Episode 12: Kleos and Nostos

Homer’s Odyssey, Books 1-8

Hello, and welcome to Literature and History. Episode 12: Kleos and Nostos.

ἄνδρα μοι ἔννεπε, μοῦσα, πολύτροπον, ὃς μάλαπολλὰ
πλάγχθη, ἐπεὶ Τροίης ἱερὸν πτολίεθρον ἔπερσεν:
πολλῶν δ᾽ ἀνθρώπων ἴδεν ἄστεα καὶ νόον ἔγνω,
πολλὰ δ᾽ ὅ γ᾽ ἐν πόντῳ πάθεν ἄλγεα ὃν κατὰ θυμόν,
ἀρνύμενος ἥν τε ψυχὴν καὶ νόστον ἑταίρων.

Tell me about a complicated man.
Muse, tell me how he wandered and was lost
when he had wrecked the holy town of Troy,
and where he went, and who he met, the pain
he suffered in the storms at sea, and how
he worked to save his life and bring his men
back home. (I.1-7)¹

Those were the opening lines of Homer’s Odyssey, in Homeric Greek, read by Lantern Jack of the Ancient Greece Declassified podcast, and then in English, from the Emily Wilson translation, published by Norton in 2017. In this episode, we’re going to venture into the boundless world of Homer’s Odyssey. This great classic of world literature, a sequel to Homer’s Iliad, is about the long, difficult homeward journey of the Greek hero Odysseus. The Trojan War, after ten long years, has ended. And Odysseus, the hero of the Odyssey, journeys for nearly ten more years, facing monsters and temptresses, and the constant opposition of the sea god Poseidon. Eventually, halfway through the story, Odysseus reaches his homeland, the island of Ithaca, on the west side of the Greek mainland, quite literally oceans away from the northwestern coast of Asia Minor, where the Trojan War was fought. But upon arriving home, Odysseus finds that his nearly twenty year absence has left his kingdom and family imperiled by a dangerous, violent young pack of usurpers who are trying to murder his son and marry his wife. And so the Odyssey, which begins as a tale of adventure, ends as a story about revenge.

The Odyssey within the Context of the Epic Cycle

The previous three episodes of this podcast covered Homer’s Iliad, the epic that comes before the Odyssey. Just in case you didn’t catch those episodes, or you’re just here for the Odyssey, I’ll briefly summarize the aspects of the Iliad most relevant to its sequel the Odyssey. First of all, these are Ancient Greek epics, thought to have been set down in writing some time around 700 BCE, a few hundred years before the most famous centuries of Classical Greek civilization – in other words the 400s and 300s BCE in and around the Aegean Sea, which produced Aeschylus, Sophocles, Euripides, Aristophanes, Protagoras, Democritus, Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle – a period of time that begins just after the Greco-Persian Wars, is rocked by the Peloponnesian War, and ended at the death of Alexander the Great in 323 BCE. Put simply, the Iliad and the Odyssey, which preceded what’s now probably the most famous period of Ancient Greek History, were some of the foundational texts in the ancient Mediterranean.

Map of Odysseus’ journey by Giulia Zoccarato, DensityDesign Research Lab.

The Iliad is about a legendary war between confederated kingdoms from Greece on the west side of the Aegean, and the kingdom of Troy on the east. The Trojan War began when a Trojan prince kidnapped or seduced a Greek woman named Helen, bringing her back to Troy. This woman was unfortunately the sister-in-law of the Greek king Agamemnon. Agamemnon and his slighted brother Menelaus, upon Helen’s abduction, summoned thousands of Greek warriors to their cause, crossed the Aegean, and laid siege to Troy. After ten years of war, countless beheadings, impalements, and a lot of bronze weaponry brandished by both armies, the Greeks decisively gained the upper hand when their champion, the terrifying demigod Achilles, slaughtered the Trojan champion Hector. The Iliad ends, however, not with the end of the Trojan War, but instead with the burial of Hector.

What many modern readers forget – and this is something we’ve already talked about in our three programs on Homer so far – is that the Epic Cycle was once eight books long, rather than just two. The Iliad and Odyssey were the second and the seventh volumes of this cycle, respectively, and so four books used to fill the space between the Iliad and Odyssey. These intermediary books included the Aethiopis, which told the story of allies coming to help the Trojans, and eventually the death of the Greek champion Achilles. The fourth book in the Epic Cycle was once the Little Iliad, a volume about the contest of arms for Achilles’ armor and weapons. The fifth, the Iliou Persis, or “sack of Troy,” included the story of the Trojans debating over whether to bring the Trojan Horse into their city, doing so, and then the Greek sack of Troy. Then the sixth, the Nostoi, or “returns,” told of the homecomings of the Greek brothers Menelaus and Agamemnon.² Odysseus’ tale, which you’re about to hear, was once seventh in the sequence.

None of that is essential to understanding and enjoying the Odyssey, but if you’ve heard of the Trojan Horse, the death of Achilles from an arrow in the original Achilles heel, and other tidbits that Homer doesn’t cover directly, just know that some of this material was once covered elsewhere, in books that are now lost. Ultimately, before diving into the deep blue water of Homer’s Odyssey, all you need to know is this. There was a long, awful war – one that went on for so long that even the winning side, in a way, lost. Many of the Greek heroes, who have missed their homeland intensely since their departure, have already returned to their families. Others have suffered from further wanderings. And of all the wandering heroes who want nothing more than a safe homecoming, Odysseus has had it the hardest. At the outset of the Odyssey, he has been gone for over nineteen years. Even after the end of the Trojan War, Odysseus faced an additional decade of trying to get home, being held captive, shipwrecks, fights with frightening creatures, and the stalwart opposition of the sea god Poseidon. Just as the Iliad begins nine or so years into the Trojan War, the Odyssey begins nine years into Odysseus’ arduous and exhausting journey home. [music]

The Many Dimensions of Odysseus

Let’s talk about some of the main characters of the Odyssey before we begin the first book. First, there’s Odysseus himself. If you heard the story of the Iliad, you’ll perhaps remember how instrumental Odysseus was to the Greek army, even at their most dire moments. He was loyal to Agamemnon, at moments when internecine tensions threatened to break the Greek forces apart. Odysseus was smart and diplomatic, being sent to the champion Achilles in the Greeks’ greatest hour of need. And in many hectic moments of battle, but most especially in Book 11 of the Iliad, Odysseus was a fighter, capable of facing droves of soldiers at once, fighting back to back with the giant Ajax, always, seemingly, where the Greek defenders most needed him.

Because of his many abilities, it’s no wonder that the Homeric Greek epithets associated with him begin with poly-. He is polymētis, or in possession of a variety of intellectual and social skills. He is polytlas, or capable of enduring many things. He is polymechanos, or profoundly brilliant. And he’s poikilomētis, which can be translated as “dapple-skilled,” as though his skills are as movable and diverse as sunshine being dappled by tree leaves and boughs, melding, amorphous, and adaptable.³ Throughout the Odyssey the main character is indeed “dapple-skilled,” sometimes deep in the shadow of disguise, at other times fighting in the open, but always moving, navigating, negotiating, never staying still, and never being just one thing, or one person. Though not as powerful fighter as the Greek champion Achilles, Odysseus is nonetheless far more interesting. Achilles can slaughter people, but Odysseus can win a war.

It’s important to know upfront, however, that Odysseus isn’t a white knight, sailing across oceans to rescue princesses and save villagers from dragons. The first word that describes him in Homer is polytropos, which gets translated as “resourceful” in one edition, “cunning” by a second, and “complicated” by a third – that’s the Emily Wilson translation that we heard a minute ago.⁴ All of these are appropriate descriptors of Odysseus, and polytropos literally means, “of many ways,” or “of many turnings,” and so Wilson’s adjective, “complicated,” perhaps best captures the many dimensions of Homer’s hero. Because we should use the word “hero” with a bit of caution when we describe Odysseus. Odysseus, in the ancient Mediterranean imagination, had a dark side – a readiness to lie about anything under any circumstances, and a capacity for brutality that may have been par for the course during the bloodiest days of the Trojan War, but appears shocking once brought back into civilization – especially at the Odyssey’s end. In events that don’t happen in the Homeric epics, but seem to have transpired elsewhere in the Epic Cycle, and in later Greek literature, Odysseus threw the Trojan champion Hector’s infant son Astyanax to his death from a tower during the sack of Troy, and disgraced his fellow Greek warrior Ajax so much in a debate that the other Greek hero killed himself.⁵ Of course, if we read the Homeric epics or almost any ancient Mediterranean literature looking for characters who act in accordance with our modern values, we miss the point – Homer’s was a polytheistic world emerging from the Greek Dark Age and with old roots back in the Late Bronze Age, and so naturally his characters act according to a mixture of the conventions of their time and the conventions of epic poetry. Even so, when we meet Odysseus in a few minutes, we need to remember that he’s not merely a bearded seafarer with a beneficent glint in his far-seeing eyes. He is a person who has experienced extreme trauma, committed atrocities, and stayed alive due to a combination of tactical brilliance, eloquence, and at times, chilling ruthlessness. He is spellbinding, certainly, but nonetheless Odysseus is a far cry from the paladins and white knights of medieval romance and early modern epic. [music]

Penelope, Telemachus, Athena

Other characters we’ll meet at the beginning of the Odyssey are closely connected with him, though they’re in different geographical locations. First, there is Odysseus’ wife Penelope. Undoubtedly also a crafty Homeric hero, Penelope is as intelligent, perceptive, and resourceful as her long-absent husband. It’s important to know that Odysseus and his wife are a king and queen – king and queen of a very small island nation called Ithaca, in the Ionian Sea off the west coast of the Greek mainland. Perhaps two miles wide at its widest point, and eight or nine from north to south, the rugged island couldn’t have had a large population in comparison to Agamemnon’s Argos or Menelaus’ Sparta, but to Homer’s audience, perhaps, Ithaca was most characterized by its extreme distance from Troy – a long and twisting route that really did involve navigating through a long list of islands and tricky straits. As things have become worse and worse during Odysseus’ absence, Penelope has buckled down and worked to try and hold his kingdom together. In addition to Odysseus and his brilliant wife Penelope, there’s one more character you need to know about before cracking open Book 1 of the Odyssey. This is Odysseus and Penelope’s son, a young man about eighteen years old, called Telemachus.

Telemachus is also a main character. Telemachus was conceived just before the beginning of the Trojan War. Telemachus has never met his father, and, brought up in an increasingly turbulent environment in which various people are encroaching on his absent father’s property, Telemachus has certain understandable issues. Though he’s observant and has a lot of potential, at the beginning of the Odyssey, Telemachus is timid and uncertain. When Telemachus thinks of his father, Telemachus prefers to believe that Odysseus is dead, since it’s far too painful for him to hope otherwise. Telemachus is almost of age to be king of Ithaca himself – almost, but not quite, and so on his father’s island he holds the exceptionally difficult position of almost being a sovereign king, but still being treated like a little boy. Okay, so, so far you’ve met Odysseus, his wife and counterpart in cunning and intelligence, Penelope, and their conflicted but ultimately good and respectful son, Telemachus.

There’s one other character in the Odyssey who’s worth mentioning before we begin. That’s Athena. Athena is Odysseus’ patron goddess. Armed with a huge spear and great intelligence, Athena is the central reason why Odysseus has made it as far as he has, and, adopting disguise after disguise, Athena pulls the puppet strings of characters and events of the Odyssey. Athena’s Homeric epithets can be translated as “owl-eyed,” “gray-eyed,” or “with sea-gray eyes” or “with eyes like sea light.” These wonderful epithets, along with many other descriptions, show that while Athena can outthink other gods and fight well, her overriding quality is a self-possessed serenity, as calm as a still sea beneath overcast skies. And while her epithets emphasize her serenity, later in the epic we learn from Athena herself why she feels such a sense of kinship with Odysseus. The hero and the goddess share a capacity for duplicity and disguise, they both enjoy plotting and planning, and while each is quite capable in combat, and of operating under extreme pressure, they are at heart a pair of tricksters – a pair who enjoy lying and making up stories for their own sake. [music]

The Geography and Chronology of the Odyssey

Right, so, that’s the major characters who will pop up fairly quickly at the beginning of the story. Let’s talk for a second about geography. I don’t want to make any assumptions about your knowledge of Greece’s geography, and this is a podcast, so we don’t have any visual aids, so I’ll just say the following. The Trojan War was fought far to the east of the ancient Greek world. The Greek mainland, is, naturally, the center of the Greek world, the lowermost extent of the Balkan Peninsula that extends down into the Mediterranean, a rocky, mountainous, warm, dry land mass ringed especially to the southeast with small islands. Off the southwest of the Greek mainland is the Peloponnese, where the kingdoms of Pylos and Sparta held power during various periods of ancient history. Some of the action at the beginning of the Odyssey takes place on the Peloponnese, in the kingdoms of Pylos and Sparta. And as a reminder, to the west of the Greek mainland, just off the coast, is the island of Ithaca. Ithaca is where the majority of the events in the Odyssey take place once the dispersed characters come together halfway through the epic – a shrubby, narrow island in the eastern Ionian Sea.

Now you know the paramount characters and some of the main locations of the poem. I should say one last thing about the Odyssey, and this is to briefly introduce the poem’s chronology. Just like its predecessor the Iliad, the Odyssey begins in the middle of things. It starts in the final year of Odysseus’ long wanderings. And it starts not with the main character, but his son, Telemachus, dealing with major problems in the family kingdom of Ithaca. On one hand, the fact that the poem begins with Telemachus is a little frustrating. You think, “Come on! Get to the briny voyager! Bring on the Cyclops, the sirens, the witch, and all that fantasy novel stuff!” Instead, the Odyssey begins with four books that are all about the frustrations of poor young Telemachus – a sort of opening detective story about a son searching for his father under terrible circumstances.

When we meet Odysseus, finally, he’s stranded on an island, and he’s been held captive there for a number of years by a lusty goddess. And what a life he’s led! Can you imagine a worse fate than being forced to cohabit and have sex with a beautiful sea nymph on a warm, gorgeous island, surrounded by flowers and fresh fruits, and having all the food and drink you need? God! It sounds unendurable. Well, as we’ll see there’s more to it than that, but when we first meet Odysseus, he’s held captive on this remote island by a lovely deity named Calypso, and it’s a testament to his loyalty that though he’s been there for a long time, he’s never once thought of staying. In today’s episode, then, after we hear about young Telemachus’ adventures, we’ll learn about how Odysseus escaped Calypso’s island, and arrived at a seaside kingdom called Phaecia.

So let’s open up Homer’s Odyssey. Unless otherwise noted, I’m quoting from the Stanley Lombardo translation, published Hackett Publishing Company in 2000 – occasionally I’ll quote from another translation just to give you some different flavors. The book titles in this episode are from another edition – the E.V. Rieu translation, published by Penguin Classics back in 1946.

The Odyssey, Book 1: Athena Visits Telemachus

A Council on Olympus

All of the surviving veterans of the Trojan War had returned to their homes. Nine years ago, the war had ended. And for nine years, Odysseus had wandered, hindered by monsters and deities, thwarted always by the vast ocean and the god Poseidon, who was against him. But Poseidon had turned his attention away from Odysseus. And up on Mount Olympus, far above the churning ocean and scattered islands of the Aegean, the gods discussed the fate of the long suffering hero.

The most powerful of the gods, Zeus, pondered the events that had taken place after the Trojan War. Athena interrupted her father’s meditations to make a plea on behalf of Odysseus. Athena was the goddess of wisdom and warfare, discernment and strategic combat, and of all mortals, Athena most favored Odysseus. With his craftiness and simultaneous great prowess of warfare, he embodied everything that Athena did. Odysseus, she said, had been away from home long enough. Just now, Odysseus was stuck on an island with a goddess named Calypso – a remote, forested island surrounded by deep ocean. Calypso wanted Odysseus to stay with her forever, and continued to use all her powers of persuasion to try and make Odysseus forget his homeland. Odysseus, lonesome and homesick, only wanted to die.

Zeus nodded his shaggy head. He agreed that Odysseus was a great man, and that he deserved better than to die the captive of a possessive minor goddess. But, Zeus said, Odysseus had angered Poseidon by doing something terrible to one of his children.⁶ Poseidon would have to be dealt with if the gods wanted to help Odysseus home.

Athena had a plan. She said she’d dispatch a messenger to the island where Odysseus was being held captive, and the messenger would tell the goddess Calypso that it was time to release her captive. At the same time, Athena herself would go to Odysseus’ homeland, an island called Ithaca. Athena told Zeus why she intended to go there.

Athena said that things were not well on Ithaca. Odysseus had been gone for almost twenty years, and in his long absence, his kingdom had fallen into disarray. His beautiful wife, Penelope, was being courted by a large assembly of suitors, who assumed that Odysseus was long dead. These suitors were devouring the island’s resources, killing Odysseus’ livestock, and becoming ever bolder with Penelope. Athena said that she’d go to Odysseus’ son, who was nearly of age to be king himself, and help Telemachus protect his mother Penelope and keep the island of Ithaca secure.

Athena and Telemachus

And so Athena sped off to Ithaca, her golden sandals carrying her high over mountains and foothills, stream lands and dark channels of ocean, and she came to Odysseus’ palace, her gray eyes looking darkly upon the intruders there. Penelope’s suitors were enjoying themselves, gobbling up her absent husband’s food and forcing his servants to wait on them. Disguised as a traveler, Athena watched the suitors silently. Gluttonous and loud, the suitors were too busy with their own pleasures to acknowledge the disguised Athena. In Ancient Greece, where hospitality was a cardinal virtue, ignoring an arriving guest was an egregious insult. But Odysseus’ son Telemachus saw the disguised Athena, and he greeted the stranger respectfully, not knowing that she was a goddess. Respect was something that came naturally to Telemachus, for he’d been raised to revere a missing father, and he knew that wandering strangers might indeed be great men and women.

