The Lost Books of the Odyssey

I found that Zachary Mason's The Lost Books of the Odyssey: A Novel is a much more serious work of literature than The Penelopiad or No Man's Land.  I also found the book to be both more thought-provoking and more appealing than most of the other books about the Odyssey which I've been reading lately.  Although I loved Walcott's modern epic variation, Omeros, Mason's book is significantly more accessible than Walcott's.  Readers who have read Homer's The Odyssey recently will most fully appreciate the author's humor and adventurous exploration.

Mason begins his novel--a book which is not a retelling but instead an expansion of Homer's original--in medias res.  While Homer himself is known for this technique of starting a story in its middle, Mason takes the technique to its extreme and throws chronology into some alternative mathematical reality.

The book is a series of vignettes, spanning the original epic's stories and themes.  Sometimes the vignettes seem more about play than about truth--that is, they are exploratory, sometimes even contradictory.  Various elements in the vignettes come together in explosive, insightful ways.  Although I stress again that this book is highly accessible, The Lost Books is also a complex read at times.  Stories fold on top of stories, twisting into new meanings as the book progresses.

Rigorous thought about the nature of authorship, the complex and shifting relationships that exist between husbands and wives, the meaning of commercial culture, the collisions that happen between power and beauty, and the deep meaning of time circle through non-traditional takes on stories about the guest-host relationship, the start of the Trojan War, the fate of Penelope, as well as the role of the gods.

In many ways, Mason turns The Odyssey inside out in the same way a Talmud scholar might investigate the Bible: looking for secret meanings which might be held in each word and in space, considering how and why particular stories were collected (or not collected), and imagining why the stories were put in a particular order.  While Mason makes it clear that his book is a novel, this tone of treating a classic work so respectfully and so seriously--and yet so playfully at the same time--makes Mason's novel resonate for me very deeply.

Highly recommended.  Thanks to Picador for sharing a review copy with me of this marvelous book.

The Nearer Home, The Deeper Our Fears Increase

In Omeros, Derek Walcott takes themes from both the Iliad and the Odyssey to build a new and resonant story.  Achilles sets out on an unlikely odyssey: a fishing expendition off the coast of Saint Lucia in the West Indies turns into a journey across the centuries to his ancestral homeland on the coast of West Africa.  They journey through unfamiliar lands, across the boundaries of space and time.

I sing of quiet Achile, Afolabe's son...
whose end, when it comes, will be a death by water.

Throughout this book, different characters and communities (including Africans living in Santa Lucia, Indians, and British colonials) struggle with the meaning of being displaced from their homelands and with their tentative efforts to find their homes again.  As Walcott writes:

     The nearer home, the deeper our fears increase,
     that no house might come to meet us on our own shore.

The large tragedies of Black slavery and the destruction of American Indian communities are paired here with, as Walcott writes, "the interior, unwritten epic fashioned from the suffering of the individual in exile."

Those of you have been reading my classics posts know that I was shocked by my love for The Iliad and somewhat disappointed by The Odyssey (which I had read once before). In many ways, Omeros combines the more appealing plot line of The Odyssey with the depth I found in The Iliad--leaving me profoundly unsettled and also deeply moved when I closed the book.

Walcott's writing here is gorgeous--luminous poetry throughout, with gentle unobtrusive rhymes.  It begs to be read slowly, aloud--listened to, thought about.  Omeros is a beautiful tribute to Homer and an intensely powerful work of literature in its own right.

Fame, by Tom Payne

I've just finished a book that made me feel like I was a party--one of those strange literary-magazine parties in college full of brilliant and well-educated friends, slowly getting drunk on Black Russians, coming up with crazy visionary ideas which I, still sober and not so well educated, could almost follow.

Tom Payne's new Fame: What the Classics Tell Us About Our Cult of Celebrity is an enormously clever reading of the concept of celebrity across time and place.  The author explores everything  from the ancient Greeks to Goethe, from Michael Jackson to Angelina Jolie.  He starts off by comparing a newly-bald Britney Spears to Euripides's heriones--and if anything, the books gets more surprising from there on out.

Fame is a brilliantly playful book, the product of a man enormously well versed in classical literature, the latest in pop culture, and everything in between.  What fun the author must have had plotting out this book!  His style fits his topic perfectly: witty, light-hearted, and at least a wee bit mischievous.

Payne argues, only somewhat facetiously, that social historians trying to understand the world by studying the everyday lives of normal working people are going about their endeavor all wrong.  "This book says phooey to all that," writes Payne.  "We shouldn't rule out heroes and villains.  Even if they don't really explain how things are today, it's still important that we made heroes and villains out of them; and that tells us so much about us."

