La Odisea me ha gustado muchísimo más que la Ilíada, ya que no se me hizo tan pesada. Sin embargo, considero que es necesario leer esta última primero para tener más contexto en este libro, ya que aparecen personajes del pasado y se deja en claro cuál fue el desenlace mismo de ellos. Es lo más recomendable.

La historia empieza in media res, cuando muchos de los eventos ya han sucedido y algunos ya están evolucionando (luego del desenlace de la Guerra de Troya, los problemas que se le han presentado a Ulises en su regreso a casa, Penélope y sus pretendientes, Telémaco en busca de su padre, etc). Trama y subtramas por varios lados; historias entre historias.

La Odisea utiliza tantos tópicos literarios que a mí me fascinan. Comenzando por la seducción, la tentación, la fidelidad/infidelidad, la soledad, la muerte, el anhelo, la astucia y sagacidad del protagonista para salir con vida de variadas situaciones, conspiraciones, venganza, el viaje del héroe con retorno a casa: y a su misma vez la importancia de la familia y el hogar. Pruebas, presagios y la lealtad puesta sobre la mesa.

Toda una aventura para Ulises; quien es un líder con defectos y virtudes, que luego de meter la pata es capaz de crear planes ingeniosos para salirse con la suya. Es quizás por eso que me fascinó el libro, ya que Ulises muy por el contrario a Aquiles utiliza la inteligencia. Es un héroe que aprende de sus errores anteriores, por lo que no los vuelve a cometer y ejecuta sus propósitos con mayor cuidado y paciencia; ya no tan a la ligera, por lo que no se deja llevar por impulsos emocionales que de nada le sirven.

Pasamos de isla en isla, recorremos tempestuosos mares y conocemos a la ninfa Calipso y Circe la hechicera. Con seres mitológicos como las criaturas marinas escila y caribdis, los gigantes, cícloples, sirenas y los tan temidos y omnipotentes dioses del Olimpo, aunque aquí solo tenemos como presencia absoluta a Atenea y en parte toman importancia Poseidón y Zeus.

Ha sido un largo viaje para Ulises ir a la batalla y regresar a su patria; en el que diez años le costó la guerra de Troya lejos de su familia y diez años más regresar con ellos por la ira de Poseidón. Veinte años y toda una verdadera odisea para el pobre.

odysseus having a mental breakdown in every single chapter is truly the most relatable part of this epic poem

Θα ξαναγράψω εδώ αυτό που έγραψα και για την Ιλιάδα Αναθεώρηση ΟΛΩΝ αυτών που νόμιζα πως ήξερα επειδή νόμιζα πως στο σχολείο διδάχτηκα την Οδύσσεια
ΥΓ Spoiler Alert

The Fagles translation is brilliant.

I don't think the world (or the Goodreads user base) will gain much by me "reviewing" The Odyssey. Everything that needs to be said about this wonderful epic has been said throughout the ages—and that again and again—by people who were and are much more capable than me.

All there's left for me to say is that I LOVED it, and I didn't expect to. The Odyssey was a much quicker, more thrilling and fun read than I could've ever imagined. With his translation, Fagles ignited my love for Ancient texts, and also removed all the fears I had surrounding these types of lectures. They aren't as scary or hard to understand as I thought. They're actually quite fun... and bloody, and prepostorous, and heart-warming, and and and ...

So instead of rambling about the love I have for Penelope, or my bewildered admiration for Helen, my love-hate relationship to Odysseus and his son Telemachus, and the wrath I feel for the Gods, I will share with you 10 tips on how to tackle this tome:

#1 Read the Verse version, not the Prose ones
The Odyssey has been written and conceived in verse. However, through the ages, and for better accessibility for a possible readership, some translator have translated this epic into prose. Personally, I haven't heard many great things about the Prose translation and since I read a Verse translation myself (and loved it), I would always advise to go with a Verse version of The Odyssey.

It flows much more nicely and makes more sense, as verse is more capable and fitting to convey how the characters speak and interact with each other. The importance of the orality of this text is also made apparent in various different moments in the text, it begins with the evocation of the Muse who is told to sing about the "Man of twists and turns", and ends with Odysseus telling his story to the Phaeacians, possibly becoming an unreliable narrator of his own adventures and achievements himself. This text is told within multiple layers, the person who speaks/narrates is essential to the message that is conveyed within the text, and the verse versions are able to capture these layers brilliantly.

