While Odysseus is indeed responsible for his own return to society, Athena is happy to lead him up the front steps and ring the doorbell.  As usual her actions are focused on making it possible for his gifts to blossom on their own schedule, unforced by violence, ignorance, or emergency.  As he gradually settles in to Phaeacian society, her influence grows less and less until, as with Telemachus, she can confidently depart on other business.

            Amusingly, Odysseus begins his return to social visibility by being invisible:

“Pallas Athena, harboring kindness for the hero,

drifted a heavy mist around him, shielding him

from any swaggering islander who’d cross his path,

provoke him with taunts and search out who he was.

Instead, as he was about the enter the welcome city,

The bright-eyed goddess herself came up to greet him there.”  (B.7, 16-21)

 

Odysseus is kept from having to defend himself from challenge, asserting an identity which, if it is strong enough to repel major aggression, is not yet likely to grow as a result of it.  Nausicaa’s kindness aside, Odysseus is still on the defensive.  To this end, Athena for her part accosts him in the form of a small girl—again, a figure calculated to be nonthreatening—and Odysseus is treated to a four-star tour of Phaeacia, complete with a detailed history and character sketches of the royal family.  The queen Arete is given particular attention:

“Alcinous made the girl his wife and honors her

as no woman is honored on this earth, of all the wives

now keeping households under their husbands’ sway.

Such is her pride of place, and always will be so:

Dear to her loving children, to Alcinous himself

and all our people…

She lacks nothing in good sense and judgment—

she can dissolve quarrels, even among men,

whoever wins her sympathies.”  (B.7, 77-86)

 

She finishes this description with a repetition of Nausicaa’s reassurance:  if the queen takes pity on him, Odysseus stands a chance of returning home.  In fact, Arete does not respond immediately to his plea for mercy—that honor goes to an anonymous courtier.  Arete herself withholds judgment on Odysseus for quite some time.  She only announces her personal approval when Odysseus is more than half-finished with the tale of his travels, still shin-deep in his description of the Underworld.  Her approval, however, is just as palpable as her reserve:

“ ‘Phaeacians!  How does this man impress you now,

his looks, his build, the balanced mind inside him?

The stranger is my guest

but each of you princes shares the honor here.

So let’s not be too hasty to send him on his way,

and don’t scrimp on his gifts.  His need is great,

great as the riches piled up in your houses,

thanks to the gods’ goodwill.’”  (B.11, 381-8)

 

Just as Nausicaa echoes Penelope in her confidentiality and her role as a bride, so Arete reflects her powers of circumspection and her status as a queen.  With the presence of these two hauntingly familiar female aspects, women are being recrafted as symbols of household and society, capable of being virtuous, generous, and trustworthy.  Before this point in Odysseus’ journey, women have either been temptresses, monsters, or, even if they are wife and mother, potential enemies:  the treachery of Clytemnestra is one of the story’s best anvils, hammered upon by almost every passerby.  Penelope is still to be approached with some caution, but the warm presence of kindly girl, helpful virgin, and virtuous queen is meant to temper Odysseus’ hard-won suspicions.  Even the common servingwomen of the house are given a gloss of Athenaic industry:

“Some weave at their webs or sit and spin their yarn,

fingers flickering quick as aspen leaves in the wind

and the densely woven woolens dripping oil droplets.

Just as Phaeacian men excel the world at sailing,

Driving their swift ships on the open seas,

So the women excel at all the arts of weaving.

That is Athena’s gift to them beyond all others—

A genius for lovely work, and a fine mind too.”  (B.7, 121-8)

 

Here is Penelope again, even to the epithet of the “fine mind”.  The men are gifted at sailing off and beyond, but it is the women who create the fabric of home, literally and metaphorically.  In the mythology of the Greeks, women are the sign that one is truly in a social space[1], and they must be recast as such for Odysseus to again grasp the feeling of home.

