Shortened version of the review I wrote for class (includes spoilers).
In Patrick Dillon’s 2016 novel Ithaca, what begins as a poorly constructed retelling of The Odyssey transforms into an astute, modern exploration of masculinity, expectations, and identity—a thematic focus which deglamorizes the ancient past, humanizing the trauma of Odysseus, Telemachus, and all of the ancient Trojan warriors.
Dillon positions his novel as a retelling of The Odyssey through the perspective of Telemachus, Odysseus’ son who in this novel has been aged down to 16 years old. For readers of The Odyssey, the decision to narrate Telemachus’ journey into adulthood using the YA genre both makes sense and, also, doesn’t. Even in the ancient epic, Telemachus’ narrative closely follows the popular conventions of the YA genre today. Telemachus begins the epic at home in Ithaca, a lost twenty-year-old living in a dangerous house filled with suitors out to kill him. When he leaves Ithaca for Pylos and Sparta at the behest of Athena, beginning the journey to find his father, Telemachus simultaneously begins the journey into adulthood, a journey that the disappearance of his father prevented him from starting while at home. The Odyssey’s first four books track Telemachus’ journey as he grapples with his identity as the child of a lost hero and struggles to make sense of the past.
This structure—a child with an uncertain identity leaves home in order to discover who he is—almost perfectly follows the conventions recognizable from contemporary YA coming-of-age novels, such as Harry Potter and Percy Jackson. Dillon uses these conventions to both good and bad effect throughout his novel, with his choice of perspective being one of the novel’s main drawbacks. Whereas The Odyssey uses a third-person storyteller and would have been told through a rhapsode, Dillon’s Ithaca mostly relates Telemachus’ journey through his own first-person perspective. And through this decision to mostly use first person arises the novel’s two main struggles.
First, the novel’s format and pacing suffer from attempting to tell The Odyssey—by name, Odysseus’ story—through Telamachus’ perspective. Intending to rewrite Odysseus’ story through another character’s perspective generates an inevitable contradiction that, through his novel, Dillon is unable to resolve. The story cannot be both a faithful retelling of The Odyssey and the epic through Telemachus’ perspective; both goals are inconsistent with each other and cannot be seamlessly intertwined (I want to specify here that not all retellings intend to be faithful adaptations of the original. However, Dillon’s work does appear to have that intention, as evidenced by his inclusion of Part 2, which I discuss further below). Telemachus was not present in every scene of The Odyssey. Most of the epic follows Odysseus’ return home—his nostos—which Telemachus could not have witnessed, as he was either traveling himself or already in Ithaca. In attempting to both write the story from Telemachus’ point of view and also adequately recount the epic for new readers, Dillon decides to include an entire segment of the novel from Odysseus’ perspective.
As a principal means of resolving the contradiction, the choice is effective. Part 2 of the novel uses a third-person narrator to describe Odysseus’ meeting with the Phaeacians, including Alcinous’, Arete’s, and Nausicaa’s introspective views of Odysseus as he tells his story. For young adult readers unfamiliar with The Odyssey, this decision gives them an insight into the background of Odysseus as a character and the chronology that the epic itself follows.
For readers already familiar with The Odyssey, however, the decision to spend one third of the story outside of Telemachus’ mind, instead rewriting the original epic with no variation but rather as a straightforward, faithful summary in simple prose, is both boring and counterintuitive to this novel’s apparent goals. If this story were to be told from Telemachus’ perspective, as was intended, then there should be no inclusion of Odysseus’ adventures until Odysseus physically has a conversation with Telemachus in which he can recount these events. While the inclusion of Part 2 makes sense when considering the necessity of informing younger readers, it makes no narrative sense in a story told from the first-person perspective of a different character. Instead, it feels like a last-minute interjection or suggestion by the editor; someone must have told Dillon that Telemachus’ story by itself wasn’t long enough, so exactly rewriting the events of The Odyssey would be a good way to add seventy pages.