#2 Find the right translator
The Odyssey is literally a tale as old as time (or as old as the Western canon goes back to) and so there are dozens of translations to choose from. Since I've only read the Fagles translation from the mid-90s, I can only judge that one, but Fagles is definitely a translation I'd recommend. It's straight to the point, quite modern in tone (and therefore easily to understand) and not at all flowery or "lyrical". Other renown translators are Lattimore, Pope (even though that's an OOOOLD one), Graves and Fitzgerald. Emily Wilson is the first woman to translate the epic into English and her new translation (it's from 2018, I think?) has a feminist twist, so that might be up your alley.

#3 Manage your expectations
I don't know about you but I had many misconceptions about this tale. I really thought Odysseus was at sea for 20 years, unable to find his way home. I thought The Odyssey would narrate all his adventures at sea, like battling the cyclops, stealing the cattle of the Sun or landing on Circe's island. I couldn't have been more wrong. What I just described are only four out of twenty-four books of this epic. Odysseus' adventures at sea only take up a sixth of the story. We only meet the man by Book 5, before the first four books (also known as the Telemachia) focus solely on his son and his trial of setting out to visit Nestor and Menelaus to get to know the whereabouts of his father. And then when we finally meet Odysseus, he is actually back in Ithaca by the halfway point of this book. So Book 13-24 are actually set in Ithaca, and it's not about sea adventures at all, it's about bloody revenge, my dudes.

Since Penelope (and Telemachus) have been harassed ever since Odysseus failed to return from the Trojan War, Odysseus now takes it upon himself, upon his return, to slaughter all the suitors (all 100+ of them) who harassed his wife, ate his food, slaughtered his animals and wracked havoc on his kingdom. And baby, that revenge is drawn out and sweet. Book 22 (the slaughter of the suitors) is as bloody as it is brilliant, definitely my favorite of the 24 books!

#4 Read it quickly
The Odyssey is a big book but I would recommend reading as much as you can, but a minimum of one book a day. The pacing of this epic is amazing and very intricate, and when reading The Odyssey continuously, it will hit you right in the feels. You will want Penelope and Odysseus to reunite ALREADY but Homer will keep you waiting book for book, and delay their reunion to no end until it ends in a big crescendo and huge offense, and you will be clutching your pearls.

#5 Do your research
The Odyssey is easy to understand (at least for how old and huge in scope it is), however, I'd still recommend doing secondary research. Either get a book with a good introduction, notes and chronology (like the Penguin Deluxe Classics version I own) or try to find other sources online.

#6 Listen to podcasts
What helped me the most was listening to the Close Reads podcast. They did many different episodes discussing 2-4 books per episode, diving deep into analysis and questions. Many other readers also enjoyed the Literature and History podcast. These are 3 episodes, each focusing on 8 books, which function more like a summary and overview of key events and questions.

#7 Watch YouTube videos
On YouTube, I'd recommend watching the Ted-Ed or CrashCourse videos for a nice appetizer, and then also Moan Inc.'s 24-video series, where she dives deep into this epic, summarizes and analyses! It's a fantastic resource!

#8 Focus on what's most interesting to you
On your first read, you won't be able to get it all. And that's okay. Try to find out what's most appealing and interesting to you. Is it how Homer developed his characters and how they interact with each other? Is it the Greek mythology? Or is it Homer himself? The man, the mystery? Was he one person, was he blind, was he actually able to write? There are many different questions surrounding this epic. Find and focus on what's most important to you.

#9 Find modern influences
The Odyssey has influenced many artists throughout the centuries. When reading pay attention to which associations you make, which references suddenly make sense, where have you seen a similar writing style, set-up etc. in modern texts? When I read The Odyssey I couldn't shake the feeling that Patrick Rothfuss was deeply influenced by Odysseus as a character and unreliable narrator in his development of Kvothe, the hero of Rothfuss' The Kingkiller Chronicles. Just like Odysseus, Kvothe tells his own story to people who are eagerly listening. What lies is he making up to make himself look better? How is he distorting reality?

The slaughter of the suitors in Book 22, reminded me of Shakespeare's Titus Andronicus which is equally bloody and George R.R. Martin's Red Wedding... the list goes on and on.

