There has been considerable controversy surrounding Penelope lately – specifically, Christopher Nolan’s interpretation of her. In reviews of Nolan’s blockbuster The Odyssey, Anne Hathaway is frequently praised for her intelligent performance. One American professor even called her ’the best Penelope… outside of Homer‘. Personally, I am more inclined to agree with Emily Wilson, who argued that ’the script gives her nothing to do except yearn for Matt Damon, for reasons unknown’.

When Telemachus asks her, ‘What do you want?’, she bellows, ‘I only want Odysseus!’ – a response that seems to more or less sum up Nolan’s Penelope. Nolan does not show us a strategic, composed, or cunning Penelope, as found in the Odyssey. Her characterization is simplified: we see primarily the faithful wife determined to save her marriage at all costs.

In doing so, Nolan does not so much follow Homer as align himself with a long tradition that emerged after the Odyssey – one that repeatedly emphasized Penelope’s fidelity and moderation. Indeed, soon after the Homeric epics, she became, above all, a moral benchmark: the ideal wife against whom historical women were measured. Authors such as Ovid (Tristia 14.1–46, 1.6.2–22) and Plutarch (Moralia 141.21) – and later even Shakespeare’s character Coriolanus (Act 1, Scene 3) – praised the women in their families by comparing them to Penelope.

(Skyphos: Chiusi MAN 1831)

This is also evident in ancient epitaphs, in which Penelope became a popular role model. For deceased wives, a comparison to the mythological Penelope was apparently the highest conceivable honor. In my Dutch-medium book Odysseus and Penelope, I was able to discuss only one example. Therefore, I would like to present a few wonderful Ancient Greek examples here.

A moving epitaph from Rome praises a certain Felicitas (IGUR III 1348; 2nd century AD):

In the past, there was the noble Penelope, and now
the noble Felicitas, who is in no way inferior to her.
When she wished to die before her husband, you, O God, heeded her prayers.

Pluto, when I enter the house of Hades,
grant that I may find my own Felicitas with me.

Claudius Agatheinos, the physician, erected this epitaph
as a testament to her moderation (sôphrosunê).

In this epitaph, we see an idealization of the submissive wife: Felicitas had apparently prayed to die before her husband. (The extent to which this reflects reality is open to doubt; it seems more like a retrospective explanation for the fact that she likely died young.) Yet Felicitas owes her status as an ideal woman – standing alongside Penelope – to her ‘moderation’.

Penelope is thus not so much a role model for the ideal woman as we might traditionally envision her – passive and invisible – but rather for a wife who conducts herself appropriately within her marriage and the oikos. For the Greeks, moderation was one of the key qualities that could lead to a good life – and a good marriage – for both men and women (see my article on female philosophers in antiquity). Thus, the fact that Felicitas is praised for her moderation is a high compliment.

In this epitaph from Panticapaeum (in the modern-day Crimea region) (SEG 27.436; 1st century BC), the focus is not only on the wife’s fidelity but also on her intellect and character:

A bitter plunderer snatched you away,
immortal Death, who has cast her nets.
Thus were your young children torn from your bosom.
They shall be with you no more. Such was life’s decree…
Noble (esthlê) and moderate (sôphrôn) in nature you were, and in the prime of life you faithfully
guarded the marriage bed for your husband.

In every respect, my dearest, your beauty will reveal you to the world,
along with a fame greater than that of Penelope.
And in remembering her, her divine husband owes his honor
not to his own death, but to her virtue.

The interpretation of this wife’s character allows for various nuances. I translated the Greek word esthlos as ‘noble’, but it can also mean, for instance, ‘brave’ or ‘loyal’. The word sôphrôn, which I translated as ‘moderate’, can in turn mean ‘sensible’ or ‘prudent’.

(Angelica Kaufmann, Penelope at her loom, 1764)

Nomonia of Megalopolis is not compared solely to Penelope; according to her epitaph, even Homer falls short of singing the praises of her virtues (IG IV.491):

Homer sang of the honored daughter of Icarius
at length in his poems – Penelope.
But no one can fittingly sing of your honor and exceptional renown
with an eloquent voice.

Therefore, only a lament is possible: Zeus, who dwells on Olympus,
has assigned a wretched fate to you, poor Nomonia.

And in an epitaph from Nicaea in Turkey, both spouses are praised together (IK Iznik 89; Anth. Pal. 15.4-8):

One marriage united us both, one life we ​​shared; even death
brought no separation in which we forgot one another.
Your initiations and your manly merits, Sacerdos,
will proclaim your life’s journey to all people under the sun.
But as for me, Severa – my husband, my child, my character, and my beauty
will make me more worthy of song than Penelope of old.

Here, Penelope appears once again as the benchmark for female excellence. Strikingly, we see the same pattern in these epitaphs: Penelope serves as the model of fidelity, yet the women compared to her are also praised for their intellect, character, self-restraint, and beauty.

And there are many more examples. In a Spartan epitaph from the 2nd or 3rd century, for instance, Claudia Neikippia is praised as “a new Penelope” (IG V.1 607). In a Greek epitaph from Syria, the “wise and good Julitta” surpassed not only the women of her own time but also those of the past – and specifically Penelope – in her deeds (though I suspect she did not sit up at night unravelling her weaving).

Thus, in antiquity – across various periods and regions – deceased wives were portrayed as new Penelopes, as Penelope’s equals, or even as women who surpassed her. It is precisely for this reason that we see the magnitude of her prestige: anyone wishing to heap the highest praise upon a wife would use Penelope as a point of reference (for more on this, see Mactoux 1975, Pénélope: Légende et mythe).

Some writers also used Penelope as an impossible benchmark: from classical Athens to the late Middle Ages, male authors lamented that Penelopes no longer existed in their own times. For instance, in one of his plays, the comic playwright Eubulus (4th century BC) has an older man explain why he does not wish to marry:

Honoured Zeus, shall I ever speak ill
of women? I would sooner die, by Zeus –
they are the most precious possession of all. If Medea was a
bad woman, Penelope was truly
an excellent creature. Someone might say Clytemnestra was bad.
Against her, I set Alcestis. […] But by Zeus,
who is still a good woman? Oh, who? What a wretch am I;
I have run through the good women all too quickly,
yet I have many bad ones left to name.

In Eubulus’s list of the best and worst mythological women, Penelope heads the list, followed by Alcestis, who was willing to die in her husband’s place. Yet, according to the speaker, that is where the (admittedly very short) list of good women ends. To him, it seems impossible for historical women to measure up to Penelope’s perfection.

I conclude my series on Penelopes with the twelfth-century poet and Bishop of Orléans, Arnulf, who laments in his Lidia:

What is marriage nowadays? What of the marriage vow? What is the advantage of a shared marital bed?
Penelope is nowhere to be found.

Arnulf refers to Penelope solely as the archetypal ‘faithful’ – and therefore ‘good’ – wife. That image is far removed from the complex, strategic Penelope found in Homer, yet the long tradition of ‘faithful Penelopes’ does explain Nolan’s simplified interpretation. In ancient epitaphs and later literature, the mythological Penelope consistently serves an ideological purpose: she helps define and police what constitutes ‘good’ female behavior – despite the fact that the Homeric Penelope likely does not conform to this ideal. Penelope becomes a benchmark against which all other women are compared, judged, and controlled.

What does Nolan’s Penelope reveal about our own times?

You can find an analysis of Odysseus and Penelope through the ages in my forthcoming Dutch-medium book Odysseus en Penelope (Academia Press, October 20, 2026). Until October 19, you can purchase the book at a discount using the code ‘odysseus10’.

Evelien Bracke