I know neither all the classical literature to which Payne refers nor the pop-culture allusions.  (Let me acknowledge up front that I live in a bubble.  I grew up without television and we don't have one now.  I listen to NPR.   When in the airport, I pick up The Economist at the newsstand before I board the plane.  Almost everything I know about pop culture comes from the sidebar headlines over at Huffington Post.  Well--that was all true, until I read this book.  I learned a tremendous amount about current pop culture from Fame.)  But Payne does not assume his readers will know everything he is comparing.  Although some of the comparisons seem far-fetched as he begins particular anecdotes, I was consistently stunned as I reached the end of his analyses, nodding my head and smiling with the pleasure of nerdy cleverness.

Although process seems more important than point in this book, Fame does have a thesis--one that will last long after some of the pop icons have disappeared from the rumor-mill radar screen.  Payne argues that we treat our celebrities as demi-gods: larger than life, more exciting and beautiful than we could ever be, often with bigger flaws than normal mortals have.  He writes, "We allow these quasi-divine people the hedonism that cannot last. They live for us, and we live through them."  And, disturbingly, when that hedonism leads to downfall, we delight in their destruction as it feeds our desire for human sacrifice.

* * *

Have you ever read a book that left you wondering in the morning if that wild party could have really happened last night? I think I felt that way after reading Oliver Sack's amazingly mind-expanding The Man Who Mistook His Wife For A Hat. Please share with me some of your favorites!

* * *

Thanks to Picador press for providing a review copy of this entertaining and fascinating book.

Troy Wars

I recently watched the movie version of Homer's Iliad, Troy.  I think I normally would have hated the movie's intense violence, over-the-top special effects, and mediocre acting.  As it was, while Troy was certainly not my favorite movie of all time, I found it quite a bit more interesting to see immediately after reading Homer's epic.

By far the greatest strength of the movie is the gorgeous visuals.  The scenes where we see a thousand ships filling the sea on their way to Troy is beautiful and terrifying.  The enormous cast that fills out battle scenes adds to the larger-than life feel of the movie, as does the historically inaccurate enormity of the castles and city walls.  And then there is the beauty that is Brad Pitt--that is, if you look at his body and not his acting.  Or you might interpret his look as "a creepy yoga teacher at an overpriced Californian spa," as Alex von Tunzelmann does:

This film definitely puts us in mind of an epic.  Unfortunately, "epic" here does not refer to the old Homeric kind with dactylic hexameter, but the Hollywood box-office hit kind of epic.

There are many changes from Homer's story to Troy's screenplay.  Some are deliberate changes or additions, while others are codified interpretations of open questions.  Although they are not accurate as true translations of Homer, some are quite interesting and make certain themes from the book perhaps more relevant to a modern audience.  Others are just annoying.

Perhaps the most obvious change is the removal of the gods from the action at Troy.  While some of the Trojans talk about temples and the gods, Hector routinely laughs at the idea of believing in omens.  (In contrast, Homer has the gods determining everyday events as their whims dictate.)  At first, I found this to be a relief.  The idea that characters might believe gods control human destinies works well for me, but I struggle when authors explain the actual events that way.  But as the movie went on, I realized that by removing the gods, the film overplays the roles of individuals.  Homer, I think, means the characters to be both heroic and weak--that is, immortal in name but mortal in body, distinguished hero but also a diminished everyman.  The lack of gods leaves Achilles seeming like the most powerful one in the story.

Achilles in the film states that the gods are jealous of humans precisely because humans can die: "Everything is more beautiful because we're doomed."  Of course, it is death that creates human immortality, as he acknowledges when he urges his troops to fight the bloody battles that will make their names last throughout history.  This theme certainly echoes one of the main Homeric ideas.

Some of the other changes from book to film were in an effort to unify the story.  One that especially bothered me was the the movie portrays the war from beginning to end--all happening quickly and with great excitement.  There is none of the drawn-out boredom and exhaustion of a long war that Homer allows us to see.

I love the "in medias rex" style that Homer uses, beginning and ending his story in the middle.  The central story of the film is the story of the war as a whole.  In Homer, Achilles's changing rage and emotional growth is the central story, a story that takes place in the setting of the great war.  And this smaller story allows character analysis that seems erased by the film.  In other words, since Homer wasn't thinking that "epic" meant telling a big story about a big thing, we could get a deeper story about an individual's transformation.

