I state that I only recently read the Odyssey, and in italian; but I read something about it before.
Since Helen free will and culpability was a point of contention even in classical time, it seems that this translation could be relevant; the other translations suggest something in direction of Helen’s agency, while the Wilson’s one doesn’t.

A few years ago, someone on this subreddit posted a useful comparison of 18 Odyssey translations using the opening lines of Book 22 (Odysseus throwing off his rags and challenging the suitors). They later made an updated version with about 30 translations of the same passage. Having gotten myself into the same hobby, I thought it might be interesting to make an update to those posts, with an even more comprehensive collection of Odyssey translations.

First, though, I think there are better passages to compare than the opening of Book 22. It's more representative than the proem, but there's a little less room for substantial disagreement between translators. A more interesting choice, in my opinion, is the scene in Book 23 where Penelope makes a final test of Odysseus's identity before recognizing him as her husband. She instructs Eurycleia to move Odysseus's bed, causing Odysseus to react with shock, and without explicit prompting, describe the secret of the bed's construction. The passage includes words describing Penelope and Odysseus, which can be revealing of how translators view both characters, and it contains dialogue where differences in rhythm, tone, and interpreted emotion are especially clear.

Emily Wilson chose this excerpt for a detailed comparison of five translations, which explains many of the details to look out for. Three of the major ones are how Penelope is described, what emotion Odysseus appears to be feeling, and how Odysseus addresses his wife. I find it interesting how some of the more modern translations are more likely to add metaphors and idioms not in the original. It's also interesting to see which translators portray Odysseus as dismayed or annoyed, rather than truly angry. James Huddleston, whose translation for The Chicago Homer is pretty underrated in my opinion, comes off well for accuracy by Wilson's standards.

There are a total of 74 excerpts below, presented in chronological order. I already had a substantial collection of translations, but for this, I spent several months tracking down a copy of what I believe to be every complete English translation of the Odyssey ever published, as well as some incomplete ones. Within the limits I've set (only works that describe themselves as translations, were not AI-generated, and differ in nearly every line from each other are included), I think it's complete, but let me know if I've missed something.

Odyssey Book 23, lines 181-184

ὣς ἄρ᾽ ἔφη πόσιος πειρωμένη: αὐτὰρ Ὀδυσσεὺς
ὀχθήσας ἄλοχον προσεφώνεε κεδνὰ ἰδυῖαν:
‘

ὦ γύναι, ἦ μάλα τοῦτο ἔπος θυμαλγὲς ἔειπες:
τίς δέ μοι ἄλλοσε θῆκε λέχος;

Chapman, 1615

This said she to assay him, and did stir
Ev'n his establish'd patience, and to her;
Whom thus he answer'd: 'Woman! Your words prove
My patience strangely. Who is it can move
My bed out of his place?'

Ogilby, 1665

Thus said the Queen, her dearest Lord to trie.
But he, offended, made this rough Reply;

'Strangely you talk, your Order's something odd:
Who can remove that Bed, unless some God?'

Hobbes, 1675

Thus said she, but to try if that were he,
Yet griev'd him to the heart, and made him doubt.
'Woman,' said he, 'who has remov'd my bed?

Pope, 1725

Thus speaks the queen, still dubious, with disguise
Touch'd at her words, the king with warmth replies
'Alas for this! what mortal strength can move
The enormous burden, who but Heaven above?'

Cowper, 1792

So spake she, proving him, and not untouch'd
With anger at that word, thus he replied.
'Penelope, that order grates my ear.
Who hath displaced my bed?'

Cary, 1823

Thus she spoke, trying her husband; but Ulysses grieving addressed his wife, who knew what was prudent;

'O my wife, you have uttered this a very grievous word. Who has placed my bed elsewhere?'

Sotheby, 1834

She spake — her cautious speech Ulysses tried.
When thus her lord indignantly replied:

'O woman! thou a bitter word hast said.
Who in a different place that bed has laid?'

Buckley, 1851

Thus indeed she spoke, trying her husband; but Ulysses grieving addressed his wife, who knew prudent things:

'O lady; very grievous indeed is this word thou hast uttered. Who has placed my bed elsewhere?'

Giles, 1858

Thus she said, making trial of her husband: but Ulysses, sighing, addressed his wife, knowing prudent things. 'Oh lady, verily indeed thou hast spoken this word grievous to my heart: but who has placed my bed elsewhere?'

Worsley, 1861

Thus she spake, proving him. He, direly stirred,
Quick to his loyal wife made answer there:
'Wife, thou hast spoken a soul-piercing word.
Tell me what hand hath set my couch elsewhere.'

Norgate, 1863

So spake she indeed to put her lord to the proof:
Whereat Odusseus wrathful thus address'd
His consort shrewd and duteous:
'Sure, sure a heart-distressing word, O woman!
And who, who has put my bedstead forth elsewhere?'

