Showing posts with label Penelope. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Penelope. Show all posts

Saturday, November 29, 2025

Emmanuelle Malhappe on Masculine and Feminine in The Odyssey

This guest blog is by Emmanuelle Malhappe, French poet, short story author, playwright, and psychoanalyst. For a longer bio, please see below. 

Emmanuelle Malhappe
Masculine and Feminine in The Odyssey

Penelope is not Ulysses' wife. She is not waiting for her husband to come back, whatever we may think about faithfulness.

 

Because Penelope is not a woman. She is not even an archetype. She is a character.

 

A character Homer invented who embodies an idea. In my view, Penelope is the feminine in every human being.


In a certain sense, Homer wrote his own version of Genesis. In the Bible, Eve is created from Adam. Not from one of his ribs, as in the mistranslations of some hermeneutical traditions, but from one of his sides. Adam could not remain alone. Not because he was bored, which would make his woman just company for him. He could not exist without her, because no one can be just half of a human being.

 

Ulysses is not a man. He's not Penelope's husband. He's a character Homer invented who also embodies an idea.

 

But what idea?

 

As all readers of Homer know, Ulysses went away for ten years, and then it took him ten more years to return to Ithaca. During that time, Penelope wove and unwove the shroud for her father-in-law.

 

Do you see the symmetry?

Ten years to go, ten years to come back for Ulysses.

Twenty years of weaving and unweaving for Penelope.

 

Both Ulysses and Penelope are doing the same things in different ways.


Ulysses is making war, and he experiences many things, visits many countries, loves many women. In a certain sense, we can say that Ulysses is our “hurry, hurry” side. He is always doing something. He represents the part of us that longs to do things, to have experiences.


Penelope, on the other hand, is weaving not only fabric but the fabric of her life and Ulysses’. During the day, she's weaving. During the night, she unweaves. Why? Not because of the suitors who want to marry her.

 

No. She's weaving and unweaving because she’s like a writer.

 

She embodies the creative side of every human being.

 

In each of us, there are two appetites, and both are appetites for learning. One to discover the world, to perceive it. The other to transform those experiences into thoughts, and sometimes into artistic works. One appetite for the world, the other from the world. That's what being a human being is.

 

As the aphorist and philosopher Nicolás Gómez Dávila wrote, “The absence of contemplative life turns the active life of a society into a swarm of pestilent rats.”

 

Without Penelope, Ulysses is not a human being: he’s a rat.

 

Penelope is the part every person must have to be not just a “featherless biped,” as Plato described it, but a human being. Ulysses is the part that every human must have to experience the world.


Without experience, no creation is possible.


But without creative work, without weaving, experience cannot be transformed into what makes us human—namely language.


The writer Robert Graves, following Samuel Butler, suggested that Homer might have been a woman. Many classics scholars now believe, however, that Homer’s works come from an oral tradition rather than the work of a single author. But if the author of The Odyssey consists of multiple entities rather than just one, that only reinforces the epic’s feminine side: an entity who is but goes unacknowledged.


From the characters of Penelope and Ulysses, we can see that the feminine is embodied not only in women, and the masculine is not just embodied in men—fortunately! But those two forces are manifested in each of us, as with yin and yang.

 

Our feminine part is our poetic side, whether you are a man or a woman.

Our masculine part is our pragmatic side, whether you are a man or a woman.

Nobody can be a human being having just one of those two sides.


When Penelope weaves and unweaves, she embodies the beautiful idea that there cannot be a human being without words. Penelope’s fabric is poetry. She might be Homer herself in a vertiginous mise en abîme. Homer, who gave voice to her characters, represented herself in The Odyssey as a weaver.

Every poet knows very well what Homer/Penelope goes through. You write all day, and then, the next morning, when you look at what you wrote the day before, you have to decide what to keep and what to leave behind.

 

But wait! There’s more. Despite all your efforts, the more you write, the more language eludes you.

 

And being a poet is knowing that, and still continuing to weave and unweave, to write and unwrite. Because creation is not only about producing a result; a collection of words is above all a path. What is important is to keep on creating. That’s what Penelope teaches us.