The filmmakers create parallel characters throughout the story.  Some are hinted at in Homer where others are totally new.  I found many of them to be fascinating riffs on the story--sometimes bringing out themes which would otherwise be missing (many of which were absent in the original epic).

Images of Hector getting dressed for battle are alternated with images of Achilles getting dressed for battle, while Achilles' lover and Hector's wife are each distraught.  But the contrast between the two men is even more obvious that the parallel: Achilles fights for pride and fame, while Hector fights out of duty and love of family.

Another parallel--completely invented in the film--is the relationships among cousins.  Although Homer tells a different story, in the movie we are told that Patroclus is Achilles' cousin, and Briseis is Hector's cousin.  Achilles grieves when his cousin dies at the hands of Hector, and Briseis grieves when her cousin dies at the hands of Achilles.

Although the cousin echo emphasizes the humanity of both sides (a theme Homer also presents), I was annoyed that this move allowed the filmmakers to placate anti-gay activists and remove all the questions about the intense relationship between Achilles and Patroclus.

In sum, I wasn't too keen on the movie, but I found it fascinating to consider why the filmmakers made particular decisions and interpretations.  I was reminded how much I like the character of Hector--who was very well played by Eric Bana.  Definitely one of the best performances of the film.

Least favorite change in the movie: the way Agamemnon dies.  What?!  Change of fortune in the house of Atreus!

Favorite moment in the movie: King Priam, played by Peter O'Toole and looking for all the world like Obi-Wan Kenobi in his robes, solemnly intones, "May the Gods be with you."

Ransom, by David Malouf

Sometimes I think the classics that most move us throughout the centuries are those that have the most holes, the most openings for us to insert out own concerns and beliefs.  If too much is said, a text becomes tied to a particular place and time, but when there is much left unsaid--or even much that seems at odds with itself, there is room for the reader.  I'm thinking of texts like Homer and the Bible that allow us to interpret their words in myriad ways, making them always seem fresh and immediate.

On the recommendation of Chris at the ProSe blog, I recently picked up a slim novel by Australian writer David Malouf, newly out in paperback.   Ransom retells one of the most moving sections of Homer's Iliad.  After Achilles's friend Patroclus is killed on the battlefield by Hector, Achilles enters the fray and kills Hector, son of the Trojan king Priam.  In his grief and anger, Achilles drags Hector's dead body behind his chariot and refuses to relinquish it to his family for a proper burial.

After watching the humiliation, Priam resolves to disguise himself, confront Achilles in his tent, and offers him great treasures as a ransom for his son's corpse.  Priam's name can be taken to mean "ransom"--and it is here that Malouf finds a new door into the story and opens it up wide.

I talked in an earlier post about how Achilles questioned the role of hero in which he was cast.  It was only by considering his desires and responsibilities personally that he can come to an acceptance of his position.  Malouf suggests that King Priam must go through the same reconsidering of the traditional role of king as he embodies the more personal role of father.  Only through this reconsideration--this transformation through disguise--is he allowed to beg, to be equal with his servant, to observe the everyday such as making  griddle cakes, and even be allowed to grieve.  In short, he gets to become an ordinary human being for a little while.

In the course of Malouf's short novel, we learn everything from his own past as a ransomed child to the death that awaits him.  We see that this moment of sparkling ordinary life is set within the limits of mortality.  I'm reminded of one of Malouf's own images which echos this theme: “Tucked in between rocky outcrops there are kitchen gardens, with a fig tree, a pomegranate, a row or two of lettuce or broad beans, a clump of herbs where snails the size of a baby’s fingernail are reborn in their dozens after a storm and hang like raindrops from every stalk.”

The Humanity of Achilles

In yesterday's post, I mentioned how weary Achilles is beginning to seem--how tired he is of his anger--as day after day he drags Hector's corpse around Patroclus' tomb. In the last chapter of Homer's epic, the Greek hero finally finds a way to move past his rage into a new state of humanity.

Led by chariot-driver Hermes, King Priam travels into the Greek camp to beg Achilles to return his son's body to him.  He plans to offer him a "treasure chamber" with "the lavish ransom for Hector's head."  But the meeting between Hector's father and Peleus' son is no financial trade.  As Stanley Lombardo translates:

   Great Priam entered unnoticed.  He stood
   Close to Achilles, and touching his knees,
   He kissed the dread and murderous hands
   That had killed so many of his sons....
   "Remember your father, godlike Achilles.
   He and I both are on the doorstep
   Of old age.... Think of your own father, and pity me.
   I am more pitiable.  I have borne what no man
   Who has walked this earth has ever yet borne.
   I have kissed the hand of the man who killed my son.

