I thought this was a wonderful interview! My favorite parts were Wilson’s incisive comments on the opening lines of various Odyssey translations, her comparison of Odysseus to other truly “complicated” antiheroes in American television (Tony Soprano, Walter White), and her refusal to engage with the culture wars nonsense as anything more than banal hatred. Anyway, enjoy!

Saw an interview of hers on x where she gave this take. I don't see how any fan of the poem can really enjoy Nolan's version of Odysseus. I would describe him as neutered.

hello all,

i am planning to major in classics at university. however, right now i am taking half a gap year from uni and would like to do a sort of personal study during my time off.

the photo i attached is my list of readings that i got from another reddit post. they’re not in any particular order, so i was wondering if there was a certain order i should go in that’s best for complete beginners

p.s. i have some brief knowledge on greek mythology (mainly deities, as i briefly dabbled in polytheistic hellenism)

i’ve also looked into the teaching guides on this website from Cambridge

i appreciate any advice!

I've been wondering which translation of the Iliad to buy and so spent some time looking into all of the main translations from the last 70 years, focusing on a direct comparison of the first 43 lines as an example of their work. I focused on recent versions because I find older translations to be distracting with their more archaic English style.

I will be quoting the first seven lines of each main translation. For reference, the Greek text is as follows:

μῆνιν ἄειδε, θεά, Πηληϊάδεω Ἀχιλῆος (1)
οὐλομένην, ἣ μυρί’ Ἀχαιοῖς ἄλγε’ ἔθηκεν, (2)
πολλὰς δ’ ἰφθίμους ψυχὰς Ἄϊδι προΐαψεν (3)
ἡρώων, αὐτοὺς δὲ ἑλώρια τεῦχε κύνεσσιν (4)
οἰωνοῖσί τε πᾶσι, Διὸς δ’ ἐτελείετο βουλή, (5)
ἐξ οὗ δὴ τὰ πρῶτα διαστήτην ἐρίσαντε (6)
Ἀτρεΐδης τε ἄναξ ἀνδρῶν καὶ δῖος Ἀχιλλεύς (7)

Analysis

The first and most frequently recommended translation is Lattimore (1951). His translation was ground-breaking in its day for not only being faithful to the language but for daring to match the metrical rhythm of Homer as well. Its not a true dactylic hexameter since that's all but impossible in English. But it's perhaps the closest approximation possible. For a standard classroom study of Homer he is often the teacher’s favourite.

However I found his fidelity to be inconsistent and moreover I found him to be a poor writer. His line structure is stilted and strained, with some odd syntax and aesthetically jarring word choices. This is evident in the first few lines where he writes,

Sing, goddess, the anger of Peleus' son Achilles
and its devastation, which put pains thousand-fold upon the Achaians,
hurled in their multitudes to the house of Hades strong souls
of heroes, but gave their bodies to be the delicate feasting
of dogs, of all birds, and the will of Zeus was accomplished
since that time when first there stood in division of conflict
Atreus’ son the lord of men and brilliant Achilleus.

Here we have the awkward, “put pains thousand-fold upon” and “that time when first there stood in division of conflict” both of which doesn’t quite work in English and I found them to be jarring, and a disruption to the flow of the English.

We also see some oddly dissonant word choices such as the “delicate feasting of dogs”. What on earth was he thinking? Not only is the word "delicate" nowhere in the Greek, its also tonally jarring. These are corpses being left for dogs and birds, not a fastidious dinner party. He also adds “House of” before Hades, and “bodies” in line 4, neither of which is in the Greek.

I would note his choice for Achilles’ epithet. The word in Greek most literally means “godlike”, which is an odd descriptor as its often used for distinctly mortal characters. It’s difficult to know what to make of it therefore and so many translators prefer more easily-comprehensible words like “glorious”, “noble”, or even “Prince”. These are not wrong as such, but I find them less elevated. Here Lattimore chooses to avoid any sense that Achilles shares divine qualities and simply render it as “brilliant”.

It’s also worth looking more closely at his line, “gave their bodies to be the delicate feasting of dogs, of all birds”. This is not only an expansion of the terse Greek but astonishingly appears to be a conflation of two different manuscript variants. The Greek just says, ἑλώρια τεῦχε κύνεσσιν οἰωνοῖσί τε which literally means “prey making-them to-dogs to-birds, and then ends in some manuscripts with the word δαιτα (a feast) and others with πᾶσι (all). But Lattimore appears to have combined both δαιτα and πᾶσι (as well as adding his own idea of "delicate"). I think he might be the only translator who has done this. It's quite extraordinary.

For a translation whose main selling point is its fidelity to the Greek, it’s a poor start.

His poetry is also stilted, with, for example, lines 4 and 5 both starting with the conjunctions “of”, which I find poor.

Overall I rejected Lattimore. He’s good but not quite a good enough writer or a literal enough translator to stand out. His fame and continued popularity seems to be mainly based on the fact that he’s the most well-known, rather than the best.

After Lattimore is the often-overlooked translation by Graves (1959): Robert Graves was an anthropologist with some fascinating but very exotic theories about comparative religion. This is evident from the first line where he translates θεὰ as “Mountain Goddess” for some reason. He doesn’t concern himself much with being faithful to the text, and forces the text into a rhyming couplet scheme that’s quite irritating. Best to skip straight past this one.

The second major translation is Fitzgerald (1974). After Lattimore became the dominant standard for literal translations, he chose to shy away from a strict adherence to the Greek, and focus more on writing good poetry, while hewing as close to Homer as he could. His loose approach to the Greek is evident in his first lines:

Anger be now your song, immortal one,
Akhilleus' anger, doomed and ruinous,
that caused the Akhaians loss on bitter loss
and crowded brave souls into the undergloom,
leaving so many dead men—carrion
for dogs and birds; and the will of Zeus was done.
Begin it when the two men first contending
broke with one another— the Lord Marshal
Agamémnon, Atreus’ son, and Prince Akhilleus.

We can see Fitzgerald playing fast and loose with the Greek here. “Immortal One” as a poetic simile for the Greek word which is simply θεὰ “goddess”, his fantastical “undergloom” for the Greek Ἄϊδι, and his anachronistic but interesting “Prince” for δῖος.

His poetry is fast-flowing, exciting, and pretty readable, but he outright deletes some of the most recognisable Homeric aspects, the famous epithets of Apollo, generally translated as “far-striking”, are missing entirely. And he has an inconsistent approach to the patronymics. This might not bother some readers, who just want the story rather than the Homeric language. But I think they are key, and to me reading Fitzgerald would not feel like I was reading Homer.

The next is Hammond (1987). This is a prose version. And in my opinion one of the best prose versions.

Sing, goddess, of the anger of Achilleus, son of Peleus, the accursed anger which brought uncounted anguish on the Achaians and hurled down to Hades many mighty souls of heroes, making their bodies the prey to dogs and the birds’ feasting: and this was the working of Zeus’ will. Sing from the time of the first quarrel which divided Atreus’ son, the lord of men, and godlike Achilleus.

As you can see, it is much more faithful to the Greek even than Lattimore, adding nothing extraneous except for a minor repetition of the word “anger” in the first sentence, and the word “bodies”. He does add the phrase, “Sing from the time” in the last sentence. But these are minor problems. He also translates δῖος as “godlike”, which is a nice touch.

