To be human: on Madeline Miller’s ‘Circe’
Heyo, lovely people. Wherever you are, whoever you are, whatever the colour of your skin or the orientation of your sexuality or gender, I hope you are safe and well. To those who are in the face of COVID-19, who are in the heart of marches and protests, I hope you are okay. It was some time ago now that I bought this novel, yet it wasn’t until this past May that I finally got around to opening it up for the first time. Reading Madeline Miller’s second novel, which features the Greek Goddess Circe, was my first proper endeavour into Greek Mythology, making it all the more exciting! I mean, sure, I’d seen Hercules (said everyone, though I loved the PS1 game far more — which says more about my age than my tastes!) but beyond that? I don’t count the Percy Jackson films, either, which I think is for the best. I mean, sure, it’s such a famous mythos, its influence unprecedented, but I ultimately had more interest in other pantheons. Greek Mythology never jumped out at me. That is until hearing about Madeline Miller’s works. I am yet to read her debut, The Song of Achilles, but it sounds incredible. As for Circe? I adored it.
There’s a very particular writing style in Circe that stems from a strong character voice. Circe is the narrator, chronicling her life from her birth to centuries after being exiled by her family. There’s a certain aloofness which paints her voice that comes with the immortal territory. Some might find this writing style, this particular brand of voice, not to their tastes, but I loved it. Honestly, I think it’s something each person will need to decide for themselves when reading Circe.
Her story is about acceptance. Though at first, it appears an external struggle, that wing ultimately proves a small factor in Circe’s personal struggle to accept herself. After prolonged, unknown aeons of being cast down and pushed to the outskirts by all she knows, she is driven to crave the love of her abusers. Bonds are forged purely from desperation, not genuine love, often with heartbreaking consequences. She is unable to see herself as anything but what her family make her out to be: something hideous and ungodly — one to be despised and rejected. This all comes to fruition when, upon discovering magic, is exiled to the island Aiaia.
Circe’s growth is realistic despite her Godhood. We watch her make mistake after mistake, watch her suffer as a result of her actions, growing wise inch by snail-like inch. As the story progresses, we listen as Circe herself commentates upon her own story. Her insight into her own deeds helps lead us, both the spectacle and the guide.
This book is sold as a retelling of her portrayal in The Odyssey. Having not read anything about Circe before, I knew none about the ways she was presented. All I had were the words before me, nothing of outside influence. I cannot decide if this is for better or for worse; I adore her in this book. I love her faults and her strength and wisdom. From my understanding, she is painted much like an evil sorceress-type who turns everyone into animals — primarily pigs. And while she does indeed turn many into pigs, her cause behind it is entirely understandable. Here, we have a victim of rejection and degrees of abuse from those she loves, who turns to them despite the suffering they inflict upon her. She is nought but a flawed hero for whom I had no trouble backing.
This brings me to one of the things I liked most; the other characters. Often, the harsh actions of other characters are presented, only to forget to include the ‘why’ until well down the track, providing surprising and conflicting revelations. Characters once thought to be purely heartless, the reader realises are not entirely so; yet their actions are never excused. Not once is a character wholly redeemed after their ‘tragic backstory’ comes to light. The clearest example is Circe’s sister Pasiphaë, who proves far more complicated than for which I first gave her credit. Such revelations guarantee that future rereads will be new experiences in themselves, an almost certain sign a book is high-quality.
Still, my favourite character was actually Odysseus’ son Telemachus. Truthfully, it wasn’t until Circe spoke of him in chapter XXIII that I understood why I liked his character so much. Half of it, I think, was due to how much I loved the following quote — it’s one of a kind that stops you in your tracks, until you slowly glance up, lost for words.
“There was a sort of innocence to him, I thought. I do not mean this as the poets mean it: a virtue to be broken by the story's end, or else upheld at great cost. Nor do I mean that he was foolish or guileless. I mean that he was made only of himself, without the dregs that clog the rest of us. He thought and felt and acted, and all these things made a straight line. No wonder his father had been so baffled by him. He would have always been looking for the hidden meaning, the knife in the dark. But Telemachus carried his blade in the open.”- Madeline Miller, chapter XXIII, pp.294-5
Circe is 9001% a character-driven novel. Rarely have I read a character voice so strong and distinct that, even well after finishing, I could still distinctly hear its particular sound. For someone interested in getting into Greek Mythology, for someone who’s already chin-deep into the mythos, or for anyone who enjoys powerful character-driven novels, this book is for you. Honestly, I couldn’t recommend this book enough.
Through Godhood, through many encounters with mortals, she better than most outlines what it means to be human. She shows us that immortality is not entirely living, that life is meant to have a distinct beginning, middle, and end. Without that, we cannot soar — merely drift. In mortality, we might only have a century, give or take, but every moment is fleeting and, therefore, inescapably precious. Personally, for that message alone, as authentically written as it is, Madeline Miller’s Circe is beautiful.
But that’s all from me today! I absolutely loved Circe, but what say you! Love it? Hate it? Let me know in the comments! All the same, thank you for reading, and I hope you have a most beautiful day!
— Charis.
