Ode to The Odyssey

It would be audacious to suggest that Christopher Nolan’s recent adaptation of Homer’s Odyssey is a terrible film. And yet, there is a cabal of cheeto-stained keyboard wielders suggesting the film is nothing more than ‘woke’ propaganda over the casting of a mythological character who was born from a swan egg. One famous Ketamine addict got into an internet squabble with scholar Tom Holland (not the actor of said film) and claimed AI would make a “historically accurate” version…of a fictional tale with a cyclops, witches, and gods feuding over a war we’re not even sure actually happened. Even Emily Wilson, recent translator of a controversial edition of the Odyssey, penned a scathing review. I know it’s been a while since an adaptation not made by Disney was about to reach a billion dollars at the box office, but what in the name of Nobody is going on?!

First, let’s just address the historical accuracy part here because those willing to hedge their entire identity on whether or not a film adaptation of an oral story told almost 3,000 years ago in the same century the mythological founding of Rome occurred are really assuming we have more concrete (or iron) evidence than we actually do. The story of the Odyssey was told around the 8th century BC following a dark age in Greek history, referring to a period where we’re missing a lot of information, and in those hundreds of years, many civilizations collapsed like Mycenae (where Agamemnon was supposedly king). There is no evidence that Odysseus was a real person outside of his heroic tale, little evidence regarding the Trojan War despite Heinrich Schliemann‘s attempt at uncovering it with dynamite, and we have no idea if Homer was even a real person or many different authors like the writing credits of a Taylor Swift song. So why are we so hung up on accuracy?

Bruce Wayne, is that you?!

I’m sincerely of the belief that films are not meant to be documentaries, but the storytelling and purpose of the adaptation has more to say about the moment and people in time in which the film was created. In that way, films are, in and of themselves, primary sources of the time period they are made in rather than purporting to be the historical artifact many critics wish for. Does it matter if the costumes aren’t period appropriate or if they used real-life Viking ships? When we consider movie-making effort, there are visual decisions that supersede accuracy. Doesn’t Agamemnon look like a foreboding and powerful figure without ever taking off his Batman-like helmet, similar to the screen presence of Darth Vader? And would it have been possible to stage all of the scenes on a Greek trireme nearly as well? What matters in a film such as this is the story that is being told to a modern audience and the overarching thesis. When that differs from the original it is not always a bad thing–it’s an interesting creative choice that attempts to connect with a modern-day understanding that intertwines with our past.

I’m not sure how any more clear Coppola could be

Troy (2004) faced similar backlash, but the concepts of national pride, fighting for one’s country, and the senselessness of war were a explicitly Bush-era notions rather than having any semblance of reality for ancient Greeks. Marie Antoinette (2006) was also heavily criticized for anachronisms while Coppola cheekily snuck in a pair of Converse shoes in the film, but those critics missed her intentional comparison of the opulent and destructive naivety of the 2000’s youth culture with a not-so-subtle nod to Hollywood royalty of the time like Paris Hilton.

So what is Christopher Nolan trying to tell us with his adaptation of the Odyssey, a story that’s been retold on film numerous times?

Odysseus is painted with less glory and cunning than his original counterpart, but this is nowhere near as offensive as Emily Wilson purports it to be. Nolan’s characterization stands alongside a pedigree of other faulty tragic heroes who contemplate a duty and the heavy weight of their own genius. Nolan’s Odysseus compares directly to Gotham’s Dark Knight, part of Odysseus’ struggle to protect and defend his crew despite their sins or whether or not they even deserve it paralleling Batman’s duty to his city. Odysseus is actively haunted by his mistakes throughout the film; like Oppenheimer, he experiences a sickening guilt around his ingenious idea of the Trojan Horse and despairs over the consequence portrayed in the film as a loss of Xenia (Zeus’ Law). Interstellar showcased a similar struggle to get home, with Cooper’s love for his daughter transcending space and time to get back to her, a loyalty to love mirrored by Penelope’s stubborn refusal to give up on her husband and Odysseus’ dog Argos living far beyond his years to see his master return. Odysseus belongs more to Nolan in the film than he does Homer, but again, this is not a bad thing.

The Odyssey also belongs to us.

