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The Olive Tree Bed, The Squeaking Ghosts, and The End of the Road: Decoding Odyssey Books 23-24 (Ad Navseam Ep. 37)

Meta Description: Join Dr. David Noe and Dr. Jeff Winkle in the finale of their Odyssey series (Ad Navseam Ep. 37). From the secrets of the Olive Tree Bed to the squeaking ghosts of the suitors and the intervention of Athena, discover why the epic ends not with a kiss, but with a treaty.

Introduction: Sunshine in the Vomitorium

Welcome back to the “Vomitorium,” listeners! It is Episode 37 of the Ad Navseam Podcast, and the mood is positively radiant. For once, Dr. Jeff Winkle and Dr. David Noe aren’t complaining about the “Smarch” weather of the Midwest. The sun is shining, the sky is blue, and swans are gliding across the lake visible from the bunker’s periscope. It is the perfect atmospheric backdrop for the grand finale of our journey through the Odyssey.

Before we navigate the final reunion and the last battle, we owe a massive shout-out to Mr. Paul Pretzia. Paul is a Latin teacher at Gregory the Great Academy near Scranton, Pennsylvania. He lives there with his wife and two children. Paul requested a shout-out with or without a joke about The Office. While Dr. Winkle missed the cue for a “Bears, Beets, Battlestar Galactica” reference, we salute Paul for keeping the torch of the Latin language burning bright in Dunder Mifflin territory. Salve, Paul!

The Opening Quote: Is the Odyssey “Lower Key”?

Dr. Noe kicks things off with a provocative quote from the famous classical scholar C.M. Bowra, from his 1938 book simply titled Homer. Bowra compares the two great epics and suggests that the Odyssey lacks the “sustained splendor” of the Iliad.

“The Odyssey… has fewer overwhelming moments and a less demanding conception of human worth… While the cold, vengeful anger of Odysseus is not comparable to the fiery, devouring passion of Achilles, all is set in a lower key.”

Bowra suggests this might be because the Odyssey is closer to a folk tale or a fairy tale, or perhaps because it was written in the poet’s advancing years. Dr. Winkle agrees that the Odyssey is a roman-à-clef of sorts—a domestic epic about character rather than a tragedy about existential suffering. Yet, despite Bowra’s critique, the Odyssey remains the more popular epic. Why? Because it is relatable. We don’t often fight demigods on wind-swept plains, but we all can understand the longing for home, the complexity of marriage, and the need for a good meal.

Book 23: The High-Stepping Nurse

The action resumes immediately after the slaughter. Eurycleia, the old nurse, rushes upstairs to wake Penelope. Homer gives us a brilliant, physical detail: she goes up the stairs “lifting her knees high”.

The joy of the news—”Odysseus is home! The suitors are dead!”—has literally rejuvenated her. She isn’t shambling anymore; she’s high-stepping like a drum major. It is a masterclass in the principle of “show, don’t tell,” proving Homer was the first and best storyteller in the Western tradition.

The Skepticism of Penelope

Penelope’s reaction, however, is far from enthusiastic. She refuses to believe it. She suspects it’s a trick or a god in disguise. Dr. Winkle notes that this is where the “Hallmark Movie” version of the Odyssey (like the 1997 Armand Assante miniseries) usually gets it wrong. In the movies, there is a quick embrace and a fade to black. In Homer, there is a standoff.

Penelope comes down and sits opposite Odysseus, silent. Telemachus is furious. He berates his mother, calling her heart “colder than stone”. But Penelope holds her ground. She tells her son:

“If he really is Odysseus… the two of us will be sure of each other… There are secrets between us no one else knows.”

Odysseus’s reaction to this is perfect: He smiles. He isn’t offended; he is delighted. He realizes that his wife is his equal in cunning (metis). She is testing him, and he accepts the challenge.

The Ruse of the Fake Wedding

Before the big reveal, Odysseus has a practical problem: he just killed the “flower of Ithaca”—over 100 young noblemen. Their families will notice. To buy time, Odysseus orders a fake wedding. He tells the bard Phemius to strike up a dance tune. He wants passersby to hear the music and think, “Ah, Penelope finally married one of those suitors.” It is a brilliant, if macabre, cover-up. Inside, the hall is being scrubbed of blood; outside, it sounds like a party. It’s the “Tacobel’s Canon” blaring to hide a massacre.

