The Iliad (Translated into prose by Samuel Butler with an Introduction by H. L. Havell)

By Homer

Due to a lack of biographical evidence regarding the identity of Homer it has been suggested that the two great works attributed to him, the “Iliad” and the “Odyssey” may, in fact, be the work of multiple authors passed down through a long oral tradition. While scholarship on the subject will likely never definitely prove one way or the other, it is now generally accepted that these two great epic poems are the work of a single Greek author, Homer, who lived sometime during the 9th century BC. Set during a few weeks in the final year of the Trojan War, “The Iliad” is a classical epic poem concerning a quarrel between King Agamemnon and the warrior Achilles. While encompassing just a brief period of the Trojan War the poem relates events leading up to and following the few weeks that encompass the setting of the poem giving the reader a comprehensive perspective of the Trojan War. Part romanticized historical narrative, part mythological epic, the “Iliad” is widely recognized as one of the most important works from classical antiquity. Along with the “Odyssey,” it would establish Homer as one the most influential authors to ever have lived. This edition follows the prose translation of Samuel Butler and includes an introduction by H. L. Havell.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Digireads.com Publishing
• Release date: Jan 1, 2017
• ISBN: 9781420953916

Homer

Although recognized as one of the greatest ancient Greek poets, the life and figure of Homer remains shrouded in mystery. Credited with the authorship of the epic poems Iliad and Odyssey, Homer, if he existed, is believed to have lived during the ninth century BC, and has been identified variously as a Babylonian, an Ithacan, or an Ionian. Regardless of his citizenship, Homer’s poems and speeches played a key role in shaping Greek culture, and Homeric studies remains one of the oldest continuous areas of scholarship, reaching from antiquity through to modern times.

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THE ILIAD

By HOMER

Translated into English prose by SAMUEL BUTLER

Introduction by H. L. HAVELL

The Iliad

By Homer

Translated by Samuel Butler

Introduction by H. L. Havell

Print ISBN 13: 978-1-4209-5390-9

eBook ISBN 13: 978-1-4209-5391-6

This edition copyright © 2016. Digireads.com Publishing.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Cover Image: A detail of The Rape of Helen by Tintoretto, c. 1580, Museo del Prado, Madrid.

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CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION

BOOK I

BOOK II

BOOK III

BOOK IV

BOOK V

BOOK VI

BOOK VII

BOOK VIII

BOOK IX

BOOK X

BOOK XI

BOOK XII

BOOK XIII

BOOK XIV

BOOK XV

BOOK XVI

BOOK XVII

BOOK XVIII

BOOK XIX

BOOK XX

BOOK XXI

BOOK XXII

BOOK XXIII

BOOK XXIV

Introduction

I. THE STORY

In order to understand the structure of the Iliad, we must keep fast hold of the guiding clue which is supplied by the author in the first line of his poem. The subject, he tells us, is the Wrath of Achilles. The motive of the greatest of epics is wrath—blind, unreasoning fury, which knows no law, and acknowledges no right. Keeping this in view, we are able to explain what seems at first sight to be a strange anomaly in the conduct of the story—the absence of the hero from the scene of action during three-fourths of the narrative. For Achilles is not less the hero of the Iliad than Odysseus is the hero of the Odyssey, and in both cases the character of the man determines the structure of the poem. Odysseus is a man of middle age, in the maturity of his splendid powers, with his judgment refined by experience, and his passions cooled by time. From the moment when he sets sail from Troy he remains faithful to the fixed desire of his heart. All the malice of Poseidon, all the spells of Circe, all the loveliness of Calypso, cannot shake him from his resolve to return to his home in Ithaca, and live out his life in calm domestic happiness and peace. Yet he is entirely free from the narrowness which commonly belongs to a fixed idea. He knows the uncertainty which attaches to all human hopes, and is as ready to enjoy the passing hour as the youngest sailor of his crew. He has the hungry intellect, which would fain take all knowledge into its compass, and the spirit of soaring enterprise, which delights in discovery and daring adventure. But above all he has the patient, constant human heart, faithful through all turns of fortune to one sober ideal. It is this steadfastness of purpose and sweet reasonableness in the hero which gives to the narrative of the Odyssey its smooth and pellucid flow, and makes it the most delightful of all story-books.

Achilles, on the other hand, is the incarnation of the spirit of youth, with its passionate pride, its acute sensibility, and its absorption in self. He is like one of the great forces of nature—unreasoning, elemental, mighty to create or destroy. His inaction is as tremendous as his action. He is offended, and the Greeks, deprived of his aid, are brought to the brink of ruin—his friend is slain by Hector, and the current of his fury, thus directed into a new channel, sweeps the whole Trojan army before it in havoc and rout.

This, then, is the plan of the Iliad—to describe the effects of Achilles’ anger, first on the Greeks, then on the Trojans. A brief review of the story will show how the plan is worked out. In the ninth year of the war, the Greeks have taken a small town in the neighbourhood of Troy, and Agamemnon has received a maiden named Chryseis as his share of the spoil. Chryses, the maiden’s father, comes to the Grecian camp to ransom his child, but he is rudely repulsed by Agamemnon, and invokes the vengeance of Apollo, whose priest he is, on the Greeks. Apollo sends a pestilence on the camp, and Agamemnon is compelled in consequence to restore Chryseis, but he recompenses himself by seizing another maiden, named Briseis, awarded to Achilles as a prize at the capture of the same city. Achilles vows vengeance on the whole Greek army for this outrage, and Thetis, his mother, obtains a promise from Zeus, the supreme god of Olympus, that her son’s vow shall be fulfilled to the letter. Accordingly Zeus sends a false dream to Agamemnon, bidding him lead the whole army against Troy, with the assurance of a decisive victory. Agamemnon obeys the summons in all good faith, and the two armies meet on the plain before the city. But just as the general encounter is about to begin, Paris offers to meet Menelaus in single combat, and a truce is made in order that the duel may take place. They fight, and Menelaus is victorious, but Paris is saved from death or capture by the intervention of Aphrodite.

Menelaus now claims the fulfilment of the conditions of the truce—the restoration of Helen with all her wealth. But before the point can be debated, Pandarus, a Trojan, at the instigation of Athene, aims an arrow at Menelaus, and wounds him in the side. This treacherous act leads to an immediate renewal of hostilities, and in the battle which follows the Trojans are reduced to such straits by the powers of Diomede that Hector goes on a mission to the city, to institute a solemn supplication in the temple of Athene, in the vain hope of diverting her anger from the Trojans. Having accomplished his errand, he returns to the field, bringing with him Paris, who, since his defeat by Menelaus, has been dallying in Helen’s bower; and then follows a duel between Hector and Ajax, in which the Greek champion has the advantage. At the suggestion of Nestor, the Greeks fortify their camp with a moat and rampart; and this brings us to the end of the seventh book.

Hitherto the Greeks have had a decided advantage in battle with the Trojans, and nothing has been done to carry out the promise which Zeus made to Thetis. But now the father of gods and men begins to take decisive measures to fulfil his pledge; the gods are forbidden to interfere between the rival armies, and in the next day’s battle the Greeks are driven back in panic to their camp, while the Trojans, contrary to their custom, keep the field all night, intending to attack the Greek stronghold in full force next day. So despondent are the Greeks that an embassy is sent with an offer of magnificent gifts to Achilles, if he will lay aside his anger and come to the help of his distressed countrymen. Achilles refuses all compromise, and the rest of the night is occupied by the bold raid undertaken by Diomede and Odysseus on the Thracian camp.

At the opening of the eleventh book our attention is concentrated on the valorous exploits of Agamemnon, who is at length compelled to retire by a severe wound in the arm; Diomede is pierced through the foot by an arrow from the bow of Paris, and Odysseus, Machaon, and Eurypylus are also disabled. Patroclus is sent by Achilles to inquire of Nestor concerning the fortunes of the Greeks, and Nestor then makes the suggestion which marks the turning-point in the first act of the great epic drama: if, he says, Achilles will not go to the field himself, at least let him send Patroclus to lead the Myrmidons{1} against the Trojans. Nothing comes of the proposal for the present, but it is to bear fatal fruit both for Patroclus and Achilles in the near future. The Greeks are again driven behind their defences, and a furious struggle ensues, at the end of which the gates of the camp are demolished, and the Trojans, led by Hector, are on the point of setting fire to the ships.

At this moment the attention of Zeus is withdrawn from the battle, and Poseidon seizes the opportunity to interfere in favour of the Greeks. By his influence the scale is turned again, Hector receives fearful injuries from a huge stone hurled by Ajax, and the Trojans are driven headlong across the plain. Zeus is lulled to sleep by the contrivance of Hera, and when he awakens it is to find his whole scheme of vengeance on the point of being frustrated. In great anger he sends a peremptory message to Poseidon to withdraw from the battle, and lays his commands on Apollo, who brings back Hector, healed and whole, to the field, and leads the Trojans once more to the assault of the camp. In spite of the desperate valour of Ajax, the Greeks are driven back to their ships, and the Trojans bring torches, with the intention of burning the whole fleet.

Then at last Achilles, yielding to the earnest entreaty of Patroclus, sends him to the aid of the Greeks, equipped in his own armour, and leading the whole force of the Myrmidons. Patroclus easily drives the Trojans back from the camp, and slays Sarpedon, one of the bravest warriors among the allies of Troy; but he himself falls by Hector’s hand, and the armour of Achilles passes into the possession of his slayer. A tremendous struggle ensues over the body of Patroclus, which is only ended by the appearance of Achilles himself, who comes, attended by strange prodigies, to the wall, and, by the mere terror of his presence, scares the Trojans from the field, and saves his friend’s body from outrage.

The rest of the story may be briefly told. By the intercession of Thetis, Hephæstus, the divine smith, makes a splendid suit of armour for Achilles, and, after a solemn scene of reconciliation with Agamemnon, Achilles leads the Greeks to battle. The whole torrent of his fury is now turned upon the Trojans, and, after a wholesale massacre of lesser victims, he meets Hector in single combat, slays him, and drags his body behind his chariot to the camp. The funeral obsequies of Patroclus are celebrated with great pomp, and then Achilles, who is possessed by a demon of rage and grief, continues for a space of twelve days to wreak his vengeance on the lifeless body of Hector, which he drags repeatedly behind his car round the tomb of Patroclus. The gods interpose to make an end of this senseless fury, and Hector’s body, which has been miraculously preserved from harm, is restored to Priam, who comes in the night, under the conduct of Hermes, and redeems the corpse with a heavy ransom. With the burial of Hector the poem reaches its conclusion.

Such, in the briefest and baldest outline, is the story of the Iliad. Space does not allow us to discuss the various objections which have been raised against some of the details of the narrative, still less to enumerate the reconstructions and mutilations to which the great epic has been subjected in the dissecting-room of criticism. Where opinion is still so much divided, we may be allowed to state our conviction that the Iliad, though wanting the structural perfection of the Odyssey, is one poem, and the work of one master mind.

II. THE DIVINE CHARACTERS

The gods in the Iliad play a very active and human part, and indeed they may be said in a sense to be more human than the men themselves. They are passionate, sensual, vindictive; they have no sense of fair play, but are always ready to help their favourites by all means, fair or foul. When Patroclus is to die, he is stripped of his armour and beaten half senseless by Apollo, and delivered over in this helpless state to Euphorbus and Hector; and Hector, in his turn, is cheated and beguiled to his death by Athene. In the chariot race which is described in the twenty-third book Athene wrecks the car of Eumelus to secure the victory for Diomede; and the same goddess interferes in the foot race on behalf of Odysseus, whom she loves like a mother. We have already remarked, in the Introduction to the Odyssey, that the only humorous scenes in the Iliad are those in which the gods play the chief or sole part. And, in fact, the want of dignity and decorum which we find in these mighty beings is simply astonishing. The battle of the gods, which is introduced with such pomp and parade, ends in the broadest farce. In the fifth book, Ares roars and bellows like a beast when he is wounded by the spear of Diomede, and Aphrodite, whose hand has been scratched, goes whimpering and whining to her mother for comfort. Only in a few passages do we find a great and worthy conception of the divine nature—as in the famous lines in the first book, when Zeus nods his immortal head confirming his oath to Thetis, and in the sublime description of Poseidon at the beginning of the thirteenth book.

At the head of the Olympian hierarchy stands Zeus the lord of the sky, who divides with his brothers, Hades and Poseidon, the empire of the universe. He is the highest in power and authority, and with him rests the final decision in all the disputes of Olympus. But this genial and patriarchal deity is not without his troubles: he rules over a disorderly household, and his purposes are constantly thwarted by the lesser powers who reign under him. In his heart of hearts he favours Priam and the Trojans, but he is a fond and indulgent father and husband, and Hera, his wife, and Athene, his daughter, cherish an implacable hatred against Troy and all things Trojan. The reason for this bitter animosity does not appear: for the judgment of Paris, which is the cause assigned by later legends, is only mentioned in one passage, of doubtful authenticity. Hera is described as a lady of shrewish and vixenish temper; she will never be satisfied, says Zeus, until she has gone down into Troy and eaten Priam and all his people raw! Her human counterpart is Hecuba, who would like, she says, to tear out the heart of Achilles, and devour it. On the side of the Trojans are Apollo, Artemis, Hephæstus, the river-god Scamander, and Leto.

Such are the gods of Homer, and such the national divinities of Greece. For the poems of Homer and Hesiod, as Herodotus informs us, are the chief sources of the popular theology. Small wonder, then, that the more earnest minds of a later age were much occupied by the endeavour to raise and purify the accepted mythology, or that Plato excludes Homer, the great magician, from his scheme of reformed education.

III. THE HUMAN CHARACTERS

Of Achilles and Odysseus we have already spoken at some length, so that we have only to notice briefly the other chief characters. At the head of the Greek army stands Agamemnon, whose authority rests on his personal prowess, his vast wealth, and the extent of his dominions. In the absence of Achilles he shares with Ajax and Diomede the highest place among the warriors of Greece. A certain strain of weakness runs through his character. He is jealous of his authority, and somewhat covetous, and at moments of crisis and peril he is always foremost in the counsels of despair. Next to him in rank comes Menelaus, his brother, an amiable but somewhat feeble prince, to whom the poet shows a certain playful tenderness, such as is felt by chivalrous natures towards a woman or a child.

The most knightly figure on the Greek side is the young Diomede, whose wonderful exploits fill so large a space in the earlier part of the poem. His gallant and buoyant spirit shines brightest when the fortunes of the Greeks are at their lowest ebb; and the beautiful episode of his meeting with Glaucus on the battlefield is a rare exception to the savage ferocity of Homeric warfare.