Through his grief and his courage in the face of that grief, Priam causes Achilles to imagine the pain his father will feel when he himself falls in battle.  Achilles also recognizes that Priam feels the same kind of pain he feels as he grieves for Patroclus.

   The two of them remembered....
   And Achilles cried for his father and
   For Patroclus.  The sound filled the room.
   When Achilles had his fill of grief
   And the aching sorrow left his heart,
   He rose from his chair and lifted the old man
   By his hand.

"Let our pain lie at rest a while, no matter how much we hurt," says Achilles to Priam.  "You must endure this grief and not constantly grieve."  He is of course speaking to himself as well.  He agrees to return Hector's body, after it is cleaned and anointed with oil, to King Priam.

And the two men begin to move past their grief and into the world of the living.  They share food together and prepare their beds--a quite literal sign that human life has returned to them.

In summary, over the course of the book we've seen the rage of Achilles transform. His initial anger is selfish: he feels his honor has been slighted by his commander Agamemnon. Only when his friend is killed can he move past his pure selfishness.  He begins to reconnect in his deep suffering and grief. Instead of fighting for glory, Achilles is fighting for his loved ones. This is a certain kind of growth, as troubling as it is to watch him strike out in vengeance against the Trojans.  A more mature connection is his development of empathy: when Achilles recognizes that Priam, his greatest enemy, feels the same grief that he does. When the two men who have been fighting against each other for a decade turn to see that they are in fact mirrors of each other--mirrors who feel the same grief and humanity--then Achilles can overcome his second rage. Only then can he begin to heal.

The book starts with slighted honor and accelerates with vengeance.  Achilles is a wounded animal, striking out in blindness to the cares of all those around him.  Only when Priam humbles himself, with great maturity and peace, does Achilles learn to recognize the needs of other people.  The book ends at this point, with his rage transformed.

Homer chooses to end his epic with death, sadness, and funerals.  In the days that follow, as audiences of Homer's day knew, the war would continue.  The walls of Troy would be breached and the city would be destroyed.  Achilles would fall to his death when Paris shot him in the heel.  But Homer does not tell us that story, just as he did not tell us the beginning of the war.  In these last pages of The Iliad, the story ends at a moment of peace--and deeply human reconciliation.

When I picked up this book, I expected a war story full of violent battles and arrogant bluster.  Both are in the book--but now as I put the translations I have back on the shelf, I can't help but be stunned by how beautiful is and how deeply its larger themes resonate in today's world.

*  *  *

Although this is my last post about Homer's The Iliad per se, I will be talking about contemporary treatments of the story for the rest of the week. Up for discussion tomorrow: a modern adaptation of the scene discussed today.

Grieving: Vengeance, then Tears

After the death of Patroclus, Achilles reenters the battles of the Trojan War.  Before Patroclus was killed, Achilles was sitting out the war in his tent, angry with his commander about a breach of honor.  But now everything has changed.  Achilles no longer fights because of the expectations of fate nor because of the system of honor and shame in ancient Greece.  The grief he experiences after his beloved friend's death spurs our Greek hero to pick up his sword and seek revenge against the Trojans.  His main target: Hector of the shining helmet, son of King Priam, killer of Patroclus--and family man. 

Hector recognizes that Achilles is a hero of enormous strength and skill, as he says here in the Lombardo translation:

   I know you're really good, a lot better than me,
   But is it up to the gods to decide whether I,
   A lesser man, will rob you of life without my spear.
   It's been proven to have an edge before.

Achilles is furious.  He charges "with a terrifying yell, his whole being inspired to kill."  He is "a man with no gentleness in him, a man with one purpose."  So he enters the battlefield and begins to swing his sword almost indiscriminantly, killing many Trojans in his path.  (The horror of war in this scene is presented in amazing detail.  Those of you who are squeamish may prefer to skip this next quote.)

   In supplication, Achilles shoved his sword
   Down into his liver.  The liver slid out
   Into Tros' lap with a clot of black blood
   And the world went dark as he expired.
   Achilles was already upon Mulius,
   Putting his bronze javelin through one ear
   And all the way out the other....
   Deucalion was next...  Achilles closed in
   And sliced into his neck, sending the head,
   Helmet and all, flying through the air.
   Marrow spurted up through his spinal cord,
   And then the corpse was lengthwise on the ground.
   ...The son of Peleus pressed on to glory,
   His invincible hands spattered with gore.

Eventually, Achilles comes to Hector--and Homer's language turns from gore to symbolic poetry: "How could Hector have ever escaped death's black birds?"

