But Nolan’s “real” world omits some of the humor and the whimsy and the poignancy and the strangeness of the poem, those things that distinguish it from the war-whirl of the Iliad, and in doing so omits some of the epic’s most vivid scenes.
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Many of the details I missed—the conversations between Athena and her father Zeus, the “Nobody” joke, the olive-tree bed, the way Athena scolds the princess Nausicaa for her slovenliness so the girl will go to a stream and discover Odysseus, the sarcasm of Eumaeus, the dream of Penelope, the omens of birds, Menelaus’ attempts to capture the ever-changing Old Man of the Sea Proteus, the tender way a servant helps the blind poet Demodocus reach for his lyre, the part of Tiresias’ prophecy about the people who live so far inland they’ll mistake an oar for a winnowing shovel, the twitching legs of the 12 slave girls hung from the rafters for disloyalty—all this may not amount to very much. But all this is poetry.