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.