Odysseus’ son Telemachus led Athena into the interior of the palace, and invited her to sit on a beautiful, linen covered chair far away from the suitors. Their boisterous presumptuousness embarrassed and humiliated him. Telemachus set a stool under her feet, so that she would be comfortable. She was given generous helpings of food. Clear water from a silver pitcher was given to the goddess in a golden basin, so that she could wash her hands. When it came to hospitality, young Telemachus knew not to stint. But before Telemachus could ask the stranger about his absent father, the suitors swaggered in. They drank wine, sang, danced, and made advances on the serving maids.

As the suitors began their daily banquet, Telemachus spoke to the stranger – again the disguised Athena. Telemachus explained that all the suitors were freeloaders gobbling up the provisions of the absent king. Telemachus was past the point of hoping for his father’s survival – dear Odysseus’ bones were probably far beneath the oceans, or decaying in the rain on some distant beach. Telemachus said he’d given up. After describing the hopeless situation on the island, Telemachus asked the disguised Athena who she was.

Athena, in the first of the Odyssey’s many fictitious autobiographical narratives, told Telemachus that she was a trader with a ship anchored nearby. As for Odysseus, though, Athena assured Telemachus that his father was alive and well, and would be returning home soon. Athena asked if he were Odysseus’ son, and Telemachus replied that indeed he did have that misfortune. Telemachus said that some day, the suitors who were courting his mother would finally compel her to marry one of them, and then he, poor Telemachus, would be killed off. Athena shook her head and gritted her teeth, her gray eyes flashing behind her disguise. If Odysseus did return home, Athena promised, Odysseus would make short work of the vile, disrespectful horde who had courted his wife and stolen his possessions. Athena was sure of it.

Now, Athena said, it was time for Telemachus to stop sitting around on Ithaca. First, she told Telemachus to scatter all the suitors and send Penelope back to her father’s house. Second, Telemachus needed to travel south along the coast to the Peloponnese, talk with two of Odysseus’ old friends, and try and figure out if anyone knew of Odysseus’ whereabouts. The bottom line was that it was time to take action. Telemachus was old enough.

After Athena left, Telemachus felt heartened and clearheaded, and he decided that the stranger must have been a god. Filled with new confidence, Telemachus turned to face the suitors. They were listening to a song about heroes coming home from the Trojan War. Penelope heard it and came down to them. There she stood, in a halo of soft light coming down through an aperture high in the palace wall. Behind her veils, there were tears in her eyes. She’d come down, she said, to protested the music. Why this song? Penelope asked. Couldn’t they play something else that didn’t remind her of her husband, something not, for instance, about homecomings after the Trojan War? Telemachus told his mother to go back upstairs. Then he turned to face the suitors.

Telemachus said, “[I]n the morning, we will sit in the meeting ground, / So that I can tell all of you in broad daylight / To get out of my house” (I.392-4). He said were eating and drinking away the storehouses of Odysseus, Telemachus said, and making bold advances on his mother. If they stayed, as far as he was concerned, they deserved death. The suitors were temporarily stunned into silence, but the chief most among them, a man named Antinous, spoke up. “Well, Telemachus,” he said, “it seems the gods, no less, / Are teaching you how to be a bold public speaker. / May [Zeus] never make you king / Here on Ithaca, even if it is your birthright” (I.405-8). Telemachus, in rebuttal, said he would indeed be king of his own house. Upon being asked, Telemachus told the suitors that the visiting stranger had merely been a trader, and that he had no hope of his father’s return. And so the suitors resumed their feasting, and Telemachus went to his room. He lay awake all night, thinking of the journey that Athena had outlined for him. Wrapped in fleece, Telemachus gazed up at the high ceiling and lay in his corded bed, protected from the suitors only by his room’s door. [music]

The Odyssey, Book 2: The Debate in Attica

At dawn the next day, Telemachus arose and dressed, and called for an assembly of all the influential men on Ithaca, together with the suitors, as he’d said he would the previous day. Telemachus, at the assembly, publicly announced that the situation in his home was disgraceful. The suitors weren’t following the customary protocol, and the provisions of his house were almost totally devoured. At the end of his speech, Telemachus burst into tears and hurled his scepter to the ground.

Only Antinous, the head of the suitors, replied. Penelope, Antinous said, was leading all of them on – it had been going on for almost four years. She’d even begun weaving a very large robe with fine threads – a robe for her father-in-law, for when the old man passed, Penelope had said she would marry one of the suitors. Only, the chief suitor Antinous explained, she’d been unweaving this robe every night, too. For three years she’d done this, and now, in the fourth year, they were compelling her to finish it. They’d be happy to leave, Antinous said – to stop consuming all of Odysseus’ foodstuffs – but first Penelope had to cease her delay tactics.

Telemachus cursed Antinous and the other suitors, and he began a speech. He said, in the Norton Emily Wilson translation,

If you feel upset, you go!
Out of my house! Stop eating all my food!
Devour each other’s property, not mine!
Or do you really think it right to waste
One person’s means of life, and go scot-free?
Then try it! I will call the deathless gods!
May Zeus give recompense some day for this!
You will die here, and nobody will care! (II.139-46)

At this, a pair of eagles suddenly soared down from a neighboring peak, looking down at the assembly and brandishing their fearsome talons. An old man prophesized the suitors’ downfall, but the suitors dismissed the omen. Telemachus, hearing that the suitors would continue to freeload and be disrespectful, told them that he was going to the mainland. If his father were alive, Telemachus said, he would hold off the suitors a final year, until he came of age. If Odysseus were dead, Telemachus said, he would hold a proper funeral for his father, and then marry off his mother. After more frustrating conversations with the townspeople of Ithaca, Telemachus went down to the sea and prayed to Athena.

The goddess Athena answered him. Athena replied in the voice of someone familiar to Telemachus that his journey would be successful, and that the suitors would pay for their transgressions. Later, when Telemachus went back to the palace to gather his things, he found the suitors helping themselves to extravagant portions of meat and drink. Antinous, again the chief of the suitors, laughed openly at Telemachus, inviting him to feast with his mother’s suitors as he had before, and mocking Telemachus’ planned journey to find out what had happened to his father. Telemachus said, “Antinous, there is no way I can relax / Or enjoy myself with you arrogant bastards” (II.333-4). But the suitors only laughed at his harsh words. The notion that Telemachus would bring help from the mainland seemed ludicrous.

The prince did not try to speak with them any more. Telemachus went down to a storeroom and, against the remonstrations of a servant, asked her to pack up food and drink for his impending voyage. Meanwhile, Athena rounded up sailors. When night fell, Athena came to Telemachus and told him it was time to set out. The wind blew westward over the dark water, and the ship was loaded. They departed by starlight for the Peloponnese, the bow of the ship whispering through an indigo colored wave, and sailed until the break of dawn. [music]

The Odyssey, Book 3: Telemachus and Nestor

In the early morning, the ship of Telemachus reached a land called Pylos, a rocky territory by the sea in the southwestern Peloponnese. Pylos was the land of wise old Nestor, one of the major Greek figures in the Trojan War. Nestor, again and again at crucial moments during the war, had used his wisdom to get the Greeks out of terrible predicaments. Old Nestor was a great friend of Odysseus, and Telemachus reasoned that if anyone knew where Odysseus was, Nestor would.

Though Telemachus expressed shyness about meeting his father’s old comrade, Athena assured Telemachus the meeting would go well. And so Telemachus and the disguised Athena arrived in Pylos and were welcomed by Nestor and his people. They enjoyed old Nestor’s hospitality. King Nestor and his sons offered Telemachus and Athena food and wine. When prompted, Telemachus revealed his identity, and explained his purpose.

Old Nestor was pleased to know that Odysseus’ son had come to him. The presence of Telemachus caused Nestor to launch into reminiscences about the end of the Trojan War. There had been problems, Nestor said. The story that Nestor told was the first puzzle piece Telemachus would hear – the first record of what had actually happened after the war ended. Once the city was sacked, Nestor said, the Greek king Agamemnon and his brother Menelaus had feuded with one another. Some of the Greeks had stayed with Agamemnon – Odysseus was one of these. Others had followed the king’s brother Menelaus westward. Favorable winds had driven Menelaus’ followers across the Aegean, to the mainland and surrounding islands. Nestor himself had enjoyed a safe homecoming. But the same couldn’t be said for other Greeks. Menelaus’ own journey home had been much more arduous. Odysseus was still, after all these years, missing.

As for Agamemnon, old Nestor explained, the King of the Greeks, who had won the Trojan War, had met a bloody and disgraceful end. The once proud King Agamemnon had been murdered by his wife’s lover, although his death had been avenged by his son. Speaking of sons, old Nestor said, what was going on in Ithaca? Telemachus then explained the disgraceful situation with the suitors. Nestor lamented the absence of Odysseus, and Telemachus said that he himself had given up hope.

