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Why does Odysseus have a Boston accent?

16 July 2026 at 14:00
A gray-bearded white man stands in front of a young Black woman. Both are wearing robes. Behind them a series of tidal pools dissolve into the sea.
Matt Damon as Odysseus and Zendaya as Athena in Christopher Nolan’s The Odyssey. | Universal Pictures

After the first trailer for Christopher Nolan’s new film adaptation of The Odyssey dropped, a wave of conversation followed, part amused, part outraged: Why were all the actors, even the British ones, doing American accents? And why did the dialogue sound so contemporary?

“My dad is coming home,” declares Tom Holland as Odysseus’s son Telemachus, with tight-mouthed American vowels despite Holland’s natural English accent. 

“You’re pining for a daddy you didn’t even know,” returns Robert Pattinson, another British actor hitting hard American r’s.

“Let’s gooooooo!” yells Matt Damon’s Odysseus as he leads his men to battle, Boston o’s in their full splendor. 

Dude,” the Hollywood Reporter wrote. “Everybody sounds like they’re from Ohio.” The comments section below the trailer is filled with jokes about seeing Odysseus waiting outside Starbucks. 

It makes sense that audiences were so surprised at Nolan’s choice. We’re used to seeing actors in period pieces and fantasy epics speak with British accents, a trope sometimes called “The Queen’s Latin.” But there’s no logical reason that characters who, in-universe, are speaking ancient Greek should sound to us like they’re talking in mannered BBC English, says Erik Singer, the dialect coach who helped Austin Butler nail his Elvis accent. The Odyssey is nearly 3,000 years old, and on that scale, contemporary American English is just as close to Homer’s language as the elevated old-timey English diction we often see in period films. 

“Accents do not in fact inherently mean anything,” Singer says, “but we really think that they do.” 

To understand why the accents in The Odyssey sound so strange to so many people, you first have to understand why British accents became the default for any period piece. The answer has a surprising amount to do with what American audiences think power sounds like. 

“Why is the empire British when we’re in outer space and there is no Britain?”

As the Hollywood epic emerged starting in the 1930s and evolved in the 1950s, Singer says, studios developed a convention of coding the past in different accents. In films like Spartacus and Ben-Hur, the villainous elites were mostly played by British theater actors in Received Pronunciation English, whereas the heroic peasant protagonists were played by Americans with American accents.

“I do think that it is not an accident that…there still was a British Empire in the ’30s and ’40s,” Singer tells Vox. “There’s something [there] that makes sense…the popular conception of the Roman Empire bestriding the world, like the British Empire.”

“British accents have been closely associated with imperialism for a very long time for obvious reasons,” says Mike Walsh, a dialect coach who worked with Brian Geraghty for 1923: A Yellowstone Origin Story. “When you’re dealing with some sort of war effort that takes place in something that feels like fantasy, most often the characters become British.”

Over time, this practice calcified into a convention. In fantasy worlds based on medieval Britain, like Game of Thrones and Lord of the Rings, the American and Australian actors speak in British accents. They also speak in British accents in period films that are supposed to take place in France (Ever After, Les Miserables), Russia (Anna Karenina), and the ancient past (Gladiator, 300). In The Borgias, the Italians have British accents, but the French have French accents. 

Even in Star Wars, the Empire uses the Queen’s English, while the scrappy resistance army has American accents. “Why is the empire always the British one when we’re in outer space and there is no Britain?” Walsh asks. “Britain has become associated with this high-fantasy war conqueror image.”

Avoiding “British period movie accent”

When Hollywood avoids a British accent in a period or fantasy film, it’s usually for a specific reason. Often, it has to do with which characters the audience is supposed to perceive as powerful, and which ones they are supposed to relate to. 

In the 1984 film Amadeus, director Miloš Forman had Tom Hulce use his usual American accent to play Mozart. Forman “wanted the Mozarts to feel like out-of-place Americans in Vienna,” Hulce explained in 2023. F. Murray Abraham also kept his American accent to play Salieri, but the Viennese characters around them were primarily played by Brits in their natural accents.

In 2005, Sofia Coppola directed the cast of Marie Antoinette to use their natural accents. “We weren’t going to do the movie in 18th-century French, so it didn’t make sense to have them do British period movie accent,” she said at the time, adding that she was influenced by the way the natural accents in Amadeus made the characters feel “like real people.” As in the old Hollywood epics, Coppola cast British theater actors as the old guard of Versailles and young Americans as Marie Antoinette and her friends, so that Kirsten Dunst’s California drawl became another anachronism, bringing Marie Antoinette’s youth and modernity to life.

