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Ever since I was a kid, I’ve always loved Greek Mythology. I was fascinated by the wide variety of crazy characters and their even crazier stories, whether it be the widely-known journeys of the heroic Heracles, or the less celebrated decisions of the doomed King of Thebes, Oedipus. I remember how excited I’d been in Elementary School after learning that much of sixth grade history would be focused on Greek mythology; I was thrilled with the thought of being able to talk about some of my favorite characters, and learn about the ones that were much less recognized. While Greek Myths are arguably most compelling for the wide range of concepts and narratives they explore, I began to recognize one recurring theme: the vast majority of them were centered around men. I believe that’s why Madeline Miller’s Circe was such an interesting and refreshing change.

Like her previous (and most acclaimed) novel, The Song of Achilles, Miller walks us through a familiar story with a new perspective. Most well-known for being the witch that turns Odysseus’ men into pigs in the Odyssey, Circe is the nymph that houses Odysseus for one of the ten years on his journey back from the Trojan War. In this first iteration, she is introduced as a powerful, seductive enchantress, presented as nothing more than another obstacle holding our protagonist back from returning home. Unfortunately, this is pretty much the extent of her character that we get for a while, as this one-dimensional perspective trickles into many more recent adaptations. 

But Miller dives beneath this surface-level look at Circe, exploring the unknown territory that Homer, alongside many other writers and storytellers, didn’t really think to investigate. Not only was Circe the sister of Pasiphae, and therefore the blood-relative of the Minotaur, but she was also the aunt of one of Greek Mythology’s most infamous women, Medea. Miller also considers many of the more obvious, yet simultaneously unacknowledged facets of Circe’s character: how she was banished to her solitary island of Aiaia, how she acquired her powers, and her unique familiarity with the beasts that roved the Mediterranean Sea. We experience the first-person view of so much of Circe’s life, from the extraordinary to the mundane, from her youngest years in the halls of Helios to the darker moments spent in her empty palace of Aiaia. She is given the epic scope that so many women in Greek mythology are denied; the same scope that legendary heroes like Odysseus and Achilles are granted. 

Most refreshingly, Miller writes Circe as what she ultimately is: human. While many characters in Greek mythology spend their lives worshiping and hoping to emulate the Gods they love, we are shown time and time again that these gods could not be more flawed and messy than we are, and Circe is no exception. In her youth, she acts thoughtlessly and immaturely. Later, her initial malevolence towards Odysseus and his men are shown to be acts of self-defense born out of previous mistreatment. This early malice eventually transforms into a true respect and compassion for Odysseus, who she eventually bears a child by. Miller writes Circe’s journey with motherhood as complex and human as any parent may experience, from the distinct despair of postpartum to the overwhelming bursts of unconditional love and affection.

All in all, Madeline Miller’s Circe is a novel that’s definitely worth reading. Admittedly, some parts of the book feel a little slow (especially in the first few chapters), but even the more ordinary things that Circe might be experiencing are made compelling through Miller’s beautiful and almost poetic prose. And as the book picks up, it engrosses and captivates with the new characters that are introduced and the familiar obstacles that Circe encounters. The novel dips into other recognizable tales through Circe’s eyes, like the birth of the Minotaur or even the myth of Prometheus, and her growth throughout the story is distinct and empowering. She transforms from the young nymph – mocked, bullied, and meek – to a powerful, independent woman who can confidently hold her own. Most refreshingly, none of the core feminist themes to this novel ever feel too forced, and the journey we experience alongside Circe is nothing short of inspiring.