While writing an epic from the perspective of a side character absent from most of the books is already hard enough, Dillon focuses on Telemachus as the central character, and this choice of character is the second struggle of this novel’s perspective. Writing a novel through Telemachus’ perspective requires humanizing Telemachus, transforming him into a character who is both likable and arouses pity—characteristics inconsistent with the Telemachus Homer presents.
In The Odyssey, Telemachus is simply unlikable. While his position is certainly pitiful—he’s a young man living as a child, unable to fight in a world which prizes heroism and valor above all else—his actions, especially towards the epic’s female characters, quickly negate any growing sentiment towards him. As Emily Wilson writes in the introduction to her translation of The Odyssey, “Unable to stand up to the suitors by himself, Telemachus instead practices masculine self-assertion by putting down his mother” (Wilson 50). Wielding the only power in his arsenal, that over the people who in his time are seen as naturally inferior to him, Telemachus constantly scolds and belittles one of the only family members he has.
For space, the segment of my review speaking about Teleamachus’ interactions with the female characters has been cut. The main idea: The only flaws in Dillon’s Telemachus are his insecurities, his uncertain identity, and his fear; he doesn’t share his epic counterpart’s arrogance, sexism, or thirst for power. While the character is thus more likable, he is also unrecognizable as Telemachus from The Odyssey, and is prevented from learning and growing from his flaws.
Sympathetically portrayed, Telemachus now is both faultless and a victim. Dillon transforms his weaknesses into strengths and represents any failings as the fault of Odysseus’ disappearance, not Telemachus’ own arrogance. Telemachus’ strengths don’t reflect that of a masculine, heroic fighter; rather, Dillon’s Telemachus has been impacted by his fraught home life, a change Dillon makes that foreshadows his focus on psychological trauma that he emphasizes throughout his novel, but which differs vastly from the epic’s tradition’s glorification of war through storytelling and legacy. Despite allowing Telemachus to act as a YA protagonist and serving his thematic ends, these changes to the character make Telemachus an uninteresting blueprint for a coming-of-age story—a blank, uninspired avatar on which any name can be placed—not the nuanced, incredibly flawed mythical character known by the name of Telemachus.
By humanizing Telemachus and considering how the suitors’ behaviors would have impacted his personality, Dillon changes most of the character’s most notable qualities. However, both versions of Telemachus claim to be uncertain that Odysseus is their father, proving the impact of Odysseus’ disappearance on the motivations and personality of each iteration. Telemachus is unable to reconcile his view of himself with the image of his father illustrated through the stories: a brave fighter, the man responsible for the fall of Troy.
In Dillon’s novel, this form of uncertainty serves two purposes, both with thematic implications. First, Telamachus’ doubt shows the psychological consequences of forcing young boys to live up to an idealized masculine ideal. Secondly, the image of Odysseus as a fighter—in contrast with the trauma Dillon suggests Odysseus really feels—proves the harm in idealizing, romanticizing, and glamorizing warriors. Spotlighting these consequences, Dillon critiques the idealization of masculinity that permeates through ancient Greek culture, a norm that promotes violence and brutality while ignoring the true psychological trauma that glorifying war encourages men to hide.
In order to amplify this thematic distinction and justify the changes made to Telemachus’ character, Dillon drastically rewrites two major events from the end of The Odyssey. First, Dillon reframes the infamous battle with the suitors as the culminating point in Telemachus’ quest for revenge, not Odysseus’; and in granting Telemachus both physical and narrative agency, Dillon weakens Odysseus during the battle scene. Second, Dillon completes Telemachus’ coming-of-age narrative by having him leave both his father and Ithaca behind, allowing Telemachus to become a man not through the cyclic violence his father enforces, but rather on his own terms. The changes in both scenes narratively center Telemachus rather than Odysseus, fitting the ancient epic into the genre conventions of YA while simultaneously critiquing the ancient social structure that prizes a brutal, violent form of masculine glory.
