Clever Odysseus and Wondering Me

In reading the epics of Homer and Virgil, I was struck by the use of titles for each character, from “clever Odysseus” to “circumspect Penelope” to “glorious Hector” to “pious Aeneas.” Rarely is a character mentioned, even in the most unimportant instances, without his or her name being preceded by an adjective of some sort. If Odysseus so much as sneezes, “clever Odysseus” sneezes, just as “clever Odysseus” escaped the Cyclops’ cave. This trend of titles made me think: if I were a character in these books, what would my reoccurring title be? Thinking Ryanne? Pun-loving Ryanne? Musical Ryanne? But, on a deeper level, what would I want my title to be and would I be deserving of this title? It is both an intriguing and unnerving thought to me, this idea of being characterized by a single word or even by a couple words. Would these words be affirming or would they reveal flaws? I wonder…

That’s all- just some food for thought, a little brain snack if you will. Feel free to chime in with your thoughts. 🙂

#WriterGoals by Homer, Odysseus, and Ryanne

Yes, my title is a hashtag. Sometimes I like to break the trend of ordinary prose. Sorry not sorry. Ironically, however, this post is based on writing standards set waaaaaaaay back in the days of Homer. In reading through The Odyssey for my university’s honors institute, I realized two things: First, listening to Chopin’s nocturnes whilst reading makes even the most boring of passages intensely moving. For real, I felt tears coming when Odysseus’ men were turned into pigs. Thanks, Chopin. Secondly, although Homer (whether of not you believe in him or think he was a group of poets or whatever new conspiracy is floating around in the literary community) does tend to be a bit- well- wordy in his accounts of first the Trojan War and then the homecoming journey of Odysseus, he is a master at his craft and the fact that philosophers and students alike have been studying his epics for thousands of years ought to be proof of that. Further evidence for this mastery is in his recognition of the key components of good writing/story-telling: truth, reason, and beauty.

He says in Book XI lines 363-369:

“‘Odysseus, we as we look upon you do not imagine

that you are a deceptive or thievish man, the sort that the black earth

breeds in great numbers, people who wander widely, making up

lying stories, from which no one could learn anything. You have

a grace upon your words, and there is sound sense within them,

and expertly, as a singer would do, you have told the story

of the dismal sorrows befallen yourself and all of the Argives.'”

In this instance, a king is praising the eloquence and clarity of Odysseus’ account of his journey, but more significantly, Homer is, through this character, identifying the essential components of writing worthy of enduring esteem. Such writing, first of all, must feature truth. When Odysseus concludes his tale, the first remark that the king makes is regarding the verity of Odysseus’ words; they are not fantasy, at least in the context of this epic, and thus deserving of serious consideration. But does all writing need to be true then in order to be great? The Harry Potter geek within me screams “NO!” in answer to this and, actually, the fangirl part of me is correct. C.S. Lewis believed strongly in fiction because of its seemingly paradoxical ability to convey truth. Take his most famous series, The Chronicles of Narnia, for instance. In any given library, these would be shelved with other works of fiction and probably even among children’s fiction. However, it is impossible to read these wonderful books without coming away having learned from them lessons of sacrifice, morality, family, forgiveness, and, consequently, truth. Good fiction always centers on truth.  Whether this truth is found in the form of a universal theme such as what it means to be a man or even a real event such as the an ancient war, if you dig deep enough as a reader or write well enough as an author, some aspect of truth will always be found at the core of a truly great piece of literature.

Continuing on, the king praises the sensible nature of Odysseus’ words; he does not use more than necessary. Bored readers might argue that Homer is not exactly concise, but when one considers the vast amount of mythology, culture, character descriptions, interactions, geographical courses, and rituals that are woven together to create the intricate tapestry of this epic, it becomes a wonder that such a magnificent story could be consolidated into a mere twenty-four book poem. This often unappreciated conciseness is vital to truly great writing. Of course, as the saying goes, “even Homer nods”, and some passages, such as the listings of over 600 Achaian ships in The Iliad are arguably a bit much, but considering the wealth of information and the overall complexity, this is certainly excusable.

Finally, Odysseus’ (and Homer’s) words are revered as beautiful. Being originally poetry sung by roaming bards, it is probably a no-brainer that The Iliad and The Odyssey are considered among the most beautiful pieces of literature. In this passage, great writing is described as having “a grace” and being crafted “expertly, as a singer would do.” Both poetry and prose must have a flow, a grace like the one here described. In music performed by a singer, every note, every inflection of the voice, every tiny breathe and consonant must be purposefully employed in order to convey the message of the song. In the same manner, a great writer must choose his or her words with purpose; not a “jot or tittle” is thrown in carelessly in attempt to meet a word count or appear more intelligent to the ignorant reader, but rather, each phrase is composed like a line of music, thus appealing to the reader’s deepest sense of beauty. Of course, one might debate that “beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” but regardless of personal opinions of individual readers, by combining intentionality with artistry, a level of universal beauty, such as that achieved by the enduring works of literature, can be achieved.

To summarize: Many truths. Very clear. Much beauty. (Sorry, breaking the flow of my prose again. At least it was not a hashtag this time.) This passage in The Odyssey was one of those passages that make me gasp “Ah-ha!” aloud in the middle of the library. It made me race to the nearest computer to jot down my thoughts and publish them to my blog in the unlikely case that one of my readers may find inspiration in them as I did. This passage made me take a step back and reevaluate myself as a writer, but it also gave me a renewed passion as it guided me toward the path of truly great writing, that which is truth-centered, focused, and beautiful.

An Epic Workout

You probably clicked on this link thinking it was an actual fitness article with instructions on how to run a 5K or do one-armed pushups, so I am sorry to disappoint you. But then again, this is a book blog, so if you came here looking for fitness inspiration, then you came to the wrong place and it’s your own fault. 😉 This once, however, I am actually going to focus on exercise. You see, I am reading The Iliad in preparation for my first semester as a student in my college’s honors institute and finding that although it is epic (hahahaha…that was awful. Sorry.) it can be a bit tedious. How does this relate to exercise? Well the characters in this book do tend to be the beefy, shield-bearing warrior type and even the women are pretty swift on their feet, but that isn’t what I’m talking about. To cope with the restlessness I feel when reading The Iliad for extended periods of time, I have devised a workout game to not only help me stay in shape as I read, but to emphasize important aspects of the book. It won’t make you into a “Glorious Hektor” but it’s about as good as it gets for us book nerds. Here you go:

1. Whenever a title is used to describe a character (for example: “Brilliant Odysseus”): 5 jumping jacks

2. Whenever someone dies a particularly gruesome death: 5 sit-ups

3. Each time a sacrifice is made: 10 squats

4. Each time a god or goddess pretends to be a human: 30 second plank (This one is nice because you can read while planking.)

5. Whenever a motivational speech is made: 20 lunges

6. Every time a Homeric/epic simile is employed: 5 push-ups (wall push-ups count, despite what the athletes say)

7. Whenever someone or something is compared to a “blazing fire”: dance around for 30 seconds (I recommend making sure you are alone)

8. Each time someone’s armor is described: 20 crunches

9. Every time the noise of the Trojans is mentioned: 5 single-leg squats

10. Every time the ships of the Achaians are mentioned: 10 high-knees

I should mention that I didn’t actually do any of this…just thought about it. But that counts, right?