Get Her to the Greek

Firstly, some housekeeping. This newsletter now has three, count ‘em, three paid subscribers (including my younger sister keeping tabs on me) so you know what that means - the sugar (pay)walls are going up.

Every second newsletter will have a lil’ cutoff point but you’ll still see some of the good stuff, I promise. The more paying subs I get, the more bonus goodies will be thrown into the mix. Monthly reading roundups? It could happen! A book club? BESPOKE READING LISTS? I am not so naive to think that a very stupid book newsletter written entirely in a stream-of-consciousness style would go viral, but if I do think this has legs in the future I will compel it to run. Listen, I’m honestly just happy you’re here and reading this bit. Don’t leave me! I deleted all the dating apps off my phone and I need validation!

Today, I want to talk about something I touched on very briefly in my first newsletter, and that is how the Greek Myths are women’s Roman Empires. I will die on this Palatine hill long after the ‘Roman Empire’ meme dies, and probably with a golden lyre or maybe some winged sandals about my person. We are obsessed with them and I entirely blame (or maybe prostrate at the feet of?) Madeline Miller, author of ‘The Song of Achilles’ and ‘Circe’ amongst others. If you have not picked up either, you are in for such a treat. ‘The Song of Achilles’ is based heavily in Homer’s ‘Illiad’, which is the epic, blood-soaked, Trojan War story of golden warrior boy Achilles having a big sulk because someone stole his toys spoils of war sex slave. Miller masterfully repurposes this into a tender, queer love story between Achilles and his bestie, Patroclus while retaining the epic and blood-soaked elements. My favourite, ‘Circe’ is an escapist whistlestop tour through some of Greek mythology’s greatest hits, in which the titular sea witch is a peripheral character. Circe is the Zelig of the mythological canon. There she is, turning Odysseus’ rampaging sailors into pigs, wrangling the Minotaur, or accidentally absolving her niece Medea of chopping her brother into little tiny pieces (whoops!). Like noted moustache enthusiast Nick Offerman, Circe is never the lead but often makes the biggest impression, and Miller succeeds in making her the completely compelling heroine of her own story.