The Olive Tree Bed: The Ultimate Anagnorisis

After bathing (and getting a beauty upgrade from Athena, who makes him look taller and more muscular), Odysseus returns to Penelope. She plays her final card. She orders Eurycleia to move the sturdy bedstead out of the bridal chamber for the stranger to sleep on.

Odysseus explodes.

“By God, woman, now you’ve cut deep! Who moved my bed?”

He explains that the bed cannot be moved because he built the bedroom around a massive, living olive tree. He used the trunk as the bedpost, rooting their marriage literally into the soil of Ithaca. It is immovable, just like their bond.

This is the secret. Penelope dissolves into tears, realizing it really is him. Dr. Winkle points out that this is the true recognition scene (anagnorisis). It isn’t the scar, and it isn’t his face—it’s the shared knowledge of their unique, rooted craftsmanship.

Book 24: Squeaking Ghosts and Agamemnon’s Rant

The finale, Book 24, often surprises readers. The story doesn’t end with the kiss. We follow the souls of the suitors down to Hades, shepherded by Hermes (the Psychopomp). Homer describes them “squeaking and gibbering” like bats in a cave—a chilling, de-humanizing image.

In the underworld, they meet Agamemnon. When he hears the story of Odysseus’s victory, he doesn’t mourn the suitors. He cheers for Odysseus!

“Well done, Odysseus… You won a wife of great character.”

However, Agamemnon being Agamemnon, he immediately pivots to misogyny. He praises Penelope only to contrast her with his own wife, Clytemnestra, claiming her evil deed brings shame on “all women, even the virtuous.” Even in death, Agamemnon is the king of bad takes.

The Problem of the Lie to Laertes

Back on earth, Odysseus goes to the orchard to find his father, Laertes. The old man is living in squalor, sleeping in the dust, grieving for his son.

When Odysseus approaches him, he does something baffling: He lies.

He claims to be a stranger named “Eperitus” from “Alybas” (Man of Strife from Wandering Town). He spins a yarn about meeting Odysseus years ago.

Why lie to a broken old man? Dr. Noe and Dr. Winkle debate this.

It is only when Laertes pours dust over his gray head in agony that Odysseus breaks. A “bitter longing” stings his nostrils, and he reveals himself. It is a raw, messy, human moment.

The Civil War and the Deus Ex Machina

The epic ends with a standoff. The fathers and brothers of the suitors assemble to take revenge. They march on Laertes’ farm. Violence erupts—Laertes even kills a man (Eupeithes, Antinous’s father) with a spear throw inspired by Athena.

Just as a full-scale civil war is about to destroy Ithaca, Athena stops it.

She shouts for peace. The men drop their weapons in terror. Zeus throws a thunderbolt to punctuate the point.

“Pallas Athena, daughter of the storm cloud, who looked like Mentor and spoke with his voice.”

Some critics call this a “lazy” ending (Deus ex machina). Dr. Noe disagrees. It reinforces the central theme: Human will is important, but the gods are the ultimate directors of the drama. The Odyssey ends not with a bang, but with a divine command for order.

The Telegony: The Sequel You Didn’t Know Existed

Before signing off, the hosts mention the “Epic Cycle”—the lost sequels to Homer. In a grim alternate ending known as the Telegony, Odysseus is eventually killed by Telegonus, his illegitimate son with Circe, who unknowingly spears him with a stingray-tipped lance. It’s a tragic, bizarre coda that makes the Marvel Cinematic Universe look simple.

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The Gustatory Parting Shot

We leave the Odyssey behind with a quote from Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (Sherlock Holmes), capturing the simple joys of home that Odysseus fought so hard to regain:

“A sandwich and a cup of coffee, and then off to violin land, where all is sweetness and delicacy and harmony.”

Valete! (And stay tuned for next week: Sallust and the Roman Republic!)

Resources for the Latin Learner:The Moss Method: Ready to read Homer in Greek or Sallust in Latin? Take your skills from “Neophyte to Erudite” with Dr. Noe’s self-paced courses. Visit latinperdiem.com.

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