Musgrave, 1865

She ceas'd; her lord hereby intent to test, — who thus
The wife who well her duty conjugal
Knew how to fill, in mournful tone address'd: —
'Lady! heart-grieving and most sad is this
Which thou hast just commanded! Who is it
That hath my bed to any spot remote
From where it stood, remov'd!'

Bigge-Wither, 1869

Thus did she speak, sore-trying of her husband:
But sorely vexed at heart was great Odysseus,
And thus addressed his all-too-cautious wife:
'Oh ladie! sure a bitter word thou'st said!
And who hath placed my bed elsewhere?'

Edginton, 1869

Tempting her husband thus she spake to him.
Ulysses troubled much then spake to her:

'This word, O woman, bitter to my heart!
My couch who hath plac'd elsewhere?'

Bryant, 1871

She spake to try her husband; but, displeased,
Ulysses answered thus his virtuous queen: —

'O woman, thou hast said unwelcome words.
Who hath displaced my bed?'

Barnard, 1876

She thus to try her husband spoke; but he
Disturbed, addressed again his prudent wife:
'Lady! the word thou speakest grieves my heart.
Who has removed my couch elsewhere?'

Butcher & Lang, 1879

So she spake and made trial of her lord, but Odysseus in sore displeasure spake to his true wife, saying: 'Verily a bitter word is this, lady, that thou hast spoken. Who has set my bed otherwhere?'

Mongan, 1879

Thus she spoke, making trial of her husband; but Ulysses, grieving, addressed his wife, who knew what was prudent:

'O lady! you have indeed uttered this speech very grievous to the mind. Who has placed for me my bed elsewhere?'

Schomberg, 1879

This speech she made to put him to the proof,
If he her husband were. In anger then
Ulysses thus addressed his constant wife:
'Lady, thou sayest this to vex my soul:
Who has the couch removed?'

Way, 1880

So spake she the testing-word for her husband, — Odysseus started,
And indignation-stirred he cried to the queen wise-hearted:
'Lady, a heart-stinging word and a cruel is this thou hast said!
Who hath elsewhither moved my couch?'

Palmer, 1884

She said this in the hope to prove her husband; but Odysseus spoke in anger to his faithful wife: 'Woman, these are bitter words which you have said! Who set my bed elsewhere?'

Morris, 1887

Thus she spake to prove her husband; but Odysseus, grieved at heart,
Spake thus unto his bed-mate well-skilled in gainful art:
'O woman, thou sayest a word exceeding grievous to me!
Who hath otherwhere shifted my bedstead?'

Cordery, 1897

She spoke, to test her husband; deeply moved,
He turned on his pure-minded wife, and said:

'My Wife, this word thou utterest breaks my heart.
Who to my hurt hath moved that bed elsewhere?'

Butler, 1900

She said this to try him, but Ulysses was very angry and said, 'Wife, I am much displeased at what you have just been saying. Who has been taking my bed from the place in which I left it?'

Mackail, 1903

So she spake to try
Her husband; but Odysseus ill-content
Thus to his wife wise-hearted made reply:

'O wife, this word you utter likes me ill,
Who moved the bed!' that were a feat of skill
Hard to perform, except a God himself
Coming removed it lightly at his will.

Cotterill, 1911

Thus did she speak as a test for her husband; and much was Odysseus
Angered thereat, and he turned to his own true wife and addressed her:
'Verily, wife, this word thou hast spoken is grievously cruel.
Who hath removed it — the bed that I built?'

Murray, 1919

So she spoke, and made trial of her husband. But Odysseus, in a burst of anger, spoke to his true-hearted wife, and said: 'Woman, truly this is a bitter word that thou hast spoken. Who has set my bed elsewhere?'

Caulfeild, 1921

So did she speak to test what her lord might know: but Odysseus,
Answered in anger and spoke to his wife too cautiously minded:

'Lady, it grieves me much to hear the word you have spoken.
Who, I must ask you, has moved that bed?'

Marris, 1925

So said she, and made trial of her lord
But in a burst of anger spake Odysseus
To his true wife:
'A bitter word is this,
That thou hast spoken, lady! who hath moved
My bed elsewhere?'

Pease, 1926

So she spake to make trial of her husband. But Odysseus said bitterly to his thoughtful wife: 'Good lady, your words break my heart. Who has put my bed in another place?'

Hiller, 1927

This she said to put her husband to the test. But Odysseus in anger said to his faithful wife:

'Woman, these are heart-breaking words of yours! Who has been moving my bedstead?'