            Odysseus, following all of Athena’s and Nausicaa’s careful directions, enters the court.  He is welcomed to the household, his encounter with Nausicaa is explained (although with some well-handled editorializing), and he begins to tell his tale.  Worth noting is his description of Calypso:

“The goddess took me in in all her kindness,

welcomed me warmly, cherished me, even vowed

to make me immortal, ageless, all my days—

but she never won the heart inside me, never.”  (B.7, 294-7)

 

This is a surprisingly graceful acknowledgement, and he even notes that the impulse to set him free might have been her own.  She is still a dangerous and seductive creature, but he recognizes the caring bent of her attentions. 

            The caring attentions of the Phaeacians show no sign of abating, either, and Odysseus is assured that tomorrow will be the day of his return.  Arete’s women make him a snug and lavish bed in the porch, and he is ushered into it:

“How welcome the thought of sleep to that man now…

So there after many trials Odysseus lay at rest

on a corded bed inside the echoing colonnade.

Alcinous slept in chambers deep in his lofty house

Where the queen his wife arranged and shared their bed.”  (B.7, 393-7)

 

Odysseus has reached the porch of the household, at least, meanwhile hearing the hints of deep bedroom and waiting wife.  The audience has to feel this domestic dream to be simultaneously achingly close, and painfully distant.

            The next morning Athena returns to duty in order to guide him that much closer.  The basics of home having been established, it is time for the more public doings of men:  songs and contests.  Odysseus is brought up from bed as a “raider of cities”, but now it is time for him to be a citizen of one.  Athena scours the town

“in build and voice the wise Alcinous’ herald,

furthering plans for Odysseus’ journey home,

and stopped beside each citizen, urged them all,

‘Come this way, you lords and captains of Phaeacia,

come to the meeting grounds and learn about the stranger!’”  (B.8, 9-13)

 

So Odysseus will spend the day as the main attraction:  no more invisible mists, but attention and challenges.  Athena doses him with yet another splendor

“so Phaeacians might regard the man with kindness,

awe and respect as well, and he might win through

the many trials they’d pose to test the hero’s strength.” (B.8, 23-25)

 

Once more, this is a measure exacted to even the playing field, giving Odysseus a good chance at succeeding without handing him the victory. 

            Odysseus’ identity among men will come to the fore in this part of the story through the dual influences of action and history.  Action comes through his participation in games, where by way of the challenges of others he proves his own capabilities to himself.  When Odysseus balks at prince Laodamas’ polite invitation to the games, the mouthy Broadsea steps up to challenge him:

“’Oh I knew it!’

Broadsea broke in, mocking him to his face.

‘I never took you for someone skilled in games,

the kind that real men play throughout the world.

Not a chance.  You’re some skipper of profiteers,

Roving the high seas in his scudding craft,

Reckoning up his freight with a keen eye out

For home-cargo, grabbing the gold he can!

You’re no athlete.  I see that.”  (B.8, 182-190)

 

Odysseus’ response is immediate and furious, hammering his accuser with a barrage of insults, and he finishes by asserting himself in no uncertain terms:

“I’ve held my place in the front ranks, I tell you,

long as I could trust to my youth and striving hands.

But now I’m wrestled down by pain and hardship, look

I’ve borne my share of struggles, cleaving my way

Through wars of men and pounding waves at sea.

Nevertheless, despite so many blows,

I’ll compete in your games, just watch.  Your insults

Cut to the quick—you rouse my fighting blood!”  (B.8, 208-15)

 

He proceeds to win the contest by an appropriately heroic margin:  Athena bolsters the accomplishment with a veritable huzzah from the cheap seats—“There’s nothing to fear in this event— / no one can touch you, much less beat your distance!”  Odysseus is so wildly encouraged that he goes on to mouth off for nearly twoscore lines.  This is a wonderfully familiar Odysseus—fiery, arrogant, clever, and athletic—seeming very little like the battered creature which slung itself at Nausicaa’s feet the day before.  So through competitive action Odysseus is shown how much of his former capabilities remain with him, and how he measures against the crowd even in the present moment. 

            He is tugged back to earth by the calm diplomacy of Alcinous, who brings up dancers whose skills Odysseus can admire without threat.  This is followed by the  presentation of guest gifts, a hot bath, comic songs, good food:  all the little gifts and pleasures of society which continue to warm Odysseus to the idea of home.  His prowess proven and his needs fulfilled, the present moment is duly accounted for, and it is time for Odysseus to become reacquainted with the past.

