A Guide to the Odyssey: A Commentary on the English Translation of Robert Fitzgerald
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12–13 Odysseus contrasts his own pain, which will be renewed in the telling, with the happy picture of his listeners.
14–15 What shall I say first? What shall I keep until the end: Odysseus marks the beginning of his narration with these rhetorical questions. Likewise, the poet of The Iliad asks rhetorically, or literally asks the Muse, “Which of the gods drove them [Agamémnon and Akhilleus] to fight in strife” (I.8). A formal question is not necessary, though some reference to a starting point is. At the opening of The Odyssey, for example, Homer simply commands the Muse to “Begin when …” (I.19). On the ordering of the waystations of Odysseus’ travels, see 41–43, below.
20 I am … Odysseus: Homer does not return to his own narrative voice until XI.387; only then (XI.391–412, 422–37) does he describe the reaction of Odysseus’ audience to the hero’s narrative and to the revelation of his identity at a point by then many hundreds of lines in the past. We should, however, try to imagine the effect Odysseus’ revelation has here; he was just the subject of Demódokos’ last song—as Odysseus himself had arranged.
22 formidable for guile: Odysseus is proud of this “guile,” which he recognizes as his preeminent characteristic. Indeed, the story he requested from Demódokos showcased his mastery of deception. (In the Greek, Odysseus presumes his audience will remember the Trojan horse and does not include “in peace and war,” which Fitzgerald uses as a reminder to us.)
25 Mount Neion: Fitzgerald follows one tradition going back to Crates; most scholars today prefer to call it “Mount Neritos” [Nêriton, 22]. See Neion in the Who’s Who, below.
32 Kalypso: Odysseus begins here as he had begun his (at the time anonymous) response to Arêtê’s question (VII.261ff.). This will be a much longer narrative than that brief summary and will in fact relate material from before his sojourn with Kalypso. The seven years on Ogýgia serve as punctuation within the ten-year period that has elapsed by since the fall of Troy. Beyond giving his audience a point of reference, Odysseus repeats his mention of Kalypso to make his tales sound plausible. Even within fictions, cross-references and consistency enhance credibility.
35 We have met Kalypso and seen Odysseus with her (Book V). As a kind of prologue of what is to come, Odysseus presents Kirkê as a parallel—comparable to Kalypso but much wilder and stranger, as are many of the adventures in Books IX-XII. Odysseus’ descripdon of his time with the witch will occupy the bulk of Book X (lines 149–635).
41–43 What of my sailing …: These are not formal questions in Homer’s Greek [37–38]. With these words Odysseus begins the famous account of his travels. Scholars are now in general agreement that the individual episodes are arranged in a “ring” with the nekuia—the view of the underworld afforded by Book XI—at the center.
Ring composition is a characteristic archaic Greek device that poets frequently employed to organize their material and that we presume helped singers and listeners to keep both details and the whole clearly in mind. In other words, it functions in part as a mnemonic device. A ring may involve words or phrases within one sentence, thoughts in a paragraph, or, as in the present case, narrative blocks. The classic form involves the treatment of elements a, b, and c, after which the poet takes them or variants of them and presents them in reverse order, c’, b’, a’, so that he or she concludes where he or she began. (For a good example of closure by means of exact repetition, see XIX.62–63, below.)
The structure can be extended to great length, and into any element the poet can insert subordinate rings, as is the case here, so that a graphic presentation is the most efficient way of describing the organization and suggesting the correspondences and contrasts that the ring structure itself sets up. (For example, Lotos Eaters, Seirênês, Kirkê, and Kalypso are all seductive and at least temporarily pleasant detours from the homeward trip; the Kyklops, Laistrygonês, Skylla, and Kharybdis are all man-eaters; the episodes of Aiolos and Hêlios both involve first too little and then excess wind).