The culture of ancient Greece in which the story takes place would have put an exorbitant emphasis on the concept of Kleos or glory. In it, a person’s renown and reputation in the spoils of war overcame feelings of guilt or shame as portrayed in the film. Telemachus would have concerned himself more with whether or not his father died with honor than if he were alive at all. Let’s also not forget that one of Odysseus’ more deplorable acts in the original telling, having Hector’s baby son thrown from the walls of Troy, did not make it into the film because to a modern audience, this would have been an irredeemable act with no glory in it at all. Instead, people of today find honor in accountability, and there is a respect for men who do great things but have the insight to admit their wrongdoings. And though classicists may complain about the portrayal of a man ridden in guilt, we know as a modern people that Odysseus would have certainly experienced symptoms of PTSD (a diagnosis that didn’t become official until 1980), a narrative that makes sense to us and brings understanding to many of his choices in the film such as his avoidance of returning immediately home, unbridled aggression towards the Cyclops, haunting through flashbacks and the spectre of Athena, and pain in the Siren’s song.

In fact, as a modern audience, we care less about the trials and tribulations that marked Odysseus with glory in past retellings and more about whether he makes it home successfully to defend his son and wife from ravenous suitors. He saves his home and family, enacts revenge on those we’ve deemed deserving, and apologizes to the audience for his sins (a distinctly Christian idea). The overarching theme of the film also rests on the question, “At what cost?” Agamemnon sacrifices his daughter to win the Trojan war and ends up in the Underworld. Odysseus betrays Sinon and fails to defend a priestess from a barbaric beheading, violating sacred law. His crew kills and eats the cattle of Apollo and earn their deaths, Calypso tricks and keeps Odysseus for herself angering Zeus and preventing a husband and father from returning home, the Greeks eager for their victorious homecoming ransack and destroy much of Greece on their way, Penelope waits for Odysseus but her kingdom appears vulnerable and unmanaged without a king.

We ask ourselves this question now. At what cost do we continue to rage meangingless wars like the one in the Middle East? At what cost do we over-rely on AI as jobs dwindle, brains atrophy, and data centers siphon needless amounts of energy? At what cost are we losing our basic humanity as politicians continue to pit people against each other as they line their pockets while we’re too busy fighting to look? The movie demonstrates the consequence of blindly following a king into war over a lie with the sole purpose of enriching himself and then shows all the misery and destruction of civilization that follows. Seems a bit poignant, no?

“Nolan’s Odyssey lacks many of the elements that make the poem great. It has nothing convincing to say about time, memory, history, war, or about the relationship between one warrior’s glorious return and the lives of his family, adversaries, comrades, friends and neighbours. It lacks psychological, emotional, political and ethical depth. Its narrative structure is gimmicky. The writing is abysmal. None of the characters has convincing motivation for their actions or words. There are no sex scenes, and all the food looks horrible.”

Emily Wilson 2026

The Odyssey isn’t meant to be a faithful adaptation of the original, nor do we need it to be. Instead, the film stands as a testament to humanity and our ability to connect to a shared story from thousands and thousands of years ago, retold as many times and by various different authors over centuries, just like with Homer(s). Let us instead judge the film on its own merit, not whether it matches the interpretation of a single scholar.

From one history nerd to another, it’s okay. Sometimes being historically inaccurate is a more powerful message.

Christmas Psychosis

  • A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens

‘Tis the season to be jolly, kiss under holly, and have a psychotic break of melancholy. Christmas can often be paradoxical in how much people genuinely love the holidays by counting down the days as early as July or putting up trees well before little kids in costumes harass their neighbors for candy. Others approach the festivities with dread, reminiscing of long-dead loved ones and family traditions, or generally being a grouchy old humbug. For those unfortunate individuals in the latter category, the Christmas season heralds a harbinger of mental illness–a cyclical wave of psychotic woe canopied by snow and the feverous delusions of a Grinch-like low. And also an epidemic of rhymes.

‘Christmas Psychosis’, a phenomenon largely felt by those like me working in mental healthcare who notice a surge of crisis beginning in late November through to the new year, is the idea that something about this time of year triggers a wave of renewed psychotic symptoms in a population already prone. Perhaps one of the most famous iterations of this case is the fictional Scrooge finding himself haunted by hallucinations of ghosts representing the past, present, and future Christmases. A Christmas Carol is a seasonal classic, many of us grew up seeing it performed in theaters, and Charles Dickens was no stranger to depicting bouts of psychotic depression in his works (Garratt, 2022). But is the idea that psychosis comes but once a year, with such prevalence, we ought to leave it out a tray of cookies, one that’s based in reality?