When asked, wise old Nestor told young Telemachus more about what had happened to the returning Greeks. Following this second round of stories, Nestor said that Telemachus ought to go and talk to Odysseus’ old comrade Menelaus. But it was late. Old Nestor and his guests shared wine and made an offering to the gods, and then the king invited Telemachus and Athena to stay with him. Nestor also promised the next day Telemachus could use a chariot and horse for overland travel to Menelaus’ kingdom. Athena departed in the shape of a bird, and the men realized the identity of the goddess, who had been in disguise.

The next morning, Nestor made a lavish sacrifice for Athena. The men feasted, and after breakfast, the horses were prepared. Telemachus, accompanied by one of Nestor’s sons, left the rocky lands of Pylos. They journeyed for a full day, and then another, and the land became more level. They found themselves amidst wheat fields ringed by foreboding peaks, a grand, arable flatland home to an ancient kingdom. Telemachus and his companion had come to the lands of Menelaus – to the kingdom of Sparta. [music]

The Odyssey, Book 4: Menelaus and Helen

A Feast at Menelaus’ Palace

In the kingdom of Menelaus, festivities were in progress – specifically, a double wedding. Menelaus’ daughter was marrying the son of the dead Greek champion Achilles. And Menelaus’ son was marrying a Spartan girl. A feast was in progress, and one of Menelaus’ servants announced that travelers had arrived, asking if these unexpected guests should be allowed in.

Menelaus said they were quite welcome. When you travelled, you hoped for hospitality from others. And when you were at home, you offered it yourself. That was how things worked. And so Telemachus’ horses were fed, he and his travelling companion were offered baths, and they were seated by Menelaus and given generous helpings of food. Menelaus told Telemachus and the disguised Athena a little about his own travels after dinner. He’d wandered eight years after the Trojan War – through Cyprus, Canaan, Egypt, and south to Ethiopia and west to Libya. Menelaus’ travels, he said, had brought him great wealth, but he would exchange it for the return of other lost heroes of the Trojan War. Out of everybody, he missed Odysseus the most. The lost hero had been the most hardworking, devoted person in the Greek army, and Odysseus had received nothing from any of it.

Menelaus’ reminiscences caused Telemachus to weep, having heard such praises of his father. Just then, Menelaus’ wife Helen emerged from her chambers. This was the famous Helen of Sparta turned Helen of Troy turned back to Helen of Sparta. Helen remarked that Telemachus bore a striking resemblance to Odysseus, and Telemachus’ companion confirmed her suspicions. Menelaus, hearing the identity of Telemachus, was overcome with emotion. He had wanted to do so much for Odysseus, he said – he wanted to give Odysseus great gifts, and cities, but most of all he wanted the companionship of his long lost friend. All those at Menelaus’ table wept, feeling the accumulated losses of the Trojan War, thinking of the loves and friendships it had severed, and the trauma it had caused.

The disguised Athena said perhaps Menelaus and his guests should forestall their grieving. And Helen, who had known her fair share of grief and regret, did not want the men to go on weeping all night. Helen put a special Egyptian narcotic into their wine – one which numbed feelings of anguish. Helen said they should tell stories, and volunteered to go first.

Helen remembered a time during the Trojan War when Odysseus had beaten and battered himself, and then, disguised as a beggar, infiltrated the walls of Troy to gather information. Helen had recognized him but said nothing – for she wanted the war to be over and wanted to go home to Greece. Only Odysseus would have the wit and luck to successfully reconnoiter in such a fashion.

Next, Menelaus remembered the Trojan horse. The Trojan horse was a hollowed out sculpture – ostensibly a peace offering, that Odysseus had devised. The sculpture, given to the Trojans just before the end of the war, convinced the Trojans that the Greeks were through fighting. The Trojans brought it into their city. Only, it was filled with elite Greek fighters. Menelaus remembered a strange episode, the night the elite Greek fighters were secreted inside the Trojan horse, within the walls of Troy. Helen, eerily, had circled the sculpture. She brushed it with her hands. She called to the Greek fighters inside, using the voices of their wives. The hidden warriors, missing their spouses desperately, struggled with the urge to respond, but Odysseus had restrained them.

Now, a side note here on Helen. This is a key moment for her characterization in the Homeric epics. We should remember that in the original first book of the epic cycle – the Cypria, Helen was given as a gift to Paris, not really having any say in the matter. The second book, the Iliad, shows Helen’s complex relationship with Paris – she fears for Paris’ safety but eventually castigates Paris for letting the brunt of the war fall on his brother Hector’s shoulders, suggesting that she’s becoming disenchanted with her Trojan husband. Between the Iliad and the Odyssey, four full epics worth of events have elapsed. In the Iliad, Helen clearly loves her new father-in-law Priam and feels at home in Troy, but it seems that in the lost part of the story, as the final year of the war dragged by, she gave up on the Trojan cause, hence her decision not to identify Odysseus when she saw him skulking around the city of Troy. There’s just one lump – and that is why Helen spoke to the Greek heroes in the voices of their wives and tempted them to reveal themselves prematurely. If Helen had really wanted to halt their invasion, she could have simply told whole city of Troy to burn the horse, but instead she flirts with causing them disaster, only to let them carry through with their plan. Helen’s strange story, in this little corner of the Odyssey – this tale of witchlike impersonations of desperately missed wives – might be best interpreted as a calculated act of self assertion. The pawn of Aphrodite, and, later, cooped up behind the walls of Troy, Helen is powerless throughout the Epic Cycle, except that the entire war is nominally fought over her. And so when Helen walked along the belly of the Trojan Horse, caressing it and calling out to the Greeks inside in the voices of their wives, she reminded them all that all their muscle-bound braggadocio, all their feuds and killings, their abandonment of their wives and families – it was all for her. Walking along the Trojan Horse, then, Helen almost menacingly reminded the heroes inside that they are pawns in a chess game played by female goddesses and a war fought over a woman, and that if she wanted to, she could have the horse broken open and the small crack team of fighters inside butchered. Anyway, in Homer and elsewhere Helen is a magnificent and complex character in Ancient Greek literature – I just couldn’t pass over that scene.

To return to the Odyssey, after Menelaus’ story about Helen after dinner, Telemachus couldn’t hear any more. The tragedy of his brilliant but still missing father was too much to bear, and he begged that they all go to bed. The guests were given sleeping quarters, and everyone turned in.

The next morning, Menelaus went to Telemachus and asked him Telemachus why he’d come. Telemachus told him about the suitors and the situation back on Ithaca. Disgusted, Menelaus prophesied a grisly death for the intruders, and then filled Telemachus in a bit more with what had happened to him since the Trojan War. Menelaus told Telemachus about being stranded just north of Egypt. Menelaus had had to use trickery in order to contend with one of the sea gods of Egypt. From this god, Menelaus had learned that he needed to return to Egypt to offer a sacrifice to Zeus. He’d also learned about the death of the Greek hero Ajax, and the horrible news about Menelaus’ brother, King Agamemnon (who, as Telemachus had already learned from old Nestor, had been viciously murdered by his wife’s lover). As for Odysseus, Menelaus had learned that Odysseus was stranded on an island with the goddess Calypso. Having heard these three accounts, Menelaus had gone back to Egypt, made appropriate sacrifices to the gods, and set up a barrow for his dead brother. Thereafter, he’d had a smooth journey home back to Sparta.

So, Menelaus had finished the stories of his adventures. Menelaus offered Telemachus lavish gifts and a long stay in Sparta, but Telemachus said he needed to get going. Things were getting no better back on Ithaca, and the longer he was gone, the worse the situation there would become. [music]

The Suitors Conspire on Ithaca

Indeed, meanwhile, back on Ithaca, the suitors were cavorting and devouring Odysseus’ food stores. The foremost suitors were surprised to learn that Telemachus really had gone to the Peloponnese to look for help. Two in particular, Antinous and Eurymachus, were incensed. Antinous planned to ambush the returning prince.

Fortunately for Telemachus, Penelope found out about the plot to kill her son. Penelope was incredulous. The suitors were truly without pity or gratitude. They did not remember what kind of a king Odysseus had been. Her husband had been kind, and honest, and impartial, and temperate. Of all kings, he didn’t deserve such deviousness and greed. Of all kings, he didn’t deserve to have his son massacred. Penelope went to her room, overwhelmed by the injustice of it all, and then proposed that someone go and talk to Laertes, Odysseus’ father, who might be able to do some good.

