By Laura Berlinsky-Schine
“Tell me, O Muse, of the man of many devices, who wandered full many ways after he had sacked the sacred citadel of Troy.”
So begins The Odyssey, the bane of every high school student’s existence.
Homer likely wrote The Odyssey around 750–650 BCE, and several millennia later, the epic poem persists as one of the most important works of literature in global history. The poem has had direct influences on O Brother Where Art Thou and Ulysses (the Latinized version of Odysseus), along with numerous other works of art across media.
Although rarely cited as a literary thriller, it also holds a significant place in the canon of the cinematic and mysterious genre. In fact, The Odyssey was the first literary thriller.
The amalgam of two widely-read genres—literary fiction and thrillers—the literary thriller explores thought-provoking themes through complex, fleshed-out characters. Contrasting the traditional plot-driven thriller genre, the literary thriller tends to be more character-driven, focusing on the thoughts and desires that drive human beings to commit violent, cruel, or disturbing acts.
The literary thriller calls to mind novels like The Secret History and Jane Eyre. Unlike most commercial thrillers, it’s not about figuring out what happens or whodunit. It’s about the journey, not the destination.
The Odyssey is just that—a work about the journey, not the destination. It’s about an odyssey (pun intended): a long, arduous journey—one that often tests psychological strength and endurance.
Certainly, throughout Odysseus’ trials, we are waiting with bated breath to find out just how our hero will escape this time. Our pulses pound when he attempts to outsmart the one-eyed Cyclops Polyphemus. Then again as he attempts to hurl himself into the sea at the call of the tempting sirens’ song. And we are constantly on the edge of our seats as Poseidon repeatedly seeks to avenge his violently blinded son Polyphemus by making Odysseus’s journey even more arduous through violent storms and shipwrecks.
The epic poem has it all—particularly the thematic mainstays of literary thrillers: sex, seduction, and power. For example, Circe agrees to free Odysseus’ men, whom she has transformed into pigs, only if he sleeps with her—which he does.
There’s ample discussion of mortality and murder. Odysseus kills throughout, and the poem culminates in the climactic finale when his home becomes the scene of a bloodbath as he wipes out his ever-faithful wife Penelope’s bevy of suitors and the maids who have been “entertaining” them.
And there is hubris. Odysseus is a complicated hero—in some ways, an antihero. He is cunning but arrogant, much like many a protagonist in the literary thriller genre. His blend of pride offset by wit would be at home in vaunted literary thrillers like The Talented Mr. Ripley and Gone Girl.
These elements nearly always appear in the genre, weaving together a compelling, pulse-pounding, and suspenseful tale.
Many literary thrillers written in the millennia since Homer’s epic poem draw inspiration from the parent of the genre.
A quintessential literary thriller, 1992’s The Secret History by Donna Tartt is a clear offspring of The Odyssey. The influences of the parent literary thriller are clear with the opening lofty invocation, “I suppose at one time in my life I might have had any number of stories, but now there is no other. This is the only story I will ever be able to tell.”
The novel is literally about a Greek classics “community.” Richard Papen, the novel’s narrator, reveals that he and fellow students—the only other enrollees in the classes of Julian Morrow Hampden College’s only Classics professor—have murdered another member of their cohort, Edmund “Bunny” Corcoran. From the beginning, we know what happened but not why. In other words, it’s about the journey, not the destination And also from the beginning, Richard is established as a complicated hero, much like Odysseus.
Allusions to The Odyssey abound. There is, of course, the very premise of studying Greek classics. Near the end of the novel, Charles Macauley attempts to shoot Henry Winter, who ultimately covers up for his friend by shooting himself in the head. This is evocative of the Cyclops being injured in the middle of his head.
Farming is also prevalent in both works. The students in The Secret History murder a farmer, the original sin that leads them to cover up the crime by murdering Bunny. In The Odyssey, depictions of farming are ubiquitous. Odysseus’s father has a farm. Bountiful feasts with food sourced from farmers are described in vivid detail.
Moreover, the importance and weight of memory are a driving force. Memory compels Penelope to keep her suitors at bay and remain faithful to her husband. It also propels Odysseus to continue his arduous journey. In contrast, the Lotus Eaters give Odysseus’s men fruit that makes them forget their desire to return home.