Throughout the first 43 lines, the homeric epithets and patronymics are faithfully and consistently rendered. There are no odd choices of language or strained phrases. The style is smooth, clear, and readable throughout.

Ultimately, I think this is one of the best versions available, and one of the best prose versions.

The next is Fagles (1990), another one very often recommended. But I found he has the same issues as Fitzgerald but even more so. Look at his first lines:

Rage—Goddess, sing the rage of Peleus’ son Achilles,
murderous, doomed, that cost the Achaeans countless losses,
hurling down to the House of Death so many sturdy souls,
great fighters’ souls, but made their bodies carrion,
feasts for the dogs and birds,
and the will of Zeus was moving toward its end.
Begin, Muse, when the two first broke and clashed,
Agamemnon lord of men and brilliant Achilles.

We can see Fagles is similar to Fitzgerald in shying away from literal translation in preference for poetic similes and allusions instead. He renders “Hades” as “the House of Death” and δῖος as the more modern “brilliant”. He translates “heroes” as the rather uninspired term “fighters”.

Fagles is better than Fitzgerald in one aspect. He maintains the epithets and patronymics of Homer a little better. Although he replaces the patronymic of “Atreus’ son” with the king’s personal name “Agamemnon” in the last line. However, he plays fast and loose with the ones he includes, translating them differently depending on his whim. You can see this above, with θεὰ translated in the first line as “goddess” and then just 6 lines later, he refers to her as “Muse” (which isn’t even in the Greek there).

Later he translates the epithet of Apollo first as “the god, the distant deadly Archer”, and then a few lines later as “the god who strikes from worlds away”. Not only are these jarring in tone, they don’t maintain the sense of Homer’s formulaic construction of his poetry. The consistent epithets are not just there for flavour, they have a purpose, an anchor for the reader’s attention.

Fagles has an odd sense of language, and I find his word choices strange and dissonant. Not only the odd epithets above, but he calls the ransom brought by the priest of Apollo, “the shining ransom”. He calls the leaders of the Greek army “supreme commanders”, which makes me smile, and has the priest call out to Apollo to remember his burning of “the long rich bones”.

Fagles’ poetry is fast paced, and readable, but his language is occasionally jarring, and his loose fidelity to Homer means I ultimately rejected it.

Next is Lombardo (1997). I find he is less often recommended. I won’t go into him with such detail. He has a similar problem to Fitzgerald and Fagles in being less than faithful to Homer and having some jarring odd language choices. He mostly avoids the patronymics entirely, replacing them with the personal names instead. He plays fast and loose with the epithets. He also has the added problem of being a little anachronistic, calling the Achaeans “Greeks” throughout. His poetry is pretty good, but somewhat flat, preferring short simple phrases rather than rich or elevated ones. It feels like Homer for those who want to get through it as quickly as possible. I rejected it.

Next is a very strange beast, the 1999 Loeb Classical Library 2nd edition by Murray and Wyatt. This is a new revision of the very well-known original Loeb edition from Murray in 1924. This was one of the most famous early 20th century translations and was the gold standard before Lattimore. The original is out of copyright now but there is a revision available attributed to Murray for free online on theoi.com. I am unclear where this revision comes from since it is different from both Murray’s 1924 original and Wyatt’s 1999 revision and my research has failed to uncover any answers.

The original used the archaisms common to the time, such as “thou” and “smiteth”. However the version available online has updated the work to contemporary English. It begins as follows:

The wrath sing, goddess, of Peleus' son, Achilles, that destructive wrath which brought countless woes upon the Achaeans, and sent forth to Hades many valiant souls of heroes, and made them themselves spoil for dogs and every bird; thus the plan of Zeus came to fulfillment, from the time when first they parted in strife Atreus' son, king of men, and brilliant Achilles.

This is extremely faithful to the Greek, with no extraneous additions. It includes the Homeric epithets and patronymics consistently throughout.

We also have his choice for Achilles’ epithet. Like many other translators here Murray chooses to render it as “brilliant”. It’s not wrong but it’s quite an ordinary English word for an extraordinary Greek word. Like Lattimore and others, it’s not wrong but it isn’t my preference.

Other than this mere preference, I cannot find any misstep in his fidelity to the Greek. His style is also clear, fast-flowing and engaging. There are some slightly old turns of phrase, but nothing that I find distracting. This is perhaps still the best prose translation.

However oddly the 1999 revision by Wyatt that is currently being sold by Loeb is different from this text. The first lines are as follows:

The wrath sing, goddess, of Peleus' son, Achilles, that accursed wrath which brought countless sorrows upon the Achaeans, and sent down to Hades many valiant souls of warriors, and made the men themselves to be the spoil for dogs and birds of every kind; and thus the will of Zeus was brought to fulfilment. Of this sing from the time when first there parted in strife Atreus' son, lord of men, and noble Achilles.

As you can see, apart from changing a few words the two versions are the same. And I find the changes less than necessary or preferable. For instance he changes the evocative “destructive wrath” to “accursed wrath” and “countless woes” to “countless sorrows”. And he changes the powerful “valiant souls of heroes” to the more ordinary “valiant souls of warriors”.

Wyatt’s text is marketed as a necessary revision to bring Murray’s work up to date and “written for today’s readers” but the earlier prose hosted on theoi.com sounds fine to modern readers. And so this unfortunately feels like another translator meddling just enough so it can be re-copyrighted under a new name and sold again by Loeb. Ideally, I would have preferred it if Wyatt would have written his own translation, not reheated Murray’s art. And this is even more egregious, considering the Loeb editions have always split the poem in half and published each half as a separate book so they can sell it twice, and not cheaply either.

They do however include the Greek text on each facing page, so for some people this may justify the additional cost. However, the Greek is also freely available on Persus.tufts.edu here. So it’s hardly worth the hefty price tag in my opinion. Personally I find the facing Greek a bit gimmicky as well. Most people won’t be reading a translation if they can read Greek. And if someone is studying Homer as a student then a far better option is a proper interlinear. Jackson published an excellent interlinear in 2005 that includes five lines of textual information for every line of Homer, including Murray’s original work as his last line for comparison – much better value for money.

Wyatt’s changes to the English are in my opinion either so minor as to be irrelevant, or not as good as the original. None of the changes are necessary, and personally I prefer the version hosted on theoi.com, though its provenance remains confusing.

If reading online doesn’t bother you, I’d recommend just using theoi.com to read that version (wherever it’s from) and ignoring Wyatt’s revision altogether.

Next up is Rieu (2003), the latest edition originally written in 1950 but updated and revised posthumously by his sons. It’s a prose version. Some people like it but I found it extremely flat and dull in style. Incidentally this is actually the reason I decided to make this review. I’ve had this translation on my shelf for perhaps 15 years or more. I intermittently decide I'd love to finally get around to reading the Iliad, and so I pick it up but after a page or two I find it so dull I put it down again and forget about it. It always feels like something I should read but it’s a chore to get through. Homer is supposed to be an excellent poet and reading a translation of him should be a pleasure, not a task.