As Achilles and Hector face each other for what they both know will be a battle to death, Hector wants them each to promise that the victor will not dishonor the corpse of the defeated.  Achilles laughs in his face, saying:

   Do lions make peace treaties with men?
   Do wolves and lambs agree to get along?
   No, they hate each other to the core,
   And that's how it is between you and me.

Even after Achilles has struck the blow that will kill Hector, Achilles taunts him with threats that, instead of giving his body back to family, he intends to let the "dogs and birds...eat every last scrap."  He tells him he would eat it himself if his stomach would let him.

*  *  *

Once Hector and the other Trojans have been slaughtered, Achilles can finally allow himself to let go of some of his vengeful fury.  He is now ready to relinguish the dead body of Patroclus.  Achilles burns the corpse on a pyre, then the Greeks hold funeral games that last for several days.

By the end of the games, Achilles's rage seems to be transforming into a deep, weary sadness.  He lies in bed, unable to sleep, night after night.

   Tears wet his face as he remembered his friend.
   He tossed and turned, yearning for Patroclus,
   For his manhood and his noble heart....
   Thinking of all [their adventures together], he would weep softly,
   Lying now on his side, now on his back,
   And now face down.  Then he would rise
   To his feet and wander in a daze along the shore.

After the sun rises each morning, Achilles hitches Hector's dead body to the back of his chariot and circles around Patroclus' tomb--morning after morning, for twelve days.  Now Achilles is not acting with the animal intensity that drove him to kill Hector in the first place.  Instead, he seems stuck in this ritual--one born of rage but continued in a time of just exhaustion and tears.

*  *  *

Tomorrow, I'll post about how his grief eventually allows Achilles to reenter the human community.  Although there is much left to say about this book, I promise that my next post will be my last discussing Homer's text.

One of the things I haven't mentioned at all is the central role of the gods and goddesses of the Greek pantheon.  Luckily, there are folks who have.  Don't miss the terrific discussion of the Iliad over at Read the Book for a discussion of that and other themes.

A Noble Enemy

or, The Heroes of Troy


Although The Iliad is a text from ancient Greece celebrating the Greek victory over the Trojans, it is also a tale full of noble Trojan soldiers and deeply sympathetic Trojan citizens.

Sometimes Homer gives us characterizations of shining heroism among the Trojan soldiers(here translated by Stanley Lombardo):

   And Hector left, helmet collecting light
   Above the black-hide shield whose rim tapped
   His ankles and neck with each step he took.

or later,

   Sunlight shimmered on great Hector's helmet.

In other passages, the Trojans are shown as a full community--including the women and children who are almost entirely absent in the Greek military fortifications:

   When Hector reached the oak tree by the Western Gate,
   Trojan wives and daughters ran up to him,
   Asking about their children, their brothers,
   Their kinsmen, their husbands.  He told them all,
   Each woman in turn, to pray to the gods.
   Sorrow clung to their heads like mist.

Perhaps most moving is the incredibly tear-worthy image of Hector's relationship with his own wife Andromache and their child:

   Hector alone could save Ilion now.
   He looked at his son and smiled in silence.
   Andromache stood close to him, shedding tears,
   Clinging to his arm as she spoke these words:
   "... Don't make your child an orphan, your wife a widow...."
   ...With these words, resplendent Hector
   Reached for his child, who shrank back screaming
   Into his nurse's bosom, terrified of his father's
   Bronze-encased face and the horsehair plume
   He saw nodding down from the helmet's crest.
   This forced a laugh from his father and mother,
   And Hector removed the helmet from his head
   And set it on the ground all shimmering with light.
   Then he kissed his dear son and swung him up gently.
   ...And he put his son in the arms of his wife,
   And she enfolded him in her fragrant bosom
   Laughing through her tears.

In The Iliad, Homer is creating a national myth extolling Greek power--but throughout his epic, we are shown again and again his deep respect for the Trojans as full human beings.  In fact, since the battles are fought on their own land, the Trojans cannot help but be connected to places as real as their own gardens and homes and to all the people of their community.  One of the little details that Homer includes is that a battle the soldiers fight takes place on land where the Trojan women hang the laundry to dry in the sun.

Barry Strauss argues in his 2006 The Trojan War: A New History that Homer might have heard a Trojan telling of the story of the Iliad. He points out that the Trojans had both written narrative and epic poetry--and their version of the story could have been passed down by either means.

Complex and sympathetic characters like King Priam, Hector, Hecuba, and Andromache might support the idea that Homer had access to a Trojan version.  But I don't think that is explanation enough for why Homer paints his Trojan characters with so much gentleness and in so much detail.

