I must admit to ignorance when it comes to mythology. Except for the obvious and oft-quoted fables, I’m very much in the dark. I suppose, because I am not a fan of fantasy or sci-fi, it’s probably to be expected that the outlandish fairy-tales of ancient mythologies never appealed to me.
Madeline Miller changed all of that. She successfully introduced me to this genre in an entertaining and poetic way – so much so that I suddenly found myself totally fascinated by the surrealist realm where the gods dwell.
All of them were, of course, originated by the egos and fantasies of the male scribes of nearly 3000 years ago and, consequently, most of the gods have a distinct lack of selflessness, morality and empathy. Circe is the story of a lesser god. She is a goddess that – as those of you who are familiar with Greek mythology will know – isn’t often mentioned and only rarely briefly described as the goddess of Aiaia who practised magical witchcraft.
Despite this fact, Circe actually shows up in many of the narratives where she interacts with an array of characters including the body like a man and head of a monster Minotaur, Daedalus and his doomed son Icarus, the murderous Medea and Odysseus.
Perhaps because there is so little known about Circe, Madeline Miller almost had something of a carte blanche in developing her character, and brought a certain aura of modernity to female characterisation in Greek mythology. She achieved this by weaving Circe’s inner thoughts into a captivating story while staying true to the wider stories about the gods and the mortals that populated this reality. Like most of her fellow gods, she also did some awful and evil things, but somehow one cannot help but like her and continue to relate to her human side, her loneliness and her honest attempts to explore her own being.
Circe was born in the house of Helios, god of the sun and mightiest of the Titans. She had no obvious powers and neither was she beautiful. As a result, she grew up in a household where she was largely ignored or scorned by her parents and her siblings. It was perhaps this isolation that led to her interest in mortals to whom she related much better than she did her godly equals.
When she discovers that she possesses a unique power – that of magical witchcraft to transform men into beasts or rivals into monsters, she was banned by Zeus, who felt threatened by her, and sent to a remote island for all eternity. Here she lives all alone with her tamed lion as her only companion, refining her magical powers, taming wild animals.
As a woman who stands alone, Circe seems to draw both the interest and the wrath of men and gods alike, leading to a tale fraught with ills and dangers, including having to defend her and hers against one of the most powerful Olympians. Ultimately, to protect what she loves most, Circe is forced to decide, once and for all, where she belongs.
Perhaps what I liked most about this book is Circe’s humanness, which is front and centre in her thoughts and relationships and prevails in her epic quest to get to know herself. Rather than being just another fantasy, Miller’s approach made the plots in this book plausible which, painted against a marvellous mythical backdrop, served to ease this previously unenlightened reader into the magic of mythology.
