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The Iliad

Homer (-900–-800), -750

★ 3.94 from 542.5k ratings on Goodreads

Poetry Classics

A war stalled outside a city, a commander's wounded pride, and the best fighter in the army refusing to fight. Seven weeks of rage, grief and armour. A war camp stalled in rage and grief, with a grave, formal voice and long stretches of battle and mourning.

Feels like awe, grief and passion. About war, death and power.

Who it’s for

You may like it if you want a grave, speech-rich epic about pride, command and the cost of war. The translation's archaic diction ('thou', 'shades') and long battle-heavy stretches can make it slow going.

Why read it

It puts you inside a siege where pride and grief carry real weight, and its scenes of argument, fear and tenderness still feel immediate.

Pages from the book

He has no comfort to give her except the shape of what is coming.

So speaking, to the arms of his dear spouseHe gave the boy; she on her fragrant breastReceived him, weeping as she smiled. The chiefBeheld, and, moved with tender pity, smoothedHer forehead gently with his hand and said:—“Sorrow not thus, beloved one, for me.No living man can send me to the shadesBefore my time; no man of woman born,Coward or brave, can shun his destiny.But go thou home, and tend thy labors there—The web, the distaff—and command thy maidsTo speed the work: The cares of war pertainTo all men born in Troy, and most to me.”

A father reaches for his son, still dressed for killing.

So speaking, mighty Hector stretched his armsTo take the boy; the boy shrank crying backTo his fair nurse’s bosom, scared to seeHis father helmeted in glittering brass,And eying with affright the horse-hair plumeThat grimly nodded from the lofty crest.At this both parents in their fondness laughed;And hastily the mighty Hector tookThe helmet from his brow and laid it downGleaming upon the ground, and, having kissedHis darling son and tossed him up in play,Prayed thus to Jove and all the gods of heaven:

The poem stops the battle for a man you have never heard of.

He spake, and sent another arrow forthAt Hector with an eager aim. It missedIts mark, but struck Gorgythion down, the braveAnd blameless son of Priam; through his breastThe arrow went. Fair Castianira broughtThe warrior forth—a dame from Aesyma,Beautiful as a goddess. As withinA garden droops a poppy to the ground,Bowed by its weight and by the rains of spring,So drooped his head within the heavy casque.

More passages from The Iliad

Homer.Nobody knows who Homer was. Seven cities claimed his birth, and the 'Homeric question' — one poet or many, writing or dictation — has been argued for two centuries.

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The Odyssey

Homer, -800

The first great story about a journey home — and every stop along the way is a good reason to give up.

Where to get it

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Questions readers ask

Is The Iliad for me?
You may like it if you want a grave, speech-rich epic about pride, command and the cost of war. The translation's archaic diction ('thou', 'shades') and long battle-heavy stretches can make it slow going.
What is The Iliad like?
A war camp stalled in rage and grief, with a grave, formal voice and long stretches of battle and mourning. Feels like awe, grief and passion. About war, death and power.
What should I read after The Iliad?
If you liked The Iliad, try Oedipus Rex (Sophocles), Beowulf (Beowulf poet) and War and Peace (Leo Tolstoy).

A taste of the feed

  1. What stays unforgiven when a crime becomes the price of peace?

    My lot be still to lead The life of innocence and fly Irreverence in word or deed, To follow still those laws ordained on high Whose birthplace is the bright ethereal sky. No mortal birth they own, Olympus their progenitor alone: Ne’er shall they slumber in oblivion cold, The god in them is strong and grows not old.

    Oedipus Rex · Sophocles

  2. Grief does its healing underground, months before anyone notices.

    She did not know and would not have believed it, but beneath the layer of slime that covered her soul and seemed to her impenetrable, delicate young shoots of grass were already sprouting, which taking root would so cover with their living verdure the grief that weighed her down that it would soon no longer be seen or noticed. The wound had begun to heal from within.

    War and Peace · Leo Tolstoy

  3. The wish to make someone so bright the sun becomes an insult.

    Hood my unmann’d blood, bating in my cheeks, With thy black mantle; till strange love, grown bold, Think true love acted simple modesty. Come, night; come, Romeo; come, thou day in night; For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night Whiter than new snow on a raven’s back. Come, gentle night, come, loving, black-brow’d night, Give me my Romeo; and, when he shall die, Take him and cut him out in little stars, And he will make the face of heaven so fine That all the world will be in love with night And pay no worship to the garish sun.

    Romeo and Juliet · William Shakespeare

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