Gilgamesh--our first attempt at the novel, carved in cuneiform into clay tablets as a first draft, and then workshopped for a thousand years--nails everything we'll come to treasure centuries later when we look back at heroic epics, tragedies, and even more recent absurdist existential tomes. The core of what humans could do with complex storytelling, was there right from the start. Thank you 'easy life' in the Fertile Crescent.
Gilgamesh is the king of Uruk. He's raised incredible walls, and continued his father's work, pushing civilization forward, advancing agriculture, saying goodbye to the wilderness and the hunter-gatherer life. Every day there are festivals in his Uruk. Every day is a party. But King Gilgamesh is bored. He is a great young man--son of a goddess, no less, albeit still mortal--no one can challenge him in battle, yet he spends his free time antagonizing his subjects, fighting men who cannot defend themselves and stealing their brand new brides on their wedding nights to deflower them. The Gods see how much pain Gilgamesh is causing his own people and they ask Gilgamesh's goddess mother to intervene on behalf of the people of Uruk. She builds a 'primitive man' named Enkidu and casts into the wilderness where he is given time to develop a powerful spirit. He is a man covered with long hair who runs with the wild beasts. He drinks at the watering hole with gazelles. He fights and kills lions with his bare hands. He masters what has been lost in the lives of the 'city folk' of the Uruk. One day a hunter comes and traps Enkidu. A 'harlot' named Shamhat ventures into the wilderness and has sex with Enkidu for seven days, and then convinces him to come with her to the city. There in Uruk, Enkidu is taught to relish the taste of bread and ale and he becomes a 'modern man'. When he sees Gilgamesh attempting to steal away a bride on her wedding night, Enkidu, the only equal of Gilgamesh on earth, picks a fight. A great battle ensues, just like Roddy Piper and Keith David in John Carpenter's They Live. Walls shake as they DDT, and throw devastating haymakers. What results is what always happens when two badasses of equal merit engage in a knock down drag out fist fight, they become best buddies. The first best buddies in literature.
What can two new best friends do in a boring town that they're too macho for? Nothing really. They go on a series of perilous quests, first fighting a troll in a forest of cedar and then, when Ishtar tries to seduce Gilagamesh but is denied, they battle her Bull of Heaven (the constellation Taurus) and defeat it. There is a punishment for all of this questing though. The gods decree that Enkidu must die. He would have loved to have died in battle (as all heroes in the epics will wish to--becoming part of the songs) but instead he dies sick in bed, after the fighting is long over. Lamenting his fate in the epic, I came to an incredible break in the text that read:
"The description of Enkidu's final death throes, which no doubt filled the remaining thirty or so lines of Tablet VII, is still to be recovered"
How about that--you cry tears to your friend because you didn't get to do the honorable thing and die in battle and then your death itself happens to be on a clay tablet that is broken and lost to time as well? Does anything say more about the plight of being a mortal, everyman, than that? Possibly. At the end of Enkidu's funeral itself there is this message from the translator again:
"The rest of the description of Enkidu's funeral, which would have occupied the remaining thirty or so lines, is yet to come to light"
... After six days of mourning, Gilgamesh sees a maggot crawl out his friend's nose and he realizes he too will one day die. Then of course we have further wanderings by Gilgamesh in an attempt to complete impossible tasks alone in an attempt to learn the secrets of immortality from a man who is basically, Noah surviving the Flood (Deluge) but Gilgamesh fails these tests and eventually returns to his people, a humbler, older, wiser man, no longer so bored with life because he has actually lived it. No longer causing pain to his people. His immortality denied, he is literatures first loser, in a string of losers who will teach us what it means to be alive and to wait to die and to make the most of the limited time we have here.
Did Homer know this story? Did the Hebrews who wrote the books that became the Old Testament know this story? My answer is: The call is coming from inside the house and the house is the modern man who left the wilderness and first brewed some beer and then needed couldn't stop their tongue from wagging out a story that would thrill, that would perplex, that would break your heart forever.