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Spoiler alert: The Iliad, The Odyssey, and The Lord of the Rings.
When I made my spreadsheet and put all my books in historical order, I was surprised to see that the oldest texts I own are simply The Iliad and The Odyssey. These are prose versions, translated by seminal author Samuel Butler in 1899, and have probably been superseded by the W.H.D. Rouse translations. Still, they are what I have, and I’m no scholar of Homer, so I feel as though I got the full effect. Really, I couldn’t have asked for a better read to start off this essay series. I read them both back-to-back, and I decided to incorporate them both into this essay, for reasons that I think will become quite clear.
To make a wild change of frame, I am also a very big fan of The Lord of the Rings, having grown up with the Peter Jackson films and reading The Hobbit when I was quite a little lad. Something I am decently ashamed of, however, is that it took me until I was 21 to actually read Tolkien’s original trilogy all the way through. In any case, my university studies, often incorporating older literature, have slowly but surely made me realize that Tolkien was… a little uncreative. Excepting where languages are considered—Elvish is of course a fully-functional conlang—and the very ancient, original mythology of Arda, very, very few things did Jonathan Ronald Reuel Tolkien create himself, spawning unfiltered from his mind without any assistance.
Most of the names you know and love in Lord of the Rings are based off of (or directly taken from) characters in Norse mythology, or another old German tale called the Nibelungenlied. Even the concept of a ring which turns its wearer invisible was not his own—legendary King Gygas of Lydia owned one, told about by Herodotos[1] all the way back in the same place and era when Homer (debatably) wrote The Iliad and the Odyssey. And Tolkien didn’t stop at plot devices or jewelry. The more I read The Iliad and The Odyssey, the more I realized that the Lord of the Rings’ storyline almost directly mirrors the story of the Trojan War, and particularly these two books.
I guarantee that this idea I have is not new. It has probably been explored many times before by scholars with actual credentials to their name. But I don’t want to just point out similarities. Here, I want to bring up story beats that I think could have been written differently. Changes that would have made Homer’s story better. I want to fix The Odyssey.
A quick proof that the two stories are the same narrative (even deeper than Campbell’s Hero’s Journey is concerned): Both stories involve the heroes traveling a great distance East to engage in a battle over something that is particularly vexing—either the One Ring, or Helen of Troy. Both involve a massive battle just before the gates of the final destination of the sieging heroes—either the battle before the Carach Angren of Mordor, or the entirety of The Iliad, being a battle before the gates of Ilium in Troy. In both stories, a particularly influential hero dies just before final victory is achieved—either King Théoden of Rohan or the Achaean hero Patroclus. Only the story of the venture back from the hero’s victory seems to be different, but only because they are reversed—in Lord of the Rings, the greatest strife and anguish happens on the way to Mordor; in the story of the Trojan war, the danger, fear and doubt happens to Odysseus only on the way back.
Perhaps the most crucial similarity between the two stories though is that, in both The Lord of the Rings and The Odyssey, the heroes return to their homes after their ordeals, only to find that outsiders have taken over their lands, and will not easily give up their stolen spoils. Odysseus must kill the suitors attempting to woo his wife Penelope, and the hobbits find that the Shire is overrun with enemies and must be won back. If you’re confused about that last part, that’s because it happens in the Lord of the Rings books, not the movies. The fact it doesn’t happen in the films is important to notice.
In my opinion, the way these final portions of the respective stories are set up is bad. The fact that the heroes return to corrupted homes doesn’t add much, and it makes for a worse tale. Why I think this is rather simple: it both delays the climax of the story, and makes it much less powerful.
It’s very common for authors to incorporate multiple narrative climaxes, even within a single novel; check out The Pillars of the Earth to see what I mean. And while what I am about to say is really a matter of taste, it’s my opinion that, for an effective story, each climax must be bigger, more stressful, carry more weight and have further-reaching consequences than the one before, until the ultimate coup de grâce climax near the very end. The last one should have the most disastrous consequences; it should involve the most lives, or if it surrounds one person, it should determine the fate of their life, or freedom of their soul or mind, or something permanently scarring on the whole. The problem with both these stories is that the final climax of both—the final climax chronologically—is neither the biggest, nor the most powerful of the tale. The stakes are disappointingly low.
Instead of the climax of The Odyssey being, “Odysseus finally touches the shore of his homeland after 20 years of war and wandering,” it becomes, “will he get repaid for all his food being eaten in the kitchen while he was out?” For Frodo, it sits primarily as, “The entire fate of the world rests on whether or not he will drop the Ring into the fire,” and later ends up being, “Will they use their newfound, infalliable confidence and combat skills to fight a bunch of bullies?” Both of these secondary, later climaxes are powerful and important to the story as it stands, but the stakes are necessarily lowered because it affects many less lives. Really, each one feels like a chore; it’s as if the heroes are just doing routine clean-up, and for the reader, they end up being ridiculously tedious to read through. That effect comes out in real-world consequences. There’s a reason most people know The Odyssey as the story of Odysseus facing trials on his way home, not as the story of him killing is wife’s suitors, despite the fact that the story of his journey home takes up less than a third of the book. Similarly, the same reason is why The Lord of the Rings is not known for its longest chapter (seriously), “The Scouring of the Shire.” The reason is, those parts are just unavoidably long and boring, and come right off the heels of the most important, exciting parts of their respective stories.
