As previously mentioned, the Odyssey draws much of its energy from its cheerful disinterest in proper chronology.  Events at a great physical distance from each other are allowed to happen simultaneously or in quick succession, and the relation of past occurrences is even more complicated.  For the purpose of this essay, the general jumpiness of the tale will have to be simply considered one of the elements adding to its liveliness. 

            The depiction of the past, however, is worthy of more explanation here in order to arrive at a streamlined picture of the storyline; the latter is desirable in order to clearly see the strategic nature of Athena’s actions over time.  However powerful and immortal the gods might be, they are bound to the same laws of time, and (with some impressive magical allowances) space.  Nor are their decisions particularly ineffable—a mortal may not be able to grasp the full workings of a divine plan from where he stands, but it will nevertheless be a plan within the realm of human understanding[1]. 

            Furthermore, the complexity and emotional richness of actions undertaken by all the characters in the Odyssey assures us that they have inner lives, but the most important elements tend to make their way towards a clear outward expression[2]. 

            From our privileged viewpoint, then, any strategy adopted by Athena should then be reasonably visible start-to-finish. We can arrange a relatively comprehensive, chronological chart of direct actions undertaken by Athena (visible in the Appendix).  This turns out to be quite a shopping list, but still leaves out instances of indirect influence, a number of minor gestures, and the exact content of Athena’s many arguments, petitions, reassurances and reprimands.  Beyond that, it gives no specific indication of why Athena might be undertaking each of these actions; most seem self-explanatory at first, but when viewed as moves within a larger strategy take on double or even triple purposes.  Lastly, a major source of confusion in this cross-section is the intrusion of tales from past.

            There are two primary chunks of past history which are conveyed to the reader over the course of the Odyssey:  the Trojan War, and Odysseus’ subsequent travels.  The Odyssey is a story about aftermath and recovery, and the war resonates throughout virtually every chapter, both in its immediate effects and in the way the characters remember it.  Interestingly, we are denied any authoritative “highlight reel” from our narrative editor:  the main events of the war must be gummed together from the crumbs of testimony dropped by a veritable flock of characters.  This haphazard technique is very easily accounted for—the existence of the Iliad is more than enough proof that the intended audience of the Odyssey was already quite familiar with the main events of the Trojan War.  A centralized retelling would only cause impatience and stall the events of the Odyssey proper[3].  Furthermore, the events which are sporadically reported through the story are revealed in ways designed to have particular purpose; Telemachus learns about his father’s exploits from the veterans of the battle themselves, as opposed to the court bard, whose version of events is presumably both secondhand and moderately poeticized.  Odysseus’ trip to the underworld provokes a sort of class reunion with his less fortunate companions which serves to emphasize to him the luxury of life aboveground, and to foreshadow the potential difficulties of his return home.  Overall, some events in the tradition of the War are added, some are embellished from a different vantage point, and events without special significance to the Odyssey are omitted entirely, or rather, taken for granted[4]. 

            The reasons for Odysseus being given the wheel for the span of several chapters are somewhat trickier to unravel.  The mere fact of an epic hero being given the chance to relate so much of his own story is surprising enough[5], but the pacing might seem rather risky; here Odysseus is at last on the verge of returning home, Penelope is lapsing into nervous hysterics, the suitors are busily plotting Telemachus’ death…and suddenly we find ourselves skipping backwards over the waves of an entire bygone decade.  It would seem to not only jeopardize the real audience’s ability to follow the story, but also to occupy a great deal of crucial time in the face of the story’s rather precarious affairs.

            This is an instance where the provided “action table” becomes a real utility.  It  shows that this is, in fact, the ideal time for such a sidebar to occur (the overall reason for its occurrence will be dealt with in subsequent chapters).  As we can see from the events surrounding this narrative detour, Athena has effectively “frozen” the rest of the story:  Telemachus is enjoying the limitless hospitality of first Nestor (Book Three) and then Menelaus (Book Four), and in fact does not leave Sparta until at the specific behest of Athena (Book Fifteen).  The suitors are of course unable to act on their dread plan until Telemachus sets sail for home.  Meanwhile Penelope, now at a veritable breaking point after the discovery of her son’s disappearance, finally receives a long overdue reassurance from Athena in the apparition of her sister (Book Four).  In short, Athena has dealt with all the variables which might make Odysseus’ long visit into dangerous use of time—and which might damage the momentum of the larger narrative. 

            Of course, the most urgent question relating to Odysseus’ long tale is why exactly Athena was absent from view for so long.  We learn that she was his patroness in Troy, and she certainly makes herself known in the present moment.  This is one of those voids which can only be filled in by examining her relationship to almost every major player in the Odyssey; as we shall see over the course of this essay, her seven-year absence is less pothole than keyhole, with the potential to open up her strategy to the reader’s eye. 

            The above arguments account decently enough for the presence (and just as importantly, absence) of the past in the Odyssey.  Again, the storyline is endlessly intricate, and no doubt it could be etherized and put under the academic knife to great effect.  However, for our current purposes we will be satisfied with having gotten the patient to lie down at all, and move on to examine what reasons Athena might have for mounting such a campaign.