After Achilles, the mightiest champion of Greece is the great Telamonian Ajax. He is a giant in stature and strength, and is the chief bulwark of the Greeks against the impetuous valour of Hector. In character, he is modest and unassuming; he lacks the brilliant qualities of Achilles, though equal to him in sheer physical force. He is the type of the rugged soldier, such as we find among the Spartans of a later date, loyal to his prince, a faithful comrade, ever at the post of danger, ever prompt to help where the need is sorest. His plain, frank nature views with contempt the fantastic pride of Achilles, whose frightful egoism, and indifference to the sufferings of his countrymen, revolt and disgust him.

This list may fitly be closed with the name of Nestor, the clear-voiced orator, from whose lips flowed eloquence sweeter than honey. As becomes his age, he assumes the office of peacemaker between Agamemnon and Achilles; in spite of his eighty years, he still takes the field and fights in the van, though his arm is now of less value than his head. With regard to his eloquence, it can hardly be said, judging by the specimen preserved, that he is quite worthy of his reputation. He is, in fact, garrulous, rambling, and tedious—though in these qualities he is even surpassed by the aged Phœnix, who has played the part of male nurse to Achilles, and excels in a style of oratory dear to the professional guardians of childhood.

The great champion of the Trojans is Hector, the son of Priam and Hecuba. His character is, in every respect, a contrast to that of Achilles. With him the claims of king and country ever come first, though he is not indifferent to personal distinction. He falls very far short of the ideal knight—without fear and without reproach. In these qualities he seems to be eclipsed by Glaucus and Sarpedon, the princes of Lycia, whose beautiful friendship finds its most illustrious record in the immortal lines of the twelfth book, the finest exposition in the world of the principle involved in the words noblesse oblige. Hector, on the other hand, is full of weakness: at one time he is faint-hearted, and has to be recalled to the duties of his great position by the reproaches of those who serve under him; at another time he is overbold, and his rashness brings upon the Trojans overwhelming disaster. Yet with all this, his character is full of interest. In his greater moments he rises to sublime heights of heroism. He does not shrink from the consequences of his actions, but goes to certain death with the spirit of a patriot and martyr. He is the mirror of knightly courtesy, kind and gentle even to the guilty and the fallen; and his last meeting with Andromache is hardly to be matched for beauty and pathos in all literature.

A bare mention must suffice for Priam, the white-haired King, and the most tragic figure in the poem; Paris, the curled darling of Aphrodite, a mere beautiful animal, without soul or conscience, and the lovely passion-stricken Helen, whose strange story seems to have a closer affinity with mediæval romance than with classical antiquity.

IV. THE SIMILES

One word must be added on the frequent comparisons, or similes, which form one of the most characteristic features of the poem. At least half the Iliad is occupied with descriptions of battle, and Homeric warfare is exceedingly simple and uniform, consisting almost entirely of single combats between individual chieftains, or wholesale slaughter wrought by some puissant arm on the promiscuous herd of soldiers. To render so unpromising a theme interesting and attractive must have taxed the skill and invention of the poet to their utmost limit; and his principal resources for attaining this end is in the lavish use of the simile. In those parts of the poem where much is to be told in little space this ornament occurs rarely, or not at all. In the first book, which is crowded with incidents, not a single simile is used. But where the action is to be delayed or elaborated, and especially in the battle pieces, the similes are flung broadcast, shining like stars among the racing clouds of a stormy sky. Every corner of nature, and every province of human life, are ransacked to furnish illustrations of the eternal drama of battle, and murder, and sudden death. In a moment we are rapt by the magic of the poet from the steam and squalor of slaughter to some busy scene of human industry, or some living picture, grand, lovely, or terrible, drawn from the great panorama of nature. Nothing is too great, nothing too little, to furnish material for this splendid treasury of poetry. It would be easy to discourse for pages on this fascinating subject; but we must content ourselves with the above brief hint, and will conclude our remarks by declaring our full agreement with those who regard the similes in the Iliad as the chief glory and beauty in the first and greatest of epic poems.

H. L. HAVELL

1908.

THE ILIAD

Book I

The quarrel between Agamemnon and Achilles—Achilles withdraws from the war, and sends his mother Thetis to ask Jove to help the Trojans—Scene between Jove and Juno on Olympus.

Sing, O goddess, the anger of Achilles son of Peleus, that brought countless ills upon the Achæans. Many a brave soul did it send hurrying down to Hades, and many a hero did it yield a prey to dogs and vultures, for so were the counsels of Jove fulfilled from the day on which the son of Atreus, king of men, and great Achilles, first fell out with one another.

And which of the gods was it that set them on to quarrel? It was the son of Jove and Leto; for he was angry with the king and sent a pestilence upon the host to plague the people, because the son of Atreus had dishonoured Chryses his priest. Now Chryses had come to the ships of the Achæans to free his daughter, and had brought with him a great ransom: moreover he bore in his hand the sceptre of Apollo wreathed with a suppliant’s wreath, and he besought the Achæans, but most of all the two sons of Atreus, who were their chiefs.

Sons of Atreus, he cried, and all other Achæans, may the gods who dwell in Olympus grant you to sack the city of Priam, and to reach your homes in safety; but free my daughter, and accept a ransom for her, in reverence to Apollo, son of Jove.

On this the rest of the Achæans with one voice were for respecting the priest and taking the ransom that he offered; but not so Agamemnon, who spoke fiercely to him and sent him roughly away. Old man, said he, let me not find you tarrying about our ships, nor yet coming hereafter. Your sceptre of the god and your wreath shall profit you nothing. I will not free her. She shall grow old in my house at Argos far from her own home, busying herself with her loom and visiting my couch; so go, and do not provoke me or it shall be the worse for you.

The old man feared him and obeyed. Not a word he spoke, but went by the shore of the sounding sea and prayed apart to King Apollo whom lovely Leto had borne. Hear me, he cried, O god of the silver bow, that protectest Chryse and holy Cilla and rulest Tenedos with thy might, hear me oh thou of Sminthe. If I have ever decked your temple with garlands, or burned your thigh-bones in fat of bulls or goats, grant my prayer, and let your arrows avenge these my tears upon the Danaans.

Thus did he pray, and Apollo heard his prayer. He came down furious from the summits of Olympus, with his bow and his quiver upon his shoulder, and the arrows rattled on his back with the rage that trembled within him. He sat himself down away from the ships with a face as dark as night, and his silver bow rang death as he shot his arrow in the midst of them. First he smote their mules and their hounds, but presently he aimed his shafts at the people themselves, and all day long the pyres of the dead were burning.

For nine whole days he shot his arrows among the people, but upon the tenth day Achilles called them in assembly—moved thereto by Juno, who saw the Achæans in their death-throes and had compassion upon them. Then, when they were got together, he rose and spoke among them.

Son of Atreus, said he, I deem that we should now turn roving home if we would escape destruction, for we are being cut down by war and pestilence at once. Let us ask some priest or prophet, or some reader of dreams (for dreams, too, are of Jove) who can tell us why Phoebus Apollo is so angry, and say whether it is for some vow that we have broken, or hecatomb that we have not offered, and whether he will accept the savour of lambs and goats without blemish, so as to take away the plague from us.

With these words he sat down, and Calchas son of Thestor, wisest of augurs, who knew things past present and to come, rose to speak. He it was who had guided the Achæans with their fleet to Ilius, through the prophesyings with which Phoebus Apollo had inspired him. With all sincerity and goodwill he addressed them thus:—

Achilles, loved of heaven, you bid me tell you about the anger of King Apollo, I will therefore do so; but consider first and swear that you will stand by me heartily in word and deed, for I know that I shall offend one who rules the Argives with might, to whom all the Achæans are in subjection. A plain man cannot stand against the anger of a king, who if he swallow his displeasure now, will yet nurse revenge till he has wreaked it. Consider, therefore, whether or no you will protect me.

