Recommendation: The Odyssey (Read by Ian McKellen)

Checking out an obscure book nobody on the internet knows about

Arnold Böcklin

If you somehow missed it, there was amusing discourse last month about whether anyone should be expected to have heard of some old-ass poem named the Odyssey. It was kicked off when Matt Ramos—an influencer with hundreds of thousands of followers—expressed surprise that Christopher Nolan was adapting a random poem. Apparently, quite a lot of people had never heard of, much less read, the Odyssey. There was amusing speculation about how Nolan couldn’t have known about it either, and it must have been his “team of scouts” employed to scour old texts who brought it to his attention. My favorite posts were by people who assumed the book was American and decried the “America-centric” attitude that said people in other countries, even as far away as Greece, should know about it. Perhaps they thought Homer was Homer Simpson?

This poster is British FWIW.

There’s obviously lots to say about what it means that so many people have never even heard of a work so central to world literature and culture. Countless things from James Joyce and Miyazaki to superheroes and Super Mario reference the Odyssey. Lots of people wrote smart takes on this—I enjoyed

Lyta Gold

’s piece here on Substack—and the discourse on social media felt reminiscent of the goofy pre-Musk days of Twitter. Good fun. But I didn’t dive into the hot take pit myself because I realized something embarrassing: I’d never read the Odyssey.

I certainly knew what the Odyssey and Iliad were. I was indeed very familiar with the story and characters from the suitors harassing a weaving Penelope to Odysseus’ adventures with the cyclops, Circe, and Lotus-Eaters. I understood the references to Trojan horses, Sirens, and so on. Partly from general cultural osmosis yet mostly from being obsessed with Greek mythology as a kid. I’ve read many books about Greek mythology, and studied Antigone and other Greek texts in school. (I’ve also played Hades and read Circe. The Greek myths really do remain everywhere.) But I’d never actually read the Odyssey in full.

So, instead of opining on the internet, I decided to remedy this. And let me tell you: the Odyssey rips!

I decided to read this as an audiobook—while rereading passages in print—specifically the Fagles translation as narrated by Ian McKellen. I typically stick to non-fiction for audiobooks, but an epic poem that was originally transmitted orally seemed like a good candidate for listening. Ian McKellen as narrator brings the grandness and gravitas that you’d expect. (I know there are lots of debates about the various Homer translations. I have the Emily Wilson translation on my shelves, so will perhaps read that next to compare.)

With some rare exceptions, I have found reading the classics as an adult to be thrilling and artistically inspiring. The classics are not some scam by Ivory Tower elites. Yes, we should expand the classics to include great works from across the world and by authors of all different backgrounds. But these books really are great. More than just great, the classics are always far weirder, hornier, and funnier than their reputations. Proust’s Swann’s Way is a riot. Melville’s Moby-Dick is beautifully bizarre. I recently revisited Morrison and Marquez and was reminded of just how full their works are of energy, mystery, and the fullness of life. Readers and writers who ignore the classics for fear they’re all dusty old texts with nothing to offer the modern person are only doing themselves a disservice.

Your Novel Should Be More Like Moby-Dick

One thing that has surprised me in the Odyssey is the structure. Odysseus, the titular hero, is not even present until deep into the text. The story opens with the gods debating Odysseus’ fate and then shifts to his son, Telemachus, dealing with the suitors harassing Penelope and gobbling up the household. Telemachus leaves to find word of his father, setting off a series of stories-within-stories as Telemachus hears accounts of the fates of various figures from the Trojan war. Odysseus comes in later, though he also ends up telling and hearing stories-within-stories that reveal the larger narrative.

It is a refreshing antidote to the “start in media res, avoid flashbacks, and focus entirely on your main character” style of novel that has come to dominate contemporary fiction. It also reminds me that the nested story structure crops up all over world literature, from One Thousand and One Nights to Chaucer. Makes me want to attempt a novel with this structure, at some point…

A smaller revelation: I knew the phrase “wine-dark sea” and the weird theories spun out of it, like that the Greeks didn’t understand the color blue. (And the more logical explanation that the phrase is better translated as “wine-eyed” aka “drunk,” an apt description of stormy seas.) But I’d assumed it appeared once at the start of the poem and hadn’t realized it was one of a few phrases—“rosy-fingered dawn” is another—that appear over and over as refrains. Perhaps this is even more noticeable, and effective, listening than reading.

The stories and characters of the Odyssey are, of course, famous and memorable and influential. But the language is the primary pleasure when reading the actual text. The grandness of the gods lies in their descriptions as much as deeds: “Hear me - Poseidon, god of the sea-blue mane who rocks the earth!” And I’ve been particularly struck by the lush and list-filled descriptions of nature. Here is Calypso’s island where we first encounter Odysseus in the present of the story:

Thick, luxuriant woods grew round the cave,
alders, and black poplars, pungent cypress too,
and there, birds roosted, folding their long wings,
owls and hawks and the spread beaked ravens of the sea,
black skimmers who make their living off the waves.
And round the mouth of the cavern trailed a vine
laden with clusters, bursting with ripe grapes.
Four springs in a row, bubbling clear and cold,
running side-by-side, took channels left and right.
Soft meadows spreading round were starred with violets,
lush with beds of parsley. Why, even a deathless god
who came upon that place would gaze in wonder,
heart entranced with pleasure.

Anyway, if you too haven’t read the Odyssey—even if you think you know it from the myriad cultural references—I’d encourage you to give it a read too. And if you want to try an audiobook, the Fagles’ translation as read by Ian McKellen gets my recommendation.

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In personal news, I have a new horror story coming out in Nightmare in March. My next novel, Metallic Realms, is getting close to publication. The novel has been getting some nice mentions in the “most anticipated” lists. Lit Hub: “The story soars across galaxies but finds its emotional heft in a deft portrait of literary lives in New York and the many dramas of their mingled ambitions and disappointments.” Polygon: “[Lincoln Michel is] one of the sharpest and cleverest minds when it comes to modern sci-fi, and his latest work, Metallic Realms, is further proof of that fact.”

If you’re interested at all, pre-orders are always a huge help! More information on the novel here.