Monday, September 30, 2019

Troy Story 2: Electric Boogaloo

When we talk about the works of Homer, Aeschylus, and Virgil, we usually talk about them in the context of individual books. But when we pan out and view them from a distance, it becomes clear that each individual book is part of the same story, the difference between them being the context in which we view the story.

The Iliad begins with an up close and personal view of the beginning of the rift between Achilles and Agamemnon: A rift that moved gods and men and turned the tide of the war. We're getting to see the Trojan war, yes, but we're viewing it through the context of Achilles' actions and the effect he had on it.

Next, the Odyssey. As we follow Telemachus and Odysseus around the Mediterranean, we learn through their eyes and ears more about this world and the characters in it. In Agamemnon's part of the Oresteia, we find more clues. The tape rewinds, and we expound upon a part of the narrative that had been glossed over in the last story.

Hundreds of years later, Virgil dusts off the old epic and gets out paper and pen. This time we rewind almost back to the beginning and we see the aftermath of Troy from the perspective of Aeneas and the Trojans.


When else in history has this phenomenon occurred? What other examples do we have of different authors and different mediums joining together through time and space to create a single narrative that has imprinted itself into our culture? I think it’s special how The Iliad, The Odyssey, The Oresteia, and The Aeneid form Voltron an interconnected web of people and events that make up a part of a much larger story.

Sunday, September 29, 2019

Whiners, Knives-In, and Wives

      With the close of Homer's The Odyssey, one detail that struck me most significantly was the interplay between Agamemnon’s heedful warnings in Hades and Odysseus’s open confessions to his wife Penelope. In telling Odysseus of his wife’s great treachery, Agamemnon cautions Odysseus to “not be too open with [his] wife,” to “not disclose all that [he] know[s],” even though Agamemnon admits that he believes Odysseus will “never meet death at the hands of [his] Penelope” (257). With this, I have both a question and an observation.
My question is: why would Agamemnon bother to instruct Odysseus to not trust his wife when he believes Penelope to be a loyal wife anyway?
What really interested me about this, however, is that Odysseus does not seem to pay much mind to this warning at all. Once Penelope’s suspicions are finally squandered, she and her husband talk into the night about what they have experienced in their near two decades apart, and, in telling his side of the story, Odysseus “spare[s] her nothing” (322). Furthermore, at mention of the further journeys Odysseus must make, as foretold by TirĂ©sias, Penelope demands full knowledge of what they entail. Although he had initially planned to tell her at a later time, upon Penelope’s request, Odysseus “tell[s] [Penelope] all he know[s] without disguise” (321). Penelope appears to be Odysseus’s true confidante and even his equal. This is illustrated also in their first meeting upon his return, where Penelope dares to test her husband and to deny him his warm welcome in favor of waiting to see if her suspicions will be confirmed. She is cautious, deliberate, and wise, which is likely what causes him to value her opinion. It begs the question of whether Agamemnon and Clytemnestra ever had this kind of trust and balance, or if there were conflicts in their marriage for far longer than Agamemnon led on.

Clear marital concerns: the murder of Agamemnon by Clytemnestra,
courtesy of The Black Tail.