And Achilles answered, Fear not, but speak as it is borne in upon you from heaven, for by Apollo, Calchas, to whom you pray, and whose oracles you reveal to us, not a Danaan at our ships shall lay his hand upon you, while I yet live to look upon the face of the earth—no, not though you name Agamemnon himself, who is by far the foremost of the Achæans.

Thereon the seer spoke boldly. The god, he said, is angry neither about vow nor hecatomb, but for his priest’s sake, whom Agamemnon has dishonoured, in that he would not free his daughter nor take a ransom for her; therefore has he sent these evils upon us, and will yet send others. He will not deliver the Danaans from this pestilence till Agamemnon has restored the girl without fee or ransom to her father, and has sent a holy hecatomb to Chryse. Thus we may perhaps appease him.

With these words he sat down, and Agamemnon rose in anger. His heart was black with rage, and his eyes flashed fire as he scowled on Calchas and said, Seer of evil, you never yet prophesied smooth things concerning me, but have ever loved to foretell that which was evil. You have brought me neither comfort nor performance; and now you come seeing among Danaans, and saying that Apollo has plagued us because I would not take a ransom for this girl, the daughter of Chryses. I have set my heart on keeping her in my own house, for I love her better even than my own wife Clytemnestra, whose peer she is alike in form and feature, in understanding and accomplishments. Still I will give her up if I must, for I would have the people live, not die; but you must find me a prize instead, or I alone among the Argives shall be without one. This is not well; for you behold, all of you, that my prize is to go elsewhither.

And Achilles answered, Most noble son of Atreus, covetous beyond all mankind, how shall the Achæans find you another prize? We have no common store from which to take one. Those we took from the cities have been awarded; we cannot disallow the awards that have been made already. Give this girl, therefore, to the god, and if ever Jove grants us to sack the city of Troy we will requite you three and fourfold.

Then Agamemnon said, Achilles, valiant though you be, you shall not thus outwit me. You shall not overreach and you shall not persuade me. Are you to keep your own prize, while I sit tamely under my loss and give up the girl at your bidding? Let the Achæans find me a prize in fair exchange to my liking, or I will come and take your own, or that of Ajax or of Ulysses; and he to whomsoever I may come shall rue my coming. But of this we will take thought hereafter; for the present, let us draw a ship into the sea, and find a crew for her expressly; let us put a hecatomb on board, and let us send Chryseis also; further, let some chief man among us be in command, either Ajax, or Idomeneus, or yourself, son of Peleus, mighty warrior that you are, that we may offer sacrifice and appease the anger of the god.

Achilles scowled at him and answered, You are steeped in insolence and lust of gain. With what heart can any of the Achæans do your bidding, either on foray or in open fighting? I came not warring here for any ill the Trojans had done me. I have no quarrel with them. They have not raided my cattle nor my horses, nor cut down my harvests on the rich plains of Phthia; for between me and them there is a great space, both mountain and sounding sea. We have followed you, Sir Insolence! for your pleasure, not ours—to gain satisfaction from the Trojans for your shameless self and for Menelaus. You forget this, and threaten to rob me of the prize for which I have toiled, and which the sons of the Achæans have given me. Never when the Achæans sack any rich city of the Trojans do I receive so good a prize as you do, though it is my hands that do the better part of the fighting. When the sharing comes, your share is far the largest, and I, forsooth, must go back to my ships, take what I can get and be thankful, when my labour of fighting is done. Now, therefore, I shall go back to Phthia; it will be much better for me to return home with my ships, for I will not stay here dishonoured to gather gold and substance for you.

And Agamemnon answered, Fly if you will, I shall make you no prayers to stay you. I have others here who will do me honour, and above all Jove, the lord of counsel. There is no king here so hateful to me as you are, for you are ever quarrelsome and ill- affected. What though you be brave? Was it not heaven that made you so? Go home, then, with your ships and comrades to lord it over the Myrmidons. I care neither for you nor for your anger; and thus will I do: since Phoebus Apollo is taking Chryseis from me, I shall send her with my ship and my followers, but I shall come to your tent and take your own prize Briseis, that you may learn how much stronger I am than you are, and that another may fear to set himself up as equal or comparable with me.

The son of Peleus was furious, and his heart within his shaggy breast was divided whether to draw his sword, push the others aside, and kill the son of Atreus, or to restrain himself and check his anger. While he was thus in two minds, and was drawing his mighty sword from its scabbard, Minerva came down from heaven (for Juno had sent her in the love she bore to them both), and seized the son of Peleus by his yellow hair, visible to him alone, for of the others no man could see her. Achilles turned in amaze, and by the fire that flashed from her eyes at once knew that she was Minerva. Why are you here, said he, daughter of aegis-bearing Jove? To see the pride of Agamemnon, son of Atreus? Let me tell you—and it shall surely be—he shall pay for this insolence with his life.

And Minerva said, I come from heaven, if you will hear me, to bid you stay your anger. Juno has sent me, who cares for both of you alike. Cease, then, this brawling, and do not draw your sword; rail at him if you will, and your railing will not be vain, for I tell you—and it shall surely be—that you shall hereafter receive gifts three times as splendid by reason of this present insult. Hold, therefore, and obey.

Goddess, answered Achilles, however angry a man may be, he must do as you two command him. This will be best, for the gods ever hear the prayers of him who has obeyed them.

He stayed his hand on the silver hilt of his sword, and thrust it back into the scabbard as Minerva bade him. Then she went back to Olympus among the other gods, and to the house of aegis-bearing Jove.

But the son of Peleus again began railing at the son of Atreus, for he was still in a rage. Wine-bibber, he cried, with the face of a dog and the heart of a hind, you never dare to go out with the host in fight, nor yet with our chosen men in ambuscade. You shun this as you do death itself. You had rather go round and rob his prizes from any man who contradicts you. You devour your people, for you are king over a feeble folk; otherwise, son of Atreus, henceforward you would insult no man. Therefore I say, and swear it with a great oath—nay, by this my sceptre which shalt sprout neither leaf nor shoot, nor bud anew from the day on which it left its parent stem upon the mountains—for the axe stripped it of leaf and bark, and now the sons of the Achæans bear it as judges and guardians of the decrees of heaven—so surely and solemnly do I swear that hereafter they shall look fondly for Achilles and shall not find him. In the day of your distress, when your men fall dying by the murderous hand of Hector, you shall not know how to help them, and shall rend your heart with rage for the hour when you offered insult to the bravest of the Achæans.

With this the son of Peleus dashed his gold-bestudded sceptre on the ground and took his seat, while the son of Atreus was beginning fiercely from his place upon the other side. Then uprose smooth-tongued Nestor, the facile speaker of the Pylians, and the words fell from his lips sweeter than honey. Two generations of men born and bred in Pylos had passed away under his rule, and he was now reigning over the third. With all sincerity and goodwill, therefore, he addressed them thus:—

Of a truth, he said, a great sorrow has befallen the Achæan land. Surely Priam with his sons would rejoice, and the Trojans be glad at heart if they could hear this quarrel between you two, who are so excellent in fight and counsel. I am older than either of you; therefore be guided by me. Moreover I have been the familiar friend of men even greater than you are, and they did not disregard my counsels. Never again can I behold such men as Pirithoüs and Dryas shepherd of his people, or as Cæneus, Exadius, godlike Polyphemus, and Theseus son of Ægeus, peer of the immortals. These were the mightiest men ever born upon this earth: mightiest were they, and when they fought the fiercest tribes of mountain savages they utterly overthrew them. I came from distant Pylos, and went about among them, for they would have me come, and I fought as it was in me to do. Not a man now living could withstand them, but they heard my words, and were persuaded by them. So be it also with yourselves, for this is the more excellent way. Therefore, Agamemnon, though you be strong, take not this girl away, for the sons of the Achæans have already given her to Achilles; and you, Achilles, strive not further with the king, for no man who by the grace of Jove wields a sceptre has like honour with Agamemnon. You are strong, and have a goddess for your mother; but Agamemnon is stronger than you, for he has more people under him. Son of Atreus, check your anger, I implore you; end this quarrel with Achilles, who in the day of battle is a tower of strength to the Achæans.