Troy (EX.41–43)
Kikonês (IX.44–73)
two-day storm followed by drifting (IX. 74–91)
Lotos Eaters (IX.91–112)
Kyklops (IX. 113–618)
Aiolos, including storm (X.1–90)
Laistrygonês (X.91–148)
Kirkê (X. 149–606)
Elpênor’s death, departs from Aiaia (X.607–35)
Nekuia, the underworld (XI.1–759)
return to Aiaia, Elpênor’s burial (XII. 1–173)
Seirênês (XII. 174–258)
Skylla and Kharybdis (XII.259–338)
Hêlios’ cattle, then storm (XII.339–547)
Kharybdis and Skylla (XII.548–72)
Kalypso (XII.573–580, with reference to VII.261–86)
two-day storm, followed by drifting (VII.287ff., V.291ff.)
Phaiákians, his audience
Ithaka, his goal
(after Glenn W. Most, “The Structure and Function of Odysseus’ Apologoi,” Transactions of the American Phihlogical Association 119 [1989], 15–30, esp. 21–24). Readers should consult Most’s article for detailed interpretation, further secondary literature, and above all for a compelling argument that Odysseus relates these exemplary accounts of hospitality, both positive and negative, monstrous and divine, as parts of one sustained attempt to persuade the Phaiákians to receive him well and return him home.
44–49 In The Iliad (II.846), the Kikonês of Thrace are allies of the Trojans. Odysseus does not present this alliance as a justification for his attack (piracy did not require any justification; see III. 79–81, above). In the Greek, Odysseus’ own account is briefer and even more matter-of-fact. (In two places, Fitzgerald, in his style of explanatory translation, seems intent on white-washing; see 47 and 48, immediately below.) With equal matter-of-factness (as far as piracy is concerned) Odysseus asks the ghost of Agamémnon if he met his death on such a raid (XI.467–69).
47 men who fought: In the Greek, simply “the men” [40]. Of course the men fought, but that they resisted Odysseus’ men was not the reason they were killed; marauders usually killed as many men as possible as a matter of course.
48 enslaved the women: The Greek implies specifically “as bed-mates” [41]. It went without saying that free Greek males could and would use slaves of both sexes, and often foreigners, to satisfy their sexual desires, mostly without recrimination.
51–52 The folly and uncontrollability of Odysseus’ companions is a constant theme, until they get themselves wiped out. Homer himself sounds the theme at some length in the prologue to The Odyssey (I.11–16), and one cannot help noting that Odysseus’ companions bear no small resemblance to that group of fellow Ithakans, the suitors. To wonder how men so foolish and undisciplined lasted for ten years at Troy is irrelevant; the narrative logic of The Odyssey demands that Odysseus return to Ithaka alone, so his companions must be dispatched. Since Odysseus cannot be held responsible for this, they must destroy themselves.
56 on horseback: Actually, from chariots drawn by horses. Horseback riding appears only in similes (see V.384ff., above).
59–60 Odysseus’ repeated mentions of Zeus (also 43, 74) and doom shows him to be a pious man who understands that his trials and tribulations are part of a grand scheme under Zeus’ governance.
86 I might have made it safely home: Part of Homer’s grand strategy of narrative prolongation is that Odysseus nearly comes home at this point, but at the last minute is thwarted. (Note how on a different scale throughout Books VII and VIII Homer nearly brings about the recognition of Odysseus but each time puts it off.)
92 What the “Lotos” itself was, or what Homer meant it to be, remains unclear. It is not the Egyptian lotus. It is described as “flowery” [84] and as a “fruit” [94] in the most general terms (Fitzgerald’s “plant,” 101, is appropriate). The eating of flowers or fruit is unknown elsewhere in Homer. Its effects, however, are quite clearly described. As Heubeck aptly puts it, Odysseus has now crossed “the border separating the re
ality of the familiar Mediterranean world from the realm of folk-tale” (HWH 2.18 [on IX.82–104]).
104 that native bloom: Not as a true or even popular etymology (and faintly sounded at that), but Homer may be suggesting some sort of ad hoc explanation for the word “Lotos” where the Greek line begins with lôton [97], the fruit, and concludes with a form of the verb “to forget” [lathesthai]. They share an initial “1” and second consonant, a “t” sound (unaspirated “t” and aspirated “th”)—precious little to go on. Yet Homer seems at pains to sound the pair again in line 109 with different forms of both words [lôtoio, lathêsai, 102—this is not a formulaic repetition].
