story he has told them, across four of the Odyssey’s books. His praise is, to some extent, unintentionally ironic, since the Odyssey’s audience knows that Odysseus does tell lies, and telling lies with the illusion of truth is a skill that enables him to survive when he returns to Ithaca. Whether he accurately represents his experiences to the Phaeacians remains an unanswered question. The point is that Alcinous believes him. Comparing Odysseus’s story to a bard’s poem also suggests that the gods themselves mediate that story, hence its “grace and wisdom.”

“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 care of you, in all

your hardships.” 

The speaker in this passage is Athena, at the moment she reveals herself to Odysseus. While other translators use words like “cunning,” “trickery,” and “wit” in this passage, bringing ancient and modern into greater harmony, Wilson emphasizes the qualities that modern readers are most likely to find puzzling as virtues. Lies and duplicitousness are not modern virtues, but Athena clearly sees them as such and identifies with them herself. By drawing attention to this disconnect, Wilson heightens the strangeness, by modern standards, of the Homeric world.

“But let us, you and I,

sit in my cottage over food and wine,

and take some joy in hearing how much pain

we each have suffered. After many years

of agony and absence from one’s home,

a person can begin enjoying grief.” 

Eumaeus prepares to tell the disguised Odysseus how he became enslaved. The notion of finding joy in pain and suffering may sound discordant to modern ears. In the context of the Homeric world, it speaks to the need to accept one’s fate, even when it includes suffering. Eumaeus was a king’s son who was kidnapped as a child and sold into slavery. He can choose to be angry about his fate, railing against its unfairness and causing himself more unhappiness, or he can accept it and find joy wherever possible. Eumaeus chooses the latter (as does Odysseus), turning his experience into a story that entertains his guest.

“But all the others

reproached Antinous insistently.

‘You ought not have hit a poor old beggar!

If he turns out to be a god from heaven

it will end badly! Gods disguise themselves

as foreigners and strangers to a town,

to see who violates their holy laws,

and who is good.’” 

The suitors reproach Antinous for throwing his stool at the disguised Odysseus. Their recognition that Odysseus could be a god in disguise amplifies the severity of their repeated violations of hospitality. They know the rules and that the gods set them. They justify exploiting their hosts by accusing Penelope of leading them on; abusing a guest cannot be justified, yet they persist in doing so, multiplying their offenses. In addition to disrespecting their hosts and abusing a guest, they fail to practice self-control. Open for debate is the underlying reason—whether they are young and inexperienced, lack proper male guidance (their fathers and older brothers having gone to Troy), or have weak characters.

“When the gods bestow on us

good fortune, and our legs are spry and limber,

we think that nothing can ever go wrong;

but when the gods bring misery and pain,

we have to bear our suffering with calm.

Our mood depends on what Zeus sends each day.” 

Amphinomus, one of the wiser suitors, attempts to smooth things over with the disguised Odysseus. In this passage Odysseus attempts to warn him of what is coming, telling another version of his lying tale in which his own bad behavior led to his downfall. Believing that “nothing can ever go wrong” represents extreme overconfidence, which is an outrage (hybris in ancient Greek). The gods can bring anyone low, at any time, and humans must accept it. The suitors have lost sight of this and thus are unprepared when Odysseus returns.

“Human beings have short lives.

If we are cruel, everyone will curse us

during our life, and mock us when we die.

The names of those who act with nobleness

are brought by travelers across the world,

and many people speak about their goodness.” 

Penelope addresses Odysseus in disguise, just before Eurycleia bathes him. Her words demonstrate her awareness of the powers of rumor and of song. Clytemnestra’s collusion with Aegisthus to kill Agamemnon earns her censure, while Penelope’s patience and fortitude earn her praise. These stories travel far and wide in the Homeric world, whose central feature is community life. Phemius and Demodocus sing about the Greeks’ exploits at Troy in mortal and magical realms respectively. Even the warriors in the underworld hear and transmit news, as Agamemnon praises Penelope and criticizes Clytemnestra.

“Just so, my mind pulls two directions—

should I stay here beside my son, and keep

things all the same—my property, my slave girls,

and my great house—to show respect towards

my husband’s bed and what the people say?

Or should I marry one of them—whichever

is best of all the suitors and can bring

most presents?” 

Penelope asks the disguised Odysseus for his advice. Whether one believes that Penelope still does not recognize Odysseus influences how one interprets this passage. If she does not recognize him, it is possible to see her as deliberating over her options, as Odysseus also frequently does, demonstrating their like-mindedness. If, however, Penelope has recognized Odysseus, the passage acquires an added tension. Suggesting that she will marry, and soon, can be read as Penelope attempting to provoke Odysseus to anger and action.

“Who is this

new guest who has arrived? Who are his people?

Where is his native land? His ancestry?

Poor man, he has a kingly look; his bearing

is like a lord’s. When gods spin threads of pain,

even great kings are made to wander far and suffer greatly.”

Philoetius is here asking Eumaeus about the guest, Odysseus. Of particular importance is that Odysseus’s disguise renders him an impoverished traveler, untethered from a community and lacking basic essentials, yet Philoetius asks about his lineage and “native land.” Poverty and enslavement in the Homeric world were not static, and they were not identity markers. They were conditions to be endured, possibly overcome, possibly imposed by fate or the gods, possibly as a test of one’s virtue. The proper mortal response was to remain calm and accepting. This is why the enslaved and impoverished have genealogies and why an impoverished traveler can have “a kingly look.” He may very well have been a king (and in this case, since it is Odysseus, he was).

“As welcome as

the land to swimmers, when Poseidon wrecks

their ship at sea and breaks it with great waves

and driving winds; a few escape the sea

and reach the shore, their skin all caked with brine.

Grateful to be alive, they crawl to land.

So glad she was to see her own dear husband,

and her white arms would not let go his neck.” 

Penelope accepts that the impoverished stranger is actually Odysseus. The simile identifies her feelings in terms of what Odysseus himself has experienced—shipwreck at Poseidon’s hands, grateful arrival on land. This simile mirrors the one in Book 8, in which Odysseus’s weeping is compared to a widow’s tears. The two together express the importance of reciprocity and harmony between husband and wife. Ideally, they understand and relate to each other, being of one mind (homophrosene in ancient Greek). The ideal Homeric union is one in which two operate as one.

“He led the spirits and they followed, squeaking

like bats in secret crannies of a cave,

who cling together, and when one becomes

detached and falls down from the rock, the rest

flutter and squeak—just so the spirits squeaked,

and hurried after Hermes, lord of healing.”

The passage above describes the suitors’ souls as Hermes guides them to the underworld. Hermes is the messenger god as well as the god of travelers, and he is frequently depicted guiding the living and the dead. In the Odyssey, he does both, the former for Odysseus and the latter here. The comparison of the suitors’ souls to squeaking bats highlights their anxiety and vulnerability in the moment of death. The cave additionally draws attention to a stock feature of death in ancient texts as a place where the sun does not shine.

“Lucky you,

cunning Odysseus: you got yourself

a wife of virtue—great Penelope.

How principled she was, that she remembered

her husband all those years! Her fame will live

forever, and the deathless gods will make

a poem to delight all those on earth

about intelligent Penelope.”

The speaker in this passage is Agamemnon, who has just learned about the events in Ithaca from the suitors’ souls. The poem that he refers to is the one the poet, “Homer,” sings. It is a self-referential moment that prompts the audience to equate the poem they are hearing as a message that comes directly from the gods. Penelope is both above all women and an example for them. “Her fame will live / forever” gives Penelope the status of a hero, one whose excellence grants them immortality through song.