Fans pick 100 books like Aphrodite's Breath

This is an obvious pick, I know. Still, it’s on record as the greatest adventure, the highest bar of duty and courage—and ultimately love.

Homer’s epic detailing Odysseus’ journey home from the Trojan War is fraught with peril and obstacles that would have made a lesser human give up and call it a day. 

Destiny called him away, but it was love that brought him home from war. At each crossroad Odysseus was offered an alternative, he chose to return to his wife, his son, and his land. He could have been made immortal.

He was offered riches and greater glory, and all the dude wanted was to kiss his wife and sleep in his own bed at the end of the day. Is that so much to ask?

The reason The Odyssey is on my list is to reflect the scale of destiny, and the answering and equal call… show more.

Talking about Penelope brings me to the Penelopiad. This book could have been more accurately called the Trial of Odysseus.

Odysseus here feels like an ancient Andrew Tate. Picture the ancient soap opera: Penelope, the ever dutiful, saintly wife, is left holding the fort while Odysseus sails off on a ten-year vacation fighting the Trojan War, followed by another decade of epic escapades and sexscapades.

And meanwhile Penelope is using her twelve maids to let themselves be used and abused by her suitors to buy time till Odysseus returns. Well, the suitors are killed, naturally. But the maids…Honor killing is still an epidemic in parts of India, and to see it from the POVs of the maids, who have so far been overlooked as extras in a play, felt like redemption.

The best thing in the book that worked for me was the way it is structured as a conversation… show more.

Even after 20 years of separation, brought on by the Trojan War and the gods, Odysseus and Penelope hold on to their love and reunite in Ithaca. They must overcome tremendous obstacles: divine anger, violent suitors, jealous lovers, ghosts, and monsters.

Of course, the poem has double standards regarding relations between men and women. And yet, the central love story hasn’t lost its appeal since antiquity. Fitzgerald’s English translation of the Odyssey is one of the best and a wonderful creation in its own right: it’s a magnificent rendition of Odysseus and his world.

Few today know of moral injury, and I found this book to be a great introduction to the condition. The heart of it concerns betrayal—by those above and even ourselves.

Often seen as the father of “moral injury,” Jonathan Shay reveals that the condition itself actually stretches deep into the bowels of history, at least as far as Shakespeare, if not the Homeric epics written 2,400 years earlier: a reminder that everything old is new again. 

Rather than acting as ventriloquist, Shay quotes his patients, allowing the veterans to speak for themselves; to express their traumas and the consequences thereof. And he emphasizes, as few do, the responsibility of society to aid in healing those traumas.

An accessible, practical read for understanding moral injury, trauma, and our communal responsibilities.

This story has always struck me as a quest to identify and regain humanity, as its hero repeatedly faces strange and powerful obstacles to his voyage home. I first read it as a child and then again, but in Greek, as a student—a time in life when anyone is trying to find their feet as a human being!

Perhaps the most comforting thing is that amongst all the gods and monsters and cursing and fighting, eating habits often characterize the work’s characters. Odysseus is always looking for sitophagoi, bread eaters, i.e. civilized people who make their own food, rather than man-eating monsters. I can identify with a hero looking for nice people to share a nice meal with.

Eperitus is not a hero. He is a soldier with a murky past who just wants to serve a noble lord and do better with his life. I love that he always strives to do the right thing, even when he is caught in the center of the great war for Troy.

Eperitus is surrounded by great men, Odysseus, Achilles, and Agamemnon, and yet many turn to him for advice or counsel, and he never once lets himself be overawed or manipulated by those around him. I admire his truth and his steadfast desire to stick to what he believes is right and to fight for those that he believes in.

For fantasy, adventure, and humanity, I find no book like Homer’s Odyssey. Some prefer the Iliad, but for me, the Odyssey has greater depth, resonance, and experience of life. Most of us know about Odysseus’ wonderful adventures, but the whole second half of the epic is about his attempts to get home and, once home, to reintegrate himself into his family and society, from which he has been absent for twenty years.

I love the way the epic relates stories but also makes you think about what stories mean, why people tell them, and how to tell false ones from true. There are many fine translations of the Odyssey, including Emily Wilson’s recent one; my favorite, however, though a bit dated, remains that of Lattimore.

Once, on a weeks-long gig far from home, I stayed in a bare attic room with no TV, no internet, not even a radio. I didn’t mind. I had this translation of the Odyssey to settle down with every evening after work. I would think about it all day long: the vivid language, the fantastical events, the struggle and suffering of the protagonist. Reading it was like going to a technicolor movie every night, except that the movie was inside my head.

Talk about an essential human story—the Odyssey is four thousand years old, but its characters have the same emotions, fears, vices, and virtues we have today. Their struggles make my heart race and my eyes tear up. My imagination goes into overdrive, and I revel in the wonder.

This is my favorite novel in Rieu's prose translation which has a real freshness, as if the very first book. I wanted that sense of freshness for my book, as well as the story of a man desperately trying to get home to his wife. The story takes place in the framework of Sam's 11-year-old imagination, and so carries him and his father through fantastic adventures as trying as those Odysseus faces in The Odyssey. 

Yes, this novel is about life, death, and love, but if you’re envisioning a Bergman film full of angst, think again. For nineteen years, Jonathan Rebeck has been living in an abandoned mausoleum at Bronx’s Yorkchester Cemetery. Finding a way home has been as challenging for Rebeck as it was for Odysseus.  Rebeck has spent his time at the cemetery talking to ghosts, and to a raven quite the opposite of Poe’s. Usually, the human sees to the needs of the animal. In this instance, it is the raven who brings Rebeck pilfered food, and his unique wisdom.

As a romance blossoms between two of the ghosts at the cemetery, Rebeck and a widow he has become friendly with, try to help the spirits belatedly find love, and give Rebeck his own way back to life.