From time to time one notices trends in the droves of new novels appearing every year. It seems to me that Greek mythology is the hot topic of the day. Now, I’m sure if you’re reading this you know of Madeline Miller’s Circe and The Song of Achilles—and I doubt I’d offend anyone by suggesting that she’s the best writer of modern Greek mythology. But this isn’t about Madeline Miller or my love for her painfully slow-growing collection of myths. This is about the other stories out there, and my quest to find another author whose stories I can swoon over in the meantime.
With so many possibilities to choose from, I chose six myths concerning the Gods, mortals, and questionable heroes. These are my thoughts. Which retelling did you enjoy the most? Meet me in the comments to discuss.
A Thousand Ships, Natalie Haynes
More like a thousand voices. I’m sorry, that was harsh, but there were simply too many women clamouring to add their two cents to this collective retelling of the Trojan War. A Thousand Ships is told as if Calliope, the muse of epic poetry, is speaking directly to Homer, imploring him to include the narratives of women as he crafts The Iliad.
Yes, there were interesting and untold stories. Those of Clytemnestra, Agamemnon’s wife, and Iphegenia, the daughter he sacrificed to the gods for a fair wind on the Aegean crossing. This is also the story of the cursed Trojan princess, Cassandra, who foresaw doom but was powerless to stop it. Of Helen, when the Greeks finally breached the city walls. Of Hecabe and Andromache—Priam’s and Hector’s widows—and all the other Trojan women who were enslaved. Even Penthisilea, the Amazon warrior who crossed swords with Achilles.
A Thousand Ships read more like an academic thesis on women in war than a novel. Haynes’ writing is top notch, but I personally prefer her essays, found in The Times and The Guardian, which are more digestible pieces. It was too much and some chapters were altogether too brief. The inclusion of so many women diluted the strength of their voices.
Ithaca, Claire North
Told from Hera’s perspective, the goddess of womenfolk and the long-suffering wife of Zeus, she observes Ithaca and all its inhabitants. This novel is about Queen Penelope first and foremost. But it’s also about her fatherless son, Telemachus, and the suitors who eat, drink, and make merry in Penelope’s hall every night while she weaves her father-in-law’s shroud and promises she will take one of them as her husband when she completes her task. This all takes place while Odysseus is lost at sea and presumed dead by all but his hopeful wife.
Billed as another woman’s untold story—because it’s not like Margaret Atwood already wrote The Penelopiad or anything—Ithaca was interesting enough to keep my attention sustained, but not enough for me to want to bother with the sequel because (spoiler alert) Odysseus still doesn’t come home at the end of the book. With so many characters—the maids, the suitors, the raiders on Ithaca’s shores—to follow, it was hard to become attached to any of them. This novel was immersive, but it didn’t offer anything new, nor was it particularly special.
Clytemnestra, Costanza Casati
This novel was dark and suffused with sorrow and I loved it. A far cry from some of the other retellings that made this list. Clytemnestra is the story of Agamemnon’s long-suffering queen. History remembers her as a murderess. Casati remembers her as an embittered warrior, a loving mother and a ruthless queen.
As a Spartan princess, Clytemnestra receives training in combat and is afforded all the privileges of her brothers. But the illusion of freedom fades fast and she realizes she is no more than chattel in anyone’s eyes when Agamemnon murders those she holds dear and claims her as his prize. Years later when Agamemnon sacrifices their daughter, Iphigenia, for a fair wind, Clytemnestra’s old flame sparks to life and this time it burns for vengeance. While he besieges Troy, Clytemnestra plots his downfall.
For a large part of the novel, I felt like Clytemnestra was just a shadow. A witness to the novel’s brutality rather than a character with a soul of her own. I thought it was telling of Casati’s writing. It wasn’t until I neared the end that I realized this was intentional. Who wouldn’t feel detached from reality after having endured as much tragedy as Clytemnestra did? Clytemnestra is a powerful character study that grapples with themes of grief, oppression, power and revenge.
