Re-reading The Odyssey
I was feeling pretty sore over the weekend, recovering from my second Pfizer shot, and ended up re-reading The Odyssey (the 1919 translation by AT Murray). I started when I was looking for the quote about the winnowing fan for a Facebook discussion, and then I ended up going back and reading the whole thing.
As I younger than Telemachus the last time I read it, it was interesting to see how much my perspective had changed.
First, the sailing sections were remarkably relatable:
Then on board the ship stepped Telemachus, and Athena went before him and sat down in the stern of the ship, and near her sat Telemachus, while the men loosed the stern cables and themselves stepped on board, and sat down upon the benches. And flashing-eyed Athena sent them a favorable wind, a strong-blowing West wind that sang over the wine-dark sea. And Telemachus called to his men, and bade them lay hold of the tackling, and they hearkened to his call. The mast of fir they raised and set in the hollow socket, and made it fast with fore-stays, and hauled up the white sail with twisted thongs of ox-hide. So the wind filled the belly of the sail, and the dark wave sang loudly about the stem of the ship as she went, and she sped over the wave accomplishing her way. Then, when they had made the tackling fast in the swift black ship, they set forth bowls brim full of wine, and poured libations to the immortal gods that are forever, and chiefest of all to the flashing-eyed daughter of Zeus. So all night long and through the dawn the ship cleft her way.
Everything in the above passage is completely clear to a modern sailor, including the dark wave singing about the stem (the front) of the ship as she picks up speed. I can picture vividly how they would step the mast (place it into the socket) and what they are doing with the fore-stays (the ropes that hold the mast in place).
There is boatbuilding too...
Then [Calypso] led the way to the borders of the island where tall trees were standing, alder and popular and fir, reaching to the skies, long dry and well-seasoned, which would float for him lightly. But when she had shewn him where the tall trees grew, Calypso, the beautiful goddess, returned homewards, but he fell to cutting timbers, and his work went forward apace. Twenty trees in all did he fell, and trimmed them with the axe; then he cunningly smoothed them all and made them straight to the line. Meanwhile Calypso, the beautiful goddess, brought him augers; and he bored all the pieces and fitted them to one another, and with pegs and morticings did he hammer it together. Wide as a man well-skilled in carpentry marks out the curve of the hull of a freight-ship, broad of beam, even so wide did Odysseus make his raft. And he set up the deck-beams, bolting them to the close-set ribs, and laboured on; and he finished the raft with long gunwales. In it he set a mast and a yard-arm, fitted to it, and furthermore made him a steering-oar, wherewith to steer. Then he fenced in the whole from stem to stern with willow withes to be a defence against the wave, and strewed much brush thereon. Meanwhile Calypso, the beautiful goddess, brought him cloth to make him a sail, and he fashioned that too with skill. And he made fast in the raft braces and halyards and sheets, and then with levers forced it down into the bright sea.
Again, everything there is completely relatable, now that I know what it's like to smooth and plane timber and "make them straight to the line". And also, just what the "man well-skilled in carpentry" was doing when he was marking the curve of the hull, now that I've done it myself and watched traditional boatbuilders do it as well.
There were also other things that struck me when I read the words again with older eyes. In the first passage above, Telemachus, the son of Odysseus, is setting out on his first big adult challenge, guided by the goddess Athena, who is disguised as an old man called Mentor (yes, that's where the word comes from). Athena is constantly taking other forms. When I first read it as a child, I would have read that as "the gods are really sneaky". But now, as an adult, I see it as "sometimes the goddess of wisdom speaks through the words of an old man, or a young child, or a beggar". And maybe Athena is also wise because she sees things from different perspectives. And of course (since when they are making libations to Athena, they don't realise she is actually watching), it always pays to act as though flashing-eyed Athena is present.
Other scenes too took on new meanings. The episode with Scylla and Charybdis now looks like a clear story about leadership and making the tough decisions to save lives. The monster Scylla will pluck victims from the ship with her six heads, but if they keep going, the losses will be limited. If they stray too far into the path of Charybdis however, the entire ship could be lost. The captain hears the hapless victims call his name as they are snatched away.
The story about the cattle of Helios also resonates after living through Covid. Your crew will make it home, as long as you don't harm the cattle of Helios, says the dead seer Teiresias. Whatever you do, don't harm the cattle of Helios, reminds the sorceress Circe. Let's not even stop at the island with the cattle, says Odysseus. But we're tired and hungry say his crew (and also a little traumatised by Scylla). Okay then, I need you to swear an oath not to touch the cattle of Helios. All we have to do is not touch the cattle of Helios. Later, after a month of lockdown on the island... Crew: Let's eat the cattle of Helios!
Another interesting point was in the scene where Odysseus meets the ghost of Achilles. I barely even noticed this the first time around, but this is possibly one of the most terrifying moments of all for Odysseus. Odysseus notes how great Achilles was among men and how surely he must now be a lord among the dead. And Achilles answers that he would rather be alive as a servant than a king of the dead. For fame-seeking Odysseus, this must have been confronting. The realisation that immortality through fame is only for the fame itself, while the actual person perishes.