In the 2017 film The Death of Stalin, each character in 1950s Russia has a different accent. Director Armando Iannucci told most of the cast to speak as they normally would, so that Steve Buscemi’s Khrushchev keeps Buscemi’s Brooklyn intonations, while Adrian McLoughlin’s Stalin is Cockney. (The exception is Jason Isaacs, who tweaks his Liverpool accent into something more Yorkshire). Iannucci told Metro in 2017 that he considered having the cast perform in Russian accents, but ended up feeling it would detract from the comedy. “I thought it would just kill the pace and spontaneity of it,” he said. “I wanted a range of English accents, to indicate the geographic spread of this Empire.”

Nolan’s Odyssey, however, does not appear to be aiming for the shocking anachronism of Marie Antoinette, the fish-out-of-water humor of Amadeus, or the black comedy of The Death of Stalin. Whatever Nolan’s doing with his accent work, it’s something else entirely.

“Language that has emotional not intellectual meaning to people” 

Nolan has said he was inspired by Emily Wilson’s portrait of Odysseus in her radically stripped down 2017 translation. While most English translations of The Odyssey use heightened, highly poetic language, Wilson’s is severe in its simplicity. She rejects any flowery invocations of “the muse” at the beginning of her translation, rendering the first line starkly as “Tell me about a complicated man.”

“The notion that the Homeric epic must be rendered in grand, ornate, rhetorically elevated English has been with us since the time of Alexander Pope,” Wilson writes in her introduction to The Odyssey, referring to Pope’s grandiloquent 1725 translation. “It is past time, I believe, to reject this assumption.” Her argument is that the original Greek is “not difficult or ostentatious,” and she wants to honor the fact that “stylistic pomposity is entirely un-Homeric.”

Following suit, Nolan told the Los Angeles Times that he wanted “an earthy narrative” for his Odyssey, and that he prioritized “language that has emotional not intellectual meaning to people.” 

“He’s attempting to go closer to that idea of what would have been colloquial for the time,” Walsh says. “Though it is a heightened story told in song, that doesn’t mean that it was told with a filter or a distance applied to it, or that it was only meant to apply to smart people.”

What seems to be jarring to people, though, is that while Nolan’s characters might sound relatable, they are still powerful classical figures: kings and queens and gods and goddesses. 

We’re used to thinking that power sounds like the British Empire. Nolan’s Odyssey shows that might not hold true anymore.

“If it’s changing…it could well be because for folks, maybe Americans younger than 40, those associations between [Received Pronunciation] and Empire aren’t really there anymore strongly,” Singer says. “Or even between RP and high falutin’ fanciness or something aren’t there as much anymore.”

The British Empire is passing out of living memory now, and the American empire is here. In Nolan’s Odyssey, if not for the rest of Hollywood, power sounds like a guy from Boston, loitering outside a Starbucks.

Bollywood just surrendered to censorship. Hollywood could be next.

15 July 2026 at 12:30
Narendra Modi, left, and Donald Trump, right, lean toward each other to shake hands.
President Donald Trump shakes hands with India's Prime Minister Narendra Modi during a bilateral meeting as part of the G7 summit, in Evian, France, on June 17, 2026. | Mandel Ngan/AFP via Getty Images

In 2023, the Indian director Honey Trehan was on the verge of a breakthrough. His film Punjab ’95, which told the story of a human rights activist murdered for investigating mass killings of Sikhs in the state of Punjab, had been given a prominent slot at the Toronto International Film Festival. Trehan was convinced the film would be big; its star, Sikh Bollywood A-lister Diljit Dosangh, believed in the project so much that he didn’t even ask for a salary. 

Key takeaways

  • The recent censorship of the Indian film Satluj has drawn new attention to the way that Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi has attacked free expression in Bollywood.
  • Over the course of more than a decade in power, Modi has used a mix of punishment and incentives to push the massive industry away from producing themes that challenge his government — and turned propaganda films into box office successes.
  • There’s a lesson here for the United States. Though protections for free speech in Hollywood are far more robust, Trump has made several moves that resemble Modi’s — suggesting that Americans need to be vigilant about protecting free speech here. 

But the premiere never happened. According to Trehan, his producer got a threatening call from someone affiliated with the Indian government, saying that if the film screened in Toronto, it would never appear at home. Trehan and his producer agreed, but the approval never came. India’s ratings agency, the Central Board of Film Certification (CBFC), demanded 127 cuts — including cutting the word “Punjab” from a film about the state. If implemented, they would have left the film (in Trehan’s words) as little more than a “trailer.”

After years of court cases and failed wrangling, Trehan and his producer gave up on a theatrical release. They signed an agreement with Zee5, an Indian streaming service, to premiere the film exclusively on their platform in July under the new name Satluj.

