Epic Poetry: The Iliad

One of my greatest regrets about my bachelor’s degree in English Education is that there was so much English involved.

Personally, I thought the course load was top-heavy with English grammar classes and yet woefully lacking in literature. Don’t get me wrong—I took as many lit classes as I could squeeze into each semester, but it never felt like enough. Frankly, I wanted to do nothing but read and write, and I wanted the study of grammar to die a slow and painful death. Instead, my sanity died a slow and painful death as I translated bits of Old English, diagrammed sentences, and studied the Great Vowel Shift of the 1400s.

All that to say, I made it into adulthood with a degree in English and 11 years of experience teaching literature, and yet I’d never read The Iliad or The Odessey. For shame.

An Ancient Birthday Gift

For my birthday last year I requested Homer’s Iliad and Odessey, and the even more surprising fact is that I actually read them! I know a small bit about American literature and a decent bit about British literature, but I knew less than nothing about Greek literature. Like, I’m not sure I even realized these classics were poems until I cracked them open.

Furthermore, there’s a giant black hole in my mental filing cabinet labeled “Greek Stuff.” So when I began reading The Iliad, I was glad to see a 60-page introduction. Yes, I really do read those things, and this time it was worthwhile. It gave me the context I was lacking, some themes to look for, and a general overview of the plot. Did it contain spoilers? Yes. Did I deserve that? Also yes. If I don’t know the gist of a story that’s been around for almost 3,000 years, that’s on me.  

The Iliad in a Nutshell

So, since I knew nothing before starting the book last year, I’ll include a bare-bones overview in case you need some backstory too. The Iliad is purportedly about a war between the Achaeans and the Trojans. The poem describes the tail end of a ten-year war started by the abduction of Helen. Paris, a Trojan prince, seduced Helen from her husband, the Achaean king Menelaus, and brought her back to Troy. Obviously, this wasn’t cool. Pretty soon, over 1,000 ships of Greek (Achaean) soldiers were tossing anchor just outside of Troy’s walls.

There are plenty of ways the war could have been avoided or at least shortened, but everyone kept on making bad choices, so it dragged on for a decade. Much slaughter ensued—like, much, much very descriptive, very graphic slaughter—and eventually Troy was burned to the ground. Interestingly, the fall of Troy isn’t even described in The Iliad or The Odessey. That little morsel about a horse full of soldiers shows up in Vergil’s Aeneid, the book I’m currently reading.

Really, Truly Ancient

In my humble opinion, the war seems like much ado about nothing, but the book itself is hands-down worth the historical preservation and the continued hype. The writing is concrete, startling, and raw. The descriptions are so vivid that I felt like I was watching it happen. The similes are ancient—not pretend ancient, like a modern author setting a book in Greek times. It’s for real ancient, like the author’s comparisons are all based in a violent natural world where everyone has seen a cornered boar turn with fire in its eyes and tear its pursuers to ribbons with its tusks. I can’t pinpoint exactly how, but the difference between modern-ancient writing and ancient-ancient writing is palpable.

Another ancient aspect is how slow-moving the book is. In modern literature, like in modern life, we’re always in a hurry. Quick! Jump into the action! Hurry! Move to the next scene! C’mon! Cut those descriptions short! Nothing could be further from Greek literature. Homer allows his warrior a lengthy monologue as he watches a spear being thrown at his chest. He lets the vanquished wax eloquent as they bleed out in the dirt. At one point, Aeneas tells Achilles to stop standing there arguing with him like a child or a woman and just start fighting already. Ironically, his lecture takes up two pages. This could have tempted me to feel impatient, but instead it reminded me that this ancient style of writing is a totally new to me, and I enjoyed it accordingly.

Who Calls the Shots?

Now, I said the book is purportedly about a war between two groups of people. On one level, that’s true. The Achaeans and the Trojans do fight each other. But on a deeper level, I think the book is actually a war between the gods. In fact, they direct the outcome of every initiative. When I started the book, I wasn’t expecting that at all. (See again my empty Greek filing cabinet.) But everything the men do is preceded by consulting the gods, making lavish sacrifices to them, asking for signs and portents about their decision, and promising more sacrifices upon the successful completion of their endeavors.

But, far from being an effective way of assuring success, it was usually an exercise in futility. Why? Because there were too many gods! There were gods with varying levels of authority, types of power, allegiances to men and nations, and degrees of fickleness. At one point, Zeus decides to turn against the Trojans and assist the Achaeans instead. He allows Athena to help the Achaean too, but Apollo joins the Trojans. Then Zeus jumps back to Team Trojan again. And all this happens within two pages. Fickleness and power are not a healthy combination.

Human Barbies

Sometimes the gods’ control of men seems trifling and even comical. They play with men like girls play with Barbies. Toward the end of the book, the Achaeans are in the middle of Patroclus’ funeral games (because apparently that’s a thing, so I tucked it into my Greek filing cabinet) when Odysseus and Aias decide to race each other. Aias is winning when Odysseus prays to Athena for help, and she causes Aias to slip in a pile of cow dung and fall headlong into it. It fills his mouth and nose while Odysseus takes first place. …Actually, the gods play with men like boysplay with Barbies.

But the tendency for gods to control men turns darker when there’s more at stake than winning a race. Often when the men’s wisdom and intuition tell them to stop fighting, the gods meddle with their insides and change the warriors’ minds. Toward the end, the Trojan Polydoumas urges his countrymen to stop fighting, but Hector says the god of war is impartial (ha!) and tells everyone to keep at it because they may still win. The goddess Athena steps in again and turns the hearts of the hearers to agree with Hector and ignore Polydoumas. See what I mean? If the war took ten years, it wasn’t primarily the warriors who were at fault. It was their inscrutable deities.  

Join the Fun

There are so many priceless quotes in this epic poem, but I’ll have to save them for another time. I know you’d love them though. If you have an empty mental filing cabinet labeled “Greek Stuff” too, don’t be afraid to tackle The Iliad. It’s well worth the time and effort. But you don’t have to take my word for it; just ask the countless people who have continued to read it over the past two-and-a-half millennia. There aren’t many books you can say that about. So come on, join the fun! And, uh, watch your step.