But when the students in The Secret History wake up having committed murder during a bacchanal ritual, they have no memory of the incident. Richard is an unreliable narrator—another hallmark, though not requirement, of a literary thriller—and his own memory is colored. Of course, Odysseus himself is an unreliable protagonist. His tale is full of hyperbole and omissions, most obvious when he is boastfully recounting the story to the Phaenicians. For example, are we really to believe that having sex with beautiful goddesses was entirely under duress?
Another parallel theme is that of finding home. Odysseus can never feel fully at home anywhere but home. Richard only finds a community at his school in a handful of scholars focused on a singular niche. It is a flawed community that is fractured at the seams.
One way literary thrillers diverge from commercial thrillers is the emphasis on identity. Often, in commercial thrillers, we know only basic facts about the characters. The Odyssey, in contrast, is hyper-focused on identity, with Odysseus seemingly trying on numerous hats as he makes his way home.
Notably, during the encounter with Polyphemus, he calls himself “Nobody” (Oὖτις), so that when the Cyclops is asked who hurt him, he responds, “Nobody.” This is an example of Odysseus’s cunning, but it also reflects his lost state.
In The Secret History, Richard, too, is lost. Eager to immerse himself in a selective club, the Greek classic group, in many ways, becomes his sole identity. When things fall apart, the members first attempt to band together more closely. But this is a facade, and the fractures show, ultimately destroying all of them. They are lost without this central identity. In The Odyssey, Odysseus’s journey is a trial and tribulation for the crimes he himself has committed and an attempt to piece his identity back together.
It is the mark of a truly masterful thriller when the surface victims are not the only casualties, but the heroes’ own identities are as well.
Although Charlotte Brontë’s Jane Eyre is not as directly drawn from The Odyssey, there are many overlapping themes and messages. The gothic novel is well known for startling drama and revelations, making it a quintessential literary thriller.
Consider the scene when Mr. Rochester crashes his own party disguised as a fortune teller. This resembles Odysseus returning home—similarly “crashing his own party”—in a beggar’s disguise. In both instances, the men are able to gather information they wouldn’t be privy to otherwise. These secrets are emblematic of the literary thriller, driving both the plot and the hero’s journey further.
Mysterious “beasts” appear repeatedly. Bertha Rochester is, in essence, presented as a mysterious entity—and ultimately portrayed as a “beast” of sorts. Jane knows something is happening but isn’t aware of the true nature of the secret. Odysseus, of course, encounters more literal beasts along his journey, all of which act as obstacles on his quest.
Speaking of the journey and obstacles, these are common themes in both works. Fidelity, particularly between spouses, is strongly emphasized. Mr. Rochester not only locks his wife in his attic but nearly commits bigamy by attempting to marry Jane, while Odysseus, despite his apparent loyalty to Penelope, has sexual relationships with Calypso and Circe.
And then there is home. Odysseus is, of course, attempting to go home, the core theme of the epic poem. Jane, an orphan, seeks a home—any home. She doesn’t find it with her cruel aunt or at Lowood School. Ultimately, she believes she finds it at Thornfield Hall, only to have it taken from her at the climax of the novel. However, Jane, too, must go on an epic journey to reclaim Thornfield as her true home.
No literary thriller is complete without the element of self-discovery. In both The Odyssey and Jane Eyre, there are frequent mirages of the essence of home and self-discovery. Odysseus often sets up shop at various islands and locations along the way, and it seems as though he might stay forever. Jane believes she has found home, first with Mr. Rochester and then with St. John.
But in both cases, this is just the facade of belonging. They don’t truly belong until they undergo the entire hero’s journey.
The Odyssey endures as one of the greatest works of Western literature. Is it a literary thriller? In short: yes.
Consider this: Crime novelists call upon it again and again. Of course, allusions to the epic poem don’t necessarily make it a member of the genre. But The Odyssey’s structure, content, and themes do.
In writing The Odyssey, Homer spawned numerous genres that have persisted for millennia. It’s a work of literary fiction. It’s fantasy. And, yes, it is a literary thriller.
In creating a timeless work of self-discovery, unknown darkness, and a thrilling saga, Homer paved the way for the emergence of some of the most important works of all time, including The Secret History and Jane Eyre. These and other works persist as timeless literary thrillers, ones that entertain, inform, and make readers question. This is the hallmark of the very best literature—and the essence of the genre. 
Laura Berlinsky-Schine is a writer and editor based in Brooklyn with her demigod/rescue dog, Hercules, named after the Roman hero. Her work has appeared in The Rumpus, The Smart Set, Points in Case, Human Parts, and The Weekly Humorist.
Photo by Saara Sanamo
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