On a scale of 1-to-psychotic, how you doin’?

Since at least the 1950’s, some psychoanalytic thought has suggested that neuroses around Christmas time were because the celebration was focused on the birth of Jesus, the ultimate God’s favorite child over the rest of us, and that this brought up unresolved feelings related to competing against our siblings (Boyer, 1955). As the older and obviously favorite child who was Christmas-gifted the PlayStation over my brother, I can’t say that I’ve ever felt triggered by Jesus for having his own holiday. Though there is some evidence to suggest that being around Christmas-y things can lead to a negative psychological impact on people who are not religious or participating in festivities, who may already be dealing with feelings of exclusion (Schmitt, et al., 2010). There is even a bizarre phenomenon known as White Christmas effect, where researchers use Bing Crosby’s version of the song to study participants’ capability of auditory hallucinations. In traditional versions of the study, the song would be played briefly, and then white noise would be played for the participants. They would be asked if they could hear the song through the white noise, with around half of the people saying they could, and over a majority of schizophrenic participants stating the same. But many researchers suspect the general population may be reporting hallucinations because they were expected to or because they may already be prone to flights of fancy, rather than because songs about Christmas cause psychosis (Scott & Leung, 2025). Though I certainly do feel like losing my mind when Christmas songs are played on retail loops before Thanksgiving.

Is Santa Claus real or just a figment of your imagination? If you see elves, please call 911

But surely there must be an uptick of emergency room visits when it seems like everyone and their dog spends the majority of winter slightly unhinged. That, too, appears difficult to determine. Some studies show there certainly does seem to be an increase in ER visits for psychiatric reasons during the holiday season (Halpern, et al., 1994), but others show that there may even be less utilization of the ER during the holidays for mental health, despite what we assume about psychosis season (Schneider, et al., 2023). However, there does appear to be a noticeable uptick in miserable feelings around Christmas and alcohol-related deaths, with the period after the holidays showing the real increase in psychiatric hospitalizations (Sansone & Sanson, 2011).

So, basically, Christmas Psychosis is all in our heads. Fitting perhaps, but not an unjustifiable conclusion given how crazy things get around this time of year. I will say this, however, if there is any truth to the matter of psychosis for Christmas, maybe watch how much nutmeg you’re putting in your eggnog! That DOES cause hallucinations (Ehrenpreis, et al., 2014).

Fact Check it, yo!

Ehrenpreis, J. E., DesLauriers, C., Lank, P., Armstrong, P. K., & Leikin, J. B. (2014). Nutmeg poisonings: A retrospective review of 10 years experience from the Illinois Poison Center, 2001–2011. Journal of Medical Toxicology, 10(2), 148-151.

Garratt, P. (2022). Household ghosts and personified presences. In A. Woods, B. Alderson-Day, & C. Fernyhough (Eds.), Voices in psychosis (p.153). Oxford University Press.

Halpern, S. D., Doraiswamy, P. M., Tupler, L. A., Holland, J. M., Ford, S. M., & Ellinwood Jr, E. H. (1994). Emergency department patterns in psychiatric visits during the holiday season. Annals of Emergency Medicine, 24(5), 939-943.

Sansone, R. A., & Sansone, L. A. (2011). The Christmas effect on psychopathology. Innovations in Clinical Neuroscience, 8(12), 10.

Schmitt, M. T., Davies, K., Hung, M., & Wright, S. C. (2010). Identity moderates the effects of Christmas displays on mood, self-esteem, and inclusion. Journal of Experimental Social Psychology, 46(6), 1017-1022.

Schneider, E., Liwinski, T., Imfeld, L., Lang, U. E., & Brühl, A. B. (2023). Who is afraid of Christmas? The effect of Christmas and Easter holidays on psychiatric hospitalizations and emergencies—Systematic review and single center experience from 2012 to 2021. Frontiers in Psychiatry, 13, 1049935.

Scott, M., & Leung, T. T.-C. (2025). I’m whispering a white Christmas: masking relations in hallucinatory speech. Language and Cognition, 17, e71.