So, in order to maintain the suspenseful nature and keep the memorable parts of these stories in the forefront, it seems that each story must be reshaped to end with a major, civilization-shattering climax. And the way to do that is to remove the need for the main character to “clean up” their homes, which feels like clinically, tediously, tying up loose ends. How to do that?
The good news is, it’s already been done. Peter Jackson figured it out in the early 2000’s.
Quick recap of the Lord of the Rings story: The reason (in the books) why the Shire needed scouring is because Gandalf and others decided to leave Saruman alive, after the siege of Isengard. That way, he was able to escape Orthanc and travel to the Shire under the guise of an old man, going by the moniker Sharkey. He lost all his powers except his ability as an orator. (All this is a strange, twisted parallel to Odysseus’s disguise of an old man who tells beautiful stories, but that’s beside the point.) He used his speech to become a leader there and brought orcs into the land to subjugate and control the Hobbits, because it was the last land he could possibly find a way to exert control over.
Now, you might notice that, in the extended editions of The Lord of the Rings films, Saruman is killed by Grima Wormtongue and a nasty fall. This one event is all that is needed to completely negate the entirety of the Shire Scouring subplot. This is why it doesn’t happen in the movies. With Saruman out of the picture for very legitimate reasons, the terror at Mount Doom remains the final climactic event, and the rest of the major story is affected in absolutely no other way, aside from the admittedly intriguing subplot about Old Toby. Here, Saruman never becomes Sharkey, and the story can be left with the immaculate climax of the fall of Barad-Dur, and the beauty of all Middle-Earth being saved with the dramatic erasure of the Ring.
So, how can the Peter-Jackson-Fix be incorporated into the story of the Trojan war? Well, first I must say for myself, this is and has been the whole time a pure opinion piece. Far be it from me to suggest a major change to the narrative of one of the oldest and most famous works out there, or of the Lord of the Rings, for that matter. Both of these tales are stories that are well-worth a reading in their own right. Just allow me to pontificate a little, if you please.
The answer to the question I find rather simple: Make Penelope independent.
Throughout the story of The Odyssey, Penelope’s character is constantly talked over, made to fall asleep, called ugly, and is the recipient of repeated attempts to woo her—and this goes on and on in her life for twenty years. Imagine the trauma. Not only that, but it’s clear contemporary audiences basically expected the invasion of the suitors. It was assumed that a woman could not exist as a full member of society, much less an owner of property, without a man present. To the audience of the day, it would only be natural for Odysseus to return to the sight of 118 dudes, all in his yard, eating his food, taking bets, tying to seduce the woman who loves him. I mean, he’s been presumed dead for ten years, so how could she even live without a husband anymore?
Note my sarcasm. My proposed fix of the story calls for the reader to imagine a woman who does not need to be married in order to own a home and defend her property. Thankfully, in our time, I presume that’s rather an easy envisioning. If this were the case, Penelope could have a much different story arc. She could turn the suitors away, pushing them off her land before they ever made the move to camp in her yard… for an entire decade….
Whether or not the suitors would respect her demands would of course be in debate. Really, the entire way this new aspect of the story would play out could be the matter of a great discussion, one that I picture could be the center of some great feminist articles. Could she become a stunning orator, convincing them to leave with words like a Sophist? Perhaps she could become a warrior queen, and commit the massacre of the suitors years before Odysseus even returns. How she removes them it is not the point I’m making here, but it’s wonderful fun to explore the possibilities.
If Penelope is rewritten to be independent, and steadfastly rules her own home and son without a partner around, then it would make the dramatic return of Odysseus the final climax of the story, not a weirdly drawn out lying game and plan of massacre. It would allow for another consequence I find enticing: more focus and space could be dedicated to Odysseus’s travels, giving that tale the stage I always believed it had. What I mean by that is, did you know that the scene with the lotus eaters takes up less than a page of this book? That sure surprised me.
Now to conclude, I bet some of you who made it this far may have a question to ask: What happens to Telemachus in this reimagined story? Shouldn’t Odysseus’s son have a different role as well if his mother suddenly becomes a ton more badass? My answer is, no. Not much needs to change with Telemachus. He could still be sent out to look for Odysseus, and if the main goal is for him to grow to become a manly man like his dad but without his dad present, then (well first, he’s lived his first twenty years without a father so… moot point I’d say) perhaps the story could actually make something happen to him while he’s out on his own adventure. He still would have plenty of room to grow—perhaps even more—and Odysseus might actually be proud of his son when they’re tearfully reunited.
Well, thanks for reading. I hope I didn’t offend everyone with my suggestions, and of course I’m not genuinely asking for this to happen—just spitting an opinion here. Read all these books, if you haven’t. They’re all well worth your time, in their current state. Tolkien may be a master of appropriating old material for his story, but damn if he and Homer both aren’t fantastic poets and incredible artists.
That's all. My next essay will be on one or many of Plato's dialogues. See you then!
[1] Smith, Kirby Flower. "The Tale of Gyges and the King of Lydia." The American Journal of Philology 23, no. 4 (1902): 361-87. Accessed July 19, 2020. doi:10.2307/288700.