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Homer’s two epic poems of the Trojan War and its aftermath, The Iliad and The Odyssey, have been on my to-be-read list for years. Like with Moby Dick, I assumed they would be a major time commitment – and they were. More enjoyable, though – especially The Odyssey.

The Iliad recounts events from the final year of the Trojan War, while The Odyssey tells the story of one of the Greek commanders, Odysseus, and his extended, roundabout, journey home to the island of Ithaca. The Trojan War lasted for ten years, and The Iliad covers only a small fraction of the conflict. We don’t see the beginnings (when Paris carries Helen off to Troy, away from her Greek husband Menelaus) or the end (the famous Trojan Horse).

The Iliad opens with the tenth and final year of the war. There is dissension in the Greek ranks; Agamemnon, the army’s commander, has angered the god Apollo by taking, as one of his spoils of war, the daughter of a priest of Apollo. The priest appears at the Greek camp to plead for his daughter’s return, but Agamemnon doesn’t see why he should give up his cherished prize. Achilles, the most fearsome warrior in the Greek army, argues that the Greeks can little afford to offend Apollo (who agrees, and sends a storm to rattle the army). Agamemnon grumpily caves and returns the priest’s daughter, but he’s furious with Achilles – and to punish him, he confiscates one of Achilles’ war prizes, a young slave woman named Briseis. Now firmly at odds with Agamemnon, Achilles refuses to fight for the Greeks until Agamemnon pays for his nerve and apologizes. Achilles calls upon his mother, the sea nymph-goddess Thetis, who intercedes with Zeus on her son’s behalf.

As the waves of the ocean under a westerly gale race one after the other on to a booming beach; far out at sea the white horses rise, then break and crash thunderously on the shore and, one after the other, the Greek contingents moved relentlessly into battle. Each leader was issuing orders to his own command, but the men advanced in silence. You would not think so large an army was on the march or had a voice, so silent were they in fear of their commanders. Their ornate armor glittered as they advanced, rank on rank.

Zeus agrees to help Thetis show the Greeks what they’re losing by angering Achilles, and he intervenes in the war to turn the tide in favor of the Trojans. While Achilles sits stewing in his hut with his boyhood companion Patroclus, the Trojans – led by Hector – begin to rout the Greeks everywhere. The turning of the tide isn’t overwhelming, though, because plenty of gods are on the Greek side, as well – while Apollo and Aphrodite help the Trojans, Poseidon, Hera and Athena side with the Greeks. The squabbling on Olympus turns into a vicious tug-of-war outside the gates of Ilium.

I won’t tell you what happens – other than to say that Achilles is at the center of it all. His rage at Agamemnon, and love for Patroclus, drives the action throughout the book, even as he himself sits mostly idle. Eventually, though, the war does end, and the Greeks board their “hollow ships” and set off for their respective kingdoms. Most arrive home in fairly short order, to one fate or another. Menelaus and Helen rekindle their love; Agamemnon ends up murdered by his wife and her lover. Odysseus, however, is delayed… and delayed… and delayed.

Despite Odysseus’ diligent pouring of libations over the years, Zeus decides to have a little fun with him on his way home. He ends up washing up on an island occupied by Polyphemus, a feared cyclops. After Polyphemus eats about a third of Odysseus’ crew, Odysseus outsmarts the cyclops, blinds him, and escapes. Odysseus makes it off the island with what remains of his crew, but now he has a bigger problem: Poseidon. Cyclops are children of the sea god, and Poseidon is furious with Odysseus for blinding his son. Odysseus isn’t getting home anytime soon.

He spends the better part of the next ten years wandering, encountering sea monsters and witches, traveling to the underworld, and spending seven years as the prisoner of the goddess Calypso.

There sat Calypso with her braided curls.

Beside the hearth a mighty fire was burning.

The scent of citrus and of brittle pine

suffused the island. Inside, she was singing

and weaving with a shuttle made of gold.

Her voice was beautiful. Around the cave

a luscious forest flourished: alder, poplar,

and scented cypress. It was full of wings.

Birds nested there but hunted out at sea:

the owls, the hawks, the gulls with gaping beaks.

A ripe and luscious vine, hung thick with grapes

was stretched to coil around her cave. Four springs

spurted with sparkling water as they laced

with crisscross currents intertwined together.

The meadow softly bloomed with celery

and violets. He gazed around in wonder

and joy; at sights to please even a god.

Meanwhile, as Odysseus alternately pines for Ithaca and attempts to make it two nautical miles without a shipwreck (Poseidon is really mad, fam) things are not going well at home. Figuring Odysseus is never coming back, twenty noble sons of Ithaca have taken up residence in his house and are attempting to convince his wife, Penelope, to marry one of them. As the suitors eat and drink their way through Odysseus’ wealth, Penelope attempts to evade their attentions and her grown son with Odysseus, Telemachus, stews. Eventually, Telemachus sets off on an odyssey of his own, to try to find out what happened to his father – and whether he will ever come home and expel the “suitors” from the palace. I won’t tell you what happens in the end, except to note that The Iliad was extraordinarily bloody, and it would really be asking too much of Homer to suspend his love of gore for an entire epic.

At the risk of making this blog post as long as The Iliad or The Odyssey, a few final thoughts: I enjoyed both epic poems, but I liked The Odyssey much better than The Iliad. I’m not sure if that was the plot (who doesn’t like a rollicking adventure on the high seas, with goddesses and monsters?) or the translation (I read the new-ish version by Emily Wilson, a scholar at the University of Pennsylvania and – I think – the first woman to translate Homer). The best part of The Iliad was the petty squabbling by the gods of Olympus; I loved those parts but often found myself skimming the sections dealing with the battles on the ground, especially when they got too gleefully bloody for my taste. The Odyssey was more balanced and – frankly – more fun. I am glad I’ve read both, and I’ll probably re-read The Odyssey, at least, but not for awhile. I need to read something shorter, to recover.

Have you read Homer?