113–24 The land of the Kyklopês is the site of the major adventure of Book IX. As a people, the Kyklopês are, by Greek standards, lawless and uncivilized. The first description of what they eat (115–19) suggests that they simply gather the wild bounty nature provides. But as we will learn, they tend flocks (they are pastoralists rather than agriculturalists). Most significant from a Greek perspective, they do not form a community (120–24) but live in primitive family units. They are literally apolitical, lacking a polis (city-state).
“Kyklops” means “round eye,” by which Homer seems to indicate that the Kyklopês were as a race one-eyed. I say seems because this is never expressly stated in The Odyssey, as it is in Hesiod’s Theogony (verse 145) and thereafter. If Homer doesn’t mean this, he has failed to tell us that the particular Kyklops that Odysseus visits has already lost one eye. Odysseus says singular “eye” without further commnet (at 361 [333]) as Zeus had (at I.92 [69]) where Zeus had named Polyphêmos and revealed that Odysseus would poke out his eye. The name Polyphêmos does not occur in Book IX until line 438 [403]. Up to that point, Homer has Odysseus call him simply “the Kyklops.”
115–16 Leaving … / to the immortal gods: The Kyklopês are not technically godless, but their attitude toward and relationship with the gods differ from those of the Greeks.
125–93 The major function of Goat Island within the Kyklops episode is to permit Odysseus a place to park his fleet. He crosses to Kyklopês land with only one ship and a few men.
136 No shipwright: The Kyklopês are in this respect, as in many others, diametrically opposed to the Phaiákians, Odysseus’ present audience. Not seafaring, not land taming, not engaged in commerce, they are also the opposites of the many adventurous seagoers and colonizers among Homer’s own contemporaries.
171 my lot was ten: As leader, Odysseus receives a special portion (here, ten goats) for himself alone.
184ff. Neither Homer nor Odysseus says explicitly what the motivation for this exploratory foray is: search for hospitality, possible pillage, or just idle curiosity. We should not forget Book I.6–7: it seems that, whether by necessity or desire, Odysseus’ “learn[ing] the minds of many distant men” is central to the poet’s conception of his hero. Note that when Odysseus’ men suggest plundering Polyphêmos’ cave after having surveyed its abundance, Odysseus himself refuses. “I wished to see the caveman” (248–49). Nonetheless, in no other episode in his own narrative is Odysseus motivated solely by curiosity.
201–2 Polyphêmos is utterly alone, without even a family. His home is a cave, for which no skill in building is required. Note that in lines 201–8 Odysseus gives a description of Polyphêmos based on full and final knowledge of him, not what he knows at this point in his narrative. This is common, as in the even more detailed description of Goat Island (126–53), which Odysseus could not have given on the night of his arrival (153–61).
211–31 The episode, as it will develop, will require Odysseus to have abundant wine with him, not necessarily the most likely item he would haul along as he scouts the Kyklops’ cave. Hence Homer pays particular attention to it: it is a special wine, with its own history. (In this it is not unlike the famous weapons, usually swords, of considerably later heroes—folktale heroes always have their magical props.) In lines 227–31 Odysseus goes out of his way to explain why he took the wine with him, suggesting that he expected his Phaiákian audience to wonder at it (as Homer would have done with his audience).
222–23 one cupful … / in twenty more of water: This extraordinarily potent Thracian wine was supposed to be diluted twenty parts to one. To get an idea of the strength of this vintage, consider that, in Hesiod’s Works and Days (596), the recommended ratio of water to wine is three to one. The mixing of wine was standard practice; to drink wine neat would be considered a sign of boorishness. Odysseus’ remark at the end of this section, “a wild man, ignorant of civility” (231), although it has a larger application, also sets Polyphêmos up as being unaware of the etiquette of drinking. Given that in Greece this included the knowledge that wines are to be diluted, Odysseus is well on his way to bringing off another of his brilliantly reasoned deceptions.