In our modern world, if we are unfamiliar with the story, it makes almost more sense to root for Hector than it does to root for Achilles (as Red points out in Thursday's comments she saw a group of 13yo kids do). Although Homer's audiences would not have done such a thing and were absolutely sure Achilles would win the day, they must have felt the deep humanity of the Trojan warrior.  They must have mourned for him in spirit right alongside his wife and parents.  (For those of you who have a copy of The Iliad lying around, flip through chapter 22 to see how much space Homer gives to their pain.)  The pain and loss of the Trojans highlights the great costs of the war--and perhaps of war in general.

As I will talk about in an upcoming post, the sympathetic characterization of Hector and his family might be necessary to facilitate one of the book's major turning points.  But I think Homer might have been up to something else here as well.  Although the Greeks were the definite victors in the Trojan War, they only won through a certain degree of dishonesty, cruelty, and cheating.  That legacy seems to haunt many of the Greek heroes after they leave the war--a theme explored by the Greek dramatists I will be reading soon.

I'd love to hear what you think.  What do you think Homer intended by creating such a sympathetic opposition?  Do modern readers take away additional messages that perhaps Homer did not intend from this portrayal?

Honor in Homer's The Iliad

As I mentioned in my post on Monday, The Iliad begins when military commander Agamemnon takes Achilles' slave woman to be his own companion. Achilles flies into a rage and refuses to continue fighting in the battles against Troy.  Reading The Iliad with the eyes of a modern person, Achilles' action makes him seem childish or petty, sulking in his tent and being quite the drama queen. But Homer intended for his readers to take away a deeper message.

In order to understand the why Achilles got so angry, it is necessary to understand a little about ancient Greek culture.  Greek military society revolved around the polar concepts of honor and shame.  Men were taught to value their position in society and to make sure that they did nothing that would bring on the condemnation of others.  In our modern culture, we tend to emphasize the more internal emotions of pride and guilt, but the Greeks believed that what other people said about you was an indication of your true worth.  If one's honor is impugned, one's entire identity can be lost.

Briseis, the slave woman, was an honor-reward for Achilles--a prize meant to express Agamemnon's approval of the young soldier's heroism in war.  Removing her from his tent was seen by Achilles as an act meant to shame him.

In the case of Achilles, the story gets even more complex.  He knew that his great prowess as a soldier meant that he was fated to die in war.  The gods had promised that his death would be rewarded with fame and honor that would last through the generations.  Achilles fought because this bargain was his fate, not out of patriotic commitment.  When  Agamemnon retracts the reward Achilles has been given, the young soldier sees that the divine bargain has broken down.  Since he is not receiving the honor, he believes he should not have to die.  In other words, Achilles refuses to fight not because he doesn't like being insulted but because his entire reason to fight in the first place has just been removed.

The Greek military prized a hierarchical system of command that did not allow subordinates to challenge those in charge.  Achilles felt he had the right to stand up in opposition to his commander--that is, to be insubordinate--only because he felt that Agamemnon had violated proper adherence to the system of honor-rewards ingrained in the culture.

Achilles begins to transcend this rage only by rejecting the system of honor and shame that lay at the heart of Ancient Greece.  After the death of his beloved friend Patroclus, Achilles reenters the war against the Trojans--this time for vengeance rather than for honor.  He is no longer acting out of a willingness to follow the dictates of fate.  He is no longer acting out of a desire to be a hero. Achilles picks up his shield because his heart is broken.  He feels guilt for not protecting Patroclus, his Myrmidons, and all of the Greeks.  Although as a pacifist I am horrified by the violent anger of Achilles, I am nonetheless moved to tears by this reconnection to community, to connection, to his human self.

On Love and Friendship

Achilles bandages Patroclus (picture courtesy of Oedipusphinx)

The relationship between Achilles and Patroclus is by far the most emotional connection we see among the Greeks in The Iliad.  It is hard for us as modern readers to make sense of exactly what this meant to the characters or to Homer.  Are they friends?  Are they lovers?  Does it make a difference?

There are some people who reject the idea that Achilles and Patroclus were lovers.  They argue that such a claim is just part of a political agenda by modern gay activists.  But the idea is not just a modern one: both Aeschylus and Plato believed the two men had a sexual relationship.  And Shakespeare agreed. 

Arguing that such a relationship meant that the two men were gay is a much trickier business.  Among the Greeks, such a relationship seems to have been fairly common--and not one that would define the men as "gay" or "homosexual" or anything else.  Those words are not only labels but entire categories created in a later era. 