History and Psychosis

The Scream by Edvard Munch (1893). As the story goes, Edvard was out for a walk shortly after his sister had been committed to an insane asylum. Suddenly, the skies turned red and he sensed ‘a scream’. He depicted this experience of psychosis in his most famous painting.

The crazy thing about psychosis is how misunderstood it is in the popular imagination. What does it mean to have and how do the symptoms manifest?

For those who have been following my blog for years, you’ll have noticed I’ve taken a bit of a hiatus—emerging every so often to post a vulnerable little missive on heartbreak. It shouldn’t be too difficult to piece together the story of what happened, but since then, I’ve kept a promise to that teenager I tutored and subsequently lost when their mother and I were forced to part ways. Back then, I decided to go back to school to earn my degree and eventually become licensed to practice therapy to help others—a goal I had shared with both mother and child. What inspired the change of career path for me was that teenager and the struggles they dealt with while navigating an unsupportive family life as an openly trans kid. Eventually, the pressure and stress of constantly fighting with family led to mental health issues for that teenager which resulted in hospitalization at a psychiatric clinic. There, they shared their experience with symptoms of psychosis with doctors.

Psychosis is defined as an experience that denotes a break from reality–this can range from delusions, hallucinations, and/or bizarre behavior such as disorganized speech. It is a symptom, not a disorder, and can be featured in diagnoses such as Schizophrenia or Major Depressive Disorder. Causes can range from extreme stress, and substance use, to genetic predisposition.

I felt helpless at the time and a little bit scared. What does it mean if someone I love and care about like my own child, hears voices that tell terrible, self-degrading things? What could we do to help? Would they be okay? Part of that promise was doing everything I could to involve myself in uncovering those answers. And though, per their mother, I am not allowed contact with that teenager any longer—I can do everything in my power instead to help those like them. The reason that I have been unable to update this blog is that I have been busy working at a psychiatry clinic since last year and becoming part of the team at our university that specifically treats patients dealing with first-episode psychosis and the research meant to provide hope for the future.

Basically, I’m doing the damn thing. Sempre ❤️

This is, however, my history blog playground for my research dumps where I can humorously recount the things I’ve either taught myself or felt like sharing with the public. Now feels like the perfect time to merge both passions, exploring the presence of psychosis in well-known historical things, events, or people. From the Oracle of Delphi to insanity contextualized historically, to any excuse to write about how much I love Joan of Arc. Famous individuals and artists in history have experienced psychosis and come out making some of the most beloved works in the world…one of them cut his own ear off for good measure too. Many Kings, Queens, and rulers have also suffered and so have others when the consequence of mental illness often leads to wars of succession. Mostly, I hope to also provide a picture of psychosis that is less terrifying–to shed light on its frequency and treat it with the comfort we have in more common mental health struggles like depression. Let’s de-stigmatize. People with psychosis are unwell but they are not inherently dangerous nor should they be treated as such. Let me show you all the brilliant people in history who had it and went on to do extrodinary things, like inventing calculus. Though, I suppose you could say someone would have to be a little mad to make sense of it in the first place.

‘Madness’ in history hadn’t always included the modern concept of psychosis. The term itself was introduced to psychology in the 19th century, and it’s important to remind the audience that some experiences in history will fit the definition of psychosis but may also fall under the umbrella of a cultural or religious phenomenon for some. Think of the prophets and saints, those who prayed and spoke to gods or heard prophecies, or perhaps figures who developed a grandiose view of themselves and thus the confidence to back it (Did Alexander the Great experience psychosis then? Let’s discuss.) Part of this series will be meant to think about the causal relationship between psychosis and ‘normal’ experiences like superstitions and ghost stories. And some of it will be debunking the usual tomfoolery of myths like the Schizophrenogenic Mother or taking a look at the Four Humors theory of the ancient world. Naturally, we’ll need to dismantle ‘hysteria’ and talk about how Nellie Bly should be everyone’s hero. I’ll pick and choose the order, no rhyme or reason most likely, but know that psychosis and mental illness will heavily feature–and we’ll find a way to have some fun with it.

Stendhal is Dead

I’ve fallen out of love with Italy.

It’s a devastating realization, to be standing in the middle of a beautiful Italian city and…feel nothing at all. An emptiness. A resentment for the cultural idea of love and passion—to witness the gentle way a couple will hold and kiss the other and to have your heart squeeze not in adoration but envy. Fuck that. It’s not real. This whole thing is a lie.

