Margaret Ann Spence Coming Home
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Circe

By Madeline Miller
Bloomsbury Publishing, U.K. 2018

The enchantress Circe, who lived alone on a magic island, lured Odysseus, on the last stretch of his long journey from the battle at Troy to his home in Ithaca, to her bed. His men, she turned to pigs.

In this gorgeous imagining of Homer’s story, the classicist Madeline Miller makes Circe intelligent and independent, more mortal than goddess, a woman reacting to men’s betrayal, a young girl considered ugly and stupid by her mother and siblings, an outcast, a single mother, and a woman who escaped danger over and over again by her own ingenuity.

That made the male species wild. In Miller’s telling, Circe’s father Helios exiles her because she used her magic powers to turn a romantic rival, Scylla, into the six-headed monster who haunted the Strait of Messina. The strait was narrow, and ships were forced between two terrors, the monster and the whirlpool known as Charybdis. Miller’s Scylla is the undercurrent of the novel. Perhaps a projection of the evil that jealousy causes, she’s Circe’s nemesis. But then, so are most of the other characters who populate the story, from her hateful siblings to the gentle Penelope, Odysseus’s faithful wife. Circe, Miller seems to say, will always be alone, because she acts with an agency denied to females in the ancient world.

Circe works hard at her profession. After the first night in exile, she wakes and goes into the forest surrounding her house. “I stepped into those woods and my life began.” Circe tells us that witchcraft is like any other trade. It must be learned and practiced. ”Sorcery…must be made and worked, planned and searched out, dug up, dried, chopped and ground, cooked, spoken over and sung. Even after all that, it can fail, as gods cannot…Day after patient day, you must throw out your errors and begin again.”

Fortunately for Circe, she has years, centuries even, to perfect her craft, undistracted by domestic chores. I loved this passage about her island home: “Though the rooms were deserted, there was no speck of dust, and I would learn that none would cross the marble threshold. However I tracked upon it, the floor was always clean, the tables gleaming. The ashes vanished from the fireplace, the dishes washed themselves, and the firewood regrew overnight. In the pantry there were jars of oil and wine, of cheese and barley-grain, always fresh and full.”

And so she gets on with it. Miller brings many other Greek myths into her episodic story, and Odysseus only appears in the latter third of the book. In the meantime, Circe has learned not to trust sailors who happen upon the island and discover that she lives there alone. Miller’s voice is strong and powerful when she describes Circe’s reaction to rape, and later, her wary reaction to Odysseus, who charms her by his diffidence and friendship. It is not a spoiler to tell of Circe’s pregnancy by Odysseus, who sails off unknowing. Here Miller shows us, movingly, Circe’s struggles to bring up a baby alone, while trying to work. What mother cannot sympathize when Circe describes her desperate attempts to get her infant to sleep? “However I wrapped him, however I rocked and sang, he screamed…. The only thing that helped was if I walked – walked the halls, walked the hills, walked the shore.”

The last part of the book is a delight. In a twist on how Homer must surely have imagined Telemachus, Odysseus’s son by Penelope, Miller portrays him with the soul of an accountant. He is no warrior.

Quite simply, I loved this book. Read it.

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