Weaving is an essential part of Greek life and storytelling. All of their lives are literally hanging by a thread since the three Fates are the weavers of all human destinies. One of the three goddesses spins the threads of a life, one measures it to the allotted time and space, and one cuts it off when it is the predetermined time for one’s life to end. Even the gods cannot stop this fatalistic crafting from the three Destinies. We see this as Alkinoös speaks of Odysseus fate, “he shall endure all that his destiny and the heavy Spinners spun for him with the thread at his birth, when his mother bore him.” (370) There is only so much thread until a story is over, endings are inevitable and unstoppable. The weaving of the three Fates is a lesson in Stoicism, accept your fate and the time given to you, for it is all held and knotted up in the hands of the sisters three. But in these Homeric epics we see weaving and spinning as moments of well-crafted agency and action for the characters. Weaving is storytelling in private and public ways, and it becomes one way to slow the spinning of a seemingly out of one’s hands destiny.
This theme of spinning and weaving looms large in The Iliad and The Odyssey. The skillful handicraft with wool is woman’s work. Queens, goddesses, and servant girls all spin and weave. In contrast, the spinning and weaving of words is the work of men. Odysseus, Menelaus, and the poet laurate of the Phaiakians weave fantastical tales to entertain crowds. The word “spin” indicates a turning around, over and over repeatedly, a dizzying state occurring. Women spin fibrous yarn to create, commiserate, and celebrate. Men spin fanciful yarns to craft a story to entertain, explain, and clear any shame on their name. The very word “weaving’ contains the figurative language roots of devising and arranging, and these are skills that are used by both sexes to tell one’s story throughout Homeric literature. Women do their weaving in private rooms, unseen by crowds, and typical of the gendered norms of the time, men are more public in the proclivities of proclamating their devising. Yet, both sexes spin and weave, showing us the importance of storytelling in every season and space. Through words or images, whether in the public square or the private quiet moments, humans spin and weave to create, literally and figuratively.
In The Iliad both Helen and Adromache are shown weaving. Helen’s is weaving the story in which she finds herself a catalyst character. She is weaving in scenes from the Trojan War onto her blood colored fabric. “She came on Helen in the chamber; she was weaving a great web, a red folding robe, and working into it the numerous struggles of Trojans, breakers of horses, and bronze-armoured Achaians, struggles that they endured for her sake at the hands of the war god.”(32) Perhaps this is the only way Helen can make sense of the story she finds herself such an integral part of, perhaps this is the only way she believes she will have a chance to tell her side of the story, or maybe she is using the weaving as a way to distract herself while waiting for the latest daily death count. The listener doesn’t know. What is clear is that Helen is storytelling with her weaving on a background dyed the color of blood.
Andromache is weaving on her own blood colored cloth while waiting for Hektor to come home to her. “So she spoke in tears but the wife of Hektor had not yet heard: for no sure messenger had come to her and told her how her husband had held his ground there outside the gates; but she was weaving a web in the inner room of the high house, a red folding robe, and inworking elaborate figures. She called out through the house to her lovely-haired handmaidens to set a great cauldron over the fire, so that there would be hot water for Hektor’s bath as he came back out of the fighting; poor innocent, nor knew how, far from waters for bathing, Pallas Athene had cut him down at the hands of Achilleus.” (271) Adromache drops her shuttle when she receives news of his death. Does she realize that her story is over at this point? That she and her son may not live to weave another day? Certainly, her social status will change, her life spinning out of her control. If she does live, she will weave for another kingdom, not one where she is royalty. Whatever she was weaving will remain unfinished and unused. Its story and hers have been forever changed, both threadbare.
Readers do have a chance to see Helen with some yarn again in The Odyssey. Back home in Sparta she is now able to again spin yarn, this time on a golden spindle given to her by Polybus’ of Thebes wife, Alcandre. “…(H)er maidservant, now brought it in and set it beside her (Helen) full of yarn that had been prepared for spinning. The distaff with the dark-colored wool was laid over the basket.”(336) Helen is restored to her queen status, but she isn’t weaving. She is preparing dark colored yarn for others to weave. Has she too been downgraded to only telling the stories of others? Or does she not feel the need to tell her story anymore? Will no one listen to her stories?
Before dinner Helen presents Telemachus with a robe she has woven and stored. “Helen went to stand by the storing boxes, where there were elaborately wrought robes. She herself had made them. And Helen, shining among women, lifted out one of them, that which was the loveliest in design and the largest and shone like a star.” (448) Could this be the weaving of telling the story of the Trojan War from The Iliad? Perhaps it features the likeness of Odysseus and that is why Helen is giving it to his son. “Helen of the fair cheeks stood by, holding the robe in her hands, and spoke to him and named him, saying: “I too give you this gift, dear child: something to remember from Helen’s hands, for your wife to wear at the lovely occasion of your marriage. Until that time let it lie away in your palace, in your dear mother’s keeping; and I hope you come back rejoicing to your own strong-founded house and to the land of your fathers.” (448) Telemachus is to wear the robe in a joyful celebration yet to come. Helen’s focus is toward the future and telling stories of redemption. Andromache doesn’t get that chance, wherever she is there is probably not a golden spindle in her hands.