#10 Don't let a modern judgment cloud your vision
There are many things in The Odyssey that happen which from a modern viewpoint are absolutely despicable. There's slavery, rape, murder etc. Women usually get the short end of the stick, and Odysseus is hailed for everything he does, even if it is ordering the hanging of the maids who were raped by the suitors because they are no longer "pure". As a modern reader, some of the prescribed events can be hard to stomach. However, I fared best with meeting the book where it's at – which means that I can still have my own reservations and judge some of the characters (especially Odysseus) rather harshly, but also keep Homer's values and the values of his time in mind. So therefore I don't have to see Odysseus as a "hero", but I will also not be pissed or confused why Homer portrayed it him as one. It makes perfect sense keeping the context in which the poem was written in in mind.

Homer Therapy 102
“By hook or by crook, this peril too shall be something we remember.”

During covid lockdown, my husband and I decided to study Ancient Greece. Each night after dinner, we listened to a half an hour lecture or read from a classic text. It’s become a habit or rather a household ritual in which even our dog partakes. (She has a chair she sits in while we listen.) We studied history, philosophy, mythology, and when omicron threatened, we decided to re-read Homer. It has been magical, therapeutic even. On Saturday, we finished the Odyssey.

Living in such trying times makes me long for something of lasting quality. Emily Wilson’s exquisite translation of Odysseus’s tumultuous ten-year journey home from Troy helped me grapple with the precariousness of the human condition and our own mortality. We listened to Claire Danes read and simultaneously read along. Homer is meant to be heard, and Danes gives an outstanding performance. Our understanding of the text was enhanced by interspersing Elizabeth Vandiver’s excellent lectures throughout our reading. Our journey with Odysseus, Penelope, and Telemachus provided a needed uplift for us as it has for others over the past 2,500 years. Highly recommend.

Thanks to Bruce Katz for recommending Emily Wilson's translation.

After 10 years of fighting in the Trojan War it takes Odysseus 10 more years to return home to Ithaca to be reunited with his wife Penelope, son Telemachus, and father Laertes.

It is the latter 10 years that are covered in this legendary story from the 9th Century BC. During Odysseus's time away, countless suitors have moved into his home all of them hoping to win the hand of Penelope in marriage. They feast and carouse consuming vast amounts of wine and meat.

The causes of his delayed return home are the central part of the book, told in flashbacks, and include a consultation with the dead seer Teiresias in Hades, and interactions with The Sirens, Polyphemus the Cyclops, Circe, Calypso, Scylla, and Charybdis, plus the continued interventions of Poseidon.

Luckily, Odysseus has clear-eyed Athene on his side and after many rosy-fingered dawns he eventually returns to sea-girt Ithaca across the wine-dark sea to gain vengeance not only on the suitors of his wife but their relations too. A lot of people perish in this book in many interesting ways

Other famous figures make appearances such as Agamemnon, Achilles, Menelaus, Nestor, and Helen of Troy, but it's the persistence of Odysseus that shines through as he manages to return home against all the odds.

Quite possibly one of my favourite books!
It was this novel that ignited my love for Greek and Roman mythology and antiquity - leading me to choose a degree in Classical Civilisations.
I always look back on The Odyssey with fondness - I love all the monsters he faces and the gods who involve themselves with Odysseus' trials as he makes his way home after the Trojan War.
LOVE LOVE LOVE.

After having read and enjoyed Fagles' translation not too long ago, I decided to join with a group reading a new translation by Emily Wilson, the first woman to take on this task in English. This has proved to be an excellent decision. While I have always had respect for those who translate literature, I now realize even more fully how seemingly small, insignificant details can radically alter one’s perception of a classic or at least cause you to reconsider long-held beliefs about characters or events (be they historic or mythical). Wilson’s translation has done that for me by its lean style which, for me, serves to emphasize more of the humanity of the humans and the human-like behavior of the gods who influence the action.

There is so much here but I believe my response largely stems from Wilson’s chosen style and word choice. While I love Fagles’ translation for its poetry and imagery, I love Wilson’s for where it has led me and my thoughts. For that credit must also go to our wonderful group.

...to be continued

My parents split when I was very young. The arrangement they made between them was that my brother and I would spend the weekends with our father, but would live, during the week, with my mother. One winter, when I was ten years old, it started to snow heavily and gave no indication of stopping any time soon. It was a Sunday morning and my brother and I were due to leave dad’s and return to what, for us, was home. The snow, however, had other ideas.