Psyche and Eros, Luna McNamara
The story of Psyche, a mortal woman, and Eros, the god of desire, first appeared in the Roman poet Ovid’s Metamorphoses, and McNamara has reimagined the myth beautifully. When Psyche incurs the wrath of Aphrodite, the goddess of love sends Eros to shoot her with one of his arrows, causing her to fall in love with the first person she sees. When Eros accidentally pricks himself with his own cursed arrow, he falls in love with Psyche and brings her to his palace as his wife under the cover of darkness. Psyche, unable to help herself, wishes to gaze upon her husband but accidentally burns him with the oil from her lantern, and the curse is finally realized. She accepts three impossible tasks from Aphrodite to win Eros’ freedom.
Psyche and Eros was absolutely gripping, well-written, and with enough detail to keep me hanging on to every word. Psyche is headstrong, trained by the hunter Atalanta after the Oracle spoke a prophecy at her birth. Eros is world-weary and longs for mortality. He blames his own arrows of desire for the folly of mortals and gods alike. Psyche is bursting with life whereas Eros represents grief. But when these two unlikely characters fall in love, their romance is tender and sweet.
My only gripe was with Aphrodite’s three impossible tasks, which I felt Psyche fulfilled entirely too easily. The author spent a much greater part of the novel on the events leading up to the Trojan War, which I didn’t feel had a place in this story, than on Psyche’s quest to reunite with her lover. Aside, McNamara’s adaptation is my favourite on this list.
Ariadne, Jennifer Saint
In a twisting labyrinth beneath his palace, King Minos keeps a bloodthirsty creature. Half man half bull, the minotaur demands the sacrifice of seven maidens and seven strapping lads every seven years. When the prince of Athens volunteers to venture into the maze and slay the beast, Ariadne’s existence is thrown into turmoil. She gives Theseus a spool of thread so he can find his way out of the labyrinth and they can make their escape together. But Theseus is no hero. He sails away from Ariadne like a thief in the night, leaving her for dead on a deserted island. And what will become of the little sister Ariadne left behind in Crete, destined to become Theseus’s bride?
Ariadne’s story was hard to put down. For the first hundred pages, anyway, Saint’s writing was electrifying. Ariadne leapt off the page a fully fleshed-out character grappling with guilt at betraying her father, King Minos, feeling butterflies in her stomach as her romance blossomed with Theseus, and coming to terms with her sympathies for the minotaur. Once Ariadne and Theseus escaped the Labyrinth, however, I felt my interest waning. As Ariadne stumbled around her remote island, alone, scared and hungry, and Phaedra settled into her new role as Queen of Athens, the pace slowed considerably. It was as if Saint realized she didn’t have enough words for a novel and had to draw its conclusion out as long as possible. Pacing issues aside, I would include Ariadne as one of the better retellings and count Saint among the better writers of Greek mythology.
The Shadow of Perseus, Claire Heywood
I wanted to love this book. I really did. But by the time I turned the final page, I was beginning to feel that there are simply too many Greek myths with “a fresh, feminist perspective” on the market, and this was one of those retellings that needed a lot more work to be something of substance. I love the myth of Perseus and Andromeda. So when I read the synopsis billing this novel as Perseus’s story through the eyes of his women, I snapped up the first copy I could get my hands on. Perseus as the bad boy? This was going to be good.
Perseus’s mother, Danae, was locked away by her father, King Akrisios after the Pythia spoke a prophecy that she would give birth to a son who would be his ruin. When Danae falls pregnant, she’s shut in a coffin and set adrift in the sea, only to be caught up in a fisherman’s net. Years later, Perseus her son sets out to make his mark on the world. First, he claims the gorgon Medusa’s head as his prize. Then it’s Andromeda, the maiden he found chained to a rock. He takes her with him back to Argos as his wife where he intends to confront Akrisios.
I actually enjoyed some of the changes Heywood made to the original myth. Andromeda belongs to a tribe of Libyan nomads and she volunteers to sacrifice herself to the gods to end the ravaging sandstorms. When Perseus “rescues” her from her rock, it’s against her will. However, the characters were entirely flat. Danae’s lover boy who crept through the chink in the roof to visit her in her makeshift prison felt like little more than a convenient plot device. Medusa’s chapter was so short, I felt I hardly knew her. Perseus at least had character. He was an angry, violent boy, but there were no added layers of complexity. Heywood had a great concept, but it lacked the depth required for a good read.