I put "NOT the first woman to publish a translation of the Odyssey" on my twitter-bio, after seeing it asserted for the gazillionth time. Here is why.
It's factually not true. Many women have published translations of the Odyssey (and Iliad) into modern languages: French, Italian, Turkish, Greek, Dutch, etc.. Anne Dacier did it into French prose 400 years ago.
This is a symptom of English-speakers' blindness to, and lack of interest in, anything that isn't in English: as if it doesn't exist unless it's English. Ugh.
The English-speaking media focus on the "FIRST WOMAN!" headline was good in that it drew much-needed attention to the fact that classicists, poets, translators & historians aren't all elderly men, & that all interpretative work is informed, not determined, by social identities.
Insofar as the headline encouraged more non-male people to be excited about engaging with pre-modern cultures, & with translation, language, poetry, myth & history, & invited more thought about translation, gender & ethically/socially complex literary texts, I'm all for it.
But... I don't want to be Smurfette. I don't want to be made to represent THE WOMAN'S PERSPECTIVE, as if there were only one woman in the universe, or even among classicists, or even among Homerists. I don't want to erase other women's work.
Let's not be simplistic about the relationship of gender either to social attitudes or scholarly and literary choices. I chose to use very regular iambic pentameter. Surprise: that was not predetermined by my use of she/her pronouns.
It's a big problem that only women writers/ translators/ scholars are imagined to have a gender. Nobody ever asked any male translators of Homer about their supposed interest in MALE characters, or told them it must have been a great challenge for a MAN to translate an epic...
The real story is that the world of English translations of GR classics is so extraordinarily male dominated -- despite the facts that other languages aren't that way, & there are plenty of female English-speaking classicists. That's the story I want told & addressed.
I have many thoughts about how to explain and maybe solve that puzzle, which I am trying to articulate in longer-than-tweet form.
A big element in my discomfort is that the narrative of "woman breaks into boy's club" risks erasing my privilege. I'm a white person, in a field that is extremely white. I'm a tenured professor at an Ivy League. I want to acknowledge and be conscious of my privilege.
I'm sorry, this should have said, "English-speakers' tendency to ignore anything that isn't in English". I shouldn't have used the ableist language.
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One of the most beautiful of many sublime similes in the Iliad is the moment at the end of book 8 when the Trojans, awaiting a great victory in battle the following day, light watch-fires all over the plain --
and it's like the bright moon surrounded by stars... As with other great similes, there are multiple points of comparison: the fires are bright and numerous, like stars; the Trojans are happy, like the shepherd; and this is a time of revelation, for good and ill.
The Greek has beautiful alliteration (φαεινὴν...φαίνετ᾽...ἔφανεν), underscoring the theme of revelation and brightness, and there's something wonderfully startling about the appearance of the watcher, the shepherd, as the last word: our gaze flips around at the end.
I wrote about approaches to translating the Iliad in English, with a few different versions of the heartbreaking last meeting of Hector and Andromache.
I was so grateful to have the opportunity to do this piece, to invite engagement with the Iliad and with issues of translation. I will add a few more thoughts and a few more examples of translations of this same passage here (some now, more to come once I am not traveling).
One more point on the original passage. Andromache takes/welcomes her baby to her κόλπος -- a word for the upper drape or fold of a woman's dress, or the welcoming fold of a bay, or a fold in a woman's body (cleavage, lap, or later, vagina). So what does it mean here?
What I enjoy most about the reception of the beginning of my Odyssey translation is how often it's misquoted. People don't realize it's iambic pentameter, if they don't read past the first line or two. So they misquote it so it doesn't scan.
I love that because the effect is Odyssean.
How to do an Odysseus: Go in disguise, be an old man, a beggar, a fool, go in darkness, hide under or inside an animal. Let them underestimate you. Let them mock. Trust the goddess. Wait. When they're at your mercy, show your heroic self, and slay.
A classic translator's dilemma, which presumably applies for any language pair: what to do about the fact that languages individuate the world differently. One language makes a distinction where another makes none.
One area where this often happens is family relationships. Many languages distinguish between different types of cousin (father's side/ mother's side) or different types of in-law (a sister's husband, versus a wife's brother). Others, like English, don't.
Often, these distinctions matter, in the context of the original culture or text -- but there is no way to convey both register or degree of marked-ness ("this is the normal term") as well as referent ("husband's brother's wife" is generally not idiomatic English).
A long geeky aporetic thread about a current translation dilemma that I have not solved, though I am having a lot of fun spending many hours obsessing about it. Sharing to give a sense of the kind of problems all literary translators experience.
In the Iliad, an eagle flies past the Trojans, dropping the snake he carried -- & so gets home empty-beaked and wounded. Polydamas says, plausibly, this sign means the Trojans should pull back from attacking the Greek wall: casualties will be too high, and gains few.
Hector, who believes (for good reason -- gods are sneaky) that he has been promised success by Zeus, rejects this advice, accuses Polydamas of cowardice, and declares a better kind of guide than regular bird-interpretation...And here we get our lovely justly famous line: