Circe

A goddess. The human. A witch.

“When I was born, the name of what I was did not exist.”

What I think most of the people's expectations were for Madeline Miller's “Circe”, was a well-painted picture of an evil witch making use of her powers by turning innocent men into pigs. That was also what I had in mind while deciding to finally read “Circe”. It's no surprise since the most common portrayal of Circe comes from a well-known myth or from Homer's Oddysey. Yet, Madeline Miller goes beyond that and makes Circe cruel, yet vulnerable. Genteel, yet miserable. Unloved, yet loving. Divine, yet... human.

It's true that Circe's character takes its origin in Greek mythology. Nevertheless, Madeline Miller's novel makes the myth extended to the point when the reader gets the feeling that they're reading an incredibly well-written study of a person that has been hurt so much that she starts hurting others. Being on the island, Miller's Circe becomes vengeful, aware of her own power and more god-like than when she was living in her father's halls. The reader gets to see the reason for her crimes that Homer described. And when Miller reveals each of those reasons, the reader feels compassion.

Overwhelming wave of compassion followed by... awe. I was in awe watching her try for the first time. I admired her when she won for the first time when her win came from her loss. How she was more free than ever serving her prison sentence.

The thing that touched me the most was Circe’s motherhood and the way it was described. All of the rhetorical devices made if look fragile and unstable, yet beautiful and moving. A death sentence, capital punishment being just one step behind Circe and her unaware, naive son forbidding the goddess to take joy from her motherhood. She is willing to protect Telegonos with her life. A goddess, willing to die for a mortal.

Telegonos is her pride and joy, even when he is crying and yelling, smashing the potion bottles on the ground, pinching her with his small fists and hitting her in the rib cage when she is carrying him around. Yet, Circe is willing to stab herself with a spear of deadly poison if it brings her son the needed protection.

“Circe” is written in first-person narrative which helps the reader feel what the main character feels in certain moments. What is noticeable, is that the language the story is told, as well as the sentence structure and their length, changes depending on Circe’s mood. When she’s describing her relatives, the sentences are very precise, they give out as many information as possible while still being curt and laconic.

What I thought while reading that part, was that Circe wants us to remember all the toss about her family. Who’s related to whoa and in which degree of kinship, who is Paciphaë marrying and why her mother hates her daughter’s future husband, who’s in love with who and, watch out!, with whom Zeus will have his next baby with.

Circe is just a small, gray dot, invisible in her relatives’ glory. It’s just like she WANTS the reader to forget her, to forget who’s really telling the story here and focus on the marvellous world of gods, divinity and unconcern.

The whole narrative changes when Circe experiences loss. Then the next one, and the next one, over and over again, losing one after another, a brother, a lover, a father, and then a lover again, her favourite pet and a man she never really had. Circe speaks up and shares her pain. The sentences, sure, are still not the most complex, but what changes is what Circe tells by using them. The sentences become detailed and descriptive. They start describing not the way Circe sees others, but how she sees herself.

A retelling of ancient Greek lore is a common motif among Madeline Miller's works and once again she does not fail to portray a well-known character in a new, unique way. In “Circe”, Miller returns to Homer that once lead her to an Orange Prize for “The Song of Achilles” (of which, by the way, I am a huge fan of). This time, she dives in the marvellous world of The Odyssey dragging the reader with her. All the way to mighty Helios' palaces, a small strip of land near the shore, a place where fishermen like to stop by, a place where a goddess lives. A goddess with a fascination for mortals. This fascination, this obsession with human beings causes Circe nothing but pain, yet she's still intrigued by the human kind and the interest she takes in humanity becomes the book's marrow.

Circe takes pride in her downfalls. It's a gripping tale of overcoming your fears and limits. It's a journey; from an obedient daughter to a tender sister, from a nymph rejected by a mortal to a skilled enchantress. Circe is a survivor, a single mother, a goddess but most importantly a woman, who takes men as she please but never begs for their stay. Not anymore.

“Circe” is a manual for women facing ancient monsters in modern times.

“It was not the world I knew. It was not a word anyone knew, then.
«Pharmakis,» I said.
Witch.”