The knowledge of a language and a people—to have no interest in exploring that again at all. My brain is thick and gunked up in pain, there is no use for the words I learned from my betrayer. An absence in trying.

La Prima Cosa Bella came on the radio while eating at a restaurant and there I felt something. Anguish. For the connotation and the memory.

How she tried to find the song in my phone by typing in a lyric about suonare la chitarra and I went—OH! You mean this one? And we played it together and just looked at each other in amazement. How did we both know we meant the same song?

And she giggles and tells me—“You’re the first beautiful thing!” That night surely was for me as well.

And I can’t stop the single tear that escapes me in this recollection. I hate this song. And I hate this place. And I hate that the romance is now gone.

I’m a Ghost with Unfinished Business

Channeling Sappho

BECAUSE I DIED on the phone with you that day and I think you know it too.

Saying what you knew would obliterate my heart in the hopes that I would stay away. To sacrifice the one for the many, “This is best for everyone” you said. But is it or is it just best for him? Because you, me, and your child are casualties in this too–and what’s best for them might very well be me and you. Surely the three of us all suffer the loss of each other in this, but it’s what you needed to do.

You didn’t feel anything, you don’t love me you claimed through shaky tears–still holding me to your ear for 30 excruciating minutes longer than necessary if these words were true, as I begged for us to still be friends. But we both know that’s impossible, because were we ever really just friends? Your words made little sense then–in stark contrast to every lingering embrace we shared, those leg touches and face caresses, how you moaned against my lips after asking “What is this?” or the beautiful way you shuddered while meeting that wonderful crescendo of pleasure.

No, I was being foolish. There is no being friends after this. Which is why he asked you to throw me away and you knew it had to be done too. Especially after I confessed my love, thinking even then in my naivety that it was all just me–it had to be–how we both surprised each other with this possibility but I knew all along as I hid my growing feelings for you. Blaming myself for it, “I’m so sorry” I cried when I said it out loud finally. Could you forgive me for it, this shame I felt for never knowing I could love another woman–for ignoring the signs all of my life and thus putting us both willfully in danger. This was all my fault, I thought. I should have done more to protect us from spelling our own doom–as inevitable as this accidental crossing of the line felt, so consumed in the moment of a mutual truth, I didn’t stop to realize that you weren’t being honest either. Stupidly thinking you had his permission in this too.

How many times you questioned if you even deserved me, perhaps knowing you were capable all along of the ability to destroy me. That you might have to, for their sake but not ours. You were already saying goodbye to me, weren’t you? Afterwards, when we cried about it–what we had done and the people we would be hurting, how we had to bury this–the way you traced your fingers lovingly along my cheek just smiling and gazing into my eyes for what felt like an eternity. Perhaps to commit me in memory, the way I was then, not letting me look away when I tried–“Hey, sweetheart…” lifting my chin so that I would keep looking back at you. I would like to thank you for it now, having not seen your beautiful face for over a year. I can still feel and remember this moment, how happy we were in that shared intimacy together–to have that truth in closeness resting between us.

“We have to forget about each other.” You cried. And maybe this is what I deserve, for the mistake in thinking to love someone altruistically could ever be without sorrow. But I’m so sorry for all of it, for the anger he must have felt when you tried to make it all right after, for the suffering your child went through when I was ripped from their life and never knowing the real reason why, and for you too–because I suspect that now you’re hiding more than just the truth of us.

So maybe I deserve to be dead and forgotten, perhaps best for everyone–to never see or speak to each other ever again, like you said. “If you really want to help me,” you begged, “Do this for my kids.” Knowing I would, because I would do anything for them and for you. Even if that means lying down in my grave and letting you bury me without a headstone. Here Lies This Tragic Mistake. And hoping you all go on to live and be happy together, forgetting me and my presence there.

But a part of me still hopes that my love will continue to haunt you long after I’ve been gone. Because I will never forget you and I will always love you. To hold my memory in your heart knowing that someone out there–even if they are dead and gone and no more of your world–still thinks of you and cherishes everything that you are. All of the good and all of the bad, embracing you fully and holding you dear–to give you strength and self-love. To know that you do, in fact, deserve it anyway.

And I suppose this is why I love history, because though I am nothing now but a faint figment of dust, I will forever exist as something that happened once. That is where I will live now for eternity, as a piece from your past.