But just two days after the film’s release on July 3, Zee5 removed Satluj for Indian viewers at the request of the government, which claimed the film threatened public order and national security. This weekend, it was removed from Zee5’s international service as well, meaning the film was no longer legally accessible anywhere on the planet.

When we spoke on Monday, Trehan was still unsure why the government had gone to such great lengths to suppress his film. He claims to have heard nothing beyond vague public claims about the film threatening public safety and Indian sovereignty. But it’s clear that the events had rocked his faith in his country.

“When all these kinds of things happen,” he says, “you are bound to ask this question to yourself: Are we still living in a democracy?”


Since Prime Minister Narendra Modi took office in 2014, the Indian film industry — which has a cultural footprint that rivals Hollywood and even surpasses it in some regions — has undergone a transformation. Once seen as a bastion of Indian multiculturalism and secularism, the kind of business where Muslims and even Pakistanis could be stars, the Indian film industry has increasingly been remade in its right-wing government’s image. Films that celebrate Hindus and demonize Muslims make up an ever-growing share of industry output; films that take up politically difficult topics, like Satluj, are becoming scarcer.

Honey Trehan, a middle-aged man with curly dark hair and beard, in a casual black jacket and open white shirt, in front of a film festival backdrop.

This is by design. As part of its broader assault on democratic freedoms, the Modi government has taken a series of very visible steps to reward ideologically simpatico filmmakers — and punish dissidents. The industry has gotten the message, and shifted its output accordingly. Those filmmakers willing to speak publicly, like Trehan, describe a widespread climate of self-censorship, painting a portrait of an industry that has chosen compliance over courage.

“There are so many things I want to make and I get told, ‘No one will touch it,’” the Indian director Shruti Ganguly tells me. “Actors who speak out against the government — they don’t get work.”

Understanding how this happened matters to Indians — but not only them. The Trump administration has, in several ways, laid the groundwork for a similar attack on cinematic free speech. While the American version is vastly less developed than what’s happening in India, the subordination of Bollywood has exposed the general means through which a powerful and seemingly liberal entertainment industry can be brought to heel by a determined government.

In today’s America, “you can see an [early stage] of what happened to allow institutions to be captured and politicized” in India, says Sadanand Dhume, an expert on Indian politics at the Council on Foreign Relations think tank.

The fall of Bollywood

Censorship in Indian film is hardly new. The CBFC, created in 1951, is empowered not just to rate movies but to block their release outright if it finds a film contrary to any of the sweeping categories in Section 5B of the Cinematograph Act: the sovereignty of India, the security of the state, friendly relations with foreign countries, public order, decency, or morality.

It is a power that certainly had been abused prior to Modi’s premiership. Aman Bhargava, a data scientist based in Bangalore, recently examined data on over 8,000 Indian films censored by the CBFC between its founding and the end of the 20th century. His investigation found extremely high levels of censorship in the board’s first three decades, focusing primarily on depictions of sex and violence. But political censorship was hardly unheard of. During the Emergency, a two-year period from 1975 to 1977 where Prime Minister Indira Gandhi assumed essentially dictatorial powers, censors literally burned the prints of a film satirizing her leadership.   

“There are so many filmmakers whose film is stuck. But they are not ready to speak out of fear.”

Honey Trehan, director

By the 1990s, instances of CBFC censorship had declined dramatically. Modi has not only revived it, but significantly expanded its scope — creating a new censorial regime even worse than what came before. “The past was problematic. The present is worse,” Dhume says.

This judgment is backed by extensive evidence, published in both the Indian and American press, demonstrating the government’s increasingly tight grip over Hindi-language filmmaking.

The most obvious mechanism has been politicization of the CBFC. The current chair — a poet named Prasoon Joshi — is a vocal ally of the prime minister; in a phone call, the Indian film critic Sucharita Tyagi described him as a government “stooge.” Trehan, similarly, says the body is working “hand-in-glove” with Modi’s Ministry of Information “to control the narrative” on politically sensitive topics.

Over time, the Modi government has moved to remove checks on its allies’ power. In 2021, it eliminated a decades-old special appellate board that allowed filmmakers to contest CBFC rulings — forcing them instead to go through regular litigation for relief. But India’s justice system is slow and expensive, often an unrealistic option for movies that need to make their budgets back in a timely fashion. Trehan’s Satluj shows how difficult it is to fight the censor, and why so few in Bollywood are willing to do it.

“Over the past decade, the CBFC has become less a certifying body and more an arm of state-sponsored and sentiment-driven censorship,” journalist Saurav Das wrote last year in Frontline, an English-language Indian magazine published by The Hindu newspaper. “With every decision, every inexplicable demand for cuts, and every instance of folded resistance in the face of fringe protests, the Board has revealed what it truly is: a morality police in disguise.”