            History is presented through the medium of Demodocus’ songs, recounting the events of Troy—before the games Odysseus is brought to such a peak of emotion at each mention of the events that he must conceal tears by wrapping himself in his cloak, a reaction which Alcinous notes with interest.  After all the comforting events of the day, Odysseus is at last ready to request himself further songs of the war.  These stories, once Odysseus admits his role in them, reacquaint him with his own history and shows him how knowledge of those events has spread and been remembered---and by association, how he has been remembered. 

            Odysseus, his ego apparently fully on its way to recovery, has a specific request:

“Sing of the wooden horse

Epeus built with Athena’s help, the cunning trap that

Good Odysseus brought one day to the height of Troy,

filled with fighting men who laid the city waste.

Sing that for me—true to life as it deserves—

and I will tell the world at once how freely

the Muse gave you the gods’ own gift of song.”  (B.8, 52-8)

 

Again Odysseus bursts into tears, an emotional explosion that merits one of the most wrenching descriptions in all of The Odyssey.  All of Odysseus’ famous past has been, apparently, faithfully and accurately preserved.  This emotion is doubtless a sign of traumatic memories, but we also have to think that it is so strongly expressed because it is, for Odysseus, a story that has been silent since its happening.  Just as he was so delighted to witness the return of his dominance on the field, he is now painfully relieved to hear his most grievous troubles recounted. Alcinous ends the song, and addresses Odysseus with words that the wrecker of cities must have been waiting to hear for over ten years.

“So don’t be crafty now, my friend, don’t hide

the truth I’m after.  Fair is fair, speak out!

Come, tell us the name they call you there at home—

Your mother, father, townsmen, neighbors round about.

Surely no man in the world is nameless, all told.

Born high, born low, as soon as he sees the light

his parents always name him, once he’s born.

And tell me your land, your people, your city too…

Tell us your own story now, and tell it truly.

Where have your rovings forced you?

What lands of men have you seen, what sturdy towns,

what men themselves?  Who were wild, savage, lawless?

Who were friendly to strangers, god-fearing men?  Tell me,

why do you weep and grieve so sorely when your hear

the fate of the Argives, hear the fall of Troy?

That is the gods’ work, spinning threads of death

through the lives of mortal men,

and all to make a song for those to come…” (B.8, 616-23, 641-651)

 

What makes Alcinous’ query more important than all the other incidents in the Odyssey when a guest is asked to tell their story is its sheer intricacy.  It inquires into almost every possible aspect of Odysseus’ journey, his homeland, and his name.  Odysseus has no room left for evasion.  Last of all, Alcinous reminds Odysseus that if he has undergone a horrific journey, then at least he might give the gods the satisfaction of allowing it to pass into legend as per their intention.  The contest brought Odysseus to the present, the songs to the storied past; Alcinous is asking him to combine the two.  All that remains is for Odysseus now to tell the tale of his unknown adventures, and the whole stretch of two decades will have been reawakened for him and made into one continuous fabric. 

            Odysseus’ thrilling tale is a difficult one to pass over, and much of what people think of as The Odyssey are in fact events merely retold by Odysseus at the Phaeacian fireside.  It is a marvelous yarn, full of delightful monsters and scenes of abject horror, magic spells and beautiful women, ghosts, shipwrecks, odd curses and weirder gifts.  For the sake of keeping to task, however, we will regretfully take Athena’s cue and step aside until Odysseus has finished his tale. 

            He began his time on Phaeacia with a restorative sleep, and now he departs from it in the same state, peacefully dozing as the Phaeacian ship blurs across the Mediterranean.    Heaped with treasures, he is cozily set down in Ithaca’s bay, and the Phaeacians depart again for home[2].  The fairy story is brought to a neat finish by Poseidon’s vengeance on Phaeacia:  although we are never certain if they manage to appease him in time to save their threatened port, Alcinous swears:  “Hurry, friends, do as I say, let us all comply: / stop our convoys home for every castaway / chancing on our city!” (B.13, 203-6)  So the palace doors of Phaeacia slam closed, and the chapter of his adventures is definitively closed along with them.  His tutelage has come to an end, and now he enters the real field of play.