⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ 5/5
Content warning: mentions of sexual assault
At least once in our lives, most of us experience a man becoming a monster. Whether it is a father, a brother or a partner, we know the betrayal and ever-lasting cruelty of unjust shame. It’s a man’s world, but it’s voices like Madeline Miller retelling the stories of scorned women that make us realise; men wrote this world, but women have the power to rewrite it.
I’ve always been fascinated by the concept that ‘history is written by the winners.’ It’s true but something we often overlook in this truth is that these “winners” are usually men. Since the dawn of time, men have been warning against the dangers of groups of women, isolated women, cruel women and kind women. They have been redressing tales of powerful women as something to be feared.
That time has passed.
This Women’s History Month, I have been devouring book after book of Greek mythology stories retold from the perspective of the female figures in those classics. Penelope’s long wait for Odysseus to return from the Trojan War, defending herself and her son against suitors; Medusa’s curse and captivity after being violated by the gods; Circe’s banishment and betrayal at the hands of nearly every man in her life. Hers is the story I want to talk about today.
Before reading Madeline Miller’s Circe, I had already read the arguably more popular The Song of Achilles. The latter is a beautiful queer retelling of Achilles and Patroclus before and during the war on Troy, but it did not pull on my emotions and memories the same way Circe did. Like many, my knowledge of the witch Circe comes from her brief mention in Homer’s The Odyssey. It wasn’t until Miller expanded on that part of the story that I learned how interesting, heartbreaking and powerful her character really is.
Miller’s retelling of Circe follows the tale already etched into the stars but the first-person narration offers a unique perspective into these events. The description on the back of the novel poorly prepares you for its inner workings. I bought a book that I thought would linger on and twist the romance between Circe and Odysseus. The truth is that part of the novel is not only brief but does not come until over halfway into the story.
We begin quite literally at the beginning, at Circe’s birth and upbringing. Through her, we learn the wondrous myths attached to her father (Helios), mother (Perse) and sister and brothers (Pasiphaë, Perses and Aeëtes). Of course, Circe’s family is much larger than this but these are the characters closely interwoven with hers. In the halls of her father’s home, Circe desperately clings to her father, believing this is what will make him love her. She is mocked and tormented by various gods and goddesses (including her own family). So, it’s no surprise when Circe develops a fascination with the mortals all gods are secretly jealous of.
Before this, Circe finds family love for the first time when she becomes a surrogate mother for her brother Aeëtes. Together, they grow but Aeëtes is not treated with the same disdain as his sister despite their obvious closeness. Do I even need to point out that the only difference between Circe and her brother is that she is a woman and he is a man? The difference in their treatment becomes even more apparent when Aeëtes leaves to rule his own kingdom. The departure is bittersweet when Circe realises that the love she had for her brother was never truly returned by him.
On the back of this abandonment, Circe meets a mortal and falls in love. The mortal man, Glaucos, reveries Circe as the goddess she is. Swept up in her love, Circe finds a way to turn Glaucos into a god so that they can be together forever. As well as being a literal representation of the ‘I can change him’ trope, we are introduced to a concept often associated with these relationships…
Glaucos represents the man who is built up by the confidence given to him by his female counterpart, only to discard her later on. Once he is a god, Glaucos sets his sights and romantic interests elsewhere. It can be argued that Glaucos and Circe never had anything “official” but, regardless of if he returned her feelings, he never acknowledges what she did for him. And I’m not just talking about turning him into a god. Circe was his friend, his loyal companion before he gained his power. Those who surround him after he has become divine would never have even spared him a thought when he was mortal.
Interestingly, Glaucos’ story also gives us an example of when women turn on each other because of the men in their lives. Despite how much I loved both the book and the character, Circe is not without fault. She is feckless, prone to jealousy and has the capacity to be as cruel as the men who hurt her. It’s what makes her character development that much more rewarding. Before this development begins though, she makes a grave mistake that will haunt her for most of her immortal life: she turns a rival nymph into the fearsome sea creature known as Scylla.
Scylla’s transformation is what ultimately leads to Circe’s banishment on the island, Aiaia. However, this is only after she is burned by her father during her confession. Does he burn her as part of her penance? No. He does it out of anger when Circe dares to claim she could have that kind of power. After it’s found that she actually is responsible, Helios and Zeus agree that Circe will be banished for the rest of time.
There are various times when Circe’s isolation is disrupted. She takes the messenger of the gods, Hermes, as her on-again/off-again lover but never feels anything more for him than a physical connection. Even when she does find a love that goes beyond sex with the inventor Daedalus, it is fleeting. The longest experience she has of companionship is when the traveller, Odysseus, knocks at her door. But before he arrives we must read one of the most heartbreaking and haunting parts of the novel.
Everyone knows that Circe has a habit of turning men into pigs, revealing what she believes to be their true forms. In Circe, we experience the assault that leads her to do this. Sailors wash up on her island and return her hospitality with hostility. As soon as the sailors started asking after the men they should thank for their meal, I knew what was coming next, but that foreknowledge did not make the passage any easier to bear. After the captain of the crew assaults her, Circe still allows men to visit her island but it is very rare any of them ever leave again. She even sleeps with some of these men but it is in her attempt to reclaim her body as her own.
Circe lives like this for what seems like aeons, the spell only breaking when Odysseus arrives. But, like I said at the beginning of this review, this story is not about him. Not really. His arrival and relationship with Circe are central to the plot and end of the story, but he is fleeting in comparison to the novel’s overall power. In fact, Odysseus‘ wife, Penelope, is more present in the novel than the husband who has inspired epics.
The truth is that I could write a whole essay on Madeline Miller’s Circe (and maybe one day I will). For now, though, I will summarise why I knew I was going to give this novel five stars from its first page…
Circe explores the complicated relationships between women, the heartbreaking reality of their relationship with men, and the beauty of created/found family and reveals to us that there is always love amongst hate. Circe’s ambiguous ending has to be one of the best and most beautiful I have ever read. It encourages us to look within and realise that those hands that tainted us do not define us. We must learn to live with the monsters we have created and overcome the ones created within us. What they make us is not who we have to be.
Originally published on WordPress on March 24th 2023
One of my favourite things to do is talk books so please share your thoughts on Circe below.
Also, make sure to check out:
I Who Have Never Known Men Review