Nor is the CBFC Modi’s only weapon. “The tax authority,” Dhume says, “is basically completely politicized in India” — and can be wielded against filmmakers and studios who step out of line. So can the police: Five years ago, Indian police arrested the son of Muslim megastar Shah Rukh Khan on drug charges. The move was widely interpreted as retaliation for Khan’s outspokenness on violence against Muslims. Khan’s son was detained for three weeks and released on bail; prosecutors dropped the charges seven months after his arrest, ultimately admitting he never had possessed drugs in the first place.

Narendra Modi raises both arms with fists over his head while speaking into microphones from a podium.

Modi’s BJP party also has something no prior Indian government possessed: a fervent online cadre that directs waves of threats and harassment at dissident directors, actors, and even film critics. In January 2021, a Muslim supporting actor in an Amazon-hosted streaming show called Tandav — a soapy political drama that took shots at life under the BJP — became deluged by online hate. Angry Modi fans repeatedly reported him to the police for alleged insults to Hinduism; Amazon eventually cut one of his scenes to try and appease the mob.

But the Modi government hasn’t been satisfied with only punishing critical filmmakers. It has also provided ample incentives to studios who wish to make ideological propaganda.

This began with 2022’s The Kashmir Files, a movie about very real killings of Hindus in the contested territory of Jammu and Kashmir that exaggerated the scope and severity of the situation to demonize Muslims. Widely panned by critics as dishonest shlock, the film received a huge promotional push from the ruling party. Modi personally endorsed it, and at least eight BJP-governed states gave it a special exemption from entertainment taxes to lower ticket prices. BJP states also gave government employees time off from work to go see the film, and even hosted screenings. As a result, it was one of the best-performing movies of the year.

The success of The Kashmir Files showed that there was a real audience for aggressively nationalist films — as makes sense in a country that has elected Modi to the premiership three times, and where he currently enjoys a roughly 70 percent approval rating. As such, it has spawned more sophisticated imitators.

In 2025, a film called Dhurandhar — a slick action movie about an Indian sleeper agent killing his way through mafia and terror networks in Pakistan — dominated the box office, becoming the third-highest grossing Hindi film of all time. Dhurandhar 2: The Revenge premiered this year, and is more nakedly propagandistic: Variety’s reviewer wrote that it “practically features Modi as a supporting character through endless news snippets.” It has already surpassed the box office total of its predecessor. 

The end result is a kind of profit-minded self-censorship. Increasingly, Indian film studios shy away from financing movies with controversial themes and shovel money at jingoistic fare like Dhurandhar. An 11-month investigation by the Indian publication Article 14 concluded that this has effectively transformed the most prominent sector of the Indian film industry.

“Barring a minuscule minority, Hindi filmdom has collectively capitulated before the BJP government, thus handing a virtual cakewalk to the right-wing in India’s most high-profile film industry,” Article 14’s Anna M M Vetticad writes.

To be clear: It’s not that critical voices in the film industry have been silenced entirely. Independent-minded films still get made — like 2023’s Jawan and Pathaan, Shah Rukh Khan-led action films that The Atlantic described as “littered with subversive commentary on India under Modi.” The environment is markedly freer outside Hindi-language cinema; the Malayam and Tamil film industries have been more resistant to government pressure. 

Shah Rukh Khan, in a navy suit and dark glasses, sits in a comfortable chair with an interviewer on stage.

But the Hindi industry is the biggest and most influential: The term “Bollywood” itself generally refers only to Hindi studios. And it’s clear that the balance is off there — leading the government’s anti-Muslim narrative to dominate in one of India’s most important cultural spheres.

“There are so many filmmakers whose film is stuck,” Trehan says. “But they are not ready to speak out of fear.”

The future of Hollywood?

What Modi has done to Indian film carries clear lessons for other backsliding democracies — most notably, the United States.

The first lesson is that free expression in major industries depends, in large part, on preserving nonpartisan leadership and norms in powerful government agencies.

India’s CBFC, tax agencies, and law enforcement have long had problems, including abusive political interventions. But Modi has made these problems considerably worse, to the point where it is less a change in degree than in kind. Today, key agencies have become staffed by political cronies who act like extensions of ruling parties. This capture of nominally nonpartisan institutions is what enabled him to bring so much political pressure on studios, producers, and actors. 

The second lesson is that big cultural industries — whatever their professed political values — are first and foremost profit-seeking entities. Bollywood has a reputation as a more culturally progressive space, even casting Pakistani actors in prominent roles during the early Modi years.  But when it became clear that the balance of financial power favored the government, that critical films might never see the light of day and propagandistic ones would make bank, Indian film studios shifted accordingly. 

