When National Public Radio contributor Scott Huler announced on-air that he will never, ever read Ulysses, the famous tome by James Joyce, he sparked a chain of events over which only Fate could chuckle.
From book club analyses of the renounced 800-page book to a six-month cross-cultural trek in the name of Odysseus (the original Ulysses), Huler uncovers the many layers of himself, The Odyssey and the world.
With its conversational tone, honesty and refreshing insight, Huler's new book, No-Man's Lands: One Man's Odyssey Through The Odyssey, reminds us all that in this adventure called life, sometimes returning home is the best adventure of them all.
Recently, I had the opportunity to speak with Scott Huler about his experience and the importance of world travel. Here’s what he said:
Following the Equator: Why do you think The Odyssey still retains its relevance after all this time?
Scott Huler: Good question—it's the question I asked that got this whole madness started. Running across the Coen brothers' "O Brother Where Art Thou?" Joyce's Ulysses, the novel Cold Mountain, I wondered: What gives? Three thousand years later, we're still telling each other this same old story. I guess the simple answer is it's because it's the best story we've got—because it's human and fundamental and true. We're all Odysseus, right? Everybody is somewhere but wants to get somewhere else. Everybody has somebody in their way, trying to stop them. Everybody has a spouse, a child they desperately wish to spend more time with, a job that takes too much time and effort for the wrong rewards, terrible decisions to make with no good choices, much less easy ones. So that's what Odysseus faces, and as we read it, I believe we find comfort: He was the greatest man of his age, and he faced the same crummy problems I face. And instead of diminishing Odysseus, this identification ennobles us readers, and how comforting is that? Everyone is on a journey, so a story about a man on a journey is recognizable and helpful—and, again, comforting.
Equator: What would you tell a typical high school student who has to read The Odyssey for the first time? What’s the message he or she should come away with?
Huler: Well, the message any reader should come away with depends on what they bring to it. To a high schooler, I'd say, "Bring more to it than I did when I was your age." I barely skimmed it, read a bit of Cliffs Notes, and that was it, and then I thought I had read The Odyssey. So, later in my life when I found that I hadn't, I was a little embarrassed to see how much I had missed. And though I now believe that The Odyssey is perfect for middle-aged people (since Odysseus is in midlife as the action of the book takes place), it's got something for everyone. For kids in high school, I'd suggest not trying too hard to completely understand the motives of Odysseus or Penelope—those people are much older than you are, and are probably just as perplexing to you as your parents are (and should be). Instead, try to see the story through the eyes of Telemachus. Here's a young guy whose father has been missing his whole life. He's nearly 20, and his entire parenting has come from his mom, whom he sees beset by these rude men overrunning the household. He's frustrated with his mom because he thinks she's letting this happen, he's mad at his dad for being absent, and he's basically just about had it with his parents and their whole generation for leaving things in such a mess. And so against his mother's wishes, he heads out in search of his father. All of these issues will make much more sense to most high schoolers I know, and they inform the whole narrative. That might be a really good place to start. Plus you can compare the journey Telemachus makes—a short and rather tame one—to the one Odysseus makes, and you can consider what a young person is ready for and capable of compared with what a man who's been out in the world for 20 years can do.
As for what the message of the book is, if high school students have answers to that question, I hope they send them to me.
Equator: What was an event that was unexpected, funny or just plain crazy that you experienced while on your journey?
Huler: Well, wherever I went, I was always explaining to people that I was on this quest to follow Odysseus, and I had greater and lesser success getting my point across, depending on which language I was mangling and so forth. But one night, on a ferry from Tunisia to Sicily, I met a young guy from Japan named Masanori, who was, if you can believe it, following the route of Hannibal, from Carthage to Italy. We were so excited to meet each other, each pursuing these rather ridiculous quests, and we enjoyed our conversation so much. Most of the passengers on the ferry hadn't purchased rooms, so we were all sort of homesteading territory on the cushioned couches in the public area. I'll never forget when Masanori said goodnight to me, took off his shoes, put in his toe separators, and went to sleep on a couch. It was just deliciously weird and nutty, and it's at such moments that you think, "Now THIS is why I left home."
Equator: Name one way in which your own odyssey changed you.
Huler: I think travel always changes you, and it changes you in all ways. I loved learning all over again, as one always does with cheap, independent travel, that just breathing, eating and sleeping are enough. You have very few creature comforts; you spend a lot of time idly waiting for trains, buses, boats; you're never quite certain what comes next, and you have very little control. So you learn to just be where you are, seeing what's in front of you, eating what you can find, sleeping where you need to. It's a great reminder of some of the realities of life. I also liked reminding myself that people are so similar wherever you go: Italians, Turks, Tunisians, Greeks, French—everyone was interesting, interested and really too busy being who they were to take much notice of me, which is a treat. Because when you're at home, you're too busy being YOU to notice some of the richness and wonder around you. I hope I can remember to keep doing that now that I'm home again, and rather home for good—with little children, long-term travel won't really be on my calendar for some time. The one way I guess this trip DIDN'T change me that I wish it had is that I still wish I could go to, I don't know, Australia or the Czech Republic or Chile or wherever—I'm still crazy to go places. At the end of his trip, Odysseus overtly never wants to leave home again, and I hoped to sample that feeling of completion, of doneness. Not yet.
Equator: Why do you think international travel is so important?
Huler: It may be the most important thing there is. In 2000, George W. Bush was positively proud that he had never left the country—there was nothing out there he needed, he liked to say. I believe a great deal of the mess we're in now comes about because of that kind of lack of curiosity, that kind of insularity. Leaving home—leaving safety, familiarity, comfort—is how you grow. All through my journey I was amazed by how disgusted the rest of the world is with our government, and how easily they distinguish between our government and our people. They mostly like Americans, but they mostly despise how the U.S. behaves as a nation.
Trying to order food off a menu when you need help just understanding what the foods are … that kind of stuff opens your eyes. If you've wandered the planet, if you've found yourself at the mercy of people in a strange land where the language, the currency, the customs, the dress, the food, are all unfamiliar to you, you cannot fail to notice that what you experience, time after time, is mercy. People love to help other people, and when you travel, you give them that opportunity. If you've been to France, the idea of saying "the French" is insane to you: you've learned that each individual French person is as individual as you or me. Once you've been to one foreign country, you realize that it must be the same with them all. Thus, if we were a nation of travelers, we could not be so cavalier in our assumptions about what "the Iraqis" or "the Pakistanis" or "the Muslims" feel, believe, perceive, might do. If we travel more, as a nation, we would be more cautious, more sensitive, more open-spirited.
Travel—and The Odyssey—are really about losing your way, and how that is essential to your growth, and how much you learn by losing your way. As a nation, we've lost our way because as individuals we so desperately fear to lose our way.
No-Man's Lands is Scott Huler’s fifth book. He lives in Raleigh, North Carolina, with his wife, the writer June Spence; they have a son and another child on the way. For more information, visit his website at www.scotthuler.com.