And Agamemnon answered, Sir, all that you have said is true, but this fellow must needs become our lord and master: he must be lord of all, king of all, and captain of all, and this shall hardly be. Granted that the gods have made him a great warrior, have they also given him the right to speak with railing?

Achilles interrupted him. I should be a mean coward, he cried, were I to give in to you in all things. Order other people about, not me, for I shall obey no longer. Furthermore I say—and lay my saying to your heart—I shall fight neither you nor any man about this girl, for those that take were those also that gave. But of all else that is at my ship you shall carry away nothing by force. Try, that others may see; if you do, my spear shall be reddened with your blood.

When they had quarrelled thus angrily, they rose, and broke up the assembly at the ships of the Achæans. The son of Peleus went back to his tents and ships with the son of Menœtius and his company, while Agamemnon drew a vessel into the water and chose a crew of twenty oarsmen. He escorted Chryseis on board and sent moreover a hecatomb for the god. And Ulysses went as captain.

These, then, went on board and sailed their ways over the sea. But the son of Atreus bade the people purify themselves; so they purified themselves and cast their filth into the sea. Then they offered hecatombs of bulls and goats without blemish on the sea-shore, and the smoke with the savour of their sacrifice rose curling up towards heaven.

Thus did they busy themselves throughout the host. But Agamemnon did not forget the threat that he had made Achilles, and called his trusty messengers and squires Talthybius and Eurybates. Go, said he, to the tent of Achilles, son of Peleus; take Briseis by the hand and bring her hither; if he will not give her I shall come with others and take her—which will press him harder.

He charged them straightly further and dismissed them, whereon they went their way sorrowfully by the seaside, till they came to the tents and ships of the Myrmidons. They found Achilles sitting by his tent and his ships, and ill-pleased he was when he beheld them. They stood fearfully and reverently before him, and never a word did they speak, but he knew them and said, Welcome, heralds, messengers of gods and men; draw near; my quarrel is not with you but with Agamemnon who has sent you for the girl Briseis. Therefore, Patroclus, bring her and give her to them, but let them be witnesses by the blessed gods, by mortal men, and by the fierceness of Agamemnon’s anger, that if ever again there be need of me to save the people from ruin, they shall seek and they shall not find. Agamemnon is mad with rage and knows not how to look before and after that the Achæans may fight by their ships in safety.

Patroclus did as his dear comrade had bidden him. He brought Briseis from the tent and gave her over to the heralds, who took her with them to the ships of the Achæans—and the woman was loth to go. Then Achilles went all alone by the side of the hoar sea, weeping and looking out upon the boundless waste of waters. He raised his hands in prayer to his immortal mother, Mother, he cried, you bore me doomed to live but for a little season; surely Jove, who thunders from Olympus, might have made that little glorious. It is not so. Agamemnon, son of Atreus, has done me dishonour, and has robbed me of my prize by force.

As he spoke he wept aloud, and his mother heard him where she was sitting in the depths of the sea hard by the old man her father. Forthwith she rose as it were a grey mist out of the waves, sat down before him as he stood weeping, caressed him with her hand, and said, My son, why are you weeping? What is it that grieves you? Keep it not from me, but tell me, that we may know it together.

Achilles drew a deep sigh and said, "You know it; why tell you what you know well already? We went to Thebe the strong city of Eëtion, sacked it, and brought hither the spoil. The sons of the Achæans shared it duly among themselves, and chose lovely Chryseis as the meed of Agamemnon; but Chryses, priest of Apollo, came to the ships of the Achæans to free his daughter, and brought with him a great ransom: moreover he bore in his hand the sceptre of Apollo, wreathed with a suppliant’s wreath, and he besought the Achæans, but most of all the two sons of Atreus who were their chiefs.

"On this the rest of the Achæans with one voice were for respecting the priest and taking the ransom that he offered; but not so Agamemnon, who spoke fiercely to him and sent him roughly away. So he went back in anger, and Apollo, who loved him dearly, heard his prayer. Then the god sent a deadly dart upon the Argives, and the people died thick on one another, for the arrows went everywhither among the wide host of the Achæans. At last a seer in the fulness of his knowledge declared to us the oracles of Apollo, and I was myself first to say that we should appease him. Whereon the son of Atreus rose in anger, and threatened that which he has since done. The Achæans are now taking the girl in a ship to Chryse, and sending gifts of sacrifice to the god; but the heralds have just taken from my tent the daughter of Briseus, whom the Achæans had awarded to myself.

Help your brave son, therefore, if you are able. Go to Olympus, and if you have ever done him service in word or deed, implore the aid of Jove. Ofttimes in my father’s house have I heard you glory in that you alone of the immortals saved the son of Saturn from ruin, when the others, with Juno, Neptune, and Pallas Minerva would have put him in bonds. It was you, goddess, who delivered him by calling to Olympus the hundred-handed monster whom gods call Briareus, but men Ægæon, for he is stronger even than his father; when therefore he took his seat all-glorious beside the son of Saturn, the other gods were afraid, and did not bind him. Go, then, to him, remind him of all this, clasp his knees, and bid him give succour to the Trojans. Let the Achæans be hemmed in at the sterns of their ships, and perish on the sea-shore, that they may reap what joy they may of their king, and that Agamemnon may rue his blindness in offering insult to the foremost of the Achæans.

Thetis wept and answered, My son, woe is me that I should have borne or suckled you. Would indeed that you had lived your span free from all sorrow at your ships, for it is all too brief; alas, that you should be at once short of life and long of sorrow above your peers: woe, therefore, was the hour in which I bore you; nevertheless I will go to the snowy heights of Olympus, and tell this tale to Jove, if he will hear our prayer: meanwhile stay where you are with your ships, nurse your anger against the Achæans, and hold aloof from fight. For Jove went yesterday to Oceanus, to a feast among the Ethiopians, and the other gods went with him. He will return to Olympus twelve days hence; I will then go to his mansion paved with bronze and will beseech him; nor do I doubt that I shall be able to persuade him.

On this she left him, still furious at the loss of her that had been taken from him. Meanwhile Ulysses reached Chryse with the hecatomb. When they had come inside the harbour they furled the sails and laid them in the ship’s hold; they slackened the forestays, lowered the mast into its place, and rowed the ship to the place where they would have her lie; there they cast out their mooring-stones and made fast the hawsers. They then got out upon the sea-shore and landed the hecatomb for Apollo; Chryseis also left the ship, and Ulysses led her to the altar to deliver her into the hands of her father. Chryses, said he, King Agamemnon has sent me to bring you back your child, and to offer sacrifice to Apollo on behalf of the Danaans, that we may propitiate the god, who has now brought sorrow upon the Argives.

So saying he gave the girl over to her father, who received her gladly, and

Reviews for The Iliad (Translated into prose by Samuel Butler with an Introduction by H. L. Havell)

[drardavis · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Better than the movie! Once you get the rhythm it sucks you in like a time machine. Amazing.