“Movie-making is an expensive business, so you understand where they’re coming from.” Dhume says. One film critic, granted anonymity by Indian journalist Kaashif Hajee, was even blunter: “The only God is the box office.”

We have seen both of these mechanisms at work in the second Trump administration.

President Donald Trump has famously demolished the independence of agencies like the Justice Department and the Federal Communications Commission, and even tried to weaponize them against its enemies in the entertainment industry — most notably when it tried to force Jimmy Kimmel off the air earlier this year.

Brendan Carr, in a blue suit, speaks on stage while sitting in a white chair.

That effort failed. But there are also many examples of American conglomerates seeming to bow to government pressure, like CBS’s decision to cancel Trump critic Stephen Colbert’s show while its parent company awaited FCC approval for its merger.

There’s even a handful of examples of studios pushing out films nakedly bidding for the president’s favor, like Amazon’s Melania documentary. While that film was a box office dud — it made just $16.7 million on a $75 million budget — it was widely seen as an effort to win favor with the administration on other regulatory matters. Ted Hope, one of the founders of Amazon’s studio arm, called the film “an outright bribe” in an interview with the New York Times.

Overall, however, these cases remain exceptional. There is no evidence that the American entertainment industry is shifting toward MAGA propaganda in any mass way; Trump critical-fare (like the Star Wars series Andor or the superhero satire The Boys) remains vastly more popular with critics and audiences.

This owes partly to structural dissimilarities between the United States and India. The American ratings board has long been far weaker than the CBFC, and the First Amendment is far stronger than India’s constitutional speech protections. We are less than two years into Trump’s second term; Modi has been in power continuously since 2014. It would be very surprising to do in a year and a half what Modi accomplished over a decade.

The lesson of India’s film industry is not, then, that Trump is on the verge of conquering Hollywood. Rather, it’s that he has identified the right mechanisms for pressuring the entertainment industry: using politicized agencies to both raise the costs of free speech and create incentives for companies to toe a state-friendly line.

That these lines of attack are at present underdeveloped in the United States does not mean they could not, eventually, become something more serious. Any effort to future-proof American democracy, to safeguard its foundations from further assault, requires serious study of how these tactics worked in places like India and identifying means of blocking them.

“The situation with a film like Satluj…is a warning call — not just for Indians, but other countries around the world when it comes to how governments are going to control the creative business,” Ganguly says.

Why The Odyssey is still worth reading

15 July 2026 at 17:15
An oil painting shows a man in classical armor standing over a kneeling woman with a knife. In the background, three women stare through a window and a dog looks on. They are all surrounded by pigs and classical statues.
Odysseus threatens Circe, 1635. Creator: Jacob Jordaens I.  | Heritage Art/Heritage Images via Getty Images

Christopher Nolan’s The Odyssey is about to surf the wine-dark sea into theaters everywhere, and between its star-studded cast and ecstatic early reviews, it’s likely to be a blockbuster. Readers are taking note. According to Circana Bookscan, unit sales across all editions of The Odyssey are up 76 percent year-to-date. This 2,800-year-old poem has never been hotter.

So if you’ve never read The Odyssey — or you skimmed it in the 10th grade and haven’t thought about it since — is this the time for you to get in on the hot Odyssey summer?

There’s a strong argument to be made that the answer is yes, because The Odyssey is an absolute blast to read. It’s funny, gripping, and sexy, an epic adventure with a human heart. If you’re willing to deal with the fundamental strangeness that comes with reading a text so old, you’ll come away from The Odyssey with a new understanding of how and why the West tells its stories. 

How The Odyssey invented the asshole trickster hero

The genius of The Odyssey is that it’s both a family story and an adventure. Clever Odysseus is trying to make his way back to his wife and kid after 10 years at war, but at every turn, he’s beset by angry gods, jealous nymphs, or world-shaking storms. What we see of Odysseus’s home life is tender and sweet, and the voyage is thrilling, but Odysseus is the real secret weapon here.

Odysseus is one of those guys who’s super smart but, unfortunately, knows it, so as soon as he’s talked his way out of one jam, he can’t help but talk himself right into another. He defeats a Cyclops by using the admittedly very funny gambit of giving his name as No Man, so that the Cyclops’s pained shrieks of “No Man is killing me!” fail to summon any of his fellow one-eyed monsters to his aid. But, then, Odysseus is arrogant enough to yell his real name at the fiend he just maimed so he can get proper credit for his feat — and is shocked that doing so comes back to haunt him. It’s hard not to root for Odysseus to get home, but you also have to admit that he bears a lot of responsibility for his own problems.

