April, 2009

The testy interaction between Oedipus and Teiresias is so much fun. They lace into each other in a way that perfectly sets up the rest of the action.

"You would provoke a stone! Tell us, you villain,/ tell us, and do not stand there quietly/ unmoved and balking at the issue," (335-337) Oedipus says when Teiresias is reluctant to ruin what the king imagines is his good thing.

Goaded into spoiling the party, Teiresias responds, "You blame my temper but you do not see/ your own that lives within you." (338-339)

The blind seer has to be my favorite character in all of Greek mythology. It's not just his ability to see the future and skills at telling it like it is. It's also his somewhat mysterious origins, like those of a masked wrestler.

Already, I feel bad for Oedipus. He's a great king. We know because he tells us so in the eighth line. Yet his kingdom is ravished by the cruelties of nature.

People are starving and ill, and they don't know why until Creon returns from visiting with Apollo.

It turns out, the misery is going to go on until Oedipus kicks out the man who murdered Laius, the former king.

Who did it? How are they going to find him when there's only one witness, and he's no help?

Since we are reading only one of the three plays, the introduction isn't all that informative. But it did get me thinking about my love for trilogies and my loathing of tetralogies.

The list of threes that I love, Oedipus, Star Wars, U.S.A by John Dos Passos, goes on and on, but the movies, books and other art forms that travel beyond three seem to wear out their welcome (Star Wars, Indiana Jones ... ). Maybe it's just that it's impossible to consistently create masterpieces, especially in times where cultural tastes are so fickle.

Despite all the turmoil and death - lots and lots of death - The Odyssey is, in the end, a happy story about a hero's homecoming.

Not the case with our next book, Oedipus the King. I've read the Oedipus trilogy several times for class, but it has been a while since I last spent time with the doomed king.

Tomorrow, we will start Oedipus the King. The book is (thankfully for some, I'm sure) much shorter than The Odyssey. I will be posting less frequently - about twice a week, maybe more - so that you won't get sick of me commenting on every single page of the play.

Reading The Odyssey has felt like its own mini-epic. There were times when I thought that Poseidon, or maybe the god of Class Notes, would thwart my attempt to reach the final page. But here we are, and I feel a sense of accomplishment for having completed the book.

"Hello, Penelope? Can you hear me? I get no service here. Let me sail closer to land."

"Now resourceful Odysseus stripped his rags from him, and sprang/ up atop the great threshold, holding his bow and quiver..." (XXII, 1-2)

Oh yeah. It's payback time.

Packed with gruesome fun and disgusting imagery, Odysseus finally gets his revenge, dispatching the suitors with barely a scratch, taunting them ("either fight me/ or run, if any of you can escape death and its spirits." (XXII, 65-66)) as he slaughters them.

He may have only his son and his loyal swineherd and oxherd, but the plan is finally in motion. After watching the suitors fail, Odysseus strung the bow with ease and fired a single arrow through all the axes.

He's trapped all the suitors. Book XXII looks like it's going to be the time when he finally triumphs. The wait has been unbearable and at the same time, perfectly paced. I feel that up to this point, Homer has toyed with the reader in a wonderful way, giving me just enough to keep reading without spoiling the culminating action.

With Odysseus back in his house, everything is wrapping up nicely. He has tricked the suitors into entering a game of skill he knows he will win. The bad guys are making clear who they are through their atrocious behavior. The good guys are doing the same by showing their disgust and their loyalty to Odysseus.

Now, all we are relying on is Odysseus's patience so he can spring his trap at the perfect moment.

Those who wish Odysseus and Odysseus-disguised-as-beggar harm are certainly evil and selfish and cruel, but they sure know how to trash talk.

Afraid that someone is chipping away at his free meal, the beggar Iros challenges Odysseus to a fight and plans to "hit him with both hands, and spatter all of the teeth out/ from his jaws on the ground, as if he were a wild pig rooting/ the crops." (XVIII, 28-30)

The buildup to the final battle has me gripping the book so hard, my fingers have made a permanent imprint. The pacing since Odysseus's arrival has been perfect.

After all those horrible years of travelling, Odysseus finally wakes up in Ithaka. End of story, right? Not so fast. The suitors obviously won't be thrilled to see the mighty king, so Athena steps in to help with a little chicanery. She disguises Odysseus as an old man to allow him to get the lay of the land while she summons backup (remember his strapping son, Telemachos?).

In the last two books (XI and XII), Odysseus leaves Circe, goes down to Hades, comes back to Circe to pick up his dead friend, outsmarts the Sirens, has his crew outsmarted by the gods on Helios's island and loses all his friends and his ships. What more can Homer do to a hero?

The most disturbing section, for me, was Circe's warning that Odysseus would lose six men to Skylla. He knew it was coming, yet he said nothing to his men.

At first, I believed his behavior showed uncharacteristic callousness. He should have warned them.