[comfypants · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

A king offends his strongest ally in the middle of a war.Good. It's very repetitive, but its interesting.

[traumleben_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

The Iliad beings in the ninth year of the Trojan war and the Greeks laying siege to Troy's capital. The 24 book story covers about a seven week period that sees the Greeks beaten back to where their ships are laid up, enduring slaughter at Trojan hands because their hero Achilles refuses to fight; he's angry that Agamemnon took the Trojan woman he'd selected as his prize. Not until Achilles' battle buddy Patroclus is killed (in Achilles' armor) by the Trojan hero Hector does Achilles rise to fight. When Hector dies, we have a good sense that Troy won't be long either.Homer's Iliad and the Odyssey are oft referenced as a pair, but it's always the Odyssey that ends up assigned reading in American junior high and middle schools. They're both long (epic!) but I assume teachers pass on the Iliad due to the amount of violence and perhaps fewer "teachable moments." The Iliad is probably one of those 'must reads' in the profession of arms, especially for infantry. I would assign it to any elected official overseeing or directing military activity. The war between Greeks and Trojans isn't just a human affair, rather the gods of Olympus are ever meddling, sometimes influencing and at other times outright spiriting their favorites out of the field of battle to spare their lives. The gods are capricious, given to their own passions, and prone to change their minds, so they frankly bear strong resemblance to politicians if one wants to relate it to real life. It's a reminder that there are always two conflicts going on, one on the battle field and one back in the halls of government; they don't always combine well.I'm unable to vouch for the quality of the translation in terms of remaining true to the Greek, but Robert Fagles deserves much credit for turning it into beautiful, modern English epic poem. The usual complaints against the Iliad are the instances of repetition and a fathomless well of detail when it comes to describing mortal combat with spear, sword, and the occasional rock stoving a skull in. As much as the Iliad glorifies manly virtues in war (like courage, bravery, camaraderie) it also showcases its horrors (the violence, fear, and waste) to the same degree. One comes away with the feeling at the end: why did we bother with all of this? What did we gain? Can we even quantify what we lost, or is it immeasurable? Overall, a long read, but worth the epic journey from page to page, book to book.

[rameau_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Three things about The Iliad. 1. There are quite a few metaphors about lions, who either kill cattle or sheep or are hunted in turn. 3,000 years ago Greece was overrun with lions.2. It's interesting that one of the first long narratives in human has no suspense. The sack of Troy is a foregone conclusion. Even Achilles knows his fate. 3. I read Fagles' translation. I love it, but I think Fitzgerald is slightly better at conveying the strangeness of this world even if that does lead him astray sometimes.

[andrewcottingham · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

The translation is a little dated

[mrslee_1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I decided not to finish reading this. There were parts I was thoroughly caught up in and loving, but then they were followed by sections with the gods interfering and being a nuisance. The human drama and description of battle was terrific, but the gods ruined everything the humans were about to achieve. I don't have the patience to work through it at this time of my life, and so decided I would move on.

[lisamaria_c · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I love The Illiad only a little bit less than The Odyssey, the other epic poem attributed to Homer. Together the two works are considered among the oldest surviving works of Western literature, dating to probably the eighth century BCE, and are certainly among the most influential. The Illiad deals with just a few weeks in the last year of the decade-long Trojan War. As the opening lines state, it deals with how the quarrel between the Greek's great hero Achilles and their leader Agamemnon "caused the Akhaians loss on bitter loss and crowded brave souls into the undergloom."So, essentially, this is a war story. One close to three thousand years old with a mindset very alien to ours. One where unending glory was seen as a great good over personal survival or family. One where all felt that their ends were fated. And one with curiously human, or at least petty, gods. Some see the work as jingoistic, even pro-war, and I suppose it can be read that way, but what struck me was the compassion with which Homer wrote of both sides. We certainly care for the Trojan Hector as much as or more (in my case much more) than for the sulky and explosive Achilles. For the Trojan King Priam as much or more (in my case much more) than King Agamemnon. Homer certainly doesn't obscure the pity, the waste, and the grief war brings. And there are plenty of scenes in the work that I found unforgettable: The humorous scene where Aphrodite is wounded and driven from the field. The moving scene between Hector and his wife and child. The grief Helen feels in losing a friend. The confrontation between Priam and Achilles.This is one work where translations make a huge difference. Keats poem "On Chapman's Homer" is all about how a translation opened his eyes to "realms of gold" in The Illiad he had not appreciated before. I was forced to read Homer in high school (I suspect the Lattimore translation) and hated it as boring and tedious. Maturity might have helped change how I felt on reread--but I had my own "Keats Experience" when I discovered Robert Fitzgerald's translation. I've never read the Fagles translation some reviewers are recommending, but you might want to look up various translations to see which one speaks to you before embarking on a full read.

[madepercy-1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This version was quite the tome and I suffered from RSI just from holding the book. I have embarked upon the Great Books series as set out by Hutchins and Adler at the University of Chicago and this great tale is number 1. This is no small task but it is essential. Time and again I have seen movies about Achilles and the fall of Troy but there is something to be said about the various translations and notes that direct the reader to a long history of debates, arguments, and disagreements over Homer (or whether it was Homers), and then the translations that incorporate the Latin amendments (such as Samuel Butler's), and then how the "folk tradition" has twisted and turned this nation-building epic to suit different times. The movies have it that Hector was simply out-classed, not that he ran three laps around the walls of Troy trying to escape Achilles, not that the gods intervened time and again, even helping to kill other soldiers and so on. I like the introduction's idea of Hector as a complete man, husband, father, prince, warrior; whereas Achilles is the unbalanced warrior, hell-bent on death and glory. I have now started on The Odyssey and I did not know that the Trojan horse was not of the first book, I had suspicions but I did not know that Ulysses was the Latin name, and so on. Even the unpacking of these issues helps with my reading of Plato and Aristotle. I felt I had arrived at a place where reading more of the classic scholars made no sense unless I had at least a working grasp of Homer. But the manly ideal that has been bastardised by Hollywood and others has set me thinking deeply. Honour didn't mean masculine aggression at all costs, or that any man could do anything, or that class could not hold one back and so on. In the translation (rather than bastardisation) of the original, an entirely different view of masculinity emerges. These people were all fallible, all helped or thwarted by fortune, the gods played a major role in the plot (religion is all but excluded from the Brad Pitt version of the story), and Paris, a snivelling coward, is not helped out by Hector. Hector hates him! So much to unlearn from reading one of the oldest "western" texts. I shirk at this title - much like the re-writing of Greek ideas about masculinity, all of a sudden the Eastern Europeans get a guernsey in the Great Race Race because they were so brilliant. But it really does set me at ease to now see the portrayals of the Greek ideal and be able to see it for what it was meant to be. This does not help me to feel more secure in the world, but it does help me to see the world differently, and, maybe, more accurately.

[amelia_smith-1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I listened to the audio version of this and I will have to listen to it again, probably more than once. It's a rambling story, but a great window onto another time and place, and perhaps more importantly, a pre-modern, oral mode of storytelling which I could stand some more of.

[dham340 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

The back cover of lombardo's translation of the Iliad boldly states "this is as good as Homer gets in English". I don't doubt it. The language is clearly more modern than other translations I have sampled and its pace is gripping.

Obviously, the are tons if ink spilled in reviewing the Iliad, so I will not even attempt to add to it in describing Homer's story.