That storytelling tool — someone clever and charming enough to get out of every sticky situation but hubristic enough to keep making it worse for themselves, too — is so satisfying to read that it birthed an archetype. You see Odysseus in Ferris Bueller, in Bugs Bunny, in Don Draper, in Marty Mauser. Trickster heroes who infuriate allies and antagonists alike all owe a debt to Odysseus, who showed the West what a powerful narrative engine such figures are.

Just as powerful is Odysseus’s quest to find his way home, which is so human and relatable that it’s become the basis for many of our go-to adventure stories. Dorothy wants to get back to Kansas, Robinson Crusoe wants to get back to England, and even E.T. wants to phone home. Who hasn’t felt at one time or another like though they’re stranded in a big scary world and longed to find a way back to the safety and comfort of their family? The Odyssey is the earliest story we have that put that feeling into words and blew it up larger than life. 

That’s the thing about The Odyssey: It’s been around so long and is so influential that it’s the source for a lot of story structures. Reading it will help you understand the obvious culprits like Ulysses and O Brother Where Art Thou, sure — but it will also unlock a lot of old favorites that you wouldn’t have thought could connect so neatly to the ancients and make you experience them in new ways. If you care about storytelling, that’s an experience worth having.

Reasons to skip The Odyssey

If you decide to read The Odyssey, and you aren’t used to dealing with ancient texts, you have to go in knowing that it’s going to be a weird experience. This is an oral poem, first composed in a dead language, likely developed by a lot of different people over generations, that’s now been translated into modern written English. It’s structured around repetitions, like the famously recurring phrases “wine-dark sea” and “rosy-fingered dawn,” to help bards deliver the poem from memory. It can be confusing and even boring to navigate if you’re not prepared.

The Odyssey is also a story from an ancient culture with its own moral system. Greek heroes love a little unprovoked murder and theft, and Odysseus is always bragging about the cities he’s conquered and all the treasure he stole from them. Almost all the characters, even the ones we are supposed to admire, behave in misogynistic and deplorable ways. That can be jarring.

Ancient myths for everyone

If you don’t want to wrestle with these old, dense texts directly, there is a thriving universe of art based on classical myths just waiting for you to explore them. The bad news is that a lot of those adaptations are mid-tier and leave me wistfully humming, “Wait / they don’t love you like I love you,” over my D’Aulaires Book of Greek Myths

I have trawled through the adaptations so you don’t have to, and I will only recommend the good stuff. These are the ones that meet my very high bar. 

  • Netflix’s 2024 hit Kaos brings the Olympian gods to the modern day and leaves behind none of their amoral hedonism in the process.
  • The 2019 Broadway musical Hadestown, soon to be showing in movie theaters, transforms the myth of Orpheus and Euridyce into a jazz-inflected anti-capitalist fable. 
  • C.S. Lewis’s 1956 reinterpretation of the myth of Cupid and Psyche, Till We Have Faces, is a rich philosophical exploration of faith in a time of suffering.
  • In her 1958 novel The King Must Die, Mary Renault pulls from archaeological scholarship to bring the Bronze Age myth of Theseus and the minotaur to pulse-pounding life.
  • The great Ursula K. Le Guin builds a whole immersive world around the unspeaking woman who Aeneas marries at the end of Virgil’s Aeneid in her 2008 novel Lavinia
  • Madeline Miller’s much-beloved 2011 novel The Song of Achilles places Achilles and his companion Patroclus at the center of a swooningly tragic love story. I usually seek out more cynical perspectives in classical adaptations, but this novel means so much to so many I would be remiss if I did not bring it to your attention.

If any of these oddities are a deal breaker for you, it’s fine to leave The Odyssey alone. But if you’re willing to put in the work to look past them, The Odyssey will reward you for it. As alien as its source culture is to us, the story it tells is so gripping, and funny, and human that we keep raiding it, Odysseus-like, looking for new tropes.

How to pick an Odyssey translation

There are a lot of different English translations of The Odyssey on the market, and the experience of reading each one is different — and will affect your perception of the text and the core story. Here are the four I would recommend for four highly specific circumstances.

If you like your classics accessible and self-aware

Emily Wilson’s 2017 edition, which generated a ton of buzz when it came out, is the first English translation of The Odyssey written by a woman. Her language is plain, terse, and unadorned — at times winkingly ironic, at times severe, always refreshingly direct and to the point. What’s most impressive is her ability to make plain the misogyny of the characters without asking the reader to be a misogynist along with them. “Earlier translators are not as uncomfortable with the text as I am,” she told Vox in 2017, “and I like that I’m uncomfortable.”

Read the first line: “Tell me about a complicated man.”

