Recently I met a man who is currently reading the Fagles translation of The Iliad. Being a big fan of this translation myself, I took an immediate liking to him. Beyond his interest in the quintessential epic of strife, his rationale for reading the Iliad truly earned my eternal comity: he said that, should he die in a car wreck that very afternoon, he did not want Wolfgang Petersen’s Troy to be the last he knew of Homer.
I like him already.
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