This document will be updated with new entries as we read further. It aims to provide three pronunciation help modes:

1. A layman’s phonetic spelling
2. The robust IPA phonetic spelling
3. The Shavian alphabet rendering

I have chosen to follow Robert Fagle’s guide as my primary source, and then adjust where I have a strong preference.

Geographical & Ethnic Designations

Ithaca The rocky island kingdom of Odysseus; the stagnant home front in our opening act. Phonetic: ITH-uh-kuh IPA: /ˈɪθəkə/ Shavian: ·𐑦𐑔𐑩𐑒𐑩

Ogygia The island where Odysseus is held captive in a state of timeless stasis by the nymph Calypso. Phonetic: oh-JI-ja IPA: /oʊˈdʒɪdʒiə/ Shavian: ·𐑴𐑡𐑦𐑡𐑾

Achaea / Achaeans A collective, factional term used by Homer for the Greeks (interchangeable with Argives and Danaans). Phonetic: uh-KEE-uh IPA: /əˈkiːə/ Shavian: ·𐑩𐑒𐑰𐑩

Ilium The ancient name for Troy; the focal point of the ten-year war. Phonetic: IL-ee-um IPA: /ˈɪliəm/ Shavian: ·𐑦𐑤𐑦𐑩𐑥

Peloponnese The large peninsula of southern Greece, home to Pylos and Sparta. Phonetic: PELL-uh-puh-neez IPA: /ˌpɛləpəˈniːz/ Shavian: ·𐑐𐑧𐑤𐑩𐑐𐑩𐑯𐑰𐑟

The House of Ithaca

Odysseus The “wily” King of Ithaca. (Portrayed by Matt Damon) Phonetic: oh-DISS-ee-us IPA: /əˈdɪsiəs/ Shavian: ·𐑩𐑛𐑦𐑕𐑾𐑕

Penelope The Queen of “cunning and restraint.” (Portrayed by Anne Hathaway) Phonetic: puh-NELL-uh-pee IPA: /pɪˈnɛləpi/ Shavian: ·𐑐𐑦𐑯𐑧𐑤𐑩𐑐𐑦

Telemachus The Prince; the reluctant hero coming of age. (Portrayed by Tom Holland) Phonetic: tuh-LEH-muh-kus IPA: /tɪˈlɛməkəs/ Shavian: ·𐑑𐑦𐑤𐑧𐑥𐑩𐑒𐑩𐑕

The Suitor Mafia & Ithacan Citizens

Antinous The lead suitor and primary antagonist on the home front. (Portrayed by Robert Pattinson) Phonetic: an-TI-no-us IPA: /ænˈtɪnoʊəs/ Shavian: ·𐑨𐑯𐑑𐑦𐑯𐑴𐑩𐑕

Eurymachus The suitor with the “forked tongue.” Treachery wearing a fair face. Phonetic: yoo-RI-ma-kus IPA: /jʊˈrɪməkəs/ Shavian: ·𐑘𐑫𐑮𐑦𐑥𐑩𐑒𐑩𐑕

Aegyptius The elder of the assembly who prompts Telemachus’s “church” session (ekklesia) in Book 2. Phonetic: ee-JIP-shus IPA: /iˈdʒɪpʃəs/ Shavian: ·𐑰𐑡𐑦𐑐𐑖𐑩𐑕

The Court of Pylos & Veteran Warlords (Books 1-3)

Nestor The veteran King of Pylos; the “lord of the warcry.” Phonetic: NESS-tor IPA: /ˈnɛstɔːr/ Shavian: ·𐑯𐑧𐑕𐑑𐑹

Pylos (Location) A kingdom on the Peloponnese coastline; Telemachus’s first destination. Phonetic: PIE-lohs IPA: /ˈpaɪlɒs/ Shavian: ·𐑐𐑲𐑤𐑪𐑕

Pisistratus Nestor’s son and Telemachus’s travel companion. Phonetic: pye-SIS-truh-tus IPA: /paɪˈsɪstrətəs/ Shavian: ·𐑐𐑲𐑕𐑦𐑕𐑑𐑮𐑩𐑑𐑩𐑕