If you like your poetry lyrical and sensual

Robert Fitzgerald’s 1961 translation has some of the most ravishing language of all the Odyssey translations. Every translator has to choose what to prioritize and what to discard. Fitzgerald prioritizes the beauty of his own words, and he doesn’t care too much about being faithful to the ancient Greek. He’s also not fond of footnotes and extra material to tell you about historical details you might miss. If you want your Odyssey translation to read like a poem that stands completely on its own, Fitzgerald is your best bet.

Read the first line: “Sing in me, Muse, and through me tell the story of that man skilled in all ways of contending, that wanderer, harried for years on end, after he plundered the stronghold on the proud height of Troy.” 

If you’d like your translation to be as accurate as possible

Richmond Lattimore’s 1965 translation is a favorite among academics, because Lattimore tried to stay as close as possible to the original Greek. While Fitzgerald and Wilson write in English-friendly blank verse (unrhymed lines of five-beat iambic pentameter), Lattimore uses a six-beat line that echoes Homeric rhythms. Given a choice between making a sentence sound beautiful in English and capturing the nuances of the original Greek, he opts for faithfulness every time. 

Read the first line: “Tell me, Muse, of the man of many ways, who was driven far journeys, after he had sacked Troy’s secret citadel.” 

If you’d rather listen to the audiobook

The best audiobook edition of The Odyssey is the one Ian McKellan narrates using Robert Fagles’s 1996 translation. Fagles tries to walk the line between Lattimore’s accuracy and Fitzgerald’s poetry, and he manages nicely. But the best way to experience his version of the story is to have McKellan’s rich, rolling voice read it out for you and bring this poem back into the oral tradition.

Read the first line: “Sing to me of the man, Muse, the man of twists and turns driven time and again off course, once he had plundered the hallowed heights of Troy.” (Or, just listen.)

Whichever translation you choose, it will immerse you in Odysseus’s strange, ancient, but very human world. It will show you some of the source code for Western storytelling. And it will give you a chance to experience a wise-ass beat up a one-eyed monster and, then, ruin his own life by bragging about it. What more could a person ask for from one book?

Update, July 15, 10:45 am ET: This piece was originally published on July 10 and has been updated with information about The Odyssey’s book sales.

Pluralistic: Vicky Osterweil's "The Extended Universe" (28 Apr 2026)


Today's links



The Haymarket Books cover for Vicky Osterweil's 'The Extended Universe.'

Vicky Osterweil's "The Extended Universe" (permalink)

Vicky Osterweil's The Extended Universe: How Disney Killed the Movies and Took Over the World makes the kind of long, polemical, startling and illuminating argument that defines great cultural criticism; it's the sort of book that encapsulates the reasons I read criticism in the first place:

https://www.haymarketbooks.org/books/2525-the-extended-universe

My first brush with this kind of criticism came more than two decades ago, when I read John Kessel's now-classic "Creating the Innocent Killer," a critique of Orson Scott Card's Ender's Game, a book I had read and enjoyed enough to re-read several times:

https://johnjosephkessel.wixsite.com/kessel-website/creating-the-innocent-killer

Kessel's argument is that Card used Ender's Game to smuggle in some very ugly ideas, wrapped in a story that was compelling, even exhilarating. In Ender's Game, we meet Andrew "Ender" Wiggin, a small, physically weak boy possessed of a prodigious intellect and a great deal of sensitivity and empathy. Ender is tormented by an escalating series of aggressors, whom he retaliates against with overwhelming force, first to the point of lethality and then all the way to literal genocide. And here's where Card makes his move: Ender's sensitivity and empathy and intellect tell him that he must respond this way, because he can tell that his aggressors will not back off from their intention to harm him; and because Ender is so small and weak, he has to use whatever tactic his brilliant mind can devise, and if that tactic results in the death penalty for mere bullying, well, that's the bully's fault, not Ender's. Indeed, in dying at Ender's hands, these bullies re-victimize Ender, because Ender is a gentle, smart, wise, weak person, and these inescapable murders that he is goaded into committing are a stain on his soul that he can never wash away.

Before reading "Creating the Innocent Killer," I confess I didn't really understand what criticism was for. Like many people, I conflated "criticism" with "reviews," thinking of critical works as a species of inconveniently difficult-to-digest essays that might help me figure out which books to read and which movies to see.

Kessel's magnificent essay changed all that, and not in spite of the fact that Kessel had pointed out some very important problems with a book that I loved, but because of that fact. In helping me understand the ugliness hidden within something whose beauty and virtues I saw very clearly, Kessel taught me more about myself – about where my aesthetics and my values overlapped, and where they diverged. It was literally life-changing.

Like Kessel, Osterweil's 'Extended Universe' deals with media that I have a great deal of affection for – the products of the Walt Disney Company. Though I'm primarily interested in theme parks – I love a big, ambitious built environment of any description and Disney pursues these with a seriousness that few others can touch – the Disney films (and the films of the studios Disney purchased, like Marvel and Lucasfilm) are obviously intimately bound up in those theme park designs.