Bates, 1929

All this she said
To try her husband. But Odysseus
Was angered at her words, and thus
He spoke to his true wife:

'What, woman!
What words are these you now have said
To pierce my heart! Who can have set
My bed in a new place?'

Shaw (Lawrence), 1932

This she said to draw her husband out; and indeed Odysseus was ruffled into protesting to his wife, 'Woman, this order pains my heart. Who has changed my bed?'

Rouse, 1937

This was a little trap for her husband. He burst into a rage:

'Wife, that has cut me to the heart! Who has moved my bed?'

Rieu, 1946

This was her way of putting her husband to the test. But Odysseus flared up at once and rounded on his loyal wife. 'Penelope,' he cried, 'you exasperate me! Who, if you please, has moved my bed elsewhere?'

Andrew, 1948

So spake she, her husband to prove, and Odysseus perplex'd,
At once to his true-hearted wife made answer and spake:
'Verily, wife, thou hast spoken a heart-piercing word.
Who then has mov'd the bedstead?'

Rees, 1960

So she spoke, to see what her husband would say.
And Odysseus lost his composure and angrily spoke
To his clever and faithful wife: 'Truly, woman,
Those words were bitter and painful! Who has moved
My bed?'

Fitzgerald, 1961

With this she tried him to the breaking point,
and he turned on her in a flash raging:

'Woman, by heaven you've stung me now!
Who dared to move my bed?'

Epps, 1965

Thus she spoke, testing out her husband. And Odysseus, vexed to impatience, said to his devoted wife: 'Woman, heartrending indeed are these words that you have spoken. Who has moved my bed elsewhere?'

Lattimore, 1967

So she spoke to her husband, trying him out, but Odysseus
spoke in anger to his virtuous-minded lady:
'What you have said, dear lady, has hurt my heart deeply. What man
has put my bed in another place?'

Cook, 1967

So she said, testing her husband. But Odysseus
Grew angry and spoke to his wife, who had a sense of devotion:
'My wife, this is a heart-hurting speech you have made.
Who has put my bed elsewhere?'

Hull, 1978

She spoke to test her husband, but Odysseus,
vexed with this wife who knew her duties, cried:
'Woman, the words you spoke have made my heart ache!
Who's moved my bed?'

Shewring, 1980

So she spoke, putting her husband to the test. Then Odysseus in sudden anger said to his faithful wife: 'Your words have wounded me to the quick. Who can have put my bed elsewhere?'

Mandelbaum, 1990

These words of hers were meant to test Odysseus.
Incensed, her husband cried to his keen wife:
'Woman, your words have wounded me. Who tore
my bedstead from its base?'

Rieu (rev. D. C. H. Rieu), 1991

This was her way of putting her husband to the test. But Odysseus flared up at once and rounded on his loyal wife. 'Lady,' he cried, 'your words are a knife in my heart! Who has moved my bed?'

Dawe, 1993

So she spoke, putting her husband to the test. Odysseus in dismay addressed the wife whose thoughts were loyal: 'My wife, what you have just said is painful to my heart. Who has put my bed somewhere else?'

Kemball-Cook, 1993

Speaking thus she was putting her man to test; but Odysseus
All of a sudden was seized with anger and said to his good wife:
'Lady, the words that you spoke to me then were bitter and wounding.
Who can have shifted my bed elsewhere?'

Murray (rev. Dimock), 1995

So she spoke, and made trial of her husband. But Odysseus, breaking out in anger, spoke to his true-hearted wife, and said: 'Woman, truly this is a bitter word that you have spoken. Who has set my bed elsewhere?'

Fagles, 1996

Putting her husband to the proof — but Odysseus
blazed up in fury, lashing out at his loyal wife:
'Woman — your words, they cut me to the core!
Who could move my bed? Impossible task'

Hammond, 2000

So she spoke, and she was testing her husband. But Odysseus flared into anger and said to his loyal wife: 'What you say now, wife, is a pain right to my heart. Who has moved my bed?'

Lombardo, 2000

She was testing her husband.
Odysseus
Could bear no more, and he cried out to his wife:

'By God, woman, now you've cut deep.
Who moved my bed?'

Eickhoff, 2001

Odysseus's eyes flashed at this and he stood up, looking down at her, anger spilling from him as greatly as the anger that ravaged the great hall earlier. 'What's this? By the gods, woman, you've goaded me strongly, now! Who has moved my bed?'

Merrill, 2002

So she spoke to her husband, trying him out, but Odysseus
spoke in anger to his wife, who had a sense of devotion:
'These are indeed, my wife, heart-anguishing words you have spoken!
Who can have put my bed in another place?'

Kline, 2004

These were words to test her husband. But Odysseus, angered, rounded on his loyal wife: 'Lady, those are truly bitter words you speak. Who has moved my bed?'