Agamemnon Commander of the Achaeans at Troy. (Portrayed by Benny Safdie) Phonetic: a-ga-MEM-non IPA: /ˌæɡəˈmɛmnɒn/ Shavian: ·𐑨𐑜𐑩𐑥𐑧𐑥𐑯𐑪𐑯

Menelaus The gritty King of Sparta, brother to Agamemnon. (Portrayed by Jon Bernthal) Phonetic: me-ne-LAY-us IPA: /ˌmɛnɪˈleɪəs/ Shavian: ·𐑥𐑧𐑯𐑦𐑤𐑱𐑩𐑕

The Divine & The Elements

Athena (Mentes / Mentor) The Goddess of Wisdom and the “Director” of the narrative. (Portrayed by Zendaya) Phonetic: uh-THEE-nuh IPA: /əˈθiːnə/ Shavian: ·𐑩𐑔𐑰𐑯𐑩

Poseidon The Earthshaker; treated as a hostile force of nature in our Nolan framework. Phonetic: puh-SYE-dun IPA: /pəˈsaɪdən/ Shavian: ·𐑐𐑩𐑕𐑲𐑛𐑩𐑯

If I were to wake up one morning and discover that my every move was being narrated by a disembodied voice, like Will Ferrel in Stranger Than Fiction, then I do not think I do any better than the voice of Emma Thompson uttering these words:

When young Dawn with her rose-red fingers shone once more the true son of Odysseus sprang from bed and dressed, over his shoulder he slung his well-honed sword, fastened rawhide sandals under his smooth feet and stepped from his bedroom, handsome as a god.¹

And thus we enter book two. There are several moments in Homer’s poetry when cinematic scenes present themselves fully-formed from the text like this. Homer even seems to have fashioned these as little modular units that he calls into service to transition scenes. You will forgive the vulgar comparison, but they feel a lot like mini-montages. Hopefully the comparison does not violate your mind with pictures of Telemachus donning a sweatsuit, guzzling down raw eggs, and then jogging his way through the early morning streets of Philadelphia while Survivor’s Eye of the Tiger pumps through the air.

Okay, okay, that was uncalled for. This is not a Rocky montage scene. I shot wide of the mark. No, no, it is, in fact, a Marvel Suit-Up scene. And if Telemachus will be played by Tom Holland, I already have images of some kind of Greco-spiderman with sword and spear in hand, while two hunting hounds flank his entry into a rocky amphitheater or some high seat to address the swollen inhabitants of Ithaca. The men part before him like the Red Sea before Moses when he confidently strides forward with the burden of glorious purpose.

Avengers, Assemble

Telemachus seems to have called to order the first assembly since Odysseus left for Troy. Ithaca has been locked in perpetual holiday like some kind of Bronze Age Groundhog Day. The young prince is given fair words unprompted by an elder of the island, Aegyptius (ee-JIP-shus), which casts a favorable light on Telemachus taking charge. Here Homer uses Aegyptius to bring up the cyclops again, even though we have yet to learn the story. Perhaps this technique functions to plow the field of our minds and sow the seeds of fear so that when we finally meet the cyclops, he will be recognized and we will await his grisly deeds with tense anticipation. Or perhaps this kind of meta exposition serves those who have heard the tale before, offering them an in-group perspective. It could even be a kind of ancient viral marketing—speak of your tale as though everyone already has heard of it, and your listener will experience classical FOMO, the ancient human Fear Of Missing Out.

A curious detail to note: the herald delegates the speaking role by granting the speaker a staff. He acts like an emcee handing out a microphone during a PTA meeting. This staff would apparently be called the σκῆπτρον (skêptron), from which we derive the word scepter. I believe I have found the line in the Greek text here at 2.37-38:

σκῆπτρον δέ οἱ ἔμβαλε χειρὶ κῆρυξ Πεισήνωρ πεπνυμένα μήδεα εἰδώς.²

While on the subject of etymologies, such an assembly, both the gathering of citizens and any edifice constructed for such a gathering, would be known as the ekklesia (ek-klee-SEE-ah). Assemblies like this are a core part of ancient civilizations. We see this in the title of one book of wisdom literature of the Hebrew Bible, קֹהֶלֶת (Kohelet, Koheleth, Qoheleth or Qohelet). We would recognize this by the name found in the Greek Septuagint, passed through Latin transliteration, and finally rendered as Ecclesiastes. This word and its usage form the basis for our modern sense of what Christian “church” is (but not the etymology of “church” per se). So I suppose this means that if any crusty Christian fundamentalists call you out for reading such a paragon of pagan literature, you tell ’em Telemachus holds church right here in book two (and also make them read St. Basil the Great’s Address To Young Men On The Right Use Of Greek Literature).

