The Importance of the Comparison
During the summer, I notice myself looking back on the work I did during the past semester, and honestly wondering if anything I wrote is good enough to edit for grad school applications. In doing this, I came across one of my favorite (and weirdest) essays I wrote of the year so far: “What Heroes Leave Behind.” With such a dramatic title, you’d probably think that I discussed an equally dramatic topic, filled with comparisons and references to heroic journeys throughout literature. And yes, that is true. The essay follows the journeys of two primary male figures from completely different time periods in history — one probably the oldest possible character I could choose, and one that follows a journey that canonically hasn’t even happened yet.
I was really grateful to be given an assignment like this. It essentially was just an essay we got to write about our opinions of one text we read throughout the semester – how we felt about it, what we liked, what we didn’t like, and how it could be applied to a more modern literary text.
One thing I love about being an English student is that you can pretty much consider anything to be a literary text if you want to, and as long as you can defend your thoughts and opinions, you can probably still get a decent grade when discussing literally anything, regardless of if it makes total sense or is completely true.
(That’s not to say that you should just outwardly spread misinformation, like do not do that. But if you can argue your thoughts in an effective and eloquent manner, who’s to say that your opinions are necessarily wrong?)
So, out of everything I read from the semester, like Chaucer, Shakespeare, Milton, Marie de France, I chose to write about the very first assigned reading: Beowulf.
The quickest way I can explain Beowulf to someone that has never heard of it before is that basically, it is the oldest surviving epic poem in the English language. It was written in Old English, so pretty much no one today would be able to just pick it up at its original state and understand a single thing. There’s also some debate (a lot from J. R. R. Tolkien, actually) on whether or not it technically is an epic poem, because if it is, then it’s a pretty bad one. If it’s not, then it’s actually pretty good.
This poem follows the journey of main character Beowulf and how he defeats three monsters to save the Danes and their king, King Hrothgar, from a monster named Grendel, and then eventually Grendel’s mother. Later on as king, he must protect his own people, the Geats, from a dragon, which is what ultimately leads him to his death.
Knowing all of this, I’m sure it is now crystal clear what modern example I used to compare this to: Joel Miller from The Last of Us. I honestly started out writing it as a joke to see how far I could get, and then ended up just going with it and turning it in, to which I received a 100, somehow. I think it was because my professor just likes video games, but also he did leave a few question marks on the physical copy of my essay, which I understood completely.
That essay really got me thinking about how similar old literature is from what we have today, and most people don’t even realize it. Like, a large portion of early 2000s teen movies were entirely based on Shakespeare plays. She’s the Man is essentially just Twelfth Night, and 10 Things I Hate About You is basically just The Taming of the Shrew.
With all of that being said, I thought I would share a little bit from the essay I turned in instead of just paraphrasing – also because I’m just proud of how I was able to actually make these two vastly different stories connect. So, here’s an excerpt from “What Heroes Leave Behind.”
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Something that really stuck out to me when approaching Beowulf was this idea that all literature builds on other literature, and I thought this was super interesting because Beowulf is about as early back as you can go in terms of English literature. Of course, Beowulf would not be something that, say Shakespeare, would have used for background in any of his work, but I still think something from so long ago absolutely needs to be studied, especially by English majors. There’s a certain magic in reading and studying literature in a 21st century classroom that someone from 1000 AD would have heard in a king’s hall by a scop. We are so different, and yet have heard the same story.
In all honesty, there was something about Beowulf that did not resonate with me at first, but the older I’ve gotten, the more I have come to understand him. At first glance, Beowulf seems like a character I would have nothing in common with: he’s a warrior, a man of legend, someone who proves himself through violence, boasting, pridefulness, and fearlessness. But reading it now, as a 21-year-old college student trying to figure out who I am, what I stand for, and who I want to be, I see in Beowulf a quieter theme beneath the monster-slaying and glory: the burden of identity, and the deep fear of failure that comes with trying to live up to an ideal. Beowulf, like many young people, has a very clear image of who he wants to be: honorable, strong, remembered. He performs that identity through his actions – slaying Grendel, diving into the mere, fighting the dragon even in old age. But what struck me most wasn’t his bravery, it was his death. That final scene, when he chooses to face the dragon alone despite knowing he might not survive, felt familiar in a strange, symbolic way. Beowulf’s final act isn’t just heroism – it’s also pride, and a fear of being forgotten. That tension between strength and vulnerability, between legacy and self-doubt, makes Beowulf more human to me, and much more human than what initially comes across when reading.