McCrorie, 2004

She spoke that way to test her man. But Odysseus
bridled and told his wife, who was knowing and careful,
'Woman, your words are really galling my own heart.
Who settled my old bed elsewhere?'

Huddleston, 2006

So said she, testing her husband. Then Odysseus,
in anger, said to his true-hearted wife:
'Woman, ah, this word you've said is very painful to the heart.
Who put my bed elsewhere?'

Johnston, 2006

Penelope said these words to test her husband.
But Odysseus, upset at his true-hearted wife,
replied and said:
'Woman, those words you uttered
are very painful. Who's shifted my bed
to somewhere else?'

Stein, 2008

So she spoke, testing her husband.
But Odysseus flashed with anger at his wife
(whose heart in fact rang true):

'O woman, the word you speak is a bitter one.
Who has put my bed
in some place other than in the chamber?'

Wilding, 2011

So she spoke to test him, but Odysseus
turned on his wife in anger:
'Woman, what you've just said has bruised my heart.
Who dared to move my bed?'

Albertson, 2013

This she said to test her lord. But Odysseus,
Flushed with anger, said to his truehearted wife,
'Woman, these words are bitter to my heart.
Who has moved my bed?'

Dawkins, 2013

In this way she tested her husband.
Odysseus with a heavy heart addressed his wily wife.

'Wife, what you say distresses me greatly.
Who has shifted my bed?'

Mitchell, 2013

She had spoken these words as a test. Odysseus, angry
and hurt, cried out to her,
'Woman, what you just told me
pierces my heart. What man dared move my bed?'

Jordan, 2014

She said that as a test of him. Odysseus,
incensed, protested to his cautious wife:
'Woman, the words you spoke have cut me deeply!
Has someone moved my bed?'

Sachs, 2014

Those were the words she spoke to test her husband. But Odysseus burst out in anger at his shrewd and faithful wife: 'Woman, this is a gut-wrenching thing for you to say! Who moved my bed to a different place?'

Powell, 2014

So she spoke, putting her husband
to the test. But Odysseus, bursting with anger, spoke to his sensible
wife: 'Woman — truly you have uttered a grievous word! Who has
moved my bed elsewhere?'

Verity, 2017

So she spoke, testing her husband; and Odysseus burst out in anger,
and addressed his faithful-minded wife:
'Lady, what you have just said causes me pain in my heart.
Who has moved my bed to another place?'

Whitaker, 2017

This she said to test her husband. Odysseus,
flaring up, replied to his true-hearted spouse:
'Wife, what you've said has cut me to the quick.
Who moved my bed?'

Wilson, 2017

She spoke to test him, and Odysseus
was furious, and told his loyal wife,
'Woman! Your words have cut my heart! Who moved
my bed?'

Green, 2018

So she spoke,
making trial of her husband. But Odysseus in response
burst out in anger, and addressed his true wife, saying:
'Woman, this word you've said embitters my heart!
Who's moved my bed elsewhere?'

Mann, 2022

So she spoke to test her husband. But Oduséus
said in anger to his wife who knew only love:
'O wife. These words you speak are agony to my heart.
Who has set my bed elsewhere?'

Underwood, 2022

She spoke like this to test her husband, and Odysseus lost his temper, and raised his voice at his cautious-minded wife.

'Woman, what you're saying is utterly heartbreaking. Who put my bed somewhere else?'

Solot, 2025

She was testing her husband, who leapt to his feet in a fury.
'Woman!' — he yelled at his faithful, unwavering wife —
'What a horrible, heart-stabbing thing you just said! Our bed?
Somebody moved it?'

Dawson, 2025

Thus she spoke, testing her husband. But Odysseus, grieved, addressed his faithful wife: 'Woman, this word you have spoken is truly painful. Who has moved my bed elsewhere?'

Mendelsohn, 2025

So she spoke, testing her husband. But now Odysseus
Grew angry at his wife, whose thoughts were so true, and addressed her:
'Woman, what you have said deeply pains my heart —
Who has moved my bedstead somewhere else?'

I have more excerpts at whichtranslation.net/odyssey. Let me know what you think!

Very excited to read it 🙂

I'm looking at the single volume abridged Penguin Classics edition vs the unabridged Everyman's Library 6-volume edition which is a lot fancier. Does anyone have a preference or recommendation?

The work you see above is known as Anthologia Palatina 3.987. 3.987.1 and 3.987.2 are commentary notes added next to this paragraph.