Osterweil has her own ambivalent affection for these movies. Like so many of us, she's been raised on them, and they've shaped how she sees the world and its stories. But – like me – Osterweil is deeply suspicious of capitalism, American imperialism, and the notion of "intellectual property," and she uses reviews of a dozen Disney films to make the case that Walt Disney and the studio he founded with his brother are standards-bearers for these odious forces, and not just in the overt ways that might immediately spring to mind, but also in subtle ways that can be teased out of a close reading of the films.

In so doing, Osterweil also makes a sharp and well-argued case that intellectual property, colonialism and racial oppression are all facets of the same drive, the drive of people who fancy themselves born to rule to dominate others, which requires that those others also be dehumanized and their work denigrated. When Walt Disney insisted that his be the only name associated with "his" movies, he was playing out the same logic that underpinned his virulent opposition to labor unions and his participation in American imperialism in Latin America.

As with Kessel, Osterweil's argument is full of surprises and illuminations that are especially vivid for those of us who have great affection for these works. As her chapter on Black Panther shows, this contradiction need not go unresolved. There is plenty of scope for fans to seize the reins of the narrative (and as her chapter on the reactionary backlash to the later Star Wars movies shows, it's not just the forces of progress and anti-racism who can pull off this move).

Like the very best criticism, Osterweil's book is more than a way to deepen your understanding of the material she dissects – it's a way to deepen your understanding of the world that produced it, and to deepen your understanding of yourself.


Hey look at this (permalink)



A shelf of leatherbound history books with a gilt-stamped series title, 'The World's Famous Events.'

Object permanence (permalink)

#20yrsago Frank Zappa’s anti-censorship letter https://www.flickr.com/photos/mudshark/117551768/in/set-72057594090059726/

#15yrsago Chemistry kit with no chemicals https://web.archive.org/web/20110427212354/http://blog.makezine.com/archive/2011/04/chemistry-set-boasts-no-chemicals.html

#15yrsago Russian corruption: crooked officials steal multi-billion-dollar company, $230M tax refund, then murder campaigning lawyer https://web.archive.org/web/20110426045152/http://www.foreignpolicy.com/articles/2011/04/20/russia_s_crime_of_the_century?

#15yrsago Golden-age short-change cons https://web.archive.org/web/20110429014539/https://blog.modernmechanix.com/2011/04/26/tricks-of-short-change-artists/

#10yrsago Campaigners search Londoners’ phones to help them understand the Snoopers Charter https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=szN7DlmMLYg

#10yrsago Mitsubishi’s dieselgate: cheating since 1991 https://web.archive.org/web/20160427145038/https://www.cnet.com/roadshow/news/mitsubishi-cheated-fuel-economy-tests-since-1991/#ftag=CAD590a51e

#10yrsago Bellwether: Connie Willis’s classic, hilarious novel about the science of trendiness https://memex.craphound.com/2016/04/26/bellwether-connie-williss-classic-hilarious-novel-about-the-science-of-trendiness/

#5yrsago The Big U https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/26/moolah-boolah/#poison-ivies


Upcoming appearances (permalink)

A photo of me onstage, giving a speech, pounding the podium.



A screenshot of me at my desk, doing a livecast.

Recent appearances (permalink)



A grid of my books with Will Stahle covers..

Latest books (permalink)



A cardboard book box with the Macmillan logo.

Upcoming books (permalink)

  • "The Reverse-Centaur's Guide to AI," a short book about being a better AI critic, Farrar, Straus and Giroux, June 2026 (https://us.macmillan.com/books/9780374621568/thereversecentaursguidetolifeafterai/)
  • "Enshittification, Why Everything Suddenly Got Worse and What to Do About It" (the graphic novel), Firstsecond, 2026

  • "The Post-American Internet," a geopolitical sequel of sorts to Enshittification, Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2027

  • "Unauthorized Bread": a middle-grades graphic novel adapted from my novella about refugees, toasters and DRM, FirstSecond, April 20, 2027

  • "The Memex Method," Farrar, Straus, Giroux, 2027



Colophon (permalink)

Today's top sources:

Currently writing: "The Post-American Internet," a sequel to "Enshittification," about the better world the rest of us get to have now that Trump has torched America. Third draft completed. Submitted to editor.

  • "The Reverse Centaur's Guide to AI," a short book for Farrar, Straus and Giroux about being an effective AI critic. LEGAL REVIEW AND COPYEDIT COMPLETE.
  • "The Post-American Internet," a short book about internet policy in the age of Trumpism. PLANNING.

  • A Little Brother short story about DIY insulin PLANNING


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