"Epic of Gilgamesh," by Unknown & Translated by Stephen Mitchell--Fiction Review

Today let’s go old school and dig up a classic from antiquity. We’re discussing the “Epic of Gilgamesh” by—hmmm, this is awkward—I don’t know, nobody does, well who originally wrote the story that is, the narrative suggests Gilgamesh himself wrote the epic as several books. Later a scribe named Sîn-lēqi-unninni compiled them together. The translator, though, for my copy is Stephen Mitchell.

***The Non-Spoiler part of this review*** 

What I love about this book:

So in terms of origin stories, this is it for the western literary canon. What I mean by that is that all other works of literature in the west take place after the “Epic of Gilgamesh.” That’s pretty cool when you think about it for a moment. This Sumerian epic carved into stone in Mesopotamia is the starting point of literature in the west, and you can read it! Ok, maybe it’s just exciting to me because I’m a huge nerd. Also, it is fair to argue that the “Epic of Gilgamesh” is really literature of the near east/middle east, and making the claim that it represents the oldest work of western literature a little wibbly-wobbly. Still, it is one I'm sticking with because of how it references antediluvian times. That is before the great flood, suggesting a tie to the biblical story about the flood, and the bible, which undergirds the western tradition.  

Some of the scenes describing Gilgamesh’s armor and weapons, plus his adventures to places like the Garden of the Gods where the trees are described as being made of gems, sound a lot like something that could come right out of Brandon Sanderson’s “The Stormlight Archive.” Full disclosure, I happened to be reading this and that at the same time, so maybe I was just primed to make that connection, but still, I think it works.

One of the petty little details that I love about this epic is that Gilgamesh isn’t a half-god, unlike all the others that discuss demi-gods. No, it’s specifically mentioned that he’s two-thirds a god—with little explanation on how that happens, other than his mother was a goddess and his father became a god. It’s not like this was in response—that we know of—to other myths about demi-gods because the “Epic of Gilgamesh” is the first one written down, well, chiseled in rock, to be precise.

What I don’t love about this book:

Gilgamesh is heralded at the beginning of this story as a great king, you know, other than the times he randomly CRUSHES people’s sons to death. He also takes an—shall we say—overly amorous approach to women, especially other people’s wives, on their wedding night. So king rapist, the first, isn’t what you would call a likable character at the start of the story.

Shocker, as a character, Gilgamesh is often hard to love. Part of this is thousands of years of separation in time and human culture, though, so allowances need to be made. That being said, I don’t feel that he learns a whole lot on his adventures, despite the narration assuring me that he felt and experienced all things. Whatever that means. To me, Gilgamesh represents a proto-king, really still a holdover in form and function from the chieftain of a smaller hunter-gatherer society. Just because he represents the leader of a more settled community doesn’t imply he’s enlightened in any way, which he’s not.

There is also some confusion over how many books (chapters in old-timey) are in the “Epic of Gilgamesh.” There is one that seemingly resurrects a character, without much explanation, or rhyme, or reason. It doesn’t fit in well with the rest of the epic, so for the most part, I ignore its nonsensical plot that doesn’t jive with the rest of the story.

 

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***The Spoiler part of this review*** 

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The quick and dirty synopsis:

We start the epic by being assured that Gilgamesh, the legendary king of Uruk, is a great king like I said before, but things could be better. The people would really like him to stop murdering their sons and having sex with their wives on their wedding nights—reasonable requests. So they cry out to the gods for help in the matter.

"The Odyssey," by Homer & Translated by Emily Wilson--Fiction Review

Welcome to May, my dear internet strangers! Today we’re going to discuss “The Odyssey” by Homer and translated by Emily Wilson. So obviously, unless you at least speak Greek and understand the older incarnations of that language, there is no way to “read” the original “The Odyssey,” which isn’t something I can do, despite the rumors that I’m a time-traveling demon. 

What this effectively means is that if you are like me and are incapable of understanding ancient Greek, not that time-traveling demon business, then to enjoy “The Odyssey,” you’ll have to read some scholar’s translation. So, since there are several to choose from, you should know the experience is always heavily influenced subjectively by that particular translator. 

***The Non-Spoiler part of this review***

What I love about this book:

I like Emily Wilson as a translator. Her language choice is accessible to a modern audience, which makes the text of this ancient story of a Greek hero easier to understand. There is an argument, in some scholarly circles, that this makes the experience less pure—but I feel that’s nonsense. They reason that since this is a foundational story of the western literary canon, then the language choice should be elevated, antiquated, and often arcane. I find that all stupid because archaic English and ancient Greek have about as much in common as beagles and badgers—in the sense that they’re related if you go backward in time far enough, but not too closely.

I also like Odysseus as a character from the Greek pantheon of heroes—in fact, he’s probably my favorite of them. “Hero” means something very different to us in modern times, then in Homer’s day. Odysseus is often a duplicitous dick; in fact, he’s celebrated for that fact because he’s the cleverest man of his age. He might not be the most heroic person, to our modern sensibilities, but he is the one that figured out that whole let’s give the Trojans a giant horse trick, that won the war. Unlike Hercules or Achilles, Odysseus rarely needs to use his martial skill to solve a problem—typically, it’s his guile that sees him through any situation.       

What I don’t love about this book:

So like with all ancient stories I’ve experienced, “The Odyssey” has a social commentary that is rooted in its particular place and time, and it’s often uncomfortable to modern ears. Women aren’t treated well for one, and the values of the age aren’t the most liberally minded. Odysseus is a legendary warrior who would have lived during what is known as a “heroic age.” The defining trait of heroic ages is they suck for ordinary people—think like the Roman Empire has just collapsed and you’re a peasant on your way into the dark ages, and you’ll get the idea. In such a period, the law is really just what the toughest local bastard says it is, so that means most people get randomly murdered. It’s important to remember this and that “The Odyssey” is a product of a different time and place, so applying modern morals isn’t fair. But it’s also still cringe-worthy when our hero hangs a bunch of women because they got too familiar with the suitors trying to steal his wife and home.

Also, after years of being lost and presumed dead, when Odysseus does return home to Ithaca, there’s a scene where he meets his father, who doesn’t recognize him and is still grieving his death. So naturally, Odysseus uses this moment to screw with his father’s mind. Why? Because that’s what Odysseus does with everyone—he screws with them, he can’t help himself, but still not one of my favorite scenes. 

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***The Spoiler part of this review***

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