In The Odyssey, Homer presents Odysseus’ slaughter of the suitors as the justifiable and necessary climax to Odysseus’ heroic saga; in Ithaca, Dillon weakens Odysseus in order for the scene to center his main character: Telemachus. Unlike The Odyssey, where Odysseus heroically takes charge, acting as “brilliant, resourceful leader” who “one by one picked the suitors off” (Wilson 22.115,117), Odysseus in Ithaca cowers in fear, “whimpering on the ground” (Dillon 249). Telemachus narrates his father’s moment of weakness: “Heart stopped, I watch Odysseus slide down the wall, hands pathetically trying to cover his face. From behind them he shoots me a desperate, pleading look” (248). The epic’s Odysseus rarely notices his fellow fighters for his single-minded ferocity, but in Dillon’s version, Odysseus relies on Telemachus to save him, physically and narratively hiding behind him, positioning Telemachus as the central character in the conflict, not Odysseus.
In order for the battle with the suitors to carry thematic weight with Telemachus as the main character, he needs to have motivations for fighting besides those of supporting his father, as is the case in The Odyssey. Dillon provides these motivations by representing the battle with the suitors not as justice for Odysseus, the lost man reclaiming his home, but rather as justice for Telemachus, the son humiliated and scorned by the men who took over his house, power, and childhood. Dillon establishes Telemachus’ anger towards the suitors early in the novel, including moments where Telemachus suggests he faced both abuse and humiliation at their hands. Instead of fighting the suitors on his father’s behalf, therefore, Telemachus fights them on his own, reclaiming the strength he’d lost since the suitors arrived three years ago.
However, Dillon’s reframing of the battle scene is incongruous with his goals of retelling The Odyssey, as including Part 2 suggests he intends. Odysseus certainly was not weak when battling the suitors, and Telemachus played no central role besides providing his father, Eumeas, and Laertes weapons during the fight. If attempting to faithfully translate The Odyssey to the YA genre, then Dillon succeeded at only one of those goals: transferring the epic story to the conventions of a YA novel, not remaining faithful to the original. Telemachus is the main character, Telemachus culminates his redemptive arc in the story’s climax, and Telemachus begins his journey to become a man. However, in The Odyssey, Homer never allows Telemachus to begin his journey to adulthood. In order for this story to truly be adapted to the new genre, Telemachus does need to begin taking the path to adulthood. Recognizing this vast difference between both versions of Telemachus, Dillon rewrites the ending of the epic to allow for Telemachus’ independence, growth, and journey to manhood—a journey the epic genre conventions and cyclic pattern of male violence prevent from happening in the original.
As Emily Wilson notes, “Readers [of The Odyssey] may disagree about the extent to which Telemachus ever fully grows up in The Odyssey—as well as about whether growing up to manhood, as this boy imagines it, would really be a good thing” (53). It is Dillon’s response to this central disagreement that makes his YA novel so successful, despite its structural inconsistencies. Noting how Odysseus’ return to Ithaca in The Odyssey prevents Telemachus from ever becoming a man, Dillon resolves to change that ending completely, fulfilling both the genre requirements of a YA coming-of-age novel and highlighting the societal issues the epic’s ending reinforces.
Rather than stay in Ithaca, a home steeped in blood, violence, and the emergence of a new man in power, Telemachus decides to leave, rejecting the path his father—and society—wants him to follow.
After witnessing the violence of his father’s return, Telemachus sees the path that men repeatedly follow—a path filled with brutality, battle, violence, and death, all which inexorably repeat when son follows son follows son. Telemachus’ decision to leave Ithaca rather than continue the cycle enforced by manhood shows that both Telemachus’ and Dillon’s answer to Wilson’s question is no—growing up to manhood, maintaining a cycle of perpetual violence in the pursuit of glory and legacy, is not worth it. As Telemachus himself says, “I don’t need a Troy of my own” (248).