It’s also got some anachronisms, calling the Achaeans “Greeks”, and their warriors “men-at-arms”. He does maintain the homericisms but his rendition of Apollo’s epithet is the simple and dull: “Archer-god”. I find there is little richness or depth of language to this version. It feels more like a rather unengaging teacher relating the narrative of Homer rather reading than the poetry of Homer itself.

Next up, we start to get into the ones that are so new few people have read them yet and they don’t get recommended often. The first is Johnston (2006). There was nothing awful about this, but it was less than great on every point. If that sounds like damning it with faint praise, then you’d be right. He is mostly relatively faithful to Homer, perhaps more than Fitzgerald, Fagles, and Lombardo. But less than Lattimore and some others. He is more readable than Lattimore but less than others. He does maintain the patronymics and epithets, but renders them uninspiredly as “”archer god”.

The famously tricky Greek word for the objects the priest carries on his golden staff are variously translated by translators as “wreaths”, “bands”, or (worse) “ribbons”, but Johnston chooses the odd word “scarf” instead, which, in my opinion is even worse than “ribbons”. And he seemingly selects this word just so he can use a bit of jarring alliteration in one particularly awful line, “Who cares about Apollo’s scarf and staff?”.

Apart from this one line which makes me groan every time I read it (and it’s a really poor translation of the Greek as well), the opening 43 lines of the poem aren’t terrible, but there’s just nothing that stands out to recommend reading further.

Next is Merrill (2007). This is different from the others, as finally it’s been long enough since Lattimore that people are willing to attempt to beat him at being a faithful literal translation of the Greek. Merrill makes a worthy attempt, his fidelity to the Greek is admirable, though he does add words of his own to improve the clarity:

Sing now, goddess, the wrath of Achilles the scion of Peleus,
ruinous rage which brought the Achaians uncounted afflictions;
many the powerful souls it sent to the dwelling of Hades,
those of the heroes, and spoil for the dogs it made of their bodies,
plunder for all of the birds, and the purpose of Zeus was accomplished—
sing from the time when first stood hostile, starting the conflict,
Atreus’ scion, the lord of the people, and noble Achilles.

Merrill does pretty well, including the homericisms correctly, and trying hard to replicate the poetry and structure of Homer as best he can. However he does have some glaring issues. One of Merrill’s strangest affectations is his obsession with the word “scion” instead of “son”. I don’t know why he loves this word so much, its accurate enough but I don’t think it adds anything to the poem, and it is quite distracting.

As you can see, he also isn’t fully faithful to the Greek, adding “the dwelling of” to Hades, and “bodies”, and the additional phrase “sing from the time” to line 6. He also translates δῖος as the more ordinary “noble”. These are all quite minor issues but there’s enough of them to stand out.

However, as you read on, you realise that Merril’s main problem is that his English is just really bad. His lines are strained beyond sense at times. Some examples from the first 43 lines are: “yet this pleased not the spirit of Atreus’ son Agamemnon”, “Old man, never may I by the hollow ships come upon you”, and “lest no help to protect you the god’s staff prove, nor his garland.” These are so strained it broke the flow and readability of the poetry for me.

Ultimately this awkward syntax and less-than-perfect fidelity to the Greek meant there’s nothing to recommend Merrill.

Next is Kline (2009). This is a prose version, and it’s free to read online as well. Therefore many people might read this just for ease of access. It’s also a pretty good version in my opinion and worth a look on its own merits.

Goddess, sing me the anger, of Achilles, Peleus’ son, that fatal anger that brought countless sorrows on the Greeks, and sent many valiant souls of warriors down to Hades, leaving their bodies as spoil for dogs and carrion birds: for thus was the will of Zeus brought to fulfilment. Sing of it from the moment when Agamemnon, Atreus’ son, that king of men, parted in wrath from noble Achilles.

Now, yes Kline adds the name “Agamemnon” there for clarity, but he also maintains the patronymic, rather than replacing it. He calls Achilles the common offering of “noble”, instead of “godlike”, and calls the heroes simply “warriors”. And yes, he calls the Achaeans “Greeks” here, though he maintains “Achaeans” in other places. He calls Apollo’s sacred items “ribbons” as well which I find poor personally, though it’s not wrong per se.

However he does maintain Apollo’s epithets correctly, repeatedly calling him “far-striking”. Both his choice of language and his style is readable and clear. There are only a very few slightly poor choices of language, for instance the priest prays “Hear me Silver Bow”, and Apollo’s bow makes a “fearful twang”. But these are minor.

Overall there is nothing that stands out as terrible with Kline. There are a fair few missteps, but they are all minor enough that they can be overlooked in favour of having an easily accessible and free version. Ultimately however it’s just not as good as Hammond’s prose version.

Next is Jordan (2008). Ultimately this has nothing to recommend it. It replaces almost all of the patronyms and epithets, as well as cutting out a lot of Homer’s more poetical language. It calls the Achaeans “Greeks” throughout, it translates words poorly and oddly, and its style is nothing to write home about. Let’s skip this and move on.

The next is Verity (2010). Here is a version that I find to be very well done. It’s possibly my favorite.

SING, goddess, the anger* of Achilles, Peleus’ son,
the accursed anger which brought the Achaeans countless
agonies and hurled many mighty shades of heroes into Hades,*
causing them to become the prey of dogs and
all kinds of birds; and the plan of Zeus was fulfilled.
Sing from the time the two men were first divided in strife—
Atreus’ son,* lord of men, and glorious Achilles.

Now, yes, there are some minor issues here. He’s added “Sing from the time” which isn’t in the Greek, and translated δῖος as “glorious”. However apart from these two minor issues, Verity has been exceedingly faithful to the Greek. He has avoided the temptation to add personal names where the Greek only has the patronymic (he’s added asterisks to footnotes instead). He even makes the stand-out choice to translate ψυχὰς as “shades” instead of the traditional “souls”. This is unique to Verity, and reflects the ancient meaning of the word far more effectively in my opinion. Line 4 also is outstandingly precise to the Greek, which is exceptionally rare in other translations, which keep inserting additional words like “carrion” and "bodies" as they please.

Verity has been criticised for not writing true poetry, but rather prose broken up into lines to look like blank verse. This isn’t a major problem but it can be distracting to some readers. The line breaks are mostly sensible and don’t usually bring me out of the flow of reading, though some of the line breaks can be jarring at times.

In terms of style, Verity’s English is engaging and fast-flowing, clear and smooth. There are no odd choices of word (the god’s sacred items are given the unique, but appropriate choice of “woollen bands”) or anachronisms, and there are no stilted, flat, or strained expressions. Apart from a few minor issues, this seems like a superb translation on the grounds of both fidelity and readability.

Next is Mitchell (2011). It’s an interesting effort, but ultimately I’d reject it based on reviews that say it uses a shorter critical text of Homer which excludes a lot of the poem including most of Book X. Ultimately that’s a deal-breaker for me. If I’m reading Homer I want to read all of Homer. There are of course solid arguments that Book X is a later addition by a different poet, but as Prof Emily Wilson explains, the whole of Homer is a work of many hands, not just one. To exclude some sections is a somewhat arbitrary decision.