There are some indications that Homer might have been playing off the man-boy pederastic relationships common at a slighty later period of ancient Greek culture.  I find this argument fairly unconvincing since Achilles and Patroclus are more or less equals (with each being dominant in some categories and subordinate in others).

Although many readers since those ancient days have believed that Homer portrays a sexual relationship between Achilles and Patroclus, it is not stated directly in the text.  Perhaps Homer was working under a "don't ask, don't tell" policy. 

What is clear from the text, however, is that the two men loved each other deeply, and that they had been close since they were young.  Before Patroclus is killed, Achilles says to him (in the Lombardo translation):

   Once you have made some daylight for the ships,
   You come back where you belong.
   The others can fight it out on the plain.
   Oh, Patroclus, I wish to Father Zeus
   And to Athena and Apollo
   That all of them, Greeks and Trojans alike,
   Every last man on Troy's dusty plain,
   Were dead, and only you and I were left
   To rip Ilion down, stone by sacred stone.

Achilles sees Patroclus as more than just a loved one.  He is almost a part of himself.  His friend's death leaves him grieving and guilty.  "My friend is dead, Patroclus, my dearest friend of all.  I loved him, and I killed him."  He continues, "I no longer have the will to remain alive among men."  As he talks with his mother and tells her of his pain, he comes to a decision: "I'm going now to find the man who destroyed my beloved."  He will kill Hector, the man who drove his sword into Patroclus.

After his discussion with his mother, Achilles returned to camp and "began the incessant lamentation," as Homer said.  His grief took a physical form,

   Laying his man-slaying hands on Patroclus' chest
   And groaning over and over like a bearded lion.

The next morning, the mother of Achilles came to see him at the camp--here quoted from the Fagles translation.

   She found her beloved son lying facedown.
   embracing Patroclus' body, sobbing, wailing.

He is unwilling to leave the side of his beloved, unwilling to let Patroclus be buried until Achilles has brought Troy to its knees from his vengeance. 

I'll talk in coming posts about how he begins to emerge from this deep grief into both a new heroic stance and, eventually, a newly human one.

*  *  *

I was shocked at how significant I found the parallels between Gilgamesh's relationship with Enkidu and Achilles' relationship with Patroclus.  In both cases, one heroic man (who is both cases is part god) loves another man, someone who is in many ways a mirror-self, whom he watches die.  The death causes the hero great pain, but through his grief, the hero is eventually able to accept his own mortality--and rejoin the life of the community in a more profound way.

Do you see this theme in other literature?  It seems to me that is the inspiration for so much, even for the "buddy movies" of late twentieth century Hollywood.

Rage

Photo Credit: Myth Image

Most scholars today believe that the Trojan War was a true historical event, one which probably occurred around 1250 BCE.  The war was memorialized in many myths and epic poetry from ancient Greece.  The stories were apparently written down for the first time roughly five hundred years after the war.  The most famous telling of the war is, of course, Homer's The Iliad.  (In my own reading of this story, I have relied principally on the fine translations by Robert Fagles and Stanley Lombardo.)

Although Homer placed his story in a real historical setting, the epic of The Iliad is in no way an attempt at early history.  Nor is it simply a retelling of myths that surround the Trojan War.  We don't hear about the abduction of Helen or the Trojan Horse, both events which may be rooted in history but are often believed to be mythic stories.  We don't hear about the initial volleys or early battles.  We don't even learn how the war turns out at its conclusion.

Instead, what Homer gives us is an enormously personal story of one man's emotional battles--and his personal transformation--during the course of one short episode in the war.  While Achilles was a mighty warrior, his physical strength is not at the core of the plot.  Instead, Homer focuses on his character's changing sense of rage and pain.

Achilles struggles with three kinds of rage over the course of the book:

1. Rage against Agamemnon:
       When the Greeks capture a Trojan-allied town, they enslave two women to be companions for commander-in-chief Agamemnon and his prized warrior Achilles.  When Agamemnon is forced to return his slave to her family, he claims Achilles's woman, the beautiful Briseis, as compensation.  Achilles is furious.  Some modern readers argue that his anger is rooted in real love for Briseis.  Others feel his rage is simply an expression of his wounded pride at having his reward stripped from him.  The anger of Achilles comes to such a boiling point that he refuses to reenter the battle against the Trojans until his concubine is returned.  Whether his pain is mostly from the loss of love or the loss of respect, Achilles feels his honor has been acutely insulted by Agamemnon.