To go home we had to catch two buses. The first was running late, but, otherwise, the ride, although slow, was pretty uneventful. We arrived in the centre of Sheffield sometime around one o’clock. It was then that things started to go awry. At the stop where we would usually catch the next bus, which was to take us into Rotherham, there was one already waiting. It did not, however, give the appearance of preparing to go anywhere; the engine was off and the driver was stood outside, smoking a cigarette. Being ten years old I did not want to ask the driver what was happening but I heard another potential passenger enquire as to when we would be allowed to board. ‘You won’t’ said the driver. ‘All buses have been cancelled due to the snow. I’m returning to the depot.’

At this a strange kind of panic overcame me. My brother and I were halfway between my mother’s and my dad’s, with no phone and our fare the only money in our pockets. Typically, my brother wanted to wait it out. The buses would start running again soon, he said. But I knew that wasn’t the case. The snow had settled, and heavy spidery flakes were still bombing the city. Waiting would only make it harder to walk; and walking, I knew, was inevitable.

To return to dad’s was, relatively speaking, easier; it was closer and the route was straightforward; but, as when after the split, when we were asked which parent we wanted to live with, we instinctively felt drawn to our mother, despite the inevitable hardships. And so, our decision made, we set off through the snow in the direction of home, following the route the bus would have taken. Yet time and distance, we found, are deceptive. What had taken 25 minutes on a bus, would, we thought, only take us an hour. But the bus wasn’t a young child; it wasn’t cold and tired and scared. On the bus, home had always seemed close, just around the next corner; but as we mashed through the snow it seemed impossible, unreachable; it seemed, after a couple of hours, as though it no longer existed; nothing existed, except the snow, which is all we could see.

Two or three times my brother fell down, and I, almost without stopping, dragged him to his feet, shouting encouragement into the snow. At some point night fell too; and still the heavy spidery flakes came down, punctuating the darkness. By this stage I could not have said why I was doing what I was doing; instinct had kicked in; one foot followed the other, regardless. I remember coming to a distinctive spot, a part of the journey that, by bus, always felt significant, because it meant only another five or ten minutes until we reached home. But on foot, mashing through thick boot-clinging snow, that last leg, which was up hill, seemed monstrous.

Eventually we made it, of course. As we descended the hill on the other side we were met by my mother and her then boyfriend, who, we were told, could not bear to wait any longer and had started to walk to meet us on the way. And there it was: home; which is, I found, not a physical building, but the look in my mother’s eyes as she ran to greet us.


[Odysseus in the Cave of Polyphemus by Jacob Jordaens]

The point of this story is to illustrate how universal great literature is, for whenever I think back to that day, which is something that I do quite often, I am immediately reminded of The Odyssey, Homer’s immortal poem. My brother and I did not encounter any Sirens, or Lotus Eaters or Cyclops, but our walk through the snow was, in principle, a fight to get home, to overcome adversity and return to the familiar and comfortable. And, on the most basic level, this is just what The Odyssey is about. Following the war at Troy, as he sought to return to Ithica, to his wife and son, Odysseus had stumbled from one disastrous situation to the next, until the great warrior found himself entrapped on an island for seven years by Calypso, a Goddess. Eventually, with the help of Pallas Athena, he is allowed to leave; and so continues his famous, epic quest.

“Men are so quick to blame the gods: they say
that we devise their misery. But they
themselves- in their depravity- design
grief greater than the griefs that fate assigns.”

It may seem like an unusual thing to say about epic poetry, but there is a tremendous amount of dumb fun to be had when reading The Odyssey. The tricking of Polyphemus – who Odysseus gets drunk and subsequently blinds – is probably the most famous episode, but I also particularly enjoyed the beautiful witch Circe, who turns a number of the ship’s crew into pigs. To the modern reader, The Odyssey is a fantasy, having much in common with something like The Tempest or A Midsummer’s Night Dream or even fairytales; indeed, to highlight a more recent example, one can draw a number of parallels between Homer’s work and the Lord of the Rings saga. In this way, I would say that it has a broader appeal, is easier to digest, and certainly contains greater variety, than the brutal, relentless Iliad.