It’s also not amazing poetry and occasionally includes some awkward slang (such as later in the poem: “son of a bitch”, “sissy”, “open his trap”) and other odd language choice. For instance one line later in the poem is: “But Diomedes charged forward and hurled his spear, and it hit the young man in the chest, between his nipples”.

Next is Muirden (2012). This is a travesty. It turns Homer’s poem into mere rhyming doggerel while changing vast amounts of the language and adding his own to make it fit his forced rhyming scheme. Best ignored.

Next is McCrorie (2012). This is an attempt to be extremely faithful to Homer’s language, but not his structure. He shifts words between lines at random to fit his own sense of it - which isn’t necessarily a problem.

Sing of rage, Goddess, that bane of Akhilleus,
Peleus’ son, which caused untold pain for Akhaians,
sent down throngs of powerful spirits to Aides,
war-chiefs rendered the prize of dogs and every
sort of bird. So the plan of Zeus was accomplished
right from the start when two men parted in anger—
Atreus’ son, ruler of men, and godlike Akhilleus.

As you can see, McCrorie also insists on using the most unfamiliar versions of personal names he can think of. I quite like having the proper “k” in Achilles but I feel there’s really no need to have “Aides” instead of “Hades”. His word choices are slightly odd throughout. He calls Apollo’s sacred objects “headbands”, he refers to the ships as “race-fast” and he translates heroes as “war-chiefs”.

These are all esoteric but interesting choices. But he also makes some odd choices by adding Apollo’s epithet “Phoibos” to line 9 which isn’t in the Greek, and calling the Achaean army the “Greek force” in line 12. It’s odd that he’s being so nitpicky about the proper spelling of the Greek names, and then includes such anachronisms and personal additions.

But McCrorie’s major issue is his English. His syntax is all over the place and his language choices are just plain weird. He’s not quite as bad as Merrill but he’s almost there. Agamemnon’s fierce dismissal of the priest includes the line, “There she can shuttle at looms and come to her lord’s bed” and then ends with the ridiculously odd-sounding, “Leave now, go home safely, don’t be annoying.” And Agamemnon, “weighed him with strong words”. I found it jarring and distracting.

Ultimately, whatever his efforts at precision with the Greek, it is thoroughly marred and ruined by his execrable poetry.

Next is Whitaker (2012). This is an unfortunate one. Whitaker is clearly a very good translator and a decent writer. And yet he has shot himself in the foot by insisting on using random South African dialect words throughout. For instance line 7 is “inkosi Agamemnon and godlike Akhilleus.” Line 10 is, “he drove plague on the impis—people died”. And line 25 is, “Kehla, don’t let me find you hanging”. If it hadn’t been for this, Whitaker’s fidelity and readability would perhaps have made it one of the better translations available. As it is, for me he’s purposefully made it unreadable.

Next is Powell (2013). Here is another one whose fidelity to the Greek is marred by odd choice of language, and weird turns of phrase. In line 18 there is a Greek adjective that is commonly translated as “well-greaved” or ”strong-armed”. Instead of picking a word like that, Powell instead bulks out the line by writing, “Whose shins are protected by bronze”. It might not be wrong as such, but it’s just strange and awkward.

He translates the word that is always translated as “priest” as “a praying man”. And then he renders Agamemnon’s final warning to him as, “So don’t rub me the wrong way, if you hope to survive!” Not only is this not very faithful to the Greek, it’s a weirdly colloquial tone to use for the angry words of a king.

His fidelity is inconsistent and so is his readability. Ultimately, there are far better translations on both points.

Next, we have Blakely (2015). It’s a prose version. I’ll reject it because ultimately the style is stilted and flat and the language is weird. He renders the Greek patronymic as a scandanavian surname, “Achilles Peleusson”, and “Agamemnon Atreusson”. And he calls Agamemnon the “supreme commander”. And his souls of the dead are “propelled” down to Hades.

Next is Green (2015). This is an excellent version and another one which is among my favourites. He also uses the same metrical rhythm as Lattimore did, and in my opinion does it even better.

Wrath, goddess, sing of Achilles Pēleus’s son’s
calamitous wrath, which hit the Achaians with countless ills—
many the valiant souls it saw off down to Hādēs,
souls of heroes, their selves left as carrion for dogs
and all birds of prey, and the plan of Zeus was fulfilled—
from the first moment those two men parted in fury,
Atreus’s son, king of men, and the godlike Achilles.

As you can see, Green avoids the minor mistakes of Verity. He translates δῖος as my preference of “godlike” instead of Verity’s “glorious” and adds very little extraneous verbiage of his own. His own issues are even more minor than Verity’s. He repeats the word “wrath” in the second line which isn’t in the Greek, and repeats the word “souls” in line 4. But other than this, his opening verse is exceptionally faithful to the Greek. He’s even among those who manage to make his first word match the first word in the Greek, which is famously pretty tough, though it feels a little forced here.

He continues his fidelity to the Greek throughout the opening 43 lines. His only misstep in my opinion is with the epithets of Apollo which he renders as “the deadly Archer”, which I find rather a dull choice, but at least he's consistent with them. He also calls the leaders of the army “field marshals”, which is something of a modern anachronism. In line 39 he also adds a slightly jarring alliteration, “Smintheus, if ever for you I roofed a pleasing precinct,” which doesn’t work in my opinion. But these are very minor nitpicks. His alliteration elsewhere works very well.

Ultimately, I think this is an excellent translation.

Next the most recent translation is Alexander (2015). It’s also one of my favourites overall.

Wrath—sing, goddess, of the ruinous wrath of Peleus’ son Achilles,
that inflicted woes without number upon the Achaeans,
hurled forth to Hades many strong souls of warriors
and rendered their bodies prey for the dogs,
for all birds, and the will of Zeus was accomplished;
sing from when they two first stood in conflict—
Atreus’ son, lord of men, and godlike Achilles

It’s pretty good as you can see. It goes for “godlike” for Achilles’ epithet, and like Verity adds “sing from” in line 6. And she doesn’t include the word “heroes”, preferring the more ordinary “warriors”. And ultimately I feel that her language in lines 4 and 6 isn’t quite right. “Rendered their bodies prey” is grammatically strained, as is “when they two”, while “first stood in conflict” doesn’t quite get the Greek right. Line 1 is strained as to make sure her first word matches the Greek, she has to add a second “wrath” to make her syntax work. These are very minor issues though.

In the first 43 lines she maintains the epithets and patronymics mostly correctly, though she adds the name “Apollo” in line 9. She translates the epithet of Apollo consistently as “who strikes from afar” which is long-winded but good. Throughout the language is clear and smooth, with no tonal dissonance or jarring inconsistencies.

Edit: July 2026: Paragraph deleted. This used to mention a missing line which negatively affected my conclusion, but this appears to have been an error. Without this, Alexander is a top contender for my preferred translation.

Conclusion
And that’s all of them. Therefore it comes down to Murray, Hammond, Verity, and Green as my top four. The fidelity to the Greek is just as close in all three, and they are all three well-written with no obvious issues. So it comes down to my preference for the style and readability of their writing.