Earlier in the evening a crafty Helen weaves with her words a dinner story for Telemachus. This is after she has plied them with some herbs to soothe their sadness. She spins a tale of Odysseus coming to tell her of the plans of the Greeks. “Sit here now in the palace and take your dinner and listen to me and be entertained. What I will tell you is plausible. I could not tell you all the number nor could I name them, all that make up the exploits of enduring Odysseus, but here is a task such as that strong man endured and accomplished in the Trojan country where you Achaians suffered miseries.”(338) She ravels this story to her benefit revealing herself a good and faithful confidant of the Greek army. Was this a truthful telling? Or a crafty recreation? Like all of Helen’s motives, this is left unclear by Homer. There is no one to validate this private memory except Odysseus. The mere fact that Helen has emerged from weaver of her story into cloth to public speaker is quite impressive, even if Menelaus’ next dinner story unknits her true motives. In this tale telling instance Helen has crossed into the weaving as a man, in the same way her leaving of her marriage (forced or willingly) was a departure from her gendered role as a faithful wife.
Menelaus does his own weaving and crafting. In a way reminiscent of Penelope’s weaving and unweaving, he unravels Helen’s story with one of her trying to trick the Greek soldiers in the Trojan horse. “Then you came there, Helen; you will have been moved by some divine spirit who wished to grant glory to the Trojans…” (339) His story would have many more witnesses than Helen’s story, though all of the men would back Menelaus whether his tale is true or not. The audience is left to wonder who is weaving by day and who is unraveling in the night in Sparta.
Back in Ithaca, Penelope is spinning in every way trying to save her kingdom. Penelope is the anti-Helen as she weaves and waits. She twists plans not to desert her marriage but to support it in the direst and darkest of circumstances. Helen was once the bride that all fought over and when she had a husband, she left town with Paris. Loyal Penelope avoids all the competing suitors weaving while she waits for her husband’s return.
At the start of the Odyssey Penelope’s weaving deception has fallen to pieces. For years she fooled the suitors with a never-ending funeral cloth project for her father-in-law. She would productively weave by day and precariously unravel by night, a condition many a woman has metaphorically felt in her soul since ancient times. A woman’s work/weaving is never done. Penelope’s weaving of a funeral cloth symbolizes the potential ending of Laertes’ lineage as rulers in Ithaca. If she finishes the cloth, Laertes’ dies, she remarries, then a new family rules. As long as the funeral and marriage haven’t happened, she is “safe”. Her circumspect, thinking all around, nature weaves for her a web of safety as she spins thoughts and plans. But all good weavings, like stories and lives, have an ending. She has avoided the decision by weaving around the suitors with her plan for as long as she could. She is unraveled by one of the servant girls, who believes the whispered words of a suitor spinning tales of love and faithfulness in the dark night as Penelope takes apart her daily work one final time.
In a strange parallelism, Penelope’s weaving and unweaving mirrors the journey her husband is on. Odysseus will come close enough to see Ithaca’s shore and then be blown back again. He will leave one goddess’ web only to land in with another who desires him to stay. His back and forth is metaphorically like the very act of weaving his wife is engaged in day and night. Both delay the time of homecoming, for Odyssey making it longer to return and for Penelope a stay in her choice of the suitors is gained by her craft. Even the adjectives used to describe each of these heroes is related in some way to the act of weaving and spinning. Odysseus is a man of twists and turns, and Penelope is circumspect, thinking of all the possible angles. “These men try to hasten the marriage. I (Penelope) weave my own wiles.” (489) Her mind spins and he physically weaves around the world to get back home where they will wind each other in a loving embrace and spend an extraordinarily long night weaving and spinning their stories for each other. “When Penelope and Odysseus had enjoyed their lovemaking, they took their pleasure in talking, each one telling his story. She, shining among women, told of all she had endured in the palace, as she watched the suitors, a ravening company, who on her account were slaughtering many oxen and fat sheep, and much wine was being drawn from the wine jars. But shining Odysseus told of all the cares he inflicted on other men, and told too of all that in his misery he had toiled through, She listened to him with delight, nor did any sleep fall upon her eyes until he had told her everything.” (529-530)
Odysseus, “the man of many ways” (307), spins his way home weaving around every obstacle whilst crafting tales of such bravery and bad timing one wonders how much of his storytelling is truth and what has been twisted to suit his honor and chances to arrive home in one seamless piece. He spins lies to protect himself and does it with such ease that all wonder when the spinning stops and the story isn’t a fantastical fictional fabrication. Penelope fools the suitors with her weaving and re-weaving, Odyssey may be doing the exact same thing in a more public manner to save his own reputation, honor, and chance of a happy homecoming.
If the story on the front of a woven piece only tells half the story, the unseen side tells the other half. The backside is where the weaver’s skills and their mistakes can be seen. The front may look perfect, but the back tells the truth. In both The Iliad and The Odyssey, the back side of the story’s fabric shows us the two things happening in the gendered roles of weaving. Women use private quarters to weave, usually surrounded by other women. If weaving yarn is women’s work, for the home, it is best done in the home, far away from the action. Men are allowed, and even encouraged, to spend their days away from home in adventurous action, and to spin the tales of these journeys in front of a predominantly male crowd. The women privately and quietly weave their own lives into the fabric while Odysseus publicly fabricates his own lies, sometimes to save his life.
The audience hears these stories knit together on a Greek hillside and unravels them in their own minds, recreating the ancient pieces anew in their own storytelling. Perhaps all storytellers are circumspect Penelope, daily discovering a new way to spin and weave on old cloth, finding something fresh and exciting in every well-worn story they tell. Perhaps we also contain the “many ways” of Odysseus, twisting and turning every tale to show us in our best light and help us on our journey toward home and the person who will bind themself to us and stay up all night listening until we have told it all. Either way, humans weave webs of words or images onto the fabric of our lives. Unafraid, or maybe un-a-frayed, we are knit together by whatever is before or behind us with the power of a well spun story.