Smyser Inkblot #3: Epic Poetry Lives
When most people hear the phrase epic poetry, they might not even know what it is. And then when they find out, they may or may not be disappointed. Epic poetry seems like a literary artifact—something studied in classrooms rather than experienced today. Since we’re on the heels of a new movie release of The Odyssey, one of the most famous examples of epic poetry, I figured I’d talk about how more modern stories in different mediums can carry on the tradition of epic poetry, and consider whether or not I might still consider them to be our modern epics.
But first, we need to go over the characteristics of what it means to be “epic” in storytelling. No two epics are exactly alike, but they often check off many of these boxes:
1: A hero of extraordinary ability or importance. Sometimes noble or divine. Has a relatable human flaw that could lead to their downfall or failure. (Like pride or… actually it’s usually pride.) And this hero, or others, may be judged by some kind of cultural or moral code or ideal.
2: Vast scale and high stakes. Wars, gods, journeys to strange worlds, founding civilizations—anything like that. It’s not about Achilles forgetting to do his taxes.
3: Begins In Medias Res—yes, that shiver down your spine was from your English class coming back to haunt you.
4: Divine inspiration for the author/speaker. A little meta sprinkled in.
5: Supernatural intervention. Gods are complicated.
6: Certain literary conventions, such as similes, repetition, catalogues (lists), repetition, or epithets (descriptive nicknames). And they’re usually written in some kind of verse, which is the “poetry” part of “Epic poetry.”
7: Descent into the “underworld” of some sort. Highly metaphorical. Probably an easy A if you’re looking to write a paper on it.
8: Themes of glory, immortality, honor, legacy, or other grand things like that.
9: A cultural foundation to explain rituals, customs, politics, or whatever. This list is getting kind of long.
10: Journey and transformation. Blah blah blah. Let’s get to the good stuff.
Of course, not every epic includes every one of these characteristics. Even among the classics, there is plenty of variation. But this is a generalized checklist we can use.
For centuries, epic poetry was simply the medium through which these kinds of stories were told. Homer sang of Achilles and Odysseus. Virgil wrote of Aeneas. Anonymous poets gave us Beowulf. Their stories became cultural touchstones, preserving history, mythology, and the values of the societies that created them. But what if epic stories simply reformed and told in new ways to adhere to the sentiments of new eras?
Going back to the 1800s, Walt Whitman’s Leaves of Grass kind of checks a lot of these boxes if you skew the way you look at them. It reimagined the epic not as the story of a single warrior but as the song of an entire nation. Rather than abandoning the form, Whitman expanded it, suggesting that democracy itself—and the lives of ordinary people—could be worthy of epic treatment. In many ways, his work serves as a bridge between the classical epic and the modern stories that would follow. The collective American people are the heroes. The divine is immanent in nature and every individual. It tries to define the identity of a new nation. And to top it off, it’s got all those beautiful, boring catalogues that I enjoy.
And before the twentieth century transformed the epic into novels, films, and games, there were already signs that the form was evolving. Herman Melville’s Moby-Dick abandoned verse but retained the ambition of an epic. Its globe-spanning voyage, towering protagonist, philosophical digressions, catalogues, and elevated language all echo Homer while pointing toward what the modern epic would become. While not overtly magical, the White Whale takes on an almost divine or mythic significance. Captain Ahab is a larger-than-life tragic hero with the flaw of obsession, while Ishmael becomes the Homeric bard preserving the tale.
J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings (and related books) may be the clearest modern example. Its heroes cross kingdoms rather than neighborhoods, ancient prophecies hang over every decision, entire peoples rise or fall based on the outcome of a single quest, and the story is constantly aware of history stretching thousands of years into the past. It carries the same mythic weight as the classics while using the novel as its medium instead of verse.
Science fiction has proven just as capable of telling epic stories. Frank Herbert’s Dune trades kingdoms for interstellar empires, but the ingredients remain familiar: prophecy, dynasties, religion, philosophy, political intrigue, and a protagonist whose choices reshape civilization itself. It asks the same kinds of questions that ancient epics did, only through the lens of futuristic technology rather than bronze swords.
Once you stop insisting that an epic has to rhyme—or even be a poem at all—you begin to see them everywhere. But what if the format changes entirely? Film? Shows? Games? Gameshows? No, that last one is ridiculous. I don’t think Family Feud checks those boxes. Unless… moving on…
And then there was Star Wars. I consider this to be the best example on this list. George Lucas famously drew inspiration from mythology, folklore, and Joseph Campbell’s work on the hero’s journey, but the franchise also shares DNA with classical epics. The story begins in the middle of a galactic conflict, follows heroes whose choices determine the fate of civilizations, and wrestles with questions of destiny, redemption, sacrifice, and legacy. It may not be written in dactylic hexameter, but its ambitions are unmistakably epic.
And over the decades, it kept checking off more boxes. Analogous to divine intervention, one could mention the Force, or you could get deep into the lore and talk about the Whills, the Mortis gods, the Force Priestesses, or some other weird mystical entity. The prequels brought in themes of mortality, and the sequels brought in themes of fate and legacy. And of course I have to bring into this the famous line: “It’s like poetry, it rhymes.” With the inclusion of the Ring Theory showing a poetic format, whether purposely done or not, I can’t help but think this is the greatest example I can point to for a modern epic. And I know I’m not alone on that.
One of the most fascinating examples is One Piece. Yes, the manga/anime series. On the surface it looks like an adventure about pirates searching for treasure. In practice, it has become one of the largest modern mythic narratives ever constructed. Its voyage spans hundreds of cultures. The crew topples empires and frees people. There are inherited wills and a forgotten history. It features legendary artifacts and prophecies, and gradually reveals that its central conflict concerns the future of the entire world. And the powers and flaws, even if they do get a little silly sometimes, rival that of demigods in other stories. Additionally, nearly every single character has an epithet: Strawhat Luffy, Red-haired Shanks, Zoro the Pirate Hunter, etc. Structurally, it is very Homeric, and I would be happy to call this one of the best examples of a modern epic.
Video games have become another natural home for the epic tradition. The Elder Scrolls games drops players into a world that already feels mythic. Rather than merely reading about legends, players become the legendary hero themselves and forge their stories. Like the great epics of old, these games are filled with ancient prophecies, forgotten civilizations, and world-shaping quests. There are warring factions, intervening gods, and an expansive lore that feels like ancient mythology. The difference is that instead of listening to a bard recount the tale, players help write the legend through their own actions.
Now, there are plenty of other examples I could take into consideration—maybe superheroes, Lawrence of Arabia, Avatar: The Last Airbender, The Legend of Zelda, Elden Ring, Hyperion—but I’ll cut it short here at the risk of writing an entire novella length blog. But the point is, the epic poetry tradition is still very much alive in our time.
Ancient audiences experienced these stories through poetry because poetry was the grand storytelling medium of its day. Sometimes it was the best way to memorize and pass the story down orally. Epic poetry was never defined solely by meter or rhyme. Those were simply the tools available to storytellers thousands of years ago. Today’s storytellers have novels, cinema, television, and interactive worlds. They use cameras instead of lyres, controllers instead of scrolls, orchestral scores instead of sung verse.
But they are still doing what Homer did.
They are telling stories large enough to become legends.