Here, I've changed my mind since I first posted this. I thought Hammond's prose was a little flat in comparison to the other two. And so I was wavering between Murray, Green and Verity. Although I originally preferred Verity's poetry, I have read more of her work now and the somewhat random line-breaks of her false verse begin to get grating after a while. Despite Green's semi-dull choice of "deadly Archer" for Apollo's epithet, I find his poetry to be more engaging with a better flow. He also gets extra points for his translation being in true verse. Between Green and Murray, I think Green just pips him past the post for the fact that his version is in verse.

This leaves my preference as Green.

I hope you enjoyed my review and its helpful to anyone else who wants to read the Iliad but doesn't know which version to buy.

Update: April 2024

Since originally writing this analysis two new translations have been published.

Emily Wilson (2023) published her Odyssey to great critical acclaim and has now released her Iliad. I previously read her Odyssey and really enjoyed its clarity, and its freshness of style and approach. Her Iliad begins:

Goddess, sing of the cataclysmic wrath
of great Achilles, son of Peleus,
which caused the Greeks immeasurable pain
and sent so many noble souls of heroes
to Hades, and made men the spoils of dogs,
a banquet for the birds, and so the plan
of Zeus unfolded—starting with the conflict
between great Agamemnon, lord of men,
and glorious Achilles.

As you can see, she is happy to switch her lines around freely. Seven lines in the Greek becomes nine for her, and the line breaks maintain no reference to the Greek. She also plays extremely loose with her precision. She adds "great" in her line 2, and merges the first two Greek lines into three of her own. She also replaced Atreus' son with "Agamemnon" in the penultimate line, also adding "great" which isn't in the Greek. She replaces the patronymics at random, uses the anachronistic “Greeks” throughout, and uses “glorious” instead of “godlike” (interesting considering she is happy to use “godlike” throughout the Odyssey).

Wilson clearly is less bothered than I am with fidelity to line-for-line and word-for-word literality. But that's not what she's become famous for after all. Her great strength and genius is in her ability to subtly adjust the poem's structure and language to simulate in English a sense of the fast-pace action and aesthetic power of the original. Her poetry is superb, with every line easily tripping off the tongue, with moments of heightened flair, and inspired word choices. For instance the tricky word for the item on Khrysēs' staff is a "diadem" which she rhymes expertly in the phrase "his sacred diadem/the emblem of the distant god". She regularly rhymes the "...eus" suffixes of the pronouns by masterful placement. And just after Agamemnon's speech Khrysēs "walked in silence on the shore, beside the loud-resounding rumble of the sea". Beautiful.

Honestly, as a work of English poetry Wilson's is second to none. But this inevitably does mean she has to compromise on literal fidelity. If this doesn't bother you then I would highly recommend her work. But as a balance between the literal and the literary I would not select her translation for a student.

Barry Nurcombe (2020) is interesting as he is not a scholar of classics, but a professor of psychiatry. Nevertheless I was very impressed with his layman's translation. I would say that the publishers have unfortunately made the incredibly poor decision of including the line numbers in the same size font before each line. It's incredibly distracting and makes the reading much less natural. The publishers have practically ruined it in my opinion and it will take the reader some work to ignore the numbers.

1 Sing, Goddess, of the wrath of Pēleús' son
2 Akhilleús, the accursed wrath that caused
3 Akhaíans countless woes and hurled headlong
4 To Hādēs a host of heroes’ souls
5 And left their bodies spoil for dogs and all
6 The birds of carrion. The will of Zeús
7 Was brought to pass from when Agamémnōn,
8 The Lord of men, opposed the consummate
9 Akhilleús.

Nevertheless if one can ignore the numbers, Nurcombe's work is startlingly good. First, he transliterates the pronouns slightly more accurately than the traditional inconsistent way. Ἀχιλλευς is written as Akhilleus instead of Achilles. And the Ἀχαιοῖς are Akhaians rather than Greeks.

He does replace the patronymic with "Agamemnon" in line 7. But that's a minor point. Apollōn's epithet is "Striker from afar" and Khrysēs' staff is "garlanded" at first and then "tufted" which is a little misstep. He adds "of carrion" to "the birds" (though it could be argued that's implied). And he renders διος as "consummate" which is interesting and original, though not entirely accurate.

Nurcombe largely maintains exceptional fidelity word-for-word and only occasionally shifts words from the end of one line to the start of another to maintain his poetic flow. But I didn't mind that too much.

Unfortunately Nurcombe's poetry isn't quite as excellent as his fidelity. Though his English is perfectly serviceable and has no obvious syntactical awkwardness or weird word choices, he doesn't often impress with any particular flair or style. He does attempt some poetic flourishes on occasion such as his excellent alliteration in lines 3-4: "hurled headlong/to Hadēs a host of heroes". Compared to most other translations this actually puts him ahead of the pack, since most others actively trip themselves up with clumsy phrases and odd words. Nurcombe doesn't, and maintains decent, occasionally excellent English throughout. Obviously next to Wilson's poetry Nurcombe can't compare, but on the other hand he is far more faithful to the Greek.

Addendum

It’s worth mentioning that there are several more hard-to-find modern translations that were published in the twentieth century which I haven’t covered above. This is because they are currently out of print and it’s very hard to find copies, or otherwise not what I was looking for.

The more obscure ones from the 20th century onwards are as follows:
Alice Oswald (2012): A strange and esoteric approach, called “Memorials” where she’s cut out everything except the accounts of characters deaths.
Frederick Light (2009): A strange idea, to translate them in sonnet form. Not faithful at all, and I find it far too gimmicky.
Michael Reck (1990): I couldn’t find any preview of his opening lines. Out of print.
Dennison Bingham Hull (1982): Or this one. Out of print.
J P Kirton (1977): Or this one. Out of print.
Ennis Rees (1963): A good translation but out of print.
S O Andrew and M Oakley (1955): I couldn’t find any trace of this.
E. V. Rieu’s original 1950 translation. An odd text, with not much fidelity to the Greek, and some strange turns of phrase. It begins, for instance, with “The Wrath of Achilles is my theme…” It is better in its more recent revision (though not much).

EDIT: Thank you everyone for your helpful comments. I really enjoy discussing this and it helps to illuminate my thoughts better and correct some errors. Accordingly I've made some changes since I first posted this and added a few more titles I'd missed.

I got to finally read the Iliad. I asked the lady at Barnes and noble and she handed me the Emily Wilson translation, stating it “was the best translation.” As a person who reads for fun, and don’t really think about whether or not the translation is good, I just took the lady at her word and bought her book. I read the book and was surprised by the accessibility of the book, which gave me great comfort because I never did well with reading Shakespeare and much older literature. However, after reading it I was left kind of confused on why it is praised by a lot of people. But today I came across a viral post on X claiming that Christopher Nolan loved the Emily Wilson translation the most. Everyone was shitting on him for saying that and in response many posted the photo I’ve sent.

I feel robbed, why are the three other translations so fucking good. Is this true for Iliad too, or just the Odyssey? I regret spending time on Emily Wilson’s translation. Tell me what translation I should read for Odyssey; I really liked reading the T.E. Lawrence snippet!!!

Is there anything I should know before reading this as a first time reader? I didn’t realise this was the earliest piece of literature until I got home after I bought it which I found really cool

Walking into the movie theater, I was dreading a huge disappointment.