Despite the weird creatures, the faraway lands, the quest, and the prominence of a great hero, the heart of The Odyssey is conventional and domestic, in that it is concerned with values such as love and friendship and the importance of family. Again, this is in contrast to The Iliad, where honour and death and war are the focus. When Telemachus, Odysseus’ son, goes in search of news of his father he is given hospitality from a number of Odysseus’ friends, and their sons and daughters and wives, who are willing to do all they can to help him. Penelope, meanwhile, is, even after a number of years, and not knowing whether her husband is alive or dead, still resisting the suitors who have almost taken over her house. In fact, she even plays a trick on them, promising to take a new husband only after she has finished weaving a shroud, while unpicking it each night to make sure that she never does.

“Now from his breast into the eyes the ache
of longing mounted, and he wept at last,
his dear wife, clear and faithful, in his arms,
longed for as the sunwarmed earth is longed for by a swimmer
spent in rough water where his ship went down
under Poseidon’s blows, gale winds and tons of sea.
Few men can keep alive through a big serf
to crawl, clotted with brine, on kindly beaches
in joy, in joy, knowing the abyss behind:
and so she too rejoiced, her gaze upon her husband,
her white arms round him pressed as though forever.”

One thing I find refreshing about Greek myths, and by extension Homer’s work, is that women play such a strong role. It’s funny how hundreds of years later women would be seen as delicate, incapable creatures who need protecting by being locked up at home, and yet here their position, and personalities, are not dissimilar to the men’s. For example, Goddesses are worshipped and invoked just as much as God’s, and it is not the case that these Goddesses are concerned with flower arranging and children, they get their hands dirty, intervening and interacting with what is happening on earth, be that war or whatever. In fact, although The Odyssey is certainly Odysseus’ story [the clue is in the title], the second most important character is the grey-eyed Pallas Athena. Moreover, as noted earlier, Penelope, although upset that her husband is lost or dead, is no sap, while, conversely, the mighty Odysseus frequently bursts into tears.

If you have read any of my reviews you will likely know that, when approaching translated literature, choosing the best translation is, for me, of paramount importance; so much so that there are books that I haven’t enjoyed in one translation, and later really liked in another. The question of which translation one should read becomes particularly critical when one is concerned with poetry. Part of me, I must admit, is resistant to the idea of translated poetry altogether, because I just cannot see how it can possibly bear any great or significant resemblance to the original. Yet I think this is less of a danger with epic, narrative poetry; with something like The Odyssey, the translator has a story to tell, and as long as he or she tells it faithfully they have done at least half the job right.

For The Iliad I chose Robert Fagles’ critically acclaimed version. The reason for this is that I felt that his robust [you might uncharitably call it inelegant] style suited the material. I did, however, cringe frequently at some of his phrasing and word choices, which were far too modern for my taste. Therefore, for The Odyssey I went with Robert Fitzgerald, who, I believe, had a stronger ear for poetry and a more subtle touch. Yet, having said that, I wouldn’t necessarily recommend Fitzgerald’s rendering to the first time reader of Homer’s work. I think the popularity of Fagles’ translations has much to do with how accessible they are; the truth is that most people don’t care about the use of modern language in an ancient Greek text; in fact, the average reader would likely prefer language that is recognisable to them.

In comparison, Firtzgerald’s rendering is more of a challenge. Don’t get me wrong, his work is still readable and is, for the most part, easy enough to get a handle on, but some of his choices are potentially alienating or disorientating. For example, character and place names are spelt in a way that most of us will not recognise [Calypso is Kalypso, Circe is Kirke, Ithica is Ithika etc]. In most cases, deciphering these is, as you call tell by my examples, not especially difficult, but occasionally the spellings are outright baffling. The worst I can recall is Sirens, which in Fitzgerald’s version is Seirenes. When one encounters something like this, one is, unfortunately, taken out of the text as you try and work out what or whom exactly we are dealing with.

However, as previously hinted, the strength of his version is that it stands up as poetry. I can’t, of course, say that it is the best or most successful version, not having read them all, but it is consistently smooth, beautiful and stirring. There’s one line in it, which is repeated throughout the text, about the dawn’s ‘finger tips of rose,’ that I was particularly taken with, and which, moreover, I have seen elsewhere translated in such disappointing and clunky ways.