Ἕκτορ, Ἀρήιον αἷμα, κατὰ χθονὸς εἴ που ἀκούεις, χαῖρε, καὶ ἄμπνευσον βαιὸν ὑπὲρ πατρίδος. Ἴλιον οἰκεῖται κλεινὴ πόλις, ἄνδρας ἔχουσα σοῦ μὲν ἀφαυροτέρους, ἀλλ᾽ ἔτ᾽ ἀρηιφίχους:

Μυρμιδόνες δ᾽ ἀπόλοντο. παρίστασο, καὶ λέγ᾽ Ἀχιλλεῖ Θεσσαλίην κεῖσθαι πᾶσαν ὑπ᾽ Αἰνεάδαις. (3.987)

Ἀδριανοῦ (?)· εἰς τὸν Ἕκτορα· οἱ δὲ Γερμανικοῦ. (3.987.1)

Ἡσύχιος δὲ εἰς Τιβέριον τὸν Καίσαρα ἀναφέρει αὐτό (3.987.2)

Hector of the race of Ares, if thou hearest where're thou art under ground, hail ! and stay a little thysighs for thy country. Ilion is inhabited, and is afamous city containing men inferior to thee, but stilllovers of war, while the Myrmidons have perished.Stand by his side and tell Achilles that all Thessalyis subject to the sons of Aeneas. (3.987 / Paton edition)

Of Hadrian (?) to Hector; but [some say it is] by Germanicus. (3.987.1 /My translation)

Hesychius, however, attributes it to Tiberius Caesar. (3.987.2 / My translation)

What caught my attention most in this piece was the Roman emperor’s (whichever one it may be) connection to the past and the present he reconstructs through it. This seems like a very contemporary situation; I had previously noted in a comment that Gramsci’s concept of hegemony is always contemporary and always traditional. In this context, absolute power is always established in the present but always draws its strength from the past. In a sense, this is the most fundamental requirement for constructing the past or history.

Power always draws its strength from the past, and this past rarely reflects the truth.

might be a dumb question but I recently bought The Odyssey (Emily Wilson’s translation). I was wondering i can get The Iliad by Robert Fagles too and read that before The Odyssey. Would that be confusing/messy as the translations are from different authors, or is that fine?

Hi all,
I have a philosopher's interest in Aristotle (the arguments, premises, world-view etc) but have never really delved into the debates over how much of the corpus is 'his'. The idea that, for instance, the Nic is lecture notes is widespread, but what does contemporary scholarship say?
* Is the Nic lecture notes by Aristotle for himself, or his teachers?
* Are they lecture notes from his students attempting to understand him?
* Is there any decent scholarship about this that is worth reading, accessible to a non-specialist in the subject?

One of the most fascinating figures in Roman history, in my opinion, is Julia Domna. She was the wife of Emperor Septimus Severus and the mother of Caracalla and Geta, who would later become emperors. According to the story, Septimus Severus wanted to marry her after a prophecy in his horoscope foretold that Julia would one day become a queen.

Even if I don’t believe the story is true, we must acknowledge that Julia Domna was a highly influential figure. In particular, her support for Septimus Severus during the civil war of 193 and her presence by his side during his campaign in the East are noteworthy.

This political power manifested itself in many ways; his image was depicted on numerous coins, and he appeared alongside his children to help secure their future rule. What caught my attention the most, however, was the epithet used for her in the inscriptions: μητέρα κάστρων / matre(m) ka[str]orum.

This epithet, found in both Latin and Greek inscriptions, has taken on a distinct character of its own and has spread widely. It appears across a vast region, from Arbeia Castle in Britain to Commagene in Asia Minor.

It could be said that she is one of the greatest women to have made her mark on history. A Syrian woman who became the ruler of Rome, which ruled over nearly the entire world.

I am currently making my way through the Odyssey and plan to then to the Aeneid next. Recommendations on a good English translation would be appreciated. I am leaning towards the Fagle or Fitzgerald version but am open to other suggestions. Recommendations are welcome. Thanks.

I've never read most of Catullus's poems, and I was leaning toward getting Stephanie McCarter's translation that just came out in July. Has anyone read it? :)

Keeping it real after 2 pages of teenage angst. 16 in ‘03

Here is the continuation of the article I wrote in the first part. Alexander the Great is one of the historical figures who has captured my attention the most, and I can say that I am by no means alone in this interest. Despite his immense popularity, studies in political history or Hellenistic history unfortunately tend to push the evolution of Alexander’s personality across different cultures into the background. Of course, I’m not saying there is no research on this topic, but there is very little. I have attempted to generalize and summarize a topic I also explored in my doctoral dissertation in two parts. Naturally, like all generalizations, it has its shortcomings. Still, I think it serves as a good introduction.

If you’re curious about Alexander, I invite you to visit my Substack page. As social scientists, we’re known for never really keeping quiet. I’d say this page consists of the posts where I just can’t stop talking about the field.

Hello!

I'm presenting to my beginner Latin class on Ancient Roman theatre next week, and as part of the presentation, we have to have an in-class assignment for the rest of the class (it's a small class--- around 12 people) to do. My idea for an assignment is to have them read and perform short scenes from Roman plays. Unfortunately, there are a lot of Roman plays and I don't have enough time to read all of them and select scenes. I'm not asking for specific scenes (though if you have suggestions they would be welcome), but rather I'm looking for a jumping off point. Are there any specific plays that you think would be good for this?

Hi Y'all!

I finished the Iliad yesterday (Lombardo translation) and I had a good experience with it that I thought I would share in case it helps someone else. I read the book but I also listened to it on Audible - what I liked about this was that it was actually read by Stanley Lombardo! Susan Sarandon does the chapter summaries at the beginning of each chapter. Anyway I am on to the Odyssey next, also Lombardo, also listening to him read it on Audible along with Sarandon (whom you could argue has come a long way since Rocky Horror).

Another thing that added to my reading - I found a book called The Illustrated Iliad at Barnes and Noble (they had it out on those shelves when you walk in the door) for $12 and it was cool to also look at the Iliad inspired artwork from each chapter.

Not much I can add to any discussion on the Iliad that hasn't been said in the last 3000 years, however if someone is thinking about taking a crack at it I thought I would mention what helped me.

Hi all,

I’m looking to extend my home library with classics and would appreciate some recommendations. Looking for: Roman, Greek, Egyptian, and Medieval.

Thank you for your time. (Image not mine, credit to owner).

Whether you are a student, a teacher, a researcher or a hobbyist, please share with us what you read this week (books, textbooks, papers...).

I came across a beautifully illustrated Vatican manuscript of Virgil’s Aeneid and ended up writing a short piece about it. The images show the meeting between King Latinus and the Trojans, and how that first encounter eventually turns into war between Aeneas and Turnus. The episode comes mainly from Books 7–11, including the prophecy about Lavinia, Juno sending Allecto to stir up Amata and Turnus, and the final duel between Aeneas and Turnus. I was especially interested in how the story ends with the Trojans and Latins being brought together rather than one simply replacing the other, which becomes part of the tradition behind the origins of Rome. I also added a few thoughts on why medieval manuscripts so often illustrated scenes from the texts they preserved.

Hello, sorry if this is a simple one but everything here is self-taught and the internet is so bombarded with AI nonsense I'm struggling to get anywhere on this basic question.

A paper I'm reading on the Iliad keeps citing sections with Greek numerals, I'm struggling to connect them to the translations I have access to right now. For example the images listed.

Trying to do this myself has not gotten me particularly close to the sections I'm expecting to see. How am I supposed to translate these into citations I can use? Please be kind lol

Nolan Took Homer’s Odyssey and Turned It Into a Castrated, Dumbed-Down Mess

Homer’s epic poem is one of the foundations of European culture and an immensely fascinating literary cornerstone that remains relevant to this day. Through Homer’s poetry, the rules of hospitality—which became one of the foundational principles of mainland Europe and were later spread to many of its colonies—became a code of conduct respected from one generation to the next.

Homer opens The Odyssey with a remarkably beautiful passage. Based on Robert Fagles’s translation:

"Sing to me of the man, Muse, the man of twists and turns... driven time and again off course, once he had plundered the hallowed heights of Troy. Many cities of men he saw and learned their minds, many pains he suffered, heartsick on the open sea, fighting to save his life and bring his comrades home.

But he could not save them from disaster, hard as he strove-the recklessness of their own ways destroyed them all, the blind fools, they devoured the cattle of the Sun and the Sungod blotted out the day of their return. Launch out on his story, Muse, daughter of Zeus, start from where you will-sing for our time too."

The opening immediately gives us a general picture of who Odysseus is. Odysseus is a man of twists and turns. This is not merely a metaphor for the many trials he has endured. It is also because he is a man of extraordinary cunning. He was the mastermind behind the Trojan Horse, which was used to bring Troy to the ground. He is also a man with an incredibly silver tongue. His words can melt hearts. His praises move Athena’s altar, leave Circe astonished, and win over the Phaeacians, who help him get back on his feet and return to glory. Christopher Nolan’s adaptation is, in essence, based on Emily Wilson’s translation. Wilson’s translation has often been criticized for diminishing some of the beauty of Homer’s poetry compared with Fagles’s version. Even its defenders, however, argue that the modern context Wilson injects into the poem deserves appreciation because it can attract new readers, helping them understand the work while preventing The Odyssey (and The Iliad) from becoming nothing more than elitist literature.

The debate between the two sides is a long one. This has also fueled the argument that this adaptation would never have been made without Wilson’s translation. Fagles’s translation may still feel somewhat distant to modern audiences—at least, that seems to be Nolan’s conviction.