This may be the earliest recorded instance of “Western man” using an intoxicant to trick (and either rob or destroy) someone who is not acculturated to its use. Compare Osmin in Mozart’s Abduction from the Seraglio: a Moslem and thus officially a strict abstainer, in a comedy for Christian eyes (Vienna, 1782) he is presented as an all-too-willing tippler and thus an easy dupe for the clever (European and Christian) servant Pedrillo. A less literary and more tragic parallel would be the “firewater” that Native Americans so easily obtained from European colonists. Of course, from the perspective of a self-proclaimed “superior culture,” ignorance of the protocol of drinking is just another proof of the “inferiority” of a “less cultured” people. For the “superior culture,” there is nothing wrong with exploiting this ignorance in gaining the upper hand. Still, drugging one’s opponent is a plot device in many thrillers today and does not necessarily imply (as it clearly does here) cultural superiority.
235–40 The actual organization of the Kyklops’ goods may seem to indicate a higher level of culture than Odysseus at first suggests: milk is processed into cheese, and there is pottery. Not that Odysseus was an archeologist, or that Homer could have known that earthenware pottery had already been around for millennia; nonetheless, he would have observed that even the poorest of backwoods people could live as Polyphêmos does. It is, again, the lack of a social and political structure that marks the Kyklopês as uncivilized.
249 what he had to offer: Literally, “if he would give me xeinia” [229]—all the rites and appurtenances of hospitality.
250 no pretty sight: An ominous litotes.
252ff. It goes without saying that in Homer all beings, even monsters, understand and speak Greek. Most popular narrative forms exploit the convention that one can do without an interpreter, and even an explanation why one isn’t needed. Later, when there is an insistence on the congruence of nationality and national language, interpreters are thematized. This in turn can become a convention: consider, in a western, the figure of the “white” captive among “Indians” who can serve as interpreter and, if female, ready-made “romantic interest” for the American cowboy or soldier (to avoid miscegenation).
One of the most illogical but goofily endearing conventions in popular American films is that foreigners speak, even among themselves, in American English with a foreign accent (and the stronger the accent, the more marked that character is in some particular foreign characteristic: evil if we are dealing with a German U-boat captain, romantic with a French or “Latin” lover). But of course, conventions by definition defy logic. Science fiction, which partakes of both the popular and pedantic, will usually thematize the means of decoding and translation between earthlings and extraterrestrials or other intelligences.
252 took some cheese to eat: This isn’t necessarily robbery. It is part of the ceremony of sacrifice as well as a sort of speculative hospitality, by which Odysseus and his crew act on the presumption that, as guests, they will be accorded proper hospitality upon the host’s return. This should have been construed as flattering to one’s absent host; the Kyklops thought otherwise.
281–93 In his response to Polyphêmos’ rudely suspi
cious questions (however well founded; see the Kikonês), Odysseus pointedly emphasizes the gods, particularly Zeus, as the motivators of his own travels and the protectors of guests—reminding the Phaiákions of it, as well. In lines 288–93 he uses the formal language of supplication [266–67, 269–70] (see also VI. 152–207). In saying that he and his men served under Agamémnon at Troy (285), he is for once telling the truth, just not the whole truth: note that he reveals neither his name nor his homeland.
299–300 The Kyklops’ apostasy goes far beyond that of an everyday disdainer of the gods (such as Aias at IV.538–40, above). In claiming superior strength (300), the Kyklopês are not unlike the giants who assaulted Olympos in an attempt to overthrow the gods.
312–22 Neither reply nor pity …: Polyphêmos, a huge, rude, even blasphemous herdsman, suddenly becomes truly monstrous. Cannibalism is the mark of the nonhuman. (See Hesiod, Works and Days, 276–78. For cannibalism known to later Greeks, see Herodotus IV. 18.3.) Note that Polyphêmos drinks his milk, like his wine, neat (“whey,” 322 [297]).
327ff. Homer has cleverly constructed the situation so that simple action will not solve the problem; all of Odysseus’ foresight and cunning will be required to escape from the lair of the Kyklops.
337 another brace of men: Another two men. Since Odysseus had brought twelve men with him from the ship (210), there are now eight left in the cave besides Odysseus.