[Odysseus and the Sirens by Herbert James Draper]

Perhaps the most surprising aspect of the poem is the sophisticated structure. I expected that it would be episodic, and it is, but I did not anticipate a non-linear narrative. The Odyssey begins in media res, with a significant proportion of the action already in the past. As we enter the story, Odysseus has been missing for many years, the suitors are surrounding his house in an effort to take his wife, and his son is about to begin his own journey for news of his father. Therefore, for quite some time the main character is off-stage, so to speak. When he does appear, he spends much of his time recounting the details of his life following the war in Troy. So, we only have access to the most exciting, and the most famous, episodes as flashbacks.

What this highlights is the important role that oral story-telling plays in the text. Throughout, Odysseus and many other characters tell tales, be they fictional or true, as a way or bonding or sharing information or entertaining each other, in the same way that we do now. I have always found this interesting, this seemingly universal, immortal desire to give voice to, and share, stories with other people. It is something, as the rambling introductions to my reviews attest, that I feel compelled to do myself. At one stage, Athena turns Odysseus into a beggar, and the hero creates for him an entire history, fleshing out and breathing life into the character he is playing. So there you have it: a book that shouts loudly about home and family and so on, but which, in a more subtle fashion, is equally concerned with, as well as being itself an example of, the joy and importance of communication and human interaction.

Il vantaggio di rileggere un classico? Poterne dire del più e del meno senza imbarcarsi in un commento- recensione grazie al senso del ridicolo, proporzionale agli anni che avanzano. In definitiva un racconto del rapporto sentimentale, con i suoi alti e bassi, tra il lettore e il capolavoro.
Nella fattispecie tra me e lui, Odisseo – la parte per il tutto: l’Odissea– non ci sono stati mai alti, ma solo bassi fin dove arriva il ricordo.

Il primo incontro? In terza elementare quando scambiavo il mito per storia. Lo scherzetto del cavallo ripieno di soldatacci invasori che bruciava un’intera città non mi andò giù.
Non so dire se già parteggiavo per Ilo, come mi è capitato tutta la vita, o fu quella notizia a dare il via all'avversione per gli Achei o Danai che dir si voglia e per il loro furbastro re. Personaggio secondario nell'Iliade, un nulla di fronte al divino Achille o all'amatissimo Ettore, sul cui cadavere piansi lacrime vere in seconda media, mandando a memoria tutto il canto VI, quello delle porte Scee e di Astianatte che giocava con il suo cimiero.

[Perché una bambina dovesse amare il poema guerriero e non quello avventuroso, un po' fru fru, non è tanto misterioso: Omero, o chi per lui, non si sognava né di parteggiare né di inneggiare alla violenza: cresciuta, nel secondo dopoguerra, con i racconti dei bombardamenti sui civili sfollati e dei soldatacci scorrazzanti in cerca di fräulein o segnorite, ero pacifista per imprinting.
Come ho scoperto più tardi (molto più tardi, con Simon Weil), gli aedi, vedendo un mondo scomparire sotto i loro occhi (l’immaginaria età dell’oro?) sostituito da uno aggressivo e armato fino ai denti, condannavano la forza bruta o solo psicologica che rende gli uomini cose, incapaci a difendere la loro stessa vita. Intuivo già la verità: la condanna della guerra, dei soprusi e delle ingiustizie di cui non c’era riscatto escatologico].

A tredici anni, invece, feci la conoscenza diretta di quello che viene chiamato il poema fondatore della letteratura moderna. Un solo personaggio, Odisseo il cui stesso nome è sospeso tra il nulla* e l’Odioso** ( significato per cui propendo).
Lo studiai pedissequamente verso per verso, libro per libro, assecondando i gusti della prof., una liberale di destra che non poteva vedere che di buon occhio quel personaggio tutto teso all'autoaffermazione, anche a costo di correre rischi inutili e soprattutto, penso col senno del poi, non approvare la sana vendetta contro chi gli aveva violato la proprietà privata (i decreti sicurezza stanno sanando il vulnus riportandoci ai bei tempi delle sane stragi dei Proci usurpatori).
[Fu quello l’anno, con quello della maturità, in cui assaporai l’ebrezza del primo della classe: in effetti una esperienza castrante che in nome del podio ti fa rinunciare a un sano giudizio critico, cosato da un liberatorio mavaffa…al libro e a chi lo scrisse].

Lo incocciai di nuovo alla seconda liceo, direttamente in greco, sui cui versi si consumavano interi pomeriggi domenicali fino alla scoperta del mai ringraziato abbastanza Bignamino che, però, mi causò una espulsione e una nota con relativo sei in condotta. Parigi va bene una messa.

