"As it turned out, I did kill pigs that night after all."
THIS REVIEW IS SPOILER FREE
The first book I reviewed on this blog was The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller. Since adoring that novel, I will read anything Miller writes, and given her significance to this blog, it feels fitting to review anything she writes, too. Miller’s second novel, Circe, came out earlier this year. Daughter of Helios, titan of the sun, and Perse, an Oceanid nymph, Circe is born without any notable power, but as she grows up, she discovers a hidden talent: sorcery. Her forbidden power draws the attention of Lord Zeus, and to maintain peace, Helios banishes Circe to the island of Aiaia, where she is to live out her eternity in exile. Poetic, savage, and captivating, Circe is a powerful story about a woman reclaiming control over her story and learning the value of her own independence -- and the cost of defending it.
Circe is not the most memorable figure in Greek mythology; she tends to be a footnote in the stories of greater heroes. This makes it seem like there wouldn’t be much to work with, but Circe’s involvement in the stories of more famous heroes gives her an interesting perspective. That, it seems, is Miller’s specialty; providing new perspectives on familiar stories. As a fan of Greek mythology, Circe’s connection to other ancient tales is so rewarding to read; I love the way all the different heroes weave around her. Some of the heroes she encounters include Daedalus, the great inventor and father to Icarus; Jason, captain of the Argo and retriever of the Golden Fleece; Medea, Jason’s sorceress wife who murders both of their sons when Jason leaves her for another princess; and Odysseus, star of Homer’s Odyssey and one of the best known Greeks of all time. Circe’s perspective of these heroes is so unique, and she also tended to encounter them before they achieved their fame/infamy, which gives readers like me, familiar with ancient Greek history, a sense of foreboding. We know what is in store for these heroes, and that third person omniscience made the novel dynamic and intimate, especially since it is told in hindsight. As Circe is telling the story in retrospect, she knows what is going to happen to the heroes, and because the reader has this in common with her, a bittersweet kinship is developed.
Another way in which Miller warps perspective is by making Circe the protagonist. There are no surviving epics from ancient times in which Circe is the main character, and to my knowledge, no contemporary stories focus solely on her, either. She is generally depicted as an antagonist, which is unsurprising; witchcraft was forbidden to the gods, so she did literally antagonise the characters of ancient epics. Circe, however, is a first look into Circe’s side of the story. I’m unsure how much liberty Miller took when writing, but because ancient stories have so many interpretations, I’m prepared to overlook any possible inaccuracies. Circe’s side of the story was so compelling. Several reviews I’ve read call Circe a feminist retelling, and it absolutely is one, not just in terms of the content or themes but also because of the agency Circe receives over her own story. This novel made me the same kind of sad that I am when I read about the conditions women lived with during ancient times. Being a Classics student in high school was a constant struggle between interest in the history of ancient empires and fury about the appalling treatment of women in those times; it’s all so frustrating and heart-breaking to read, especially knowing that the same ignorance is still practised in so many countries today. Circe is a feminist retelling because it is powered by that same anger. When she is mocked, ridiculed, abused, underestimated, and undermined all because she is a woman, Circe fights back with a lack of mercy that I can’t help but respect, and reading about the ordeals that influenced her most infamous actions (i.e. turning all of Odysseus’ men into swine) made her empathetic in a way she has never been allowed to be.
A review in The Independent reminded me of the novel’s most poetic line: how would the songs frame the scene? It’s a nod to the source material from which Miller drew inspiration -- namely, Homer’s Odyssey -- and also a self-aware question on Circe’s behalf. How would the bards write each moment of Circe’s life? How would they represent her choices? Circe is “well aware of the narrative control others exert over her life”, and Miller is aware of it, too, so Circe is the story of the titular character reclaiming control over her own narrative. It’s a thrilling position for the novel to assume, and an empowering one, too. My favourite books are those with narrative and thematic arcs that reflect each other, and Circe is a lovely example: Circe the character is regaining control over the people who have dared dictate the course of her life, and Circe the mythological figure is regaining control over the way in which people retell her story. It makes the novel powerful and unique. Miller is probing a part of history that has rarely been touched by other writers, ancient or contemporary. Of course, it’s fiction, so she can really do whatever she likes, but I thought it was daring for Miller to reimagine Circe in such a radical way, to take a character so insignificant in the grand scheme of heroes and villains and thrust her into the spotlight. Circe is a bitter protagonist, hardened by what she has gone through and what she has lost, but it makes her wonderfully honest. Her perspective is so refreshing, and it emphasises the gorier parts of ancient epics that bards like Homer ignored and excused.
Circe is an inquisition, a revolution, but more than anything, it is a chance for a sideline character to tell their story. We’re starting to see this kind of thing more often in modern fiction -- Twilight retold from Edward’s perspective, Fifty Shades of Grey told from Christian’s point of view, Divergent told by whatever character Dave Franco’s doppelgänger played, all that crap -- but Miller’s attempt is so much more successful, and not only because we barely asked for Bella’s opinion on the matter, so Edward’s was hardly necessary. At once ruefully bitter and hesitantly optimistic, Circe is a sweeping success, an exquisitely rendered story that holds history accountable and empowers the women swept under its ancient rug.
WORKS CITED
Scholes, L. (2018, April 20). New novel Circe turns the Odyssey from an ancient tale of female subjugation into one of empowerment. Retrieved December 12, 2018, from https://tinyurl.com/ya7ryzem.