It wouldn’t be necessary, a maid told her. This maid’s name was Eurycleia, and she will be a recurring character throughout the Odyssey. Eurycleia was elderly, and had been Odysseus’ nurse when he was a boy. Eurycleia said that Telemachus had little to worry about, since he was in the company of Athena. This was heartening news to Penelope, who felt that she had little she could do but have faith in her family’s patron goddess, and, though Athena promised Penelope that her son would be protected, as it grew late Penelope still heard the murderous murmurs of the suitors below her. At twilight, the suitors set sail, planning to kill Telemachus. They moored their ship on a small, rocky island near Ithaca, and awaited the homecoming of the island’s prince. [music]

The Odyssey, Book 5: Calypso

Calypso’s Island

Dawn broke over the ocean, throwing rose colored light into the eastern sky, so that it was as though flecks of fire rained down to the sea. High up on Mount Olympus, above the rocky harbor of Pylos, above the wheat fields of Sparta, the great god Zeus listened to his daughter Athena. Athena explained Odysseus’ urgent situation. The hero was held captive by the nymph Calypso, and Odysseus’ son Telemachus was now in terrible danger. Zeus considered Athena’s petition, and sent the messenger god, fast as quicksilver, to Odysseus. The messenger god wafted over land and sea, and dove down through the sky like a cormorant until he glided along the whitecaps over the violet colored water. Soon, the messenger god reached the island of Calypso.

The ringleted nymph Calypso was burning cedar wood in her home, and the smoke flowed faintly through the wooded island like incense. Here is Homer’s description of Calypso’s island, in the Hackett Stanley Lombardo translation:

Around her cave the woodland was in bloom,
Alder and poplar and fragrant cypress.
Long-winged birds nested in the leaves,
Horned owls and larks and slender-throated shorebirds
That screech like crows over the bright saltwater.
Tendrils of ivy curled around the cave’s mouth,
The glossy green vine clustered with berries.
Four separate springs flowed with clear water, criss-
Crossing channels as they meandered through meadows
Lush with parsley and blossoming violets.
It was enough to make even a visiting god
Enraptured at the sight. (V.67-78)

The messenger god saw Calypso there, but Odysseus was not with her. Instead, the hero sat, as he tended to, down by the ocean, his eyes darkened by sorrow and rimmed with the salt of his tears. The messenger god saw this all at once, and he addressed Calypso.

The messenger had come on behalf of Zeus, he explained, and Zeus couldn’t be denied. It was time for Odysseus to return home to his family. The nymph Calypso’s lip curled. She said, “You gods are the most jealous bastards in the universe – / Persecuting any goddess who ever openly takes / A mortal lover to her bed and sleeps with him” (V.118-20). Calypso reminded the messenger that she’d saved Odysseus’ life, that she’d nursed him back to health and offered him immortality – but – but – indeed, the messenger was right. One couldn’t deny Zeus.

And so Calypso went to where Odysseus sat. Odysseus watched the breakers, sunken with homesickness. Now that she knew she was losing him, Calypso only felt pity for her captive. She said, “You poor man. You can stop grieving now / And pining away. I’m sending you home. / Look, here’s a bronze axe. Cut some long timbers / And make yourself a raft” (V.159-62). Calypso said she’d stock the raft with provisions. The Greek hero was dubious. A raft? One needed more than that to cross the ocean. Odysseus made Calypso promise that it wasn’t some cruel trick on her part, and she took an oath by the subterranean river Styx that she really was ushering him home. And so this was the plan of the always faultlessly circumspect Homeric gods. To cross the dangerous breakwaters and rocky shorelines, and venture hundreds of miles across the open ocean, the gods gave Odysseus. . .an ax. . .with which to build his own raft. I suspect that his sense of gratitude likely wasn’t not infinite.

Calypso then brought Odysseus back to the cave for one last meal. Surely he’d stay with her, she said, for Penelope didn’t match her beauty, and he’d face great hardships on the way home. Odysseus was nothing if not tactful. Odysseus said of course Calypso was more beautiful – she was a goddess. But Penelope was his wife. And as for more trials and tribulations, Odysseus said “God knows I’ve suffered and had my share of sorrows / In war and at sea. I can take more if I have to” (V.223-4). Perhaps in order to prove that he could take any suffering life that threw at him, Odysseus conceded to making love to the beautiful Calypso all night long.

Odysseus Departs and Sails to Phaecia

After another miserable night of sex with a gorgeous sea nymph, Odysseus put his pants on and accepted the construction tools Calypso gave him. She led him to an alder and poplar grove where the trees grew tall, and said that the wood there would make for a fine vessel. Then, clad in a long silver robe, shimmering in the light of the forest, Calypso turned sadly and left Odysseus to his work. Now, you might ask, did Odysseus actually know how to build an oceangoing vessel? Why yes – yes he did. He was Odysseus.

He cut twenty trees, smoothed them, and trued them. Using an augur brought by Calypso, he bored holes in the planks and fixed them together with pegs and joiners. He made ribs and covered them with planks, a mast, a rudder, and a barrier to deflect waves. A cloth from Calypso served as the sail. Four days of work saw the job finished, and on the fifth, Calypso bade Odysseus farewell, after bathing him, dressing him in fresh clothes, and giving him food, water, and a sack of dark wine. She even put a soft breeze behind Odysseus to help send him off. Alas, poor Calypso, we won’t be seeing any more of her.

Quick side note here – now, I’ve made light of Odysseus’ plight on the island of Calypso, and there’s even a goofy song about it at the end of this episode, but his situation is just a bit bleaker than I’ve probably indicated. The opening lines of Book V are “Dawn reluctantly / Left Tithonus in her rose-shadowed bed” (V.1-2). This is the only time Homer references the myth of Aurora and Tithonus. In this myth, the goddess of dawn asked for her mortal lover Tithonus to live forever, but forgot to ask for him to have immortal youth, and Tithonus withered away, eventually begging for death. In Greco-Roman mythology, mortals who couple with deities are statistically far more likely to suffer gruesome fates, and by mentioning Tithonus right before we meet Odysseus, Homer reminds us that Odysseus’ island paradise is also potentially perilous – a place where he might wither and rot while his divine lover glides blithely onward toward eternity. Thus, though Odysseus says he wants to go home to his beloved wife Penelope, choosing his words with characteristic caution, we have to imagine that Odysseus is partially motivated out of self-preservation, not wanting to suffer a fate like that of Tithonus.⁷

Anyway, to return to the story, as he sailed out to sea, Odysseus felt only optimism as his sail first caught the breeze and the wind filled his hair. Now, you might ask, did Odysseus actually know how to sail alone on the open ocean? Why yes – yes he did. He was Odysseus. Navigating by the Pleiades, by Ursa Major and Orion, Odysseus sailed for seventeen days, staying oriented by the constellations. At night, the stars glimmered over the deep water, and on the eighteenth day, Odysseus came within sight of land. Mountains rose up out of the ocean, a bulwark of rock massed high over the misty water. Odysseus was close – close to the land of a people called the Phaecians, where the gods had wanted to send him. He was almost there.

But at that moment, Poseidon saw the wanderer. Poseidon was still furious at Odysseus, who had some years back grievously hurt one of Poseidon’s cherished sons. Poseidon tightened his hand on his trident and, as the clouds spooled around him, the god of the sea his great weapon through the ocean. Soon, wind and water were everywhere, and the sky darkened.

Seeing the massing storm, Odysseus trembled. He wished, not for the first time, that he’d died at Troy. The sea churned and the wind howled, and briny water blasted over his raft and soaked him immediately. Soon he was thrown off his ship, and the raft’s mast snapped. A vast wave coursed over him, and he barely made it back to the surface. Once there, he clung to the raft for dear life. A nymph came to him as the waves tossed the raft around, and, pitying him, the nymph told poor Odysseus to take a special veil. If he put it on, he’d be able to swim to shore without fear of drowning. Odysseus had had enough of nymphs, though. They did cruel, treacherous things, like giving you wine, making love to you, and offering to make you immortal. You just couldn’t trust them. He elected to stick with his raft. At that moment, a massive tsunami heaved its way out of the ocean and broke on Odysseus’ raft. The adventurer clung desperately to a beam and decided it was time to take his chances with the magical veil. Moments later he was swimming toward the shore through the heaving ocean. Poseidon had seen enough. He’d basically taken care of Odysseus, hadn’t he? Yeah, basically. No need to take that extra step and confirm that the resilient survivor hadn’t survived yet another attempt on his life. Poseidon dusted off his hands, and assumed his work was finished.

Odysseus then swam. He swam for three days, helped forward from a gentle breeze sent by Athena. Finally, at dawn on the fourth day, he was within sight of land. He paddled exhaustedly forward, but when he came close he saw that as far as the eye could see there were only cliffs – cliffs and the slate colored saltwater that broke against them. Odysseus feared being smashed against the rocks himself, or being dragged back out to sea, or being attacked by an unseen predator beneath the water. The water indeed washed him in, threatening to crush him against a sea wall, but he clung to a rock, and clung to it again as the current swept back out to sea. But Odysseus couldn’t hold on, and was washed back out into the ocean. He swam and swam, and eventually saw a place where a river delta softened the swaying ocean currents.

