An Open Letter to "The Odyssey" Translator Emily Wilson

This week, “The Odyssey” translator Emily Wilson made it very clear she has no respect for Christopher Nolan’s box office success.

Nolan has previously complimented and credited Wilson’s work as an inspiration for his film.

In a scathing review, she tore the film apart. She is reported to have said she’d be “ashamed” to be associated with his script in any way.

Even weirder? Her review lacked the kind of depth she seems to be begging for. According to Variety, she said, “There are no sex scenes, and all the food looks horrible.” Wow, so deep!

This is my open letter to Emily.

Dear Professor Emily Wilson,

First and foremost, I hope you, your loved ones and all things that you care for in this world are safe, healthy and thriving. I hope your days are slow, easy, tender and fulfilling.

But I have some apologies to make.

• I’m so sorry that your ego is so fragile that you fail to see beyond its prison walls.

• I’m so sorry that, as an experienced, published translator by practice, you’ve lost the meaning of interpretation itself.

• I’m so sorry you are struggling with the limiting belief that you are correct, and others are incorrect.

• I’m so sorry that a life in academia, hiding behind dissertations and self-aggrandizing lectures has embittered your spirit.

• I’m so sorry that your conclusion, after decades of studying Classical works of literature, has given you a superiority complex.

Before this news broke, I had never heard your name.

I can see now this isn’t due to a lack of talent, or a lack of commitment to literature. I can tell you are a devoted steward of written works, and likely a powerful prophet in your own right.

But since you are lost to the depths of hatred (ironic, given your self-proclaimed job in this world), I will hold space for all that you cannot.

I imagine your child self, bright-eyed, inspired by art and writing and the unspeakable acts of magic that reveal themselves through creativity. I think of how she’d feel receiving your criticism, and what your words would do to her sense of hope.

I imagine your students, spirits broken not by hard work or strict grading, but by your lack of joy. I hope they find mentors, guides and role models who can replace your stubbornness with curiosity.

I read your opinions (which you frame more as “objective claims”) about Nolan’s retelling of The Odyssey.

I want you to know that it made me laugh out loud.

Who are you, to make these judgments?
Who are you, to decide what is right and what is wrong?
Who are you, to use your fists to crush another’s attempt at artistic expression?

I remember meeting adults like you, when I was young. Worn down by life’s heaviness. Lost to the rigid labyrinth of your own mind. Concealing depression, anxiety and sorrow with cruel words directed at others. Your own soul corroding under an inner monologue even crueler.

I would ask who hurt you, but it is not my responsibility to remind you that your anger, your jealousy, and your judgements are simply a mirror.

Emily, go touch grass.