2. Rage against Hector:
      While Achilles stays in his tent away from the battlefields, his beloved friend Patroclus enters the war clad in the armor of Achilles. He and the Myrmidons fight valiantly and successfully--so successfully that Apollo steps in to prevent Patroclus from gaining more honor than the gods have decreed.  Seeing this new weakness, Hector (fighting on the side of the Trojans) puts his sword through Patroclus and kills him.  Now, Achilles is drawn into the battle by his fury towards Hector (and perhaps his own shame for putting his friend's life in such danger).  Revenge rather than wounded pride motivates his rage now.

3. Rage against fate and expectations:
      Finally, Achilles must struggle against the fact that his culture casts him as a great warrior who will be sacrificed in war.  His mother Thetis, a goddess, tells Achilles that he has a choice: stay in Troy where he will be killed in the war but be remembered forever as a great hero, or go home and live a long and ordinary life.  That is, Achilles must choose between a long life that leads to anonymous death, or a death that leads to everlasting life.  In his rage at this unfair choice, he considers the option to go home without victory.  Eventually, however, Achilles comes to terms with his impending death in battle and joins the fight.

I will talk about each of these in more detail over the course of the week, as well as how Achilles comes to the point of redemption in each of these situations.  Join me as I try to make sense of how Homer is shaping our conceptions of war and humanity, as well as how he is contributing to the Great Conversation--a conversation that in many ways started with his voice.

*  *  *

Don't miss Tony's clever tribute to Homer and the Iliad.  And be sure to follow the blog posts all over the web inspired by this month's Classics Circuit theme of Ancient Greek Literature.

Beginning Homer's The Iliad

A huge winter storm has knocked out power--and access to the internet--to our home.  Right now I am spending a few minutes in a local cafe which offers wifi to its customers.  All of my neighbors are here as well, charging cell phones and blackberries or typing on their laptops.  There is quite a line just for electrical outlets.  So here I sit, typing as fast as I can to put together a quick little post for this week's Book Beginnings.

For the next several posts, I'll be talking about my reactions to Homer's The Iliad. Today, I'll share with you the first lines from a variety of translations which have appeared in English over the years. I'm fascinated with how different translations can shape our emotional and intellectual responses to a given text. Consider these examples:

1. Translation by Stanley Lombardo, 1997

RAGE: Sing, Goddess, Achilles' rage,
Black and murderous, that cost the Greeks
Incalculable pain, pitched countless souls
Of heroes into Hades' dark,
And left their bodies to rot as feasts
For dogs and birds, as Zeus' will was done.


2. Translation by Robert Fagles, 1990:

Rage--Goddess, sing the rage of Peleus’ son Achilles,
murderous, doomed, that cost the Achaeans countless losses,
hurling down to the House of Death so many sturdy souls,
great fighters’ souls, but made their bodies carrion,
feasts for the dogs and birds,
and the will of Zeus was moving toward its end.


3. Translation by Robert Fitzgerald, 1974

Anger be now your song, immortal one,
Akhilleus’ anger, doomed and ruinous,
that caused the Akhaians loss on bitter loss
and crowded brave souls into the undergloom,
leaving so many dead men — carrion
for dogs and birds; and the will of Zeus was done.


4. Translation by Richmond Lattimore, 1951

Sing, goddess, the anger of Peleus’ son Achilleus
and its devastation, which put pains thousandfold upon the Achaians,
hurled in their multitudes to the house of Hades strong souls
of heroes, but gave their bodies to be the delicate feasting
of dogs, of all birds, and the will of Zeus was accomplished.


5. Translation by Alexander Pope, 1715

The Wrath of Peleus' Son, the direful Spring
Of all the Grecian Woes, O Goddess, sing!
That Wrath which hurl'd to Pluto's gloomy
     Reign
The Souls of mighty Chiefs untimely slain;
Whose Limbs unbury'd on the naked Shore
Devouring Dogs and hungry Vultures tore.
Since Great Achilles and Atrides strove,
Such was the Sov'reign Doom, and such the
      Will of Jove.


6. Translation by George Chapman, 1598-1611

(note: Chapman was a contemporary of Shakespeare and King James.  This translation was immortalized in John Keats poem "On First Looking into Chapman's Homer")

Achilles’ bane full wrath resound, O Goddesse, that imposd
Infinite sorrowes on the Greekes, and many brave soules losd
From breasts Heroique—sent them farre, to that invisible cave
That no light comforts; and their lims to dogs and vultures gave.
To all which Jove’s will gave effect; from whom first strife begunne
Betwixt Atrides, king of men, and Thetis’ godlike Sonne.

*  *  *

Which translation speaks to you? Why?