Kleos

Glory. Fame. The thing that survives you when everything else is dust. In the world of the Iliad it is the highest good — a man dies young at Troy and his name is sung forever, which is a fair trade. Achilles took that deal. The Odyssey takes the deal apart. Demodocus sings Odysseus’s wooden-horse stratagem while Odysseus weeps into his cloak; the kleos is loud and the man is suffering. In the underworld Achilles tells him plainly that he would rather be a poor man’s hired hand alive than king of all the dead, and the whole heroic ledger turns over. Odysseus’s kleos is real — every island he lands on, men have heard of him — but he keeps trading it down. He hides his name from the Cyclops and pays for the boast. He walks through his own house in rags so the suitors can mock him. He chooses a living wife and a rocky island over a goddess and forever. Kleos is what the bards keep. Nostos is what he was trying to get to.