When I was in elementary school I already read a beautifully illustrated version intended for young readers (unfortunately I don’t remember which book it was), but I had never read the official hexameter translation, so I finally took the plunge, and it turned out both more entertaining and more frustrating than I expected.

Odysseus’s wanderings didn’t feel all that long, especially considering that the Telegony (Telemachus’s four-book information-gathering quest) and the final part set in Ithaca together felt even longer.

Odysseus himself was one of the main sources of both frustration and amusement: his audacity toward the gods (and, really, toward almost everyone who helped him) made him rather unlikeable, though I did laugh at him at times; still, his self-centeredness is hardly excusable. There’s something ironic about one of his frequent epic epithets being “resourceful/cunning,” when in fact Athena does or suggests almost everything for him, and he probably doesn’t even notice it; at least that’s the only way I can interpret his remark to the goddess that she hadn’t listened to him until now—all this on Nausicaa’s island, after Athena has already arranged for the royal couple to take him under their protection…

Not to mention that Odysseus’s own narration reveals that not every death among his crew was their own fault; their captain was involved too, but when his second-in-command—who is also his relative—points this out, our “hero” considers beheading him for it… Does the truth hurt, asshole?

Even if not exactly frustrating, there were a few things in the epic that struck me as a bit ridiculous. For example, I was quite surprised at how heavily the text foreshadows what will happen to the suitors in Ithaca, practically shoving it in the reader’s face. And speaking of fate, prophecies come up extremely often; for almost everyone it turns out that someone has already foretold their destiny, which thus reduces the stakes of events. See my spoilery forum post for what I mean

But let’s jump to the more pleasant aspects.

The use of literal repetitions not only gave the reading a pleasant rhythm, but also created interesting parallels.

1. Whenever he arrives on new land, Odysseus always asks the same question: “… what kind of people’s land have I come? Are they arrogant, wild, lawless, or hospitable…?” And the answer, of course, always depends on the island: Cyclopes, giants, Circe, Phaeacians, Ithaca.

2. The scene in which Odysseus, seeking refuge among the Phaeacians, rests under trees is repeated in the way the boar he hunts had hidden in the forest. Then both burst forth like wild beasts.

3. When the use of repetition is used for irony. See my spoilery forum post for what I mean

Then there are quite a few funny parts, for example when Athena scolds Nausicaa for being lazy, since the laundry is piling up and she hasn’t even tidied herself up, although a guest will soon arrive :D Or when Penelope spits some bars to the suitors , not to mention the sheer stupidity of the suitors

Compared to the Iliad, I’ve always preferred the Odyssey, not only because I’m not very interested in reading about warfare and I don’t like Achilles, but also because this epic was composed later in time and already represents somewhat more progressive views.

No longer are martial skill and physical strength the sole measures of the ideal hero; resourcefulness is also valued, as well as craftsmanship and competence in many things: building a ship, tilling the land, weaving beautifully, creating fine objects with expert knowledge. Here the epic already names craftsmen and master artisans explicitly several times.

The gods are still selfish, but they no longer act entirely according to their whims; questions of morality are debated, and they punish or deliver only when a person “deserves” it or when the act is justified. They still decide on major issues, but the heroes already dare to stand up to them; despite his great ego, I respect Odysseus to some extent for not taking everything at face value, for openly doubting or being suspicious of divine words, and for being cheeky enough to talk back. (“Swear by the Styx that you will not thwart me anymore.”)

Women also have more roles and authority: Circe rightly points out to Hermes that male gods can take mortal women as lovers whenever they wish, but if a goddess does so, they are separated, which isn’t fair. Helen appears as Menelaus’s partner, not as his subordinate, and Penelope defends her, saying that Aphrodite made her elope, not because Helen was a slut. Then she even talks back to the suitors, which made me laugh.

But of course, social hierarchies are still strictly present here, which comes out most clearly in the deaths of the suitors and the servants who served them, leaving a bad taste in my mouth.

Overall, I liked it much more than I expected, although I don’t understand why this book isn’t on the 1001 Books to Read Before You Die list, when it is such a cornerstone of Western civilization. Though it’s true that it isn’t so easy to read from a modern perspective. But I think it’s worth it!