 

So Ulysses and Penelope are not a couple in the sense of wife and husband. They are a couple as two inseparable parts of every human being. Nevertheless—and Homer knew this—marriage may always be a reinterpretation of this first couple where the feminine and masculine try to work together; not only between men and women, but also inside each of us, uniting in a creative way our will to have experiences and our need to transform them into internal memories and spiritual aims.


Emmanuelle Malhappe began her career teaching literature and poetics at the Sorbonne Nouvelle, and subsequently became a psychoanalyst. She has written plays, short stories, essays, radio programs, and poetry. Her poetry collection, Entre est le pays (Between Is the Land) was published by Éditions L’Harmattan in 2025. Her collection blending poetry and philosophy, Éclats de femme, silence du féminin (Fragments of Woman, Silence of the Feminine), was published by Éditions Ubik-Art Moresa  in 2025. Also in 2025, the same publisher released her book poetry book  J’ai posé ma main (I Placed My Hand). She received the Gaston Baissette Short Story Prize for her collection La Solitude des cygnes (The Solitude of Swans).

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Zack’s new book of poetry, The Kama Sutra for Senior Citizens and Other Poems on Aging. Order in the USA    Order in the UK
Other posts of interest:

How to Get Published

Getting the Most from Your Writing Workshop

How Not to Become a Literary Dropout

Putting Together a Book Manuscript

Working with a Writing Mentor

How to Deliver Your Message

Does the Muse Have a Cell Phone?

Why Write Poetry?

Poetic FormsIntroductionthe Sonnetthe Sestinathe Ghazalthe Tankathe Villanelle

Praise and Lament

How to Be an American Writer

Writers and Collaboration

Types of Closure in Poetry

Friday, January 27, 2012

Working with a Writing Mentor, Part 3: When Should You Trust Your Mentor?

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The one person whose advice you should listen to absolutely without question is your mentor. Now, just by coincidence, I happen to be a mentor. Mentor is a word that comes from ancient Greek and means someone who has made endless mistakes over an entire lifetime. I’m joking, but it is true that over the course of decades in the arts, a mentor has made almost every possible error that a writer can make.
The reason this is good news for you, is that your mentor can perhaps prevent you from repeating some of those mistakes yourself.
In reality, the goddess Minerva in Homer’s Odyssey took the form of the character named Mentor to guide Telemachus in how to deal with those pesky suitors, who were hitting on his mom, Penelope.
Sometimes you don’t understand why your mentor is recommending certain changes in your work. Feel free to ask if you don’t see why your mentor is suggesting something. But at some point, if you are a creative writing student or a new writer, you sometimes have to take it on faith that your mentor is guiding you in the right direction. As the words of the spiritual go, We will understand it better, by and by.
That isn’t to say that you should follow your mentor without question. You should be particularly attentive to your mentor’s blind spots, and the places where your mentor’s aesthetic may not coincide with our own. Your mentor could be from an older generation. Things that make sense to your generation might seem odd to your mentor. Your mentor may be of a different background in terms of class, race, gender, sexuality, etc., and that might create areas of aesthetic disconnect.
That doesn’t mean your mentor’s advice is wrong, but it might mean that you have an area where your taste does not overlap. In those areas, just politely agree to disagree with your mentor’s opinions. But make sure you’re not doing that out of laziness about questioning your own assumptions or naiveté. 


Other recent posts about writing topics:
Working with a Writing Mentor: Part 1Part 2Part 3Part 4Part 5
How Not to Become a Literary Dropout, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10
Putting Together a Book Manuscript, Part 1Part 2Part 3Part 4Part 5Part 6Part 7
How to Get Published: Part 1Part 2Part 3Part 4
Getting the Most from Your Writing Workshop: Part 1Part 2Part 3Part 4Part 5Part 6
Does the Muse Have a Cell Phone?: Part 1Part 2Part 3Part 4Part 5
Using Poetic Forms, Part 1: Introduction; Part 2: The Sonnet; Part 3, The Sestina;
Part 4, The Ghazal; Part 5, The Tanka