The Prince Is On A Mission From God

One of the notable features of an epic cycle is the grand vertical scale of the narrative vis-à-vis the powers of the heavens, on the earth, and in the underworld. Thus far we have recognized Odysseus and Telemachus as joint protagonists, but if we gaze upon high Olympus we must count Athena as our protagonist and Poseidon as our antagonist. Recall back to book one that bright-eyed Athena appeared to the prince in the form of Mentes and urged him set sail for news of his father. She counseled that if he discovered news of his father’s death, he should see to it his mother be wed forthwith to the best suitor, but if he were to catch any whisper that Odysseus yet lives, he should hold out hope another year and delay the suitors.

If this were medieval literature like Thomas Mallory’s, Le Morte d’Arthur, we could count on our protagonist to fail to follow this divine counsel, but Telemachus proves himself obedient to the letter. His adherence to Athena’s advice plays out quite naturally through the town hall meeting, such that you might find it hard to tell if it was fated from Athena, or he brought it to pass himself and simply had the right ideas planted.

First things are first on the meeting agenda, and so Telemachus makes a reprise of his righteous indignation, but the teen angst might be fading into the background. He calls upon the gods in a humble tone, recognizing himself as “a boy inept at battle” (2.66), though this could be a stroke of strategy to incubate the perception of his impotence in the minds of his enemies. In this way the great princes of Achaea might omit him from their calculations and leave him free to accomplish his task.

In the coup de grâce of his passionate rhetoric:

down on the ground he dashed the speaker’s scepter— bursting into tears.³

The world’s first mic drop. All of the assembly are struck silent with pity for him, all save Antinous, who wastes no time laying all the blame on Penelope, the very woman he is courting. He we are told a tale of her own cunning, how she would bide her time weaving a shroud for her father-in-law, but with equal skill and industry unweaving her work night after night. This ruse kept the suitors at bay for three whole years, but it was undone by the women of her house (the infidelity of whom will be a small theme of its own).

Antinous is a rogue, through and through. He seems to consider himself sufficiently wronged that a just recompense is the hospitality of the house of Odysseus in the form of bread, meat, and wine.

The Omen

As Telemachus’ finishes his rebuttal to Antinous, he threatens to invoke the gods to defend his claim, and his words are sealed with an omen of Zeus. Two eagles descend from high in the mountains in tight formation and slash at the people like Maverick and Goose performing a flyby.

While the elders read the omens clearly, youth is ever invincible and dismissive. Eurymachus (yoo-RI-ma-kus) belittles the sign as no more than flocks of birds. And what is more, he threatens the poor old man with hard fines if he continues to ill-fortune. We get a sense of their depravity and outright brigandry here. The teen gangs grown up in vacuum of the Trojan war have turned into the suitor mafia. Note these words, as bold as brass:

Who’s there to fear? I ask you. Surely not Telemachus, with all his tiresome threats. […] The prince’s wealth will be devoured as always, mercilessly—no reparations, ever…not while the queen drags out our hopes to wed her[.]⁴

The Ultimatum

Telemachus makes known his plan to the assembly. He is to set sail for news of his father in Sparta and Pylos. If his quest fails, he will hold a funeral for his father and see his mother wed. But if he learns his father is alive still, he will hold out another year. All things working out to the letter of Athena’s will it would seem.

Mentor chimes in at the end of the assembly to shake his fist at the youth for their disrespect of Odysseus. This is the real Mentor, though shortly we will see Athena take his form in order to accompany Telemachus in his journey.