But, I will say it is, at essence a war story and Lombardo has captured it in English incredibly well. The average reader may dread the suggestion of reading Homer as it has a reputation as dense ancient poetry. Not so with Lombardo.

Highly recommended.

[lukerik-1 · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

I read Homer in my teens and finding I didn't much like him, thought it might be down to the translator. Having just read this version (it's Robert Fagles') I think I must conclude that Homer and I are not made for each other. There is some good stuff in here, like the argument over Briseis mirroring the taking Helen and the cause of the war. The poem is essentially about the folly of mankind and everything feeds through to that theme (the incompetent prosecution of the war, war itself, the petty squabbles etc) but it's not enough to justify the mindless battle scenes that dominate most of the book and the loss of the thread of the narrative. I did appreciate it more than last time though as since my first reading I've read the Greek tragedies. There's a brief altercation between Agamemnon and the high priest. If you're reading it cold it means nothing but if you've read a bit of Euripides you know that Agamemnon has murdered his own daughter at the instigation of the priest.As to the translation itself I notice that the English line count is much greater than the Greek. I think Fagles may have expanded the action. It's certainly much easier to understand what is physically happening than it was in the other translation. Unfortunately Fagles is a poor poet. What he's written is not poetry at all but prose with line breaks. The sentence structure is amateurish. Perhaps you think me very old fashioned, expecting the translator of a classic work of poetry to be a good poet, but there you are. The introduction on the other hand is superb.Anyway, I hope you enjoy it more than me. As this book has been preserved so carefully down the centuries my opinion would appear to be in the minority.

[cecrow · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

{Review of E.V. Rieu's prose translation, Penguin Classics} Reading a prose version of The Iliad is like having your learned friend read the poem silently to himself and occasionally pausing to explain to you what's going on. This is a very thorough translation of the action, but you won't grasp why Homer is called a master bard or find his genius. For all the translator's efforts this reads almost like a comic book version minus the pictures. That makes it simple to breeze through and there's no question you'll know the whole story by the end, but you'll not have been swept up by it as you would if you've any ear for poetry. Since I don't, I judge little harm was done in my case. Like the Bible and Shakespeare this tale of men and gods permeates Western culture, but if you've no familiarity with it at all then you might want some context. The Iliad only covers two months of the Greeks' decade-long seige of Troy, and is neither the beginning nor the end of that event. The warriors are larger-than-life, there are powerful interferring gods supporting either side, violent combat is graphically described, and every death gets its eulogy. I always sympathize with the Trojans, which is remarkable in light of the Greek author. A number of the differently spelled names in this edition threw me off. Hera becomes "Here" (leading to many initial misreads of a sentence where I mistook the noun), and Athena is similarly rendered "Athene". Where I expected a Greek named Ajax, here he is "Aias". Prose emphasizes (introduces?) flaws, at least by modern standards: characters bursting into speeches at the most inopportune times, curious repetitions/echoes, lengthy descriptive asides. The battles are mostly an unlikely sequence of staged set pieces that don't transmit the chaos and bewilderment of an actual field of battle. At the conclusion there is a miniature Olympics I wasn't expecting that has some farcical moments. The story is still epic and entertaining no matter how it's told. It's something you'll want familiarity with if you're a student of Western literature, but read a poetic version if you can.

[mickyfine · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Homer's epic poem about the war between the Greeks and Trojans requires no review. However, Stanley Lombardo's translation deserves high praise. Lombardo brings the poem to life. In some places the language is gorgeously poetic and evocative as he describes the sea or a sunrise, and in others it is horrifically blunt describing a spear crashing through someone's skull and grey matter oozing out. While Homer's narrative meanders a bit, Lombardo manages to build in tension from the moment Patroclus puts on Achilles armour to the moment where Hector and Achilles finally battle. Lombardo's work is a great translation that really brings the poem to life for a modern audience.

[collingsruth · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

As much as I love the Greeks in general, the Illiad is never as good a read as the Odyssey mostly because it's 80% horrible violent fighting and despair at a neverending war and then 20% interesting characters, speeches, and god/mortal interaction. I'll admit, I always end up doing a fair bit of skimming. The emotional resonance and epic descriptions are still as strong as the Odyssey, it just doesn't have the same fluid narrative. And then there's the fact that hearing how hundreds of people die in excruciating detail over and over again might be a good lesson against glorifying war, but it's just depressing. Personally, Achilles is just less likable a character. The really enjoyable part of this book is the relations between the gods and the mortals and the question of the inevitability of Fate.

[aliceanna-1 · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

What exactly was the point? War sucks? Yeah, we already knew that. Really depressing, unrelenting testosterone-ridden crap.

[bryndahlquis · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Quite the epic adventure. I love The Iliad, but it sure is long and tedious. All those battle scenes get old. And all that wailing in grief.But despite all the repetition, it really is good. Lots of bickering gods, vengeful heroes, and, well, wailing.

[helenliz_1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

So I don't much like flying. Like really, I do not like flying. And I had to fly to the US for work. In which case the coping mechanism is tranquilisers and a book I have to concentrate on - it serves to distract me. Having read [The Odyssey] earlier in the year, I figured I'd go all classical and try [The Illiad] this time. It's one of those occasions when you know what's going to happen, this is all about how you arrive at the ending. It's quite intense, being set over a limited number of weeks towards the end of the 10 year siege of Troy. Despite the intervention of the gods, the entire thing is very human, with the whole gamut of emotions present, from the great and heroic to the petty. It's all very sad, and there's no sense of resolution at the end of the book, the war continues without seeming to have resolved anything, despite the bloodshed. I found the introductory notes interesting and informative and it was worth wading through them initially.

[andibook-1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

It's the Iliad; it is what you make of it. If you compare it to modern story telling, I think a lot of readers will find it lacking, especially with the constant battle scenes. We're used to getting petty drama in our petty dramas, tragic deaths in our tragedies, gory action in our gory action thrillers. This oral tradition has it all mashed up together.

[maxernst11 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Dit lijkt een vrij saai boek met vooral talloze, bloederige strijdtaferelen en de erbij horende redevoeringen. Een overdaad aan herhalingen dus. Het werk vormt een mooie eenheid en is veel minder complex van structuur dan bijvoorbeeld de Odyssee. Bovendien is de moraal van het verhaal nogal simplistisch: ieder ondergaat zijn lot, maar de grote helden zorgen ervoor dat ze dat met roem en eer doen.Aan de andere kant steken er tal van verfrissende elementen in:1. de po?tische kracht die uitgaat van de taal (de epitheta), en vooral van sommige scenes: afscheid van Hektor en Andromache, het verdriet van Achilles om zijn vriend Patroklos,...2. de open en stoutmoedige confrontatie tussen de meerderen en hun ondergeschikten, vooral in de controverse rond koning Agamemnoon: herhaaldelijk wordt die door verschillende helden voor vuile vis uitgemaakt en verbaal vernederd. 3. Bovenal getuigt het beeld dat van de godenwereld wordt opgehangen in de eerste plaats van een heel dynamisch en modern aandoend mensbeeld: de goden zijn als mensen met humeuren en luimen, met een hi?rarchie die regelmatig opzij wordt gezet maar toch wordt gerespecteerd als het er op aankomt, met een moraal die wel enkele formele regels volgt maar die tegelijk te pas en te onpas links wordt gelaten. Kortom: het archetype van de vrijheid?Nog enkele andere elementen over het wereld- en mensbeeld:1. De dood is onvermijdelijk en door het lot bepaald (zelfs de goden moeten er zich naar schikken), maar toch kan enige vorm van onsterfelijkheid worden nagestreefd door roemrijke daden te stellen. Dat belet niet dat de Onderwereld voor ieder een oord van verschrikkelijke ellende is. 2. Vrouwen zijn volstrekt ondergeschikt en hun waarde wordt zelfs voor een stuk uitgedrukt in runderen, tenzij voor de echtgenotes of moeders van de helden cfr Andromache (Hektor heeft een "hoofse" relatie tot haar). Uitzondering hierop vormen de vrouwelijke goden die als het erop aankomt wel ondergeschikt zijn, maar geen enkele gelegenheid onbenut laten om hun eigen weg te gaan (Hera, Athene, Afrodite). 3. Het standpunt van de verteller is heel objectivistisch: hij kiest globaal geen partij; wel worden in het verhaal sommige figuren in een minder daglicht gesteld (aan Griekse kant vooral de broers Agamemnoon en Menelaos, aan Trojaanse Paris). 4. De typisch griekse lichaamcultuur is hier al aanwezig: bij de persoonsbeschrijvingen worden vooral de fysieke kenmerken onderstreept; heel veel belang wordt gehecht aan het conserveren van het lichaam na de dood (en omgekeerd voor vijanden aan het zo wreed mogelijk verminken).