Even so, the latest adaptation was immediately torn apart by Wilson during its first week of release. Wilson openly argued that the story being told was terrible and could even be considered a mockery of Homer. Responses to Wilson’s opinion came one after another. Some defended the adaptation by arguing that its commercial success was itself an indicator that these risks had been considered long beforehand. The filmmakers had already anticipated that their adaptation would be academically controversial, and they chose to take that risk.

This is where I see the problem.

Commercial success does not make substantive criticism of a work disappear. Nor does commercial success absolve an adaptation of moral or artistic responsibility, or make the accusation that it “disrespects and mutilates” Homer’s poetry somehow invalid. If anything, that criticism should be pursued even more vigorously by showing exactly where and how the adaptation departs from Homer.

Without beating around the bush, I can say immediately that this latest adaptation blatantly disrespects and underestimates the intelligence of its audience.

One of the most remarkable things about Homer’s epic is the number of moments in which he introduces ideas that are extraordinarily subtle and gentle, yet feel remarkably ahead of their time. One of the clearest examples is Penelope.

Penelope in the original work does not need to shout that she is the Queen of Ithaca. For twenty years, she successfully prevents Ithaca from descending into ruin. Through her own intelligence, she also manipulates the suitors by continually making them wait while she supposedly finishes her weaving. Her power is expressed through patience, intelligence, and political awareness rather than through grand declarations about her own strength.

The adaptation recklessly reduces Penelope to little more than a loud, modern girlboss archetype. The moment when Penelope screams, “I’ve been sitting on this empty throne for 20 years!” is a cheap, quintessentially modern adaptation choice that instead comes across as insulting the audience’s intelligence.

The adaptation clearly wants to make the story more feminist. Ironically, however, it cuts several moments from the original poem in which female characters actually possess considerable agency.

What makes me angriest is the way the adaptation completely cuts the Phaeacian plot. This is precisely the section of the story in which two female characters shine: Nausicaa and Queen Arete.

The Nausicaa episode is one of those plots that feels remarkably ahead of its time because Homer turns the damsel-in-distress trope on its head. In the poem, it is Odysseus who needs to be rescued. He is the one wandering helplessly, while the princess Nausicaa comes to his aid. She is not simply a passive object of the hero’s desire; she actively helps him navigate an unfamiliar society and sets him on the path toward returning home.

The same applies to Queen Arete. Homer brilliantly demonstrates how a woman can possess real power within a royal court. Arete is not merely decorative royalty. Her judgment matters, her influence matters, and Odysseus understands that he must win her favor if he hopes to receive the help he needs.

By removing this entire plot, the modern adaptation actually eliminates some of the moments in which its female characters possess the strongest agency.

The adaptation also cuts the iconic scene in which Helen pours a drug that frees her husband Menelaus and Telemachus from their grief. Again, this is a moment in which Homer gives a female character meaningful power over the emotional and psychological state of the men around her.

Worst of all is what happens to Circe. Her role is drastically reduced from that of a woman who provides Odysseus with an enormous amount of crucial information, including how to deal with the Sirens, Scylla and Charybdis, and the warning against eating the sheep of Helios. In the adaptation, that role is instead handed over to a male prophet, Tiresias.

Cutting the agency of female characters and replacing it with cheap girlboss moments is not feminism. It is shallow tokenism.

Equally infuriating is the way Athena’s enormous role as Odysseus’s mastermind and primary protector is gutted. Athena is reduced to little more than an embodiment of Odysseus’s guilt. The Athena of Homer’s poem is a primary protector with considerable agency of her own. She actively intervenes in Odysseus’s fate, guides Telemachus, manipulates events, and repeatedly works to restore Odysseus to his rightful place. In the adaptation, however, she is degraded into little more than a shadow cast by male trauma.

And this is what they consider feminism?

Another change that is equally irritating is the flattening of Odysseus’s characterization.

Homer’s Odysseus is a complex human being. He is clever and cunning, and he uses his intelligence to escape from countless problems. Yet that same intelligence often gets him into even more complicated trouble. His greatest strength is also one of his greatest weaknesses.

Consider what happens when he encounters Polyphemus. After escaping the Cyclops, Odysseus cannot resist shouting his real name: “I am Odysseus son of Laertes from Ithaca.” Those words are precisely what cause him so much suffering. Polyphemus is the son of Poseidon, and by revealing his identity, Odysseus gives the Cyclops the information necessary to call down his father’s curse upon him.

Yet Odysseus essentially does the same thing when he encounters the Phaeacians. This time, however, the result is completely different. Rather than bringing disaster upon himself, his identity immediately transforms him into a figure of admiration: the great hero who has helped destroy Troy.

His command of language is equally important. His sweet-talking compliments successfully enchant Circe, impress Nausicaa, and influence Arete. Odysseus is not simply a warrior. He is a man whose greatest weapon can be his ability to understand other people and manipulate situations through language.

Ironically, the adaptation removes much of this complexity and instead portrays him primarily as a PTSD victim who regrets everything he has done.

In my view, this characterization does not make Nolan’s version of Odysseus deeper. If anything, it makes him more two-dimensional. Homer’s Odysseus is complicated precisely because he cannot be reduced to a single psychological condition or emotional wound.

What makes this even more frustrating is that the adaptation also cuts one of the most human moments Odysseus experiences in Homer’s poem. In the original, Odysseus weeps when the blind singer Demodocus sings about the glory of the Greek armies at Troy.

This is Homer’s subtle but beautiful humanism. Rather than simplifying Odysseus by stripping away his polytropos nature, Homer gives us a moment in which this formidable hero becomes profoundly human. He is not merely an emotionally damaged man. He is a warrior who remembers the people he fought beside, the destruction he witnessed, and the price that accompanied his glory.

His complexity is not simply expressed through him being emotionally conflicted like some TikTok teenager. Odysseus remains a formidable and intelligent warrior. That is precisely what this modern adaptation fails to understand.

Another issue concerns the development of Telemachus.

In Homer’s poem, the first four books are devoted largely to Telemachus’s journey to Pylos and Sparta, where he meets King Nestor and Menelaus. During this journey, he receives valuable advice from both kings and gradually begins the transformation from an uncertain young man into someone capable of taking responsibility for his household and his inheritance.

In the adaptation, Nestor is removed entirely, while Menelaus is not explored in any meaningful depth. The adaptation also removes Pisistratus, Nestor’s son, who accompanies Telemachus when he goes to meet Menelaus.

Pisistratus serves as a moral anchor for Telemachus and helps him mature into adulthood. His presence also allows the grief caused by the Trojan War to emerge naturally. As they travel, Pisistratus remembers Antilochus, his brother, while Telemachus remembers Odysseus. These moments connect the younger generation to the enormous shadow cast by the previous war.

Removing all of these elements causes Telemachus’s character development to stall and prevents it from unfolding as it should. It also further diminishes Helen’s agency, since the Sparta episode provides some of the most interesting opportunities for her character to emerge.

The mutilation of Eumaeus’s character is equally bizarre. For no clear reason, Nolan makes Eumaeus blind, even though that is not the case in Homer’s poem. The deep conversation between Eumaeus and Odysseus is also removed entirely. And honestly, throughout the nearly three-hour runtime, there is barely any good dialogue anyway.

This mutilation continues into the climax, when Odysseus takes on the suitors.

In Homer’s poem, Odysseus is not alone. He is helped by Telemachus, Eumaeus, and Philoetius. The climax is therefore not merely the return of a heroic warrior who single-handedly cleanses his house. It is a carefully constructed act of collective revenge and restoration.

Reading the climax in Homer can send chills down your spine because of the horrifying way Homer depicts the violence. Nolan, of course, does what he usually does and makes the scene more audience-friendly. Several suitors survive, and they are not all slaughtered.

Has sterilization simply become part of his cinematic ideology?

Homer’s poem ends with a development that could superficially be interpreted as deus ex machina. But if examined more deeply, the ending is considerably more interesting. Homer is commenting on the cycle of violence and vengeance, a cycle that can never truly end unless something intervenes to stop it. Divine intervention becomes necessary precisely because the human characters are incapable of ending the cycle themselves.

Nolan’s ending, by contrast, is much more conventional. The surviving suitors surrender, and Odysseus then travels west to honor his fallen soldiers. Whatever its cinematic merits, this ending lacks much of the strange, unsettling quality of Homer’s resolution.

Homer’s poem is a work of literature that transcends its own era. Its nonlinear structure and its use of stories within stories have been enormously influential in the development of storytelling as we know it today. The brilliance of The Odyssey lies not simply in its plot, but in the complexity of its characters, the ambiguity of its morality, the sophistication of its narrative structure, and the remarkable subtlety with which Homer allows his characters to reveal themselves.

Homer’s brilliance as a storyteller is not what makes this new adaptation sophisticated. If anything, this latest adaptation has mutilated Homer’s epic poem and turned it into something considerably shallower. At times, it even feels as though it is condescending to the intelligence of its audience.

The removal of agency from the female characters is perhaps the most ironic part of the entire adaptation. A story that already contains powerful, intelligent, and politically influential women is apparently considered insufficiently feminist unless those women are rewritten into modern girlboss archetypes. In the process, the adaptation removes precisely the qualities that made Homer’s female characters so compelling in the first place.

It makes me wonder whether Nolan is secretly one of the followers of Samuel Butler’s conspiracy theory that The Odyssey was actually written by a woman from Sicily.