The Prayer

Starting in 2.293, we get an ancient example of prayer which I find fascinating. What does prayer look like to an ancient Achaean? The first thing we see is invocation, or calling out to the god, though not strictly by name. He refers to Athena as: the one who came yesterday to his house as a god. The second thing we see might also be considered the invocation of a promise. It seems to take the form of: you told me to do X, but now my state is worse than before. Implicit in all this is some outcome promised or hoped for which is quickly fading from possibility in the mind of the supplicant. The answer to his prayer is immediate, though to him it must look like nothing more than an interruption.

Mentor, The Mentor

If the name, Mentor, and the wise counsel he offers to the youth Telemachus seem beyond coincidence, they are. This relationship is where mentorship was born, at least etymologically. And wise counsel is indeed given and followed faithfully. The first thing Telemachus does is make his way to the storehouse to requisition rations for him and a whole crew to set sail under the cover of darkness.

The rations are simple: bread and wine. I would wonder if they are meant symbolically as stand-ins for all manner of food and drink, except that they are repeatedly spoken of with detail. I particularly love the phrase « barley-meal—the marrow of men’s bones ». Muse on that phrase for a minute to think of how completely essential grains were to life. Now think of Wonder Bread. Now back to barley-meal, the marrow of men’s bones. One of these things is not like the other.

While the prince secures the rations, the goddess in form of Mentor enlists a crew ready to set sail for news of Odysseus. A sense of urgency and secrecy fills the pages here. Their departure assisted by a divine slumber cast over the suitors (do you think she added 2x hangover damage the next day?), a small victory feels gained at the words: All lay hands to tackle!⁵

And so we leave our crew, bowls brimming with wine as they speed over the wine-dark sea to fairer fortune.

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.

In Medias Res

When beginning a story, it is customary to begin at the beginning. Quite sensible, in fact. The Harry Potter saga begins while the Boy Who Lived is a small child, and not yet The Boy Who Receives His Hogwarts Letter. You might even say that story begins before the beginning, functioning like a prologue.

If we think a little more carefully though, we might say that The Philosopher’s Stone starts in the middle of the action (for all us thick Americans, that is The Sorcerer’s Stone rightly named). Harry has just been exfiltrated from the ruins of his former home after the tragic death of his parents at the hands of Lord — Thingy. We learn this as the scene unfolds through dialogue cues, since the events happened off-screen (or off-page, but let’s face it, you’re thinking of the film). Throughout the saga we will receive flashbacks and supplemental accounts from other characters that start to fill in the missing details of that night.

This kind of storytelling mode is known by the Latin phrase « in medias res », which simply means in the middle of things. Book one of The Odyssey parachutes us in near the end of Odysseus’ journey home from the Trojan war. He’s been stuck on the island of Ogygia with Calypso for seven years, but we are not even told that much. We read starting at 1.19¹:

But then, when the wheeling seasons brought the year around, that year spun out by the gods when he should reach his home, Ithaca—though not even there would he be free of trials.²

So what do we know from this excerpt? Nought but that the time fated is come at last for Odysseus to return home. We get beautiful cyclic imagery declaring the appointed year being revealed, but no concrete units of time.

Lines 81 - 84 reveal the reason Odysseus is stuck on an island in the Pirates of the Mediterranean: he blinded the monstrously inhospitable, man-eating cyclops, Polyphemus, right in his good eye, and now his dad is pissed. Rotten luck for Odysseus since no-eyed Polyphemus’ father is the sea-god Poseidon, and if there is one thing the gods of Homer do well, it is hold a grudge.

Structure

While book one begins with words of Odysseus’ struggle, his men, and his striving to return home, focus soon shifts to how his family’s fortune in his absence. We are introduced to his son, Telemachus (tuh-LEH-muh-kus), who we will follow during the first four books.

Matt Damon returns under Nolan’s direction from Oppenheimer and Interstellar cast as Odysseus with Tom Holland cast as Telemachus. Holland is a sensible choice since Telemachus has recently come of age and must assume the mantle of his manhood and grow into the image of his wise and cunning father. His course is blessed by the guidance of the goddess Athena, who is played by none other than Marvel Spiderman’s love interest, Michelle, a.k.a. Zendaya. A newer inductee into the Christopher Nolan crew, Robert Pattinson, plays the violent suitor, Antinous, whom we meet in 1.440³:

Eupithes’ son Antinous broke their silence: “Well, Telemachus, only the gods could teach you to sound so high and mighty! Such brave talk. I pray that Zeus will never make you king of Ithaca, though your father’s crown is no doubt yours by birth.”

