Micro Mention "The Aeneid"

Both Dido and Camilla in the "Aeneid" are super badass women—and both were done dirty by Aeneas directly and indirectly, respectively, resulting in their deaths, which is just one more reason I don't like Aeneas.

Having read Virgil's "sequel" to Homer's work, it feels like possibly the earliest form of fan fiction complete with its own original character—who is, like, super badass and better than all those original Greek characters. And much like modern fanfiction that engages in this, I don't particularly like that story beat and roll my eyes. That's who the Romans were as a people, though, unimaginative conquerors who were partial to absorbing other people's societies and cultures, slap some different names on them, and then proclaim themselves the chosen ones.

Virgil is especially keen to convince us that Aeneas is so much better than my favorite character in these myths, Odysseus, renamed Ulysses because—again—the Romans were weirdly unimaginative as an empire. Anyway, let us not forget that when all is said and done, Aeneas, the Trojan, lost, because Odysseus, the Greek, wrecked his shit. This whole story of this loser pissing off to Italy to be the progenitor of the Roman Empire mystifies me because I'm unsure why Virgil thought it was inspiring. 

Maybe stoicism? 

The quick synopsis of the Aeneid is the Trojans lose the war against the Greeks, and Aeneas leads them on a road trip across the Mediterranean to finally settle in Italy. Oh, and he gets his wife, and then his girlfriend killed. By the way, notice how Penelope and Circe are still alive, just saying.

This preview is an Amazon Affiliate link; 

as an Amazon Associate, I earn from qualifying purchases

"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. 

This preview is an Amazon Affiliate link; 

as an Amazon Associate, I earn from qualifying purchases.

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

***Ye be warned to turn back now***