Odysseus prayed for safe harbor there, and found himself being washed in to the river’s shallows. Once in the brackish water, he finally staggered to the shore, physically broken. Everything was swollen. He could scarcely breathe, he could not speak, and he just lay there on dry land. When he had the strength, he rose and moved away from the water, sinking into a bank of reeds and kissing the warm soil. He was on his last legs, and he knew it. He needed to find a place to get warm for the night. In a tangled thicket where two olive trees intertwined, Odysseus found large heaps of leaves, and, exhaustedly, he sunk down into them, covering himself with them to keep warm. Protected in his makeshift burrow, Odysseus fell into a deep sleep. [music]

The Odyssey, Book 6: Nausicaa

Fast asleep in his leaf pile, Odysseus did not know the land into which he’d come. But Athena did. She knew that Odysseus had arrived in the kingdom of the Phaecians, a kingdom with a walled city, shrines and houses, beyond which lay long stretches of fields. Athena went to the Phaecian kingdom, to plan how to get Odysseus home.

The ruler of the Phaecians was called Alcinous, and his daughter, a beautiful princess, was named Nausicaa. Athena went through beautiful princess Nausicaa’s doors in a soft stream of air, and, in disguise, spoke with her. She told Nausicaa to take a mule cart, and hurry and go to the river to wash her clothes, for although Nausicaa was a nice looking young woman, she still needed to have clean silks and sashes.

At dawn, beautiful Nausicaa went to her father Alcinous, king of the Phaecians, and asked permission to use the cart to go and wash clothes. Her father consented. And so stocked with provisions for a day of washing, Nausicaa and her maids were soon jostling down the road to the river, the straps and buckles of the mules jingling in the clear morning air. At the river, the mules were unhitched, and they gobbled up the lush clover that grew along the riverbanks. As for the women, they washed their clothes, and hung them along the sandbars dry, taking the opportunity to bathe themselves, rub each other with oil, and play a game with a ball. The women were having a grand old time, and their voices awakened Odysseus. He muttered that he wandered where in the world he was, shook the sleep from himself, and stood up. Covering his nakedness with an olive branch, Odysseus went to speak to the girls.

Excepting princess Nausicaa, the girls were all frightened off at the site of the – uh – nude hobo looking guy. Now, you might ask, could Odysseus handle himself socially, and appear genteel and nonthreatening as he stepped out of a leaf pile naked, caked with dirt, his hair full of twigs? Why yes – yes he could. He was Odysseus. Odysseus flattered Nausicaa, telling her she had the beauty and stature of Artemis, and that she filled him with awe. Odysseus said he didn’t dare touch her, and explained that he’d been lost at sea for a score of days, having come all the way from Calypso’s island. His long speech ended with words that were humble and complimentary. In the Norton Emily Wilson translation, Odysseus said,

My lady, pity me.
Battered and wrecked, I come to you, you first –
and I know no one else in this whole country.
Show me the town, give me some rags to wear,
if you brought any clothes when you came here.
So may the gods grant all your heart’s desires,
a home and husband, somebody like-minded.
For nothing could be better than when two
live in one house, their minds in harmony. (VI.75-83)

I only hope that if I ever step naked out of a leaf pile and into a riverside scene of beautiful oiled noblewomen playing a three thousand year old version of soccer, I’ll manage to be as eloquent as Odysseus. But I suspect I’d probably keep hiding in the leaves. In any case, how did Nausicaa respond to this friendly, articulate vagrant? Very positively. Well, Nausicaa said, the leaf-encrusted drifter certainly seemed like a decent guy. She told him he’d come to the land of the Phaecians. And the Phaecians, like all good Greeks, were hospitable folks. Odysseus would have clothes, and she’d take him to the city, of which she was the princess. Princess Nausicaa summoned the other girls, telling them they’d been silly to flee at the sight of a filthy, unclothed middle aged transient. Odysseus was a guest in their land. It was time to treat him like one.

The Phaecian women took Odysseus over to the river, gave him a golden flask of oil, and told him to bathe. Odysseus consented, but asked if they could – uh – please go off a little ways? He was a little self conscious, and besides, he was foul with sea brine and not looking his best. So the Phaecian women left him to clean himself up, and he rubbed himself with oil and adorned himself in his new garments. Athena, ever wanting her favorite mortal to look attractive, “made him look / Taller and more muscled, and made his hair / Tumble down his head like hyacinth flowers” (VI.160-2).

Thus clad and refreshed, Odysseus strutted around the bend of the river, shimmering in the mid-morning light. Nausicaa found him godlike, and wished aloud that a man like him could be her husband. She told the others to give the glistening stranger some food and drink, and, understandably famished, Odysseus ate his fill. Now, Nausicaa said, about that trip back to the Phaecian city. Would Odysseus mind if she dropped him off a ways before they got to the city? Because if she showed up with a supermodel looking guy swaggering along beside her mule cart, people were going to gossip. And really Odysseus’ best bet was to come into the city alone and ask after Alcinous, and then throw his arms around the queen’s knees and ask for help getting home. Odysseus consented and said this would all be fine.

And so, on the way to the Phaecian city, princess Nausicaa left Odysseus in a poplar grove that rose up from a broad meadow. There, Odysseus voiced a solemn prayer to Athena, asking only that the Phaecians like him and pity him for his sufferings. [music]

The Odyssey, Book 7: The Palace of Alcinous

Odysseus approached the Phaecian city concealed in mist from the goddess Athena. And this wasn’t the only help Athena gave Odysseus. Athena appeared as a little girl carrying a pitcher just outside the city walls. Odysseus asked the child if she knew where to find the house of Alcinous, king of the Phaecians and father of princess Nausicaa. Disguised Athena said she’d be glad to help – but to keep his head down, because the Phaecians could be weird about strangers. On the way to the palace, Odysseus admired the Phaecian harbors, and their swift ships, and the parapets that graced the tops of their walls.

When they arrived at the palace, the disguised Athena told Odysseus about the lineage of king Alcinous’ family. The queen, Athena said, was called Arete. And Arete was a splendid queen. She was understanding, discerning, and in all ways terrific ruler. Her husband Alcinous appreciated her, and treated her like a – a queen? Well, he really loved her. The rulers of the Phaecians were a happy family, and Odysseus would do fine with them.

Still, as he entered the palace hall, Odysseus was intimidated. He’d spent ten years at war and then seven captive on a small island. His aristocratic finesse was a little bit rusty. The walls of the Phaecian palace were bronze, with a blue glaze around their crowns. Gold and silver were everywhere, along with beautiful statuary, plush seating built into the walls, delicious food and drink, and an overall atmosphere of lush plentitude, blossoms and sweet fragrances. Even beyond the palace hall, Odysseus could see an orchard, where trees hung thick with figs, apples, olives, pomegranates and pears. He marveled at the luxuries the gods had given to King Alcinous and his family.

Steeling himself, Odysseus went in. Following Princess Nausicaa’s earlier instructions, Odysseus threw himself at the feet of the brilliant Arete. Now, you might ask, could Odysseus conduct himself decorously amidst nobility, even when intimidated by their pedigree and opulent palace? Why yes – yes he could. He was Odysseus. Briefly, Odysseus wished them great prosperity, begged for a fast journey home to his people, and petitioned them to end his sufferings. Then, humbly, he sat in the ashes near the fireplace.

At first, the Phaecians just stared at him. Then, their instincts of hospitality arose. Give the stranger a chair, said one of them. Get the wine. Get the guy some food. King Alcinous agreed. Odysseus was seated next to the king, and given water to wash his hands. The adventurer enjoyed bread and other dishes, and everyone drank wine.

Alcinous, without even hearing anything else about the stranger, resolved to help him. The next morning, King Alcinous said, they’d reconvene, and make sacrifices to the gods. Then, they’d figure out how they’d get Odysseus home. And, said king Alcinous, they’d get him home safely, too! He might be a god, and be testing them.

Odysseus disabused the king of this idea. He wasn’t a god, he said. Rather, Odysseus told king Alcinous and his court, “I am completely human. Better to liken me / To the most woebegone man you ever knew. / That’s who I’d compare myself to” (VII.223-5). He said he had a great story to tell, but first he should eat – about that one had no choice. The Phaecians liked him. His looks, humbleness, and noble deportment were all of the first order. After more food and wine, everyone except for Odysseus and the king and queen retired.

Queen Arete had, by this time, had a chance to examine Odysseus’ garments, which, if you’ll remember, were given to him by princess Nausicaa. Queen Arete recognized them, for, in fact she had made them, and asked Odysseus why it was, exactly, that he was wearing her daughter’s – uh – tunic? Dress?

The Greek hero told them an abridged version of his recent adventures. He’d just escaped the island of Calypso, where he’d been stuck for seven years. She’d sent him off in the eighth year, and Odysseus had set out. After horrible storms, a broken ship, and gulping a lot of seawater, he’d washed up in the Phaecian River, where Nausicaa had found him, helped him out, and let him wear her clothes. Upon being asked, Odysseus explained he’d come separately at his own volition, because he didn’t want to appear presumptuous and accompany the princess in public.

