Recapitulation
Since we flew through the first book discussing some of the more unfamiliar aspects of the text, I want to walk through the events of books one and two more carefully. When reading epic poetry it is wise to get the events straight on a first pass and then take a second pass to thoroughly enjoy the effect the poetic descriptions have on the narrative. As we acquire more experience with this genre, this process will become more natural and integrated into a single reading. You may choose to pause, read a line over a couple times, turning it over to see it clearly, and then savoring it with relish. Reading in this fashion will help us build a frame for the story and then layer on detail. This skeleton will take on flesh and come alive as our fluency with the genre and story increases.
Book I
Let us get our bearing east and orient ourselves. If the Odyssey is the story of the voyage home of Odysseus, where do we find him at the start of the tale? He is substantially absent in the first four books—a feature that I expect will be a little disorienting—though we learn he is marooned on the island of Ogygia (oh-JI-ja), seemingly held hostage by Calypso with lovely braids (all nymphs and Nereids apparently have lovely braids). We will have to leave Odysseus here for now.
The Prince of Ithaca
The true protagonist of the first phase of the Odyssey is young Telemachus, the son of the man of twists and turns. When his father left rocky Ithaca, he was only a child. The traditions that followed the time of Homer say that one Palamedes (pal-uh-MEE-deez) sought to persuade Odysseus to join the war in Ilium (Troy), but cunning Odysseus feigned idiocy to avoid enlistment. Palamedes, in a clever trick of his own reminiscent of Joseph Heller’s Catch-22, placed the infant Telemachus directly in the path of Odysseus’ plow. Thus he could prove himself out of his mind and escape the Trojan war, or he could protect the life of his son and fulfill his obligation.
The Odyssey introduces us to Telemachus as a man grown, though yet unproven. We catch him daydreaming in 1.138 when we are first introduced to him, and throughout the first book he bemoans the state of his house giving us a sense of brimming righteous indignation, but perhaps also a remnant of teenage angst. To wit, how old do we suspect him to be? The timeline of the story indicates that Odysseus spends a total of twenty years away from home, so we can assert that he was at least twenty, though he could be older. As we will see from several comparisons with his father, the journey to full manhood is a major theme of the Odyssey.
The Boy Becomes A Man
In the weave of stories spun out in the last few decades, reluctant heroes and shy, sheltered youths abound. Homer, however, motivates the young prince to action in his first scene. The goddess Athena fans his wrath into flame in the guise of Mentes (MEN-teez). Take note that Mentes is a different character from Mentor, in whose guise she will appear for the majority of the story.
The turning point for the son of Odysseus begins when his mother, Penelope, descends into the feast and complains that the DJ at this party, a.k.a. the bard Phemius (FEE-mee-us), is stirring up sorrow in her for her husband. True to form for any emo youth, he stands up for the music and instead lays the blame at the feet of Zeus. He calls her to courage, reminding her that the fate of their family was common to many who failed to return, and then he sends her back to watch over the work of women.
So, mother, go back to your quarters. Tend to your own tasks, the distaff and the loom, and keep the women working hard as well. As for giving orders, men will see to that, but I most of all: I hold the reins of power in this house.1
Note that Telemachus counts himself among the men here, and what is more, his mother accepts this word of command as clear good sense. We are told she was astonished. How should we interpret this exchange? No doubt some will jump at the chance to bring our modern cultural norms to bear on a three-thousand-year-old text from the Mediterranean, but since we are worlds apart from this journey, let us do our utmost to proceed without such chronological snobbery.
First, we ought to review the state of affairs in Ithaca. As we discussed, it has been nigh on twenty years since men from all over the Peloponnese went of to the shores of Ilium to fight for the Atreids, Agamemnon (a-ga-MEM-non) and Menelaus (me-ne-LAY-us), and reclaim Helen (and collect spoils in the process). That war dragged on for ten years, and many never made it home. This would have left a large power vacuum throughout the Peloponnese, into which many grew up. I am reminded of the line from the book of Judges: In those days there was no king in Israel; every man did what was right in his own eyes (Judges 17:6). This is why many of the suitors do not know Odysseus and do not fear him or what is left of his house. His family’s wealth and lordship over Ithaca is in question now. The rulers of these city states did not necessarily succeed by royal bloodline, so Telemachus is in a dangerous position.
The Zen of Hospitality
In addition, one of the most fundamental rules of society in this era was that of xenia (most commonly pronounced ZEN-ee-uh, though a more Greek pronunciation would be ksen-EE-uh), or hospitality. Indeed, we shall find that the whole of Homer’s work is replete with scenarios of xenia done rightly and wrongly. We will see in 17.535 that the gods take on the look of strangers dropping in from abroad. To call another biblical reference to mind, we might consider the patriarch Abraham who entertained angels, or how the author of the letter to the Hebrews exhorts us: Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares (Hebrews 13:2). These suitors exceed their claim on hospitality, but Penelope is in no position to route them from the house.
Into this situation, Telemachus stands up and asserts the authority of his house for himself, which is his right. If Telemachus does not take up this mantle, or if he is killed in the process, Penelope will have no recourse left to her and her father will give her hand in marriage to another. The last card she can play is call down the Furies to restore justice.
So considering this context, I think we ought to interpret Telemachus’ words as a sign of him accepting responsibility and taking a courageous step into his father’s shoes. This is the clear good sense Penelope perceives, and she legitimizes his claim to the authority of the house by respecting him. Imagine if she had considered his words disrespectful and had scolded him in front of all the suitors. Telemachus would be humiliated and his honor would be dealt a blow from which he might not be able to recover. This could result in the collapse of their house. Penelope is astonished at the change in her son’s bearing, not at rudeness that must be anachronistically imported into the text, whatever our personal feelings on the matter.
Indeed, Telemachus appears to have been sparing his mother from the disrespect of the suitors, a disrespect native to their time, place, and culture. They break into an uproar and press Penelope to lie with her in bed. Homer bestows the epithet of discreet on Telemachus when he chides them and makes a play to direct their raucous energy on the food, drink, and the bard’s song, but not before announcing that tomorrow things are going to change.
While his courage makes a strong impression on most, it becomes clear quickly that there are a few conniving princes in this herd of suitors. First to speak is Antinous (an-TI-no-us), and instead of feeling shame or being daunted, he speaks with a kind of classical sarcasm. We see in Telemachus’ response the lack of any expectation that he will become king by birthright.
But there are hosts of other Achaean princes, look— young and old, crowds of them on our island here— and any one of the lot might hold the throne2
And then he repeats the point he presented to his mother:
But I’ll be lord of my own house and servants, all that King Odysseus won for me by force.2
Where Antinous brazenly defies Telemachus, Eurymachus (yoo-RI-ma-kus) displays far more tact. In fact, at the end of book one, we would be forgiven if we though him an honorable suitor who is the anti-Antinous. But we will see his treachery wears a fair face and speaks with a forked tongue.