Pointedly and powerfully, Dillon emphasizes Odysseus’ reaction to Telemachus’ decision to leave Ithaca. As the man renowned for the glory he earned at Troy, Odysseus is unable to imagine pursuing a life without glory and honor constantly on the horizon. Trying to pull back Telemachus’ boat as he sails away, Odysseus tells him, “We’re men…We fight. No one can change that. There’s no easy home for you to find. Why do you think it took me so long to come home? Because storms blow you off course and journeys never end. Men are born wanderers. There’s always another island for you to find” (263). Whereas Teleamachus sees a life on the seas, discovering new islands and founding a colony, as a life with purpose, Odysseus compares Telemachus’ ideal life to that of the Phaeacians. “The man who brought me home tried to live the way you want,” Odysseus said. “A dull man with a dried-up wife and a foolish daughter. Is that what you want? (262-3). Through Odysseus’ scorn for the Phaeacians and their comparison with Telemachus, Dillon highlights the perceived dichotomy of ancient Greek masculinity.
Are the choices for men, as Odysseus suggests, either to perpetuate the cycle of glory, trauma, and violence as one option, or to live a life of dull, meaningless frivolity, alone and unknown on a faraway island, as the other? Dillon critiques this dichotomous structure, conveying its dangers by presenting the consequences of suggesting that war or glory is the only acceptable future for young men. Telemachus spends much of the novel with Polycaste, journeying from Pylos to Sparta. On these journeys, both characters see men with amputated limbs, desolate towns with men psychologically damaged from war, and women mourning their lost family members. In rewriting The Odyssey, Dillon emphasizes both the psychological and physical trauma war creates, showing how the requirement for glory damages both the individuals and communities who seek it. By emphasizing the cost of war for the men who fight and the families who remain behind, Dillon shows how Odysseus’ definition of manhood, rather than creating a legacy for his family and glory for his name, in reality perpetuates a cycle of trauma, violence, and unrealistic expectations.
In making Telemachus this modern exemplar, Dillon shows how The Odyssey is still relevant to modern readers—and he justifies the changes to Telemachus’ character. Dillon’s Telemachus is vastly different from the epic version, and while I find these differences hard to ignore, Dillon’s thematic emphasis validates his choice to nullify Telemachus’ more irredeemable qualities. Dillon’s Telemachus aptly serves his change in genre and time-period.
As the YA genre expects, Telemachus grows up to manhood by taking a journey, meeting a girl, falling in love, and discovering that he is not his parents or their expectations for him. The Odyssey acts as the background which supplies the characters for this modern tale, each of which fit into the roles designated for them by the change in genre conventions. Telemachus becomes the insecure protagonist struggling to find his identity, Pisistratus is replaced in favor of a woman that Telemachus can fall in love with (standardizing heteronormativity), the suitors represent Telemachus' bullies, Odysseus becomes the overbearing parental figure, and Penelope (sadly and poorly-done) is reduced to a pile of nothing, an accessory that Telemachus needs to protect and save. Exchanging each archetype with a recognizable name from the epic tale, Dillon both modernizes the ancient epic for modern audiences and critiques—or speaks back—to the norm of masculinity promoted through the original work.
Despite its shortcomings as a faithful retelling, Ithaca shows how relevant the Greek epics can be, even for readers today. I’ll admit that I approached this review intending to strongly critique the novel’s—what I saw, and still do see, as many—shortcomings. I was prepared to denounce the novel for its archetypal or nonexistent female characters, an unrecognizable Telemachus, its inconsistencies with the original epic, how boring it was, its lack of relevance or purpose—but, when actually investigating the effects of each narrative choice, especially when combined with the changes necessary due to the shift in genre, I found that this novel is relevant, it is necessary, and it does more than solely retell the ancient epic. Dillon’s novel humanizes The Odyssey by translating it to a modern genre, critiquing the flaws of ancient Greek society still visible even today. It shows that if characters written into existence for millennia can one day sail away on their own, leaving their father and his unrealistic expectations behind, then so too can Dillon’s young adult readers.