[viking2917_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

What a great translation.....

[josearcadio_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Homer's Iliad is an epic in all definitions of the word. Fagles does Homer great justice in preserving the iambic hexameter of the verse while capturing the true essence of the great Trojan War. Despite a difference of almost 3000 years, the nature of the human spirit remains intact and prevails as the motivation for all actions of this great epic. Achilles and numerous other characters reveal the constant nature of the human spirit and its ability to triumph and be defeated.

[jpsnow · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I believe I've read all of the major western classical epics. This is the best.

[saraprindiville · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Interestingly enough I was able to get through it easily. I didn't skip at all even though there was mostly a lot of fighting. Who killed whom- how they died. Gods were interesting. (I did actually skip the 2nd chapter about who went to the Trojan War- Gods kept switching sides.

[selfcallednowhere · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Glad I read it, but it was a long haul getting through.

[hlselz · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Read it, love it!

[dayall-1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I read The Iliad Penguin Classic edition. This will contain the whole story, as it is good for me to write it out as revision material for my classics exam - if you want just the review part, skip to the paragraph starting with: "In review..."

The theme of this epic poem is 'the wrath of Achilleus', a great Greek warrior who has his new prize-girl taken from him by military commander, Agamemnon during the siege of Troy. Achilleus is livid with Agamemnon and refuses to fight for the Greek forces, allowing the Trojans to win many battles against them.

However, Achilleus' coup does not last long, as his dearest friend Patroklos is killed in battle by the great Trojan warrior, Hektor, whilst wearing Achilleus' armour to inspire his troops and strike fear into the Trojans. Hektor is a family man, and the favourite son of Priam, King of Troy. He is loved throughout Troy, and poses a serious threat for the Greeks in battle - his only match in a fight is Achilleus.

Achilleus is distraught about Patroklos' death and grieves for him and feels suicidal. After a visit from his mother, a goddess named Thetis, he resolves to make up with Agamemnon and join the fighting once again in order to exact revenge on Hektor.

Hektor and Achilleus eventually meet in one-on-one combat, and Hektor is confident that he will either win the battle and secure the Trojan victory over the Achaian forces, or he will die a glorious death and be remembered for all eternity. What Hektor does not realise is the true extent of the wrath of Achilleus. Achilleus strikes Hektor with a spear with the help (trickery) of the gods, and whilst Hektor is still breathing, informs him that his corpse will be treated without a shred of respect. From there, Achilleus finishes him off and drags him in circles around the walls of Troy three times before bringing him back to the Greek camp and throwing him in the dust. Achilleus wakes every morning to drag Hektor's body around the tomb of his friend Patroklos as the sun is rising - but the gods prevent Hektor's corpse from coming to any harm.

It is worth mentioning that Priam eventually receives word from the gods that he must go to the Greek camp to beg for the body of his son from Achilleus. Priam does so, and manages to win the affection of Achilleus, yet he is still dangerous and warns Priam not to anger him further or he will slay him on the spot. Achilleus hands over Hektor's body, and the book ends with an account of Hektor's funeral.

IN REVIEW, The Iliad was a good book to read when learning to write like a professional writer. Homer uses his traditional formulae and tricks of the trade; remember that this was a recited poem and wasn't put down on paper until centuries after Homer's death - despite this, The Iliad is detailed and descriptive, but is often repetitive, as is the feature of a classic epic poem. In retrospect, if you are looking for an account of the fall of Troy, coupled with an Odyssean adventure, read Virgil's Aeneid which tells the story of Aeneas and the founding of Rome. Otherwise, if you are happy with the stale scenery of war, and don't mind the common features of an epic poem, The Iliad is enjoyable.

I gave this three stars to reflect the fact that I liked it, but preferred The Odyssey and The Aeneid.

[lexmccall · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I read this on the tail of reading The Song of Achilles by Emmy Miller--I wanted to see if I could detect the homoerotic subtext between Achilles and Patroclus myself. The answer to that is definitely Yes, but now I'm curious what other translations are like. This one--by Stanley Lombardo--is pretty jocular, which suits a poem about battle, I guess. So I wonder how other translators handle it.

[benmartin79 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

First off, I first read the complete Iliad in Fagles' translation. It is, let me use the cliche, vibrant. If you've found the Iliad boring in the past, you might try it. Anyway...The Iliad is, in short, brilliant; read it. Just keep an open eye: the is no mere adventure or fantasy story (though arguably it's excellent on that level too), and if you go looking for that, you're likely to miss all the reasons people like it. It is, no doubt, ostensibly a story about war (or at least, one man's part in a war), but as an epic it doesn't fail to address many other themes. In fact it seems on the whole concerned with the general misery of human existence, describing as it does a war fought by persons who would much rather be doing something else, goaded on and manipulated by capricious gods, who are themselves subject ruthlessly and painfully to the force of fate. Modern readers may find the intervention of the gods, and probably fate too, to be odd, but most will probably find the description of war and human conduct in all spheres to be worthy of consideration.Besides its thematic and anthropological depth (and besides the large body of mythology for those into that sort of thing) the Iliad has two other important things to offer: poetry and drama. I can't say anything about the poetry of the original Greek, since my Greek is for now nearly non-existent, but one can't doubt that The Iliad has given many translators a good scaffold on which to build their own solid poetry. Even more significant though, The Iliad manages a dramatic quality that you might expect from a Shakespeare tragedy. It's full of hyperbolic action and dramatic monologues (and saving some of its best lines for them too), it revels in situational irony and pathos.To demonstrate several of these points I leave you unannotated an excerpt from one of my favorite speeches in the Iliad, again in Fagles' translation (slight spoiler alert, as it were):"'Come, Friend, you too must die. Why moan about it so?Even Patroclus died, a far, far better man than you.And look, you see how handsome and powerful I am?The son of a great man, the mother who gave me life--A deathless goddess. But even for me, I tell you,Death and the strong force of fate are waiting. '"

[silbchilin · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Homer is the tradition of epic storytelling and reading it in Spanish is enjoying it on a whole new level.

[erlangerfactionless · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

A cornerstone of Western literature that remains hugely influential. Read it for that reason, and because the poetry is still enjoyable enough to be read aloud with panache. The story itself is mostly a catalog of slaughter with very little human drama, although the interaction between the gods and the human characters is fascinating and tragic.