Interviewing... @cosisodyssey

Yay, another interview! Let’s ask

cosi’s odyssey

, who writes about classics for over 6,500 subscribers, some more fun questions. And if you’d like to receive her excellently written and deeply relevant newsletter yourself, you can do so by clicking on the button below. It’s free, and I’m sure you won’t regret it.

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What inspired you to start your newsletter?

Honestly, my dad saw Substack coming before I did. He’s been very supportive of all the work I’ve been doing over the last 5-6 years across various social media platforms, and he saw that Substack was this up-and-coming, far more democratic place that hadn’t yet imploded (like Twitter/X or Instagram). He encouraged me to just start writing and see what happened. That was about three years ago now and I’m very glad I took his advice. More and more classicists and ancient historians have moved over to the platform because it affords you direct communication with your community or audience in a way that other platforms just don’t. On a more personal note, I’ve always loved writing but academic writing was never the most natural fit for me tone or style-wise. My newsletter has become a great place for me to explore and share research without having to stifle my enthusiasm or censor myself.

How do you choose what to write about?

It’s a pretty organic process. Sometimes I’m responding to big events, holidays, or archaeological discoveries; other times I’m promoting specific in-person events. But overall I pick whatever fascinates me — something I’ve just discovered myself or a topic I wish I’d learnt about while actually studying this stuff. There are lots of holes in what we’re taught so I try, in some small way, to fill those gaps for those that are curious. Now that my community on Substack has grown I also get specific requests, which feels like an honour (like I’m a chef taking orders which I kind of love).

What’s the most unexpected place your research/writing has taken you?

Just last week I fell down a rabbit hole about mummified crocodiles (and now academia.edu won’t stop sending me links to some truly baffling “related” articles). I think that’s the part I’m enjoying the most now, taking on topics I don’t know much about and learning alongside my readers. I’m also working on quite a big project about Near Eastern mythology at the moment which is really pushing me out of my comfort zone.

If someone said, “I don’t get the point of classics, why bother?”, what would you reply?

I’d probably open with, “Fair enough.” I don’t personally buy into the idea that classics is this sacred, crucial thing that needs to be defended at all costs. I think the field would be in a better position if more of us moved away from trying to argue that it’s as important as medicine or climate science. I think once you accept that it is a luxury—which it is—you can have a far more honest conversation about what it can give you. I would argue that joy, pleasure, and connection can be found in something impractical, something that others may not see the point in at first. Ancient stories and ancient art offer cultural and psychological touchpoints — you can look back thousands of years and find a painting, line of poetry or moment in a story that resonates with you. That moment of recognition connects you to something far bigger than you. There is comfort to be found in that.

If you could take a walk with anyone from the ancient world - historical or mythological - who would it be, and what would you talk about?

This is an excellent question, but it’s so hard to pick just one! Clytemnestra would be my top mythological pick; a walk would be lovely—I mainly want to hug her—but I’d really like to be a fly on the wall for a therapy session (or seven). I want to understand her mind, her decision making, and her pain. From actual history I’d have to go with Euripides. Truly one of the most brilliant playwrights in all of human history, I think I could talk to him for 40 hours straight and still have questions. I’d also love to watch a modern performance of Medea with him just to hear his take on how we’ve almost certainly bastardised his original work.

Finally, what’s your favourite line in classical literature?

It’s impossible to choose just one, but I’ll cheat and go broad: I’m a sucker for Homeric epithets. Give me a wine-dark sea or a rosy-fingered Dawn and I’m down. They’re so romantic and evocative — and just odd enough to remind you that you’re reading something ancient.