Ed eccoci all’oggi.
Avevo il conto in sospeso: era la sensibilità preormonale di una bambina a farmelo antipatico o veramente quella di Odisseo, saggio e assetato di conoscenza a detta di tutti, è fama immeritata e nonostante le cosce muscolose che, secondo lo stesso Omero, erano irresistibili per le donne?
Certo sono partita col piede sbagliato, nel senso che il ritmo scandito dalla mia lettura era sul metro ironico, e non c’è stato verso di prendere Odisseo sul serio: provare un attimo di simpatia per lo sciupafemmine, il malaccorto, il furbastro, il calcolatore, l’anaffettivo eroe mi è stato impossibile. Sapendo come andava a finire non ho potuto sperare in un finale che rendesse giustizia alle sue innumerevoli vittime. L’ho letto come “Il conte di Montecristo”, mille e cento e più pagine divertentissime ma tutte finalizzate alla vendetta, tremenda vendetta, dove lo spessore psicologico ( per dire una banalità, ma serve a spiegarmi) era perso come l’ago nel pagliaio.

Ecco la novità: mi sono divertita un mondo a leggerlo perché non ho più la lettura moralistica, nel senso di corrispondenza del testo ai miei mores personali: ormai sono pronta ad apprezzare anche il demonio se l’autore è capace di fartelo apprezzare nelle sue diavolerie.
Mi sono liberata, anche, dal mito di Penelope come donna saggia, irreprensibile, insomma moglie auto-castrata: il suo scendere flessuosa, “donna bellissima” nel salone dove bivaccavano i Proci, il suo appoggiarsi mollemente alla colonna coprendo col velo il volto lasciando liberi gli occhi ammiccanti, la dicono lunga sui suoi veri desideri e comunque, per me Penelope è sempre stata la Marchesini per tutta l’abbastanza lunga rilettura (grazie alla Calzecchi Onesti, godibilissima anche se letterale o quasi).
Chissà, Anna, che facce avrebbe fatto nel rendere la meraviglia e il disgusto a sentire l’ultima “boutade” del marito appena ritrovato: “guarda, bellezza, che Tiresia mi ha predetto che non ho il tempo di arrivare e ricollaudare il letto con te che partirò: mi attendono altri mondi, e sicuramente altre femmine infoiate, e una dolce morte in mare. Sembra che non sia nato per “i legami terrestri”. Si sa, l’uomo è cacciatore, pescatore, scalatore, aviatore, astronauta (senza rima) e adorabile mascalzone…

E “mischiniedde” le tre donne buggerate dal coscione agli androgeni: Calipso, Circe e Nausica. Meno male che i tempi non erano maturi per i suicidi come quello di Didone per Enea il mollaccione, altrimenti avremmo avuto tre libri in più di esequie.
E poi, quanto mangiavano…tre banchetti al giorno a base di maiali, vitelli e pecore squartati, cotti e mangiati sul posto, con una predilezione per le stigghiola (interiora dalle mie parti).
Il tutto annaffiato da trinchetti con vinello d’annata da lasciarli su di giri per tutto il santo giorno. Uno schiaffo alla povertà e alla fame che a quei tempi doveva essere stata endemica.

In ultimo, ma non ultimo, la carneficina dei Proci, il prototipo di tutte le carneficine di là da venire: un’orgia tra sangue e fango con annesso l’eccitato entusiasmo della vecchia nutrice, tanto fuori posto che lo stesso macellaio Odisseo la rimprovera (diciamo che i buoni sentimenti, quelli cristiani del perdono sempre inevasi, erano di là da venire come riconoscono La Weill e la Arendt, studiosissime del fenomeno Omero).
Consigliatissimo per gli amanti dell’avventura e gli stanziali sedentari.


* “Odisseo infatti non è neppure un nome, solo un pronome personale indefinito, un Nessuno, Oudeis, una non entità che fluttua nello spazio pronominale come un’anima in attesa della prossima reincarnazione” Giuseppe Martella, da Nazione Indiana.
** Dal greco odyssomai, odiare, libro XIX.

This was awesome - so much adventure, fun characters and the monsters were truly beastly. Loved it. Plus it was read by Ian Mckellan so that was a bonus.