As I younger than Telemachus the last time I read it, it was interesting to see how much my perspective had changed.
First, the sailing sections were remarkably relatable:
Then on board the ship stepped Telemachus, and Athena went before him and sat down in the stern of the ship, and near her sat Telemachus, while the men loosed the stern cables and themselves stepped on board, and sat down upon the benches. And flashing-eyed Athena sent them a favorable wind, a strong-blowing West wind that sang over the wine-dark sea. And Telemachus called to his men, and bade them lay hold of the tackling, and they hearkened to his call. The mast of fir they raised and set in the hollow socket, and made it fast with fore-stays, and hauled up the white sail with twisted thongs of ox-hide. So the wind filled the belly of the sail, and the dark wave sang loudly about the stem of the ship as she went, and she sped over the wave accomplishing her way. Then, when they had made the tackling fast in the swift black ship, they set forth bowls brim full of wine, and poured libations to the immortal gods that are forever, and chiefest of all to the flashing-eyed daughter of Zeus. So all night long and through the dawn the ship cleft her way.
Everything in the above passage is completely clear to a modern sailor, including the dark wave singing about the stem (the front) of the ship as she picks up speed. I can picture vividly how they would step the mast (place it into the socket) and what they are doing with the fore-stays (the ropes that hold the mast in place).
There is boatbuilding too...
Then [Calypso] led the way to the borders of the island where tall trees were standing, alder and popular and fir, reaching to the skies, long dry and well-seasoned, which would float for him lightly. But when she had shewn him where the tall trees grew, Calypso, the beautiful goddess, returned homewards, but he fell to cutting timbers, and his work went forward apace. Twenty trees in all did he fell, and trimmed them with the axe; then he cunningly smoothed them all and made them straight to the line. Meanwhile Calypso, the beautiful goddess, brought him augers; and he bored all the pieces and fitted them to one another, and with pegs and morticings did he hammer it together. Wide as a man well-skilled in carpentry marks out the curve of the hull of a freight-ship, broad of beam, even so wide did Odysseus make his raft. And he set up the deck-beams, bolting them to the close-set ribs, and laboured on; and he finished the raft with long gunwales. In it he set a mast and a yard-arm, fitted to it, and furthermore made him a steering-oar, wherewith to steer. Then he fenced in the whole from stem to stern with willow withes to be a defence against the wave, and strewed much brush thereon. Meanwhile Calypso, the beautiful goddess, brought him cloth to make him a sail, and he fashioned that too with skill. And he made fast in the raft braces and halyards and sheets, and then with levers forced it down into the bright sea.
Again, everything there is completely relatable, now that I know what it's like to smooth and plane timber and "make them straight to the line". And also, just what the "man well-skilled in carpentry" was doing when he was marking the curve of the hull, now that I've done it myself and watched traditional boatbuilders do it as well.
There were also other things that struck me when I read the words again with older eyes. In the first passage above, Telemachus, the son of Odysseus, is setting out on his first big adult challenge, guided by the goddess Athena, who is disguised as an old man called Mentor (yes, that's where the word comes from). Athena is constantly taking other forms. When I first read it as a child, I would have read that as "the gods are really sneaky". But now, as an adult, I see it as "sometimes the goddess of wisdom speaks through the words of an old man, or a young child, or a beggar". And maybe Athena is also wise because she sees things from different perspectives. And of course (since when they are making libations to Athena, they don't realise she is actually watching), it always pays to act as though flashing-eyed Athena is present.
Other scenes too took on new meanings. The episode with Scylla and Charybdis now looks like a clear story about leadership and making the tough decisions to save lives. The monster Scylla will pluck victims from the ship with her six heads, but if they keep going, the losses will be limited. If they stray too far into the path of Charybdis however, the entire ship could be lost. The captain hears the hapless victims call his name as they are snatched away.
The story about the cattle of Helios also resonates after living through Covid. Your crew will make it home, as long as you don't harm the cattle of Helios, says the dead seer Teiresias. Whatever you do, don't harm the cattle of Helios, reminds the sorceress Circe. Let's not even stop at the island with the cattle, says Odysseus. But we're tired and hungry say his crew (and also a little traumatised by Scylla). Okay then, I need you to swear an oath not to touch the cattle of Helios. All we have to do is not touch the cattle of Helios. Later, after a month of lockdown on the island... Crew: Let's eat the cattle of Helios!
Another interesting point was in the scene where Odysseus meets the ghost of Achilles. I barely even noticed this the first time around, but this is possibly one of the most terrifying moments of all for Odysseus. Odysseus notes how great Achilles was among men and how surely he must now be a lord among the dead. And Achilles answers that he would rather be alive as a servant than a king of the dead. For fame-seeking Odysseus, this must have been confronting. The realisation that immortality through fame is only for the fame itself, while the actual person perishes.