The Odyssey is not a classic simply because it reflects the cultural ideal of Ancient Greece. Thousands of hours have not gone into translating this poem as a simple anthropological exercise. The Odyssey is read in English classrooms across the world not because it has historical value, but because it's a good book.
Before I continue, I should warn you that I am a huge fan of Greek Mythology. I was lapping up children's versions of the stories of Pandora's Box and the Siege of Troy by the time I could read. I had tackled Edith Hamilton's Mythology by the time I was 12, and Bulfinch's Mythology and countless other retellings since. Seriously, you say "pomegranate" I say "Persephone." This means I have a little bit of a bias. It also means that those unfamiliar with the basic premise of Greek myth - Mount Olympus and the Twelve Olympians, the different creatures, who fathered who - will have a little bit of a learning curve that I didn't have to deal with. That being said, I believe the epics of Homer are open to anyone who is willing to dive into the language of the story and make a couple forays onto Wikipedia.
Now, I'm assuming you already know the basic story of The Odyssey. Odysseus, the brave mastermind behind the Trojan horse, is delayed on his journey home to Ithika by storms at sea and his own crew's stupidity. He ends up traveling island to island, encountering great adventures on his mighty odyssey and epitomizing the hero cycle with every step.
The story you might not know, however, is the story of Telemachus. Telemachus is Odysseus's son, merely an infant when his father left for the war, but now ready to prove himself a man. The goddess Athena takes the guise of an old man named Mentor (which is how we get the word, by the way) and guides the boy on a quest to find his father and put an end to the hordes of suitors badgering his mother and abusing his household. "Clear-minded" Telemachus is the unsung hero of the Odyssey, and his triumphant rise to manhood is one of the most compelling aspects of the poem.
And, yes, it is a poem. This Fitzgerald translation of The Odyssey perserves all the beauty and verse of the original Greek in a way not yet accomplished by any other translator. His prose flows across the page like Shakespeare, and in what I consider his greatest triumph, he even manages to recreate Hermes's hilarious rhyming dialouge.
There are other translators that you can turn to if the language of Fitzgerald presents with you with too great a challange. Fagles is the most notable among these, though none other than Butler (I spit upon his name) are truely verboten. I warn you, however, with the certainty of Apollo's oracle at Delphi, that if you forego Fitzgerald you will be missing out on one of the most beautifuly told epics of all time.
Now, I'm assuming you already know the basic story of The Odyssey. Odysseus, the brave mastermind behind the Trojan horse, is delayed on his journey home to Ithika by storms at sea and his own crew's stupidity. He ends up traveling island to island, encountering great adventures on his mighty odyssey and epitomizing the hero cycle with every step.
The story you might not know, however, is the story of Telemachus. Telemachus is Odysseus's son, merely an infant when his father left for the war, but now ready to prove himself a man. The goddess Athena takes the guise of an old man named Mentor (which is how we get the word, by the way) and guides the boy on a quest to find his father and put an end to the hordes of suitors badgering his mother and abusing his household. "Clear-minded" Telemachus is the unsung hero of the Odyssey, and his triumphant rise to manhood is one of the most compelling aspects of the poem.
And, yes, it is a poem. This Fitzgerald translation of The Odyssey perserves all the beauty and verse of the original Greek in a way not yet accomplished by any other translator. His prose flows across the page like Shakespeare, and in what I consider his greatest triumph, he even manages to recreate Hermes's hilarious rhyming dialouge.
There are other translators that you can turn to if the language of Fitzgerald presents with you with too great a challange. Fagles is the most notable among these, though none other than Butler (I spit upon his name) are truely verboten. I warn you, however, with the certainty of Apollo's oracle at Delphi, that if you forego Fitzgerald you will be missing out on one of the most beautifuly told epics of all time.