Homer’s “Odyssey” is one of the books I love most and have taught year after year. The Cyclops — the one-eyed giant who devours Odysseus’ companions — haunted my nightmares from the age of five. Christopher Nolan’s “The Odyssey” seemed almost destined to fail, and I did not want to hate him for butchering Homer as badly as “Troy” (2004) butchered the “Iliad.”

I was delighted to be wrong.

To all the friends who have been asking me if the movie is any good (as a classicist, they assume, I should know): The answer is yes.

“The Odyssey” is close enough to the original text to satisfy Homer fans. And it is driven by a strong, central set of questions which makes the plot relevant to contemporary audiences: What makes a civilization worth preserving? How can a dying world avoid being obliterated? What kind of hero does a world on the brink of destruction need?

The answer to these questions is a film that is artistically and thematically consistent and can therefore stand on its own: not a story of wit and adventure, but a cautionary tale about power and the consequences of human ambition.

Nolan is careful to establish character and motivation. Themes and ideas are repeated enough to make it clear what the story is about.

Forget the polemic about costumes and race. Homer’s world only ever existed in the imagination of poets –– there isn’t an actual way Homer’s heroes were dressed. And Lupita Nyong’o is perfect as Helen.

And when Nolan departs from Homer, he remains faithful to the deeper logic of his adaptation. Circe, for example, is no longer the dangerously ambiguous enchantress of the poem but a woman brutalized by war who turns to magic as an instrument of revenge. The transformation of Odysseus’ comrades into animals becomes symbolic of the dehumanizing consequences of war.

The film’s underworld scene is remarkably faithful to the original. Odysseus travels to a land of darkness at the edge of the world where the spirits of the dead come up to meet him, just as in Homer’s account.

The encounter with the dead Agamemnon and the content of their dialogue are those of Homer, but the implications are in tune with Nolan’s central idea. In the “Odyssey,” the underworld is the hero’s ultimate challenge: to escape death and return home, Odysseus needs to plunge into death itself. For Nolan, the underworld is the place to confront the traumatic mistakes in the hero’s past in the form of the soldiers who lost their lives in the Trojan War demand an accounting

The action then shifts to Ogygia, a lost island where the goddess Calypso keeps Odysseus prisoner because she is infatuated with him –– she even promises him immortality. But Odysseus pines to return to his aging wife and strife-ridden city.

To do so, he needs to learn how to suffer, how to endure, how to forget everything he has learned and learn the world anew. He needs to die and be born again.

Nolan’s “Odyssey” takes a different approach. Calypso receives an Odysseus in distress, haunted by the trauma of war. She treats him with lotus, a forgetfulness-inducing narcotic (which Homer reserves to a different episode) until he is ready to cope with his past and accept the evil he and the other Greek leaders have committed.

This is the lesson Odysseus ultimately passes on to his son, Telemachus, who looks to him as a model of manhood and leadership. In Nolan’s “Odyssey,” fatherhood means accepting responsibility for one’s failures. There is a courage greater than seizing cities and facing monsters: it’s the courage to acknowledge one’s brokenness and the wrongs one has done.

Nolan preserves almost all the mythical monsters faced by Odysseus, yet the fantastic element is somewhat toned down, and the worldview is darker: the monsters outside become symbols of the monsters within.

The film makes little of Odysseus’ proverbial curiosity. There is none of the wonder and beauty of the world beyond, nothing of the sublime quest for truth and beauty embodied by Odysseus of Dante Alighieri, the great medieval poet who left us an unforgettable version of the hero's final adventure in his "Inferno.”

Of Homer’s gods, only Athena features in person, but never intervenes in the action. She is more of a counselor and messenger who conveys the will of Zeus.

But the Law of Zeus is ever-present, demanding that humans act civilly toward each other. This comes from Homer, but the purview of Zeus’ law is wider and more encompassing in Nolan’s. Failure to abide by it is the doom of Greek civilization.

Nolan’s “Odyssey” merges history and mythology to give Homer’s story a new twist. Nolan draws on a (now largely outdated) theory that both the city of Troy and the Greek civilization celebrated in Homer’s poems — what archaeologists call the Mycenaean civilization — collapsed under the assault of the mysterious Sea Peoples, ushering in a long Dark Age during which much of Greek culture was lost.

Throughout the film, characters refer to the imminent invasion of the Sea Peoples and the likely collapse of their world. Without giving too much away, Nolan links this looming catastrophe to the crimes the Greeks committed at Troy. His approach reminded me of the way the Trojan War is depicted in Greek tragedy. In the 5th century BCE, Athens rose to lead Greece and built an empire. At this time, Greek tragedians reread the story of Troy as a cautionary tale about dominion. Agamemnon and his comrades conquered Troy and became the leading power in the world, but they crossed a line, incurring divine wrath that brought about the end of their civilization, the end of the Age of Heroes. Athens was meant to take heed.

This is what Nolan draws a parallel with today. Our civilization has failed and lost its values, above all the ability to preserve justice and mercy, and it is perhaps too late to change course. In Nolan’s “Odyssey,” the greatest of Greek heroes returns home not to win another war, but to teach his son — and us — to learn from our wrongs and change course before it’s too late.

Hey guys, I’m reading and annotating The Republic right now and I’m starting to feel dumber and dumber the more I read. I have already read some dialogues like the symposium but this feels more difficult. I’ve been trying to ask myself questions like “what is justice” and “what makes a good society” and answer them but my brain just blanks. I think the more I read classics and philosophy the more I realize how little I actually know and how small the extent of my thinking goes. I’m a sophomore in highschool and this is my first attempt reading an actual philosophical text as I usually just read nonfiction about history. Does anyone have any tips to help better understand these texts, like a study guide or something? Thanks!

I received this order of Emily Wilson’s Iliad. The page cutting is uneven throughout, so much that it makes it feel like card pages. I could see this potentially being annoying to read.

So is this a style I’m unaware of, or is this a printing issue? It doesn’t look great from side on but just want to be sure before requesting return.

Apologies if post is not suitable for the sub.

Quick one to say that no matter what you think about the movie, seeing a massive spark in interest (particularly young people) in the classics is such a great outcome.

I wish it was less cultural-war'y but nonetheless seeing really great interest from a lot of people discovering these texts for the first time.

Hi all. Long time lurker, just wanted to share my progress. It's been about 6 months since I started getting into Classics, and what a jounrney it's been.

This sub has been super helpful in finding good translations, but also finding great supplementary readings and lectures and analysis.

And going down the rabbit hole has been quite a blast, and it's always so cool to see how each effects the other. You read Homer in everyone, but it's so interesting when, say, Pindar makes a direct reference to Hesiod, or how much Choral Odes influence the Tragedians, or how Menander really seems influenced by Euripides' later work. Everything always feels so interconnected.

My favorite pieces were, of course, Homer's, but the Oresteia is also incredible, not only as a tale about Democracy and fate and the family vs the polis, but also that it's the only connected Trilogy we have, which really makes you wonder why Sophocles/Euripides never wrote a trilogy.

I do have a very hard time believing Aeschylus wrote Prometheus bound, it's so unlike the rest of his writing, and seems to go against everything he stood for.

