IT is true that female authors often face an uphill battle in getting published, getting the respect they deserve and establishing a space for themselves in the literary world; and I have often felt it necessary to do my part to ensure that female writers are given their due.
Early on in my university life, I decided to try as much as possible to ensure that I read as many works of literature written by women, people of colour, and LGBTQIA+ persons, as those written by straight, white men. These days, I am happy to say that I mostly read works written by women, people of colour, or LGBTQIA+ persons; and lately, I have been thinking about why I found it necessary to allow myself to experience these writers on the margins – those whose work may not be recognised or appreciated because history and/or politics has shifted them off to the sidelines. Perhaps it has to do with recognising as a child that J.K.Rowling was a woman and she wrote the best books I ever read in those childhood days. Perhaps it had to do with being a person of colour in the Caribbean and not seeing myself represented in much of the literature that was passed on to me when I was younger.
Perhaps it had to with my university education, which propelled me along a path that revealed to me the fact that writers of colour and others who dwelled on the outskirts of the literary world could be as talented, and sometimes even more talented, than those who stood at the centre and commanded it. Therefore, when I heard about Madeline Miller’s book – a book written by a woman with a story about one of the most famous female characters in classical literature, where she had been given not only form, but feelings and desires and goals and a fleshed-out retelling of the tale the world had heard 100 times before — I knew this was right up my alley. A woman-writer giving voice, finally, to one of the most famous marginalised women (nymph/witch/goddess) in mythical antiquity.
When one thinks of Circe, one immediately thinks of her in connection to a man – Odysseus. The story is well-known and well-worn by now. Odysseus returning from war lands upon the deserted island of Circe, the powerful enchantress, where she transforms him and his men into pigs. The story is probably from where the adage, “men are pigs” comes, but more importantly, although Circe’s actions and depictions throughout the years have presented her as a strong, resilient and powerful woman, little has been done to give her a personality beyond femme fatale or sinister temptress, which only seem to paint Circe’s figure in broad strokes, rendering her to be on the darker side of the Madonna/whore complex, which in itself serves as a stark reminder of how women will be portrayed were it left up to men to create the depictions of female icons such as Circe. This argument is important, because it explains the necessity and value of Miller’s book, which, despite a few weaknesses, overall manages to present a vivid, vivacious and realistic interpretation of Circe.
In the novel, Circe’s story is given from her birth, chronicling her rise from awkward, giftless daughter to a witty, brave and incredibly gifted enchantress. Miller’s main talents are not only to do with storytelling or characterisation, but also with pulling myriad strands of ancient Greek myths and using them to bind the central narrative of Circe. For example, Circe’s complex relationship with Odysseus is explored in new and surprising ways in the book. The links that the author creates between Glaucus, the mortal who is turned into a god in the form of a merman is connected to Circe, as is the story of famed Medea, Penelope, Hermes, Daedalus, the Minotaur, Ariadne, and even Prometheus. The inclusion of all the classical figures not only adds depth to the text, but they are also used in creative ways to develop Circe’s own story, to show her as a sexual being, to demonstrate the limits of her power, to show that she can be both cunning and kind, to highlight the plight of a woman who has to find her own power in the world if she is to survive. Miller incorporates the pantheon into her tale, but she never once loses sight of the fact that the story, despite Athena streaking towards the earth or Scylla with her six heads swinging out of a cave and other such vivid classical imagery, belongs to Circe.
Revisionist literature is important and while it is important to revise the lives and stories and legacies of real-life people, it is equally important for the stories involving fictional characters to be revised. Circe in Madeline Miller’s book is a fully-realised symbol of the 21st Century woman, despite being a mythical witch from ancient times; but such is the reflective power of literature. She is strong and protective, willing to cross hurdles to protect the ones she loves. She is also kind and funny and intelligent. She is emotionally-aware and sensitive to the plight of all creatures. She is a figure who moulds the environment into what she wants it to be and works hard to achieve her goals. Undoubtedly, a perfect symbol for the modern woman. This rewriting and developing of the
character of Circe by Miller is reflective of the age in which we live and is undoubtedly meant to draw this woman-character from the fringes, so that she may be appreciated in all of her full glory – not idealised and no longer vilified, but real.