We can expect Pattinson to play up the mean-spirited sneering as he sucks down his host’s wine. Surely he’ll be the first against the wall when the revolution comes. He, alongside myriad other mindless jerks, is vying for the hand of Penelope, since Odysseus is presumed dead. Another two-film veteran of team Nolan, Anne Hathaway, will be taking her place at the loom.

Once we enter books 5-12, we will join Odysseus and learn of his adventures. In the final books, 13-24, we follow the return home and the fate of his house.

Non-Linear Time

Looking forward to the film premiere, our modern Bard, Christopher Nolan, is famous for his fascination with the function of time in cinematic storytelling. He’s made a career of the artistic exploration of chronology with films like Memento, Inception, Interstellar, and Tenet. And herein lies the reason I am so enthusiastic about this rendition of the ancient classic: I can think of no director with the skills and experience to mold the exquisite clay of this story into film-form. Whether his brush strokes are delicate and restrained, or the narrative perspective is greatly altered, he is poised to present a masterpiece for the age of cinema.

Of Characters & Proper Nouns

If it feels like the Bronze Age since you last read ancient Greek literature, some rhetorical culture shock is a common side effect. One dizzying feature of Homer is the sheer number of synonyms seen throughout the text. Some translations are said to simplify this, but Fagles is not shy to render the Greeks as Argives, Achaeans, Hellenes, etc., just as the text gives us. I expect that there are various subtleties specific to each, but when you compose over twelve thousand lines of dactylic hexameter verse, you are bound to get creative.

Mnemonics

Names of characters are often varied by employing their lineage. In place of Odysseus, we might see Laerte’s Son. Pay attention to genealogies! I am not suggesting you draw out family trees (they are already in the back of the edition we are using), but do pause when you notice the name of someone’s father and repeat it to yourself to cement the connection.

Names of characters also go with their homelands. This is especially prominent when treating with rulers and royalty. Remember that a unified Greece is a novel invention, and we are reading through the age of Greek nation-states which may be as small as a city or a island in the Aegean. When Athena takes the form of Mentes, she/he often goes with the title lord of the Taphians or lord of Taphos.

Last and in the chief place, names go with their epithets. If you studied any Homer in grade school and had crazy cat-lady English teacher whose feline infatuation was only rivaled by books, you had Homeric epithets hammered into you till your own vulgar epithets rose to the tip of your tongue. These are extra adjective bits that go before or after a name as in the giant-killer Hermes, the lord of the silver bow Apollo, Agamemnon lord of men, or Menelaus lord of the warcry. These tend to be fairly self-explanatory, but might itch your curiosity until you follow the rabbit trail and remember that Hermes killed the hundred-eyed giant, Argus Panoptes, or that Apollo slew the Python with his bow before assuming the seat of worship at Delphi. Without any intent to downplay the virtuosity of Homer, these epithets are a stylistic hack to fit names into the meter of the original Greek. They create a stable metric chunk that can be employed more easily throughout the story.

The Genealogy of the Royal House of Odysseus

If you own the print edition we are using, this genealogy is found on page 497, but for any of those listening to the audiobook or who prefer a digital reference, here is my attempt at a mermaid diagram family tree. I do not claim this will be very useful, but I could not pass up the opportunity to get more familiar with the House of Odysseus as well an excuse to tinker with mermaid diagrams. If you haven’t caught on yet, I am 100% nerd.

Pronunciation

• Odysseus
  • əˈdɪsiəs
  • ·𐑩𐑛𐑦𐑕𐑾𐑕
• Penelope
  • pɪˈnɛləpi
  • ·𐑐𐑦𐑯𐑧𐑤𐑩𐑐𐑦
• Telemachus
  • tɪˈlɛməkəs
  • ·𐑑𐑦𐑤𐑧𐑥𐑩𐑒𐑩𐑕