This explanation fully convinced Alcinous that Odysseus was a great guy. In fact, he went so far as to wish that Odysseus would stay in his kingdom, marry Nausicaa, and be his son. He’d even get a house filled with – well, wait a minute – they couldn’t do that. Odysseus wanted to go home, didn’t he? They’d get him home. They were Phaecians, not kidnappers. They had his back. Odysseus prayed to Zeus that kind and understanding Alcinous would have happiness and fame all the days of his life.

And so brilliant queen Arete had a bed prepared for the wandering Odysseus. She said that he’d enjoy lavish purple coverlets and bedspreads soft with fleece – nice upgrade from the previous night of grime and leaves. Thereafter the exhausted Odysseus, and the whole house of Alcinous settled into their beds and enjoyed peaceful slumber. [music]

The Odyssey, Book 8: The Phaecian Games

The next morning, king Alcinous awoke, and an assembly was held to prepare an escort for Odysseus’ trip home. Once everyone had arrived, Alcinous made the announcement. He wanted a new ship brought out into the harbor, and a crew of fifty-two people to man it. While the ship and crew were prepared, Odysseus joined king Alcinous in the palace to listen to a bard sing about the Trojan War. The bard, seated on a silver-studded chair, played a beautiful lyre to accompany himself. The song was, of all things, about Odysseus himself, and the famous Greek warrior’s deeds during the Trojan War, and a quarrel he’d had with the champion Achilles.

As the bard sung Odysseus was overcome with emotion. He eased his purple cloak over his head from time to time so that no one would see his tears, but king Alcinous saw them. The king proposed that they switch from music to athletic games. There was a race, and strong young runners sped across a plain, the dust rising from beneath their swift feet. Then the Phaecians held a game of wrestling, high jump, discus, and boxing. One of the young men, seeing Odysseus’ impressive build, asked if the stranded adventurer would like to participate in one of the games. Odysseus declined, but the young man taunted him, saying perhaps Odysseus was a person of no consequence, after all. Odysseus told the young man that the young man was certainly strong looking, but not very intelligent. If the young man really wanted athletic competition, he could have it.

Now, you might ask, was Odysseus actually proficient in the sports of the classical Olympics? Why yes – yes he was. He was Odysseus. Odysseus stood up and seized a discus – one far larger than the ones that had been hurled in the competition. Odysseus wound up and hurled it, and it flew so far and fast that it hummed in the air, landing far, far beyond any the Phaecians had thrown. Odysseus inquired if anyone wanted to try and beat his throw. No? He asked if anyone would like to box him, or wrestle him, or race him. Had he mentioned that he could shoot a bow, and hurl a spear?

Alcinous knew his guest’s blood was up, and diffused the situation, saying that the wandering stranger had done what was natural to defend his honor. Alcinous proposed that they switch to dancing. Dancing proceeded, and a song about some of the Olympian gods. It was a bawdy tune. In it, the beautiful goddess Aphrodite was having an affair. She was married to the ugly smith god Hephaestus. And at every opportunity, she was sleeping with handsome Ares, the god of war. Hephaestus arranged a trap, so that he could catch them in the act, and just as Aphrodite and Ares were about to have sex, they became snared in a series of invisible wires wrought by the brilliant smith god. The male gods came to see, and jibed and joked about it, until eventually the adulterous lovers were separated and sent on their different ways.

When the song ended, dancing proceeded, and Odysseus admitted that the Phaecians really were good dancers. King Alcinous proposed that the wandering stranger be given more gifts. The youth who had insulted Odysseus earlier at the games gave him a fine sword and apologized, wishing Odysseus a safe journey home. Odysseus thanked the young man and said, “And you, my friend, be well, and may the gods / Grant you happiness. And may you never miss / This sword you have given me to make amends” (118).

Then, Odysseus was given more gifts – a cup of pure gold from Alcinous, a clean cloak and tunic from the king’s wife, and more goods from other nobles. The Phaecians provided a large copper basin filled with warm water for the hero to take a bath. With this finished, Odysseus went to join the Phaecian nobles, who were drinking wine.

Princess Nausicaa saw him, and, her heart fluttering, asked him to please not forget about her – she’d saved his life, after all. Odysseus said there was no danger of this. He’d pray to her all his life, as though she were a goddess. After this promise, Odysseus went to the feasting table. Offering a piece of pork to the bard who’d sung earlier, Odysseus made a request. Could the man please sing about the Trojan horse? This was a song that Odysseus would like to hear.

And another quick side note here. The Homeric epics themselves were originally sung oral narratives, performed over a lyre. Thus, the scene of a bard singing songs at this moment in Book 8 is the Odyssey’s play-within-a-play. This moment also offers a cue to the original bardic performer’s audience – Odysseus gives the bard a piece of pork as he makes his request. The little narrative might have been a not-so-subtle message from Greek bards of the eighth century BCE and long afterward to put a coin in the tip jar – after all, Odysseus had done so in the story.

Anyway, to return to the Odyssey and wrap up Book 8, the Phaecian bard told the tale of the Trojan horse. In the twilight of the Trojan War, after the fall of the Trojan champion Hector, the Greeks had burned their huts and tents on the beach. The Greeks got into their ships, and left, leaving behind them a great wooden horse, in which there was a core group of battle-hardened warriors. When the Trojans brought the horse into the city, after a time the Greeks broke out and ransacked Troy.

Hearing the song – the recitation of a time of such great peril, and intensity, and suffering, Odysseus wept. As before, only king Alcinous noticed, and the king requested that the song stop. And finally, he asked Odysseus his name. Alcinous asked, “[T]ell me this, and tell me the truth. / Where have you wandered, to what lands? / Tell me about the people and cities you saw. . .And tell me why you weep and grieve at heart / When you hear the fate of the Greeks and Trojans” (123). With this question hanging in the air, and with Odysseus about to tell a very long story, Book 8 of the Odyssey ends. [music]

From War to Rapprochement: The Iliad and the Odyssey

We’re eight books into the Odyssey – just a third of the way through this poem – but I bet you’re already conscious of a pronounced difference between the Iliad and the Odyssey if you caught those earlier programs on the Iliad. First and foremost, no one has been beheaded, gutted, or impaled. No bombastic heroes have issued combat challenges to one another and then gone at it with bronze swords. Second, there are more than two classes of people. The Odyssey isn’t a poem about Greeks and Trojans – it’s a poem about a man and his son navigating their way through a manifold, ever-shifting social and geographical landscape, all in an effort toward homecoming and stability. In the Odyssey, tact is at least as useful as swordsmanship.

When I first read the Odyssey I found its many scenes of rapprochement – or of people exchanging gifts and becoming friends with one another – just as exhilarating as the Iliad’s battle scenes. The spontaneous displays of kindness and generosity, the common grounds discovered between people from far flung lands, the essential humanity shown as, again and again, strangers come together and share wine and food and stories, all showed an optimism and humanism that helped counterbalance the Iliad’s blood-soaked apocalypse. We’ve just heard of Odysseus’ kindly reception by first Nausicaa, and then her father King Alcinous, of the Phaecians. When the boisterous young man insults Odysseus in the book we’ve just finished, we expect Odysseus to stab him. But the Odyssey is not the Iliad, and the king gently defuses the situation, and later, at dinner, the impetuous young man apologizes and gives Odysseus a gift by way of remuneration. No harm is done, lessons are learned, and no severed limbs have to soar through the air. Time after time in the Odyssey, scenes of characters from different lands treating one another with respect and gracious expressiveness generally make readers smile. If Theodore Roosevelt’s foreign policy can be summed up with “speak softly, and carry a big stick,” the policy of the Odyssey seems to be “speak eloquently, and carry a few skins of wine.” The latter, to me, seems like a more reliable recipe for peace and prosperity.

The earliest scene of rapprochement takes place when Telemachus is welcomed at Pylos by the old Greek warrior Nestor. One of the lines in this scene isn’t really remarkable or consequential, but since I first read it and underlined it, it’s become one of my favorite little exchanges in Homer. After Telemachus and his companion have been given a warm reception and all the food and drink they want, old Nestor says,

It is seemlier to ask our guests who they are
Now that they have enjoyed some food with us.
Who are you, strangers? Where do you sail from?
Are you on some business, or are you adventurers
Wandering the seas, risking your own lives. . .? (III.78-82)

Nestor’s words here, polite and unpresumptuous, indicate that he’s happy to have them as guests, whoever they are. Nestor’s words, and many other similar passages in the Odyssey show that the Mediterranean world that produced the Homeric epics understood the value of courteous diplomacy between foreign powers, and between hosts and guests. And as archaeology has advanced in the eastern Mediterranean – as the coastal and maritime activity of the Late Bronze and Iron Ages has increasingly been brought to light, we’ve begun to understand that the Homeric epics were produced in a region characterized by intercontinental trade networks, by constant encounters between different ethnic and linguistic groups, and countless stay overs and acts of hospitality like the ones you’ve just heard about in Homer. [music]

The Uluburun Shipwreck: A Late Bronze Age Time Capsule

In 1982, an extraordinary discovery was made just off the coast of a peninsula in southwestern Turkey, a peninsula called Uluburun, near the city of Kas. It was a late Bronze Age shipwreck, dated to about 1305 BCE, a shipwreck that, once excavated, showed a microcosm of a thoroughly interconnected Mediterranean world. This ship, sailing from either Cyprus or somewhere in Canaan, was bound westward, likely somewhere in the Aegean. Its crew, its goods, and even its materials of fabrication, were from all over the inhabited portions of Eurasia and North Africa.