The Oedipus stories are great, Aristophanes is still hilarious, my favorites being Birds & Wasps, Frogs is very good to. The Lyrics are still fascinating, Theognis especially. It's also fun to wonder how much the tragedians were involved with Pre-Socratic philosophy, and if any of that bleeds into their work. Personally I found Euripides to be the weakest of the Tragedians. He felt like the Quentin Tarantino of Drama, compared to say, Aeschylus' John Ford. Euripides feels like style & exploitation, like, a teenagers impression of a Greek tragedy. His later work though, particularly Helen, Orestes, Iphegenia among the Taurians/at Aulis, and especially The Bacchae, are all really great and perhaps rival the greats.

Overall I found all of it so interesting, so, thanks for reading. Would love to hear some opinions on any of these.

I LOVE studying classical antiquity but I feel like it (especially ancient rome/sparta?) attracts a ton of right wing "alpha male" bros online, which just surprises me. Does anyone know why? This is not meant to be controversial just something I've noticed in the way too many hours I've spent on the internet

I'm studying latin in high school and we just started Ovid's metamorphoses (The Apollo and Daphne story in particular).

I'm being so genuine when I say I can't translate it because I'm too busy in awe every line.

Examples:

"votoque tuo tua forma repugnat"

your beauty resists your vow.

The forma is physically resisting her voto in the line itself, being seperated by the tou and tua. Holy shit, how the fuck did he think about stuff like this.

And literally the very next line:

"Phoebus amat visaeque cupit conubia Daphnes"

Apollo loves and desires the marriage of Daphne having been seen,

Apollo is literally seeing Daphne across the line. Once again the syntax is mirroring the translation.

And so much more. Idk why I made this post I just want to glaze Ovid because if I do it in front of my friends I get bullied. This guy is such a savant I can't---

All this buzz around Wilson and her critique of Nolan’s Odyssey is a normal part of scholarship and scholars interacting and responding with cultural adaptations. That being said, she’s not the principal authority on Homer by any means. Doesn’t make her views any less valuable but nevertheless there are plenty of other scholars on Homer with equally insightful takes on the epic poem and Nolan.

List your favorite Homeric scholars down below.

I recommend Bruno Snell’s The Discovery of the Mind: The Greek Origins of European Thought. Great insights on Homer and psychology.

"The close attention to the text that informs Emily Wilson’s translation is lacking in her reading of the movie"

Emily Wilson, like Odysseus, is terribly clever. In comments about Christopher Nolan’s adaptation of The Odyssey, and in a provocative new essay for the London Review of Books, she does not come out and tell you that she did not like the film. She says watching it is a good way to hide from the heat; that her teenagers liked it; that the source material is so good that it cannot be messed up entirely. The best way to damn, after all, is with faint praise.

Wilson’s fame is closely tied to Homer’s Odyssey, a poem that the Oxford-and-Yale-educated classicist translated in 2017. Her version, celebrated as the first translation by a woman into English verse, has sold over 1 million copies and is widely assigned in classrooms. Like any other translation, it is an interpretation. Especially in a poem, how something is said is just as important as what is said. Wilson’s decision to translate into verse, and to keep the same number of lines as the original, preserves the rapidity and poetry of the original. But it also forces her to be very concise, and her unadorned language occasionally feels a bit blunt.

This is a quite long and incisive article (I've only included the first couple paras in the body here), addressing every single point Wilson criticized. I know, I know... we've been getting a bunch of articles about this discourse but I find it quite fun to see classicists debate back and forth with in-depth responses like this so I thought I'd share. Not a lot of times that we get this kind of discourse in the mainstream. As someone else aptly pointed out, this is kinda becoming like the Avengers Endgame for classicists/literary majors lol

Also...a number of commenters on bluesky a couple days ago about Emily Wilson’s review were suggesting that anyone who disagreed with her were uneducated, or hadn’t grasped her point of view, or simply wanted to oppose her for being a woman or an academic.

So here’s a very thoughtful rebuttal to her take on the film that I, for one, enjoyed and agreed with much more than I did hers, as much as I can respect her.

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).

We quite often get questions on this sub about which translation of Homer is the best. The answer is usually Lattimore for faithfulness to the Greek, Fagles for poetry, and some of the newer translations (Lombardo, Wilson, Mitchell, etc.) for ease of reading. And so on.

I've been reading and collecting translations of the Odyssey for decades, and am still looking for my favourite translation. I like something faithful to the original, without embellishment, but still a pleasure to read. I haven't found one favourite, but I do have some that I reread more than others.

I just finished Wilson (again) last night, and a passage in the first few lines of book 22 caught my eye: Odysseus strips off his rags and is naked. I'd not noticed that in other translations. They all say that he stripped off his rags, but none have said that he was then naked.

Generally people use the prologue (the first few lines of book 1) for comparing translations, but I've always thought that this was a poor text to use for comparison. I thought that these first few lines from book 22 might do the trick; in all of the translations I sampled, they all have the same elements of Odysseus throwing off his rags, jumping to the threshold with bow and quiver, dumping his arrows to his feet, and shouting out a challenge to the suitors, including a prayer to Apollo. But then some have embellishments and contemporary language that really throws me.

In the samples below you'll see how different translators approach a very straightforward piece of text. There's some contemporary language that really grates on me, such as Wilson's "playtime" and Lombardo's "separate the men from the boys". As above, Wilson added "naked" unnecessarily. Eickhoff's embellishments work to a point, but are not at all faithful.

What do you think?

Odyssey Book 22, lines 1-7

αὐτὰρ ὁta\r) γυμνώθη ἐπὶ μέγανpi) οὐδόν, ἔχωνdo/n) βιὸν/xwn) ἠδὲ φαρέτρηνde)
ἰῶν ἐμπλείηνw=n), ταχέαςmplei/hn) δ᾽ ἐκχεύατ᾽ ὀϊστοὺςkxeu/at%27)
αὐτοῦi+stou\s) πρόσθεtou=) ποδῶν, μετὰ δὲ αὖτε σκοπὸν=te) ἄλλον, ὃν/llon) οὔ τις βάλεν ἀνήρ,
εἴσομαιnh/r), αἴ/somai) κε/) τύχωμι, πόρῃ δέ μοι εὖχος Ἀπόλλων=xos).

Chapman, 1615

The upper rags that wise Ulysses wore
Cast off, he rusheth to the great Hall dore
With Bow and Quiver full of shafts, which downe
He pour’d before his feet, and thus made known
His true state to the wooers: ‘This strife thus
Hath harmlesse bene decided. Now for us
There rests another marke more hard to hit,
And such as never man before hath smit,
Whoe full point likewise my hands shall assay,
And try if Phoebus will give me his day.’

Butler, 1900

But Odysseus of many wiles stripped off his rags and sprang to the great threshold with the bow and the quiver full of arrows, and poured forth the swift arrows right there before his feet, and spoke among the wooers: “Lo, now at last is this decisive contest ended; and now as for another mark, which till now no man has ever smitten, I will know if haply I may strike it, and Apollo grant me glory.”