What makes Beowulf such a compelling and enduring epic isn’t just its depictions of monsters or feats of strength, but its bleak and unsparing treatment of legacy and mortality, particularly in the poem’s final act. Beowulf spends the majority of the poem constructing an identity rooted in heroism. He chooses to fight a dragon in old age despite knowing the battle will likely cost him his life. Each of his victories feed into the heroic ideal that Beowulf has built for himself, and that his society celebrates. But it is precisely this ideal, this relentless pursuit of fame and glory, that ultimately leads to the unraveling of the very community Beowulf hopes to protect. His death is honored, yes, but also marks the beginning of doom. The Geats predict invasion, the collapse of their kingdom, and the absence of a capable leader. This is where the poem turns tragic. Beowulf ends not with the glorification of heroism, but with its emptiness. The very traits that defined Beowulf – bravery, honor, and individual glory – prove to be unsustainable foundations for collective survival. The world mourns Beowulf, but it also condemns the kind of world that needed someone like him in the first place. There’s no comfort or redemption in the end, just an elegy for a man who fought the final battle alone. For a culture obsessed with strength, that final solitude is perhaps the poem’s quietest and most devastating critique.
In perhaps an unlikely comparison, Beowulf finds an echo in the popular video game (and now, popular TV show), The Last of Us, particularly in the character of Joel. Joel is a character whose entire story is likewise defined by the burden of masculinity, legacy, and the high cost of survival. Like Beowulf, Joel is shaped by a world that rewards strength, stoicism, and sacrifice, but punishes vulnerability. Both characters operate within crumbling societies, and both take it upon themselves to protect those they care about, even if it means facing impossible odds alone. Beowulf’s pride is most evident in his unwavering pursuit of glory, which drives him to take on dangerous battles not for the greater good, but for the personal recognition and fame they bring. Even in his final moments, as an aging king, he chooses to face the dragon alone, fully aware of the risk to his life, because the promise of heroic glory outweighs the reality of his mortality. Beowulf, preparing to fight the dragon, acknowledges the risk, saying, “I risked my life often when I was young. Now I am old, but as king of the people I shall pursue this fight for the glory of winning” (lines 2510–2513). Joel, in the final act of The Last of Us, slaughters an entire hospital of doctors and soldiers to save his essentially surrogate daughter, Ellie, fully aware that the world and Ellie herself may never forgive, or even understand, his decision. What connects them isn’t just their actions, but the underlying philosophy that both see themselves as singular protectors, and both are ultimately isolated by the very ideals that define them. Joel later reflects, “No matter what, you keep finding something to fight for,” and that line might as well have been carved on Beowulf’s tombstone. Their deaths, while literal in Beowulf’s case, moral and emotional in Joel’s, highlight a similar emptiness in their respective codes. The world moves on, perhaps a little safer, perhaps not, but the heroes are left behind, relics of a worldview that cannot build a future. In this sense, The Last of Us offers a modern reflection of the same thematic concerns found in Beowulf: not just the cost of heroism, but the futility of clinging to it in a world that no longer knows what to do with heroes.
In the end, Beowulf is a complex narrative on the nature of heroism, legacy, and the cost of pride. Speaking of Beowulf highly, the poet says, “that of all the kings upon the earth he was the man most gracious and fair-minded, kindest to his people and keenest to win fame” (lines 3180–3183). This line specifically encapsulates the duality of Beowulf’s character. While he is admired for his leadership and kindness, his insatiable desire for fame drives many of his decisions, ultimately leading to his downfall. Beowulf's pursuit of glory, even in his final moments as king, results in the tragic vulnerability of his people after his death, emphasizing this idea of the Old English word “lofgeornost,” or “most eager for glory.” His actions reflect the tension between selfless heroism and the selfish need for personal recognition, leaving a legacy that is both celebrated and marked by loss. Ultimately, Beowulf's fate shows that while fame may immortalize the hero, it can also obscure the deeper costs of heroism, both for the individual and the society that hero leaves behind. Reflecting on Beowulf’s story, as well as Joel’s, it becomes clear how the pursuit of personal achievement – whether in academics, career, or other goals – can sometimes overshadow the greater impact on those around us. There will always be a constant drive to stand out, but it’s worth remembering that the most meaningful legacies are often not built on individual glory, but on the strength and care we show to the people we serve and protect in our lives.
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So yeah, the essay is kind of ridiculous. But I think finding connections between extremely unlikely sources is such a huge part of what we actually do as English majors, and being able to compare something written from as early as 700 AD to something from the 21st century is truly the only way in which we will ever be able to understand those that came before us.
I think most people get this idea in their head that literature from so long ago doesn’t actually matter, and that it will never affect them in their daily lives. And while that may be true for some, I think that one of the best parts of being alive is learning about what happened before we ever existed, and I think it is super interesting to know that when you read something like Beowulf or Hamlet or Paradise Lost, you now have something in common with someone from hundreds of years ago. Even if you think you are completely different from someone from 700 AD, now that you’ve read this, you both have a general idea of the same story, and I like to think that makes the world seem just a little bit smaller, which is pretty cool to me.
Thanks for reading, talk soon.
Lindsey Hoover