Copper and tin ingots were the main cargo. Enough metal was onboard to smelt bronze weapons for a small army. Archaeologists also found glass ingots, colored cobalt blue, lavender, and turquoise, having the same coloration of contemporary Egyptian ones. Jars from the land of Canaan also filled the hold, stocked with glass beads, olives, and an ancient form of turpentine. Divers excavating the wreck also found elephant tusks, tortoise shells, a trumpet, agate and carnelian, a variety of jewelry, weapons and armor, and tools. All told, the cargo and passengers who had perished there carried goods from as far east as Mesopotamia, as far west as Sicily, as far north as the Baltic Sea, and as far south as sub-Saharan Africa. The Uluburn shipwreck showed a multicultural world brought together through organized economics.

Thus, if the general cultural mythos of a roving warrior band sacking a city shaped the Iliad, as we discussed in the previous episode, the Odyssey is the product of a later, more commercially interdependent world. The Odyssey isn’t a story about a battlefield where soldiers wear one of two different colors. It’s a story of a time a bit more like our own – a time when, due to advanced economies and transportation technologies, we navigate an ever-evolving web of vocational and social situations, spinning further and further away from home than the generations of our parents and their parents did.

Kleos and Nostos in the Odyssey

That brings me to the main point I wanted to cover today, the title of this episode, Episode 12: Kleos and Nostos. kleos means, loosely, “glory won at war,” and nostos, “homecoming.” These two things don’t logically coexist with one another very well. If you happen to remember, in Book 9 of the Iliad, crafty Odysseus and giant Ajax go to the Greek champion Achilles’ hut and beg Achilles to reconsider – to join their military efforts and win glory for himself. And Achilles, at this moment, anyway, declines for a number of reasons. One of these reasons is that he’s heard a prophecy that he can either die in the Trojan War and live on forever as a hero of legend. Or, Achilles can journey back home, live a long, happy life, and be forgotten by time. He thus faces a clear choice between kleos, or nostos, and at that moment, he chooses nostos, homecoming. Little does Achilles know that his friend Patroclus is about to be killed, which will change his mind and cause him to hurl himself back into battle, choosing, almost involuntarily, kleos – the glory of a death in battle. Before his friend is killed, though, Achilles only wants to come home, devoting all his efforts to nostos and leaving kleos far behind.

Nostos is one of the common themes in the Homeric epics. Last time, we talked about the “epic cycle,” the lost cycle of poems out of which only fragments survive. One of these epics was called Nosti, or “returns,” or “homecomings,” and it was about the returns of various Greek heroes from the Trojan War. We heard Menelaus tell an abridged story of this lost epic – his brother Agamemnon’s murder, and Menelaus’ own long trek back to Sparta, which involved a stopover in Egypt. There was a sense in the Greek epic tradition – and this is fascinating – that getting home after the war was as difficult as the war itself. This idea is at the heart of nostos, or homecoming.

For some of the Greek heroes, homecoming was difficult for very obvious reasons. In the first eight books we’ve read today, we learned that the Greek king Agamemnon was murdered by his wife’s lover. Menelaus was swept off course and wound up in Egypt. And Odysseus – well – we’re about to learn about the full extent of Odysseus’ voyages. But embedded in the concept of nostos is another notion – that even if you’re not murdered, even if you don’t wash up in Egypt, or lose your crew to monsters, coming home from war is still painful and difficult. In what we read today, behind the veneer of Odysseus the meanderer is Odysseus the killer. To return one more time to the scene of the young man who taunts Odysseus at the Phaecian games, before temperate king Alcinous intervenes, we see Odysseus starting to lose his cool. Odysseus tells the gutsy young man,

Your mind is crippled.
And now you’ve got my blood pumping
With your rude remarks. . .Your words
Cut deep, and now you’ve got me going. (VIII.195-7,203-4)

Odysseus hurls his thrumming discus far beyond the Phaecians’ discuses, and then he says, “Step right up – I’m angry now – / I don’t care if its boxing, wrestling, / Or even running. Come one, come all” (VIII.225-7). Something melts away here, and we see the Odysseus of the eleventh book of the Iliad, a merciless killing machine who deprecates his foes as they die beneath him. It’s an indication that part of homecoming, or nostos is a geographical journey, but another, and perhaps far more difficult part of nostos is rejoining society and coping with the traumas of war. Odysseus himself has lived through this war, and been instrumental in its grisly end. We, and the Phaecians, were not on the ground in the final days of the Trojan War. We didn’t witness in detail the mass slaughter, the infanticide, the rape, and the enslavement. In all of the surviving Homeric poetry, we only hear of the war’s end in fragments – recollections and the summations of songs, as though it is far too terrible for a civilized society to hear about the last days of Troy. Odysseus, however, lived through all of it and still bears its scars, and its guilt, and the confluence of emotions, dark flashbacks, and even a perverse nostalgia, bubble up in his mind throughout the Odyssey when someone broaches the subject of the Trojan War.

If one aspect of nostos is a geographical journey, and another is something we might call post traumatic stress disorder, there’s a third aspect, too. I don’t think you need to be an ancient Greek epic hero to understand the complexities of going home after a long absence. Leave your friends and family for a decade, and when you return, the configuration of relationships will have changed. Some friendships will have severed, others formed, newcomers will have made their ways into your old social circles, and old friends will have moved away. The shape of your hometown will have changed – old trees fallen, new ones growing up, and businesses and neighbors come and gone. While this is all just a part of being human, it’s nonetheless a profound emotional experience. And in addition to suffering the privations of a long journey and the trauma of war, Odysseus has, like the rest of us who have left home and come back, to deal with a social world which has moved and evolved, and perhaps even made his relevance questionable.

I titled this episode “Kleos and Nostos” because I thought it would be a good way for us to understand the major difference between the Iliad and the Odyssey as we move from one to the other. The warfare in the Iliad and the kleos, or battle glory, that comes out of it, are brutal, but they are also uncomplicated. Unsheath your sword, clash weapons with your foes, kill and die for the sake of your army. This is the ethos of the Iliad, a violent, clannish ethos that demands both submission and fearlessness. As spectacular as the Trojan War is, what happens on the plains of Troy perhaps belongs to an earlier phase of human civilization, a phase of genocidal conflicts and lootings between city states, during which war is both tragic and inevitable. The world of the Odyssey, however, and the complex theme of homecoming at the center of it, is the world of the Uluburun shipwreck. In this late Bronze Age world, people are on the move, commerce is changing cultures, and a well manned cargo ship is far more iconic than a bronze spear. In the Odyssey, just as in our own world, things are changing so fast that it’s difficult, regardless of where you’ve been, to ever really make it home. [music]

Moving on to the Central Part of the Odyssey

In the next episode, we’ll look at the most famous parts of Homer’s Odyssey, which occur between books nine and sixteen. In these books, we learn about Odysseus’ encounters with the Cyclops, sirens, the fearsome monsters Scylla and Charybdis, the forbidden bag that his sailors weren’t supposed to open, and did, the sacred cattle that his sailors weren’t supposed to eat, and did, the three thousand year old drug addicts Homer calls the Lotus Eaters, the cannibalistic Laestrygonians, and the seductive witch Circe. It’s going to be a great adventure, and I can’t wait to share it with you. Try a quiz on the opening books of the Odyssey at literatureandhistory.com to see what you remember about the story’s characters and exposition. If you want to hear a sea shanty about Odysseus being trapped on Calypso’s island, I’ve got a song coming up for you. If not, see you next time.

Still here? Yeah, I got to thinking about Odysseus, when we meet him at the beginning of the Odyssey. You know, there’s a lot of hand wringing and teary eyes on the part of Odysseus about being stuck on Calypso’s island. And he was there for seven years! As brilliant as Odysseus is, I think it’s a bit surprising, and maybe just a little suspicious that the guy never devised a scheme to escape Calypso. So I got to thinking, as he sat there by the ocean, which is what we see him doing in his first appearance in the Odyssey – as he sat there by the ocean, lamenting the passage of the years, what was Odysseus really thinking? What kind of a song would he sing to explain his situation to the world? Well, it would have to be a sea shanty, of course, a jig – something in 6/8, you know, one two three four five six. I got to thinking that this was the song he would sing.



References

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