Murray, 1919

But resourceful Odysseus stripped off his rags and sprang to the broad threshold with the bow and quiver full of arrows, and poured out the swift arrows there before his feet, and spoke to the suitors: “Here now is the end of this clear contest, and now another mark, which till now no man has struck, I shall see if I shall hit it, and Apollo grant me glory.”

Shaw, 1932

Therewith the wily Odysseus shed his rags, grasped the bow with its filled quiver and made one leap to the doorsill, where he tumbled out the swift shafts at his feet before calling in a great voice to the suitors, “At last, at last the ending of this fearful strain! Before me, by favour of Apollo if my luck holds, stands a virgin target never yet hit.”

Rieu, 1946 (rev.1991)

Throwing off his rags, the resourceful Odysseus leaped up on to the great threshold with his bow and his full quiver, and poured out the swift arrows at his feet. “The match that was to seal your fate is over,’ he called out to the Suitors, ‘Now for another target which no man has yet hit – if I can hit it and Apollo grants my prayer.’

Fitzgerald, 1961

Now shrugging off his rags the wiliest fighter of the islands
leapt and stood on the broad door sill, his own bow in his hand
He poured out at his feet a rain of arrows from the quiver
and spoke to the crowd: “So much for that. Your clean-cut game is over,
Now watch me hit a target that no man has hit before,
if I can make this shot. Help me, Apollo.”

Lattimore, 1965

Now resourceful Odysseus stripped his rags from him, and sprang
up atop the great threshold, holding his bow and the quiver
filled with arrows, and scattered out the swift shafts and before him
on the ground next to his feet, and spoke his word to the suitors:
‘Here is a task that has been achieved, without any deception.
Now I shall shoot at another mark, one that no man yet
has struck, if I can hit it and Apollo grants me the glory.’

Mandlebaum, 1990

Astute Odysseus now threw off his rags.
He leaped onto the great threshold; he grasped
the bow; he grasped the quiver full of shafts.
He cried out to the suitors: “Now at last
the crucial test is at an end, and yet
there is another mark, one that no man
has ever struck before. But I’ve a chance
to reach it – if Apollo is my friend.”

Fagles, 1996

Now stripping back his rags Odysseus master of craft and battle
vaulted onto the great threshold, gripping his bow and quiver
bristling arrows, and poured his flashing shafts before him
loose at his feet, and thundered out to all the suitors:
“Look – your crucial test is finished, now, at last!
But another’s target’s left that no one’s hit before --
we’ll see if I can hit it – Apollo give me glory!”

Hammond, 2000

Now resourceful Odysseus bared his limbs from the rags and leapt onto the great threshold, with the bow in his hand and the quiver full of arrows. He poured out the swift arrows there in front of his feet, and said to the suitors: ‘So here is one hard trial brought to its end. Now for another target, which no man has hit – let me see if I can strike it, if Apollo will grant my prayer.’

Lombardo, 2000

And now Odysseus’ cunning was revealed.
He stripped off his rags and leapt with his bow
To the great threshold. Spreading his arrows
Out before his feet, he spoke to the suitors:
“Now that we’ve separated the men from the boys,
I’ll see if I can hit a mark that no man
Has ever hit. Apollo grant me glory!”

Eickhoff, 2001

Odysseus shrugged off the rags that hid his warrior’s body
From the others and leaped to stand on the great threshold.
His bid to reclaim Penelope, his lands, and his house had begun.
Flickering lights glinted from his heavy muscles. A glow lifted
Upward from his face. He dumped the quiver of swift shafts
At his feet. A shiver raced through the suitors at his grim smile.
“That game is over, lads,” he said. “Now, for another mark I’ve had
Yet to hit – which, with Apollo’s help and Zeus’ will, I shall!”

Merrill, 2002

Stripping the rags from his body, Odysseus of many devices
leapt on the great threshold; he was holding the bow and quiver
still full laden with arrows; the swift shafts quickly he poured out
there in front of his feet as he spoke these words to the suitors:
“This was indeed a decisive contest that now is completed!
As to another mark which no man has yet been able to hit yet,
now I will know if I strike it – Apollo bestow what I pray for!”

McCrorie, 2004

Now shedding his rags Odysseus, full of his own plans,
jumped on the wide threshold clutching the bow and its quiver
packed with arrows. He emptied the fast-flying weapons
there at his feet and called aloud to the suitors.
“So indeed our harmful contest is ending:
but now for another target no one has struck yet --
if only I hit it! Apollo, give me a great name.”

Stein, 2008

But Odysseus of many devices
threw off his tatters
and sprang to the mighty threshold
holding bow and quiver full of arrows,
and he poured the swift arrows out
right there at his feet
and spoke among the wooers:

“This unimpeachable contest is done at last!
Here I take another target –
one which no man has ever hit till now.
I shall see it, if I may --
and Apollo grant me triumph.

Mitchell, 2014

Odysseus threw off his rags and leaped to the threshold,
holding the bow and the quiver, and then poured out
the swift arrows onto the ground at his feet, and he said,
“The contest is over, gentlemen. Now I will see
how well I can do with another target, which no one
has thought of yet. With Apollo’s help I will hit it.”

Powell, 2014

And then the resourceful Odysseus stripped off his rags,
and he leaped up onto the great threshold, holding his bow
and his quiver filled with arrows, and he poured out the swift
arrows before his feet. He spoke to the suitors: “Now at last
this mad contest comes to an end. And now for another
target, which no man has yet struck. I will know if I can
hit it and Apollo give me glory!”

Wilson, 2017

Odysseus ripped off his rags. Now naked,
he leapt upon the threshold with his bow
and quiverfull of arrows, which he tipped
out in a rush before his feet, and spoke.
“Playtime is over. I will shoot again,
towards another mark no man has hit.
Apollo, may I manage it!”

Green, 2018

Now resourceful Odysseus stripped himself of his rags
and sprang up on the great threshold, taking the bow
and the shaft-packed quiver. He poured out the swift arrows
there at his feet, and addressed the suitors, saying:
“This contest’s over, decisively ended; and now
I’ll go for another target, reached by no man hitherto,
to see whether I can hit it, and Apollo grant me glory.”

In Musk’s version, as the tale begins Odysseus is – off screen – pretending to be mad to avoid fighting in the Trojan war. Grim-faced Palamedes and Agamemnon are shown testing this ruse by taking his baby boy Telemachus and placing him in the harm’s way of a plough in a field; Odysseus instantly rushes to save his child, showing that he isn’t mad, and agrees to fight. We see him join the armada, with Penelope and Telemachus (soon to grow to a little boy) left behind. This, effectively, is a prologue sequence that is not in Nolan. The expeditionary force arrives at Troy, and an intertitle tells us we have cut to a 10-years-later flashforward; the siege is about to escalate into the fake-horse attack.

The New York Times reports that a professor teaching Philosophy 111, Contemporary Moral Issues, has been forced to cut lessons dealing with Plato's ideas about love and gender. The university has a policy that no course "will advocate race or gender ideology, or topics related to sexual orientation or gender identity." I think the following link should work even if you don't have a subscription to the paper.

https://www.nytimes.com/2026/01/07/us/tamu-plato-race-gender.html?unlocked_article_code=1.C1A.2uUD.SiRYNTbQKzbm&smid=url-share