Emily Wilson’s 2017 translation of The Odyssey is the first complete English rendering by a woman, acclaimed for its "crystalline clarity" brisk pace, and use of iambic pentameter. It is a modern, accessible, and rigorous translation that avoids "padding" to capture Homer's "nimble gallop". Wilson often addresses gender, social hierarchy, and the humanity of characters, famously translating polutropos as "complicated".
Key Aspects of the Translation
Structure and Style: The translation is in iambic pentameter (ten-syllable lines) and maintains a similar line count to the original Greek.
Clarity and Tone: Wilson aimed for a "crystalline clarity" that makes the text accessible, avoiding archaic language while maintaining poetic form.
Controversial Choices: Her translation of the opening word polutropos as "complicated"—referring to the hero Odysseus as a "complicated man"—set the tone for a fresh, less-reverential, and more psychological interpretation.
Focus on Power Structures: Wilson highlights issues of slavery and class by using precise, direct language (like "slave" instead of "maid").
The "Un-heroic" Focus: Wilson aims to draw attention to the treatment of women, servants, and the reality of war, rather than just the heroics of Odysseus.
Reception and Impact
"A Must-Read": The translation has been widely praised for making the ancient text feel relevant, exciting, and immediate for modern readers.
Awards and Recognition: It was named one of The New York Times 100 Notable Books of 2018.
Contextual Support: The published edition includes a comprehensive 100-page introduction, notes, and a map, which aid in understanding the historical context of the poem.
Companion Work: Following its success, Wilson also translated Homer's Iliad.
Emily Wilson’s translation of The Odyssey begins with a single, destabilizing choice: rendering polytropos—the very first adjective describing Odysseus—not as “resourceful” or “versatile,” but as “complicated.” That one word shifts the ground beneath the epic. Instead of a polished hero, we meet a man marked by contradiction, moral ambiguity, and constant adaptation. The Greek literally means “many‑turning,” suggesting a figure who survives through change, deception, and resilience. Earlier translators softened him because audiences expected noble heroes; Wilson simply translated what was there.
Her most striking interventions, however, involve the women of the poem. When Odysseus returns home and the enslaved women of his household are executed, Homer calls them dmôai—enslaved women. For centuries, translators replaced this with “maids,” “servants,” or “girls,” obscuring their lack of agency. Some even inserted misogynistic slurs absent from the Greek. Wilson restored the original meaning, and the scene transforms: it is no longer about punishing immoral servants but about the killing of enslaved women by the family that owns them.
Calypso undergoes a similar reframing. Earlier translations described her as longing for Odysseus or clinging to him, casting their years together as romantic. Wilson’s version makes the Greek plain: Calypso traps him. He is not a lover lingering; he is a captive held against his will. Again, the text had always said this—translation had softened it.
Wilson’s path to this work began in Oxford, where she was born in 1971 into a family of scholars. After studying classics at Oxford and earning her PhD at Yale, she became a professor at the University of Pennsylvania. She spent five years translating The Odyssey, guided by a simple principle: translate what the Greek says, not what later centuries preferred it to say. She enforced consistency—“slave” always means “slave”—and wrote in iambic pentameter, matching Homer’s line count while producing a version that is faster, clearer, and more unsettling. Published in 2017, it became a bestseller and earned her a MacArthur Fellowship. She was the first woman to translate the epic into English, not because women lacked the ability, but because no one had previously asked the questions she did.
Some critics accused her of modernizing Homer. Her answer was straightforward: read the Greek. She wasn’t adding outrage or ideology; she was removing centuries of Victorian smoothing, romanticizing, and moralizing. What emerges is sharper. Odysseus becomes a survivor capable of both tenderness and cruelty. Penelope appears strategic and perceptive. The enslaved women regain their historical reality. Calypso becomes a captor, not a tragic lover. The epic itself hasn’t changed—only our access to it has.
Wilson’s translation demonstrates the radical power of accuracy. By refusing to embellish or sanitize, she reveals a more human Odysseus: brilliant, dangerous, and deeply complicated. And in doing so, she brings us closer to the world Homer actually wrote.
