For those readers not satisfied with Homer's version of the Trojan War, Richard Powell has furnished an alternative. Helios, who claims he is and may well be a bastard son of Priam, tells it as he saw it, and the vision is so fresh that only the names distinguish the Walls of Troy from the Halls of Montezuma. All the tragic worthies are actively present--and little Helios hobnobbing charmingly among them--from Cassandra (who resembles the young Katherine Hepburn), Paris (Laurence Harvey), and Helen (an aging Bardot) to Achilles and Odysseus. These latter two are the most interesting, for with the help of Powell they have overcome their Bronze Age limitations and now speak out in the golden accents of Parris Island: ""You're talking horseshit,"" Odysseus remarks; ""I wish you'd clear out, Achilles, and let me work""; "". . . there's a war on."" Bet your life there is, a senselessly dragged-out ""nasty war"" of the kind we know too well; and its closest approach to epic universality is in the footsoldier's lament, ""We do the dying and the officers do the screwing."" But the author's intention was to give us the real dope behind the bardic distortions--""Did you hear the wild story they're telling about Achilles?"" Aeneas asks--and if it isn't true, at least the distortions are brand new.