Welcome to "What I Learned," a blog about reading that has helped my writing that Conor Gallagher has wroten. There might be spoilers, but I'll let you know!
Also, WHOOPSIE. Sorry, I gave up on Sabriel for the moment. It was just the wrong time for me.
Today, I learned: Whispering Secret Messages, or How To Use First-Person to Empower Your Reader
First, a quick recap in case you haven't taken the time.
Anyways....CIRCE.
If you're anything like me, you checked out your elementary school's singular copy of Greek Mythology for 14 weeks straight until they said you couldn't anymore, have multiple pieces of Wonder Woman art in your bedroom/office (In the future, this is where I'll get to say "BUY MY BOOK so I can afford an office" but since I can't do that yet, might I suggest you buy Ryan LaSala's debut Reverie or Layne Fargo's debut Temper) and therefore are V familiar with Circe...or at least think you are.
Forget what you've read about the Witch of Aiaia turning poor innocent sailors into pigs on this here International Women's Day. Oh no, Madeline Miller has taken the seductress witch and sketched her out with the beauty of one of Circe's woven tapestries which is something she does while living alone on her island for thousands of years!
But where do we begin? As Miller does, with Circe's birth? Or a bit later, when we learn of her family's scorn? Of their witchcraft? When she first meets Odysseus? All of these would be fine, I guess, but my favorite bits---and the bits that relate best to what I learned---are when Circe is at her most introspective. Okay, second favorite. My favorite bits are when she verbally spars with her sister, niece and Odysseus' wife Penelope. Madeline Miller could offer a masterclass in, among other things, how to write venomous, but not vain, dialogue.
Without spoiling this thousand-year-old story that still had me in surprises and starts, let's just call Circe an outcast. For various "reasons," most of the other gods hate her. That's a simplification but the point is, at first they offer her an eternity of being unwelcome and then officially unwelcome her. I'm not gonna ruin how but she didn't end up on that island all alone because she thought all the solitude would be a gas.
Once there, on the island Aiaia, Circe comes into her own, and through Miller's use of the first-person, invites the reader to as well.
As she's learning her witchcraft and navigating a new life outside of the deity-ridden halls of her father, Helios', divine home, Circe begins to understand the world that exists outside of the gods. For reasons known only to The Fates, it seems that this is where she belongs. Or rather, where should could best become who she's meant to be.
This is the first of many examples Miller employs to deliver her novel's overall message; which I believe is about giving yourself the freedom to fail, and to grow, because you'll never know what's out there. For instance, her whole life---which isn't so easily tracked in years, especially before she leaves Helios' halls---everyone has told Circe not to sing or speak. That her voice is grating, like the hawk for which she is named. TURNS OUT! Circe just sounds like a mortal. So, A) Wow. That's so rude, gods and B) She wasn't the problem! The gods' weak ass ears were!
Point being: Circe would have never known this if she didn't (Yes, against her will, I know) go and live in the mortal world and start fulfilling every millennial who lives in Brooklyn's dream of moving to an isle and becoming a feared witch.
*GIF: "THAT'S HOW YOU PARTY IN MYKONOS, BITCH" NOT FOUND*
Now, for me, this is when the novel really kicks off...and it's not just because this is around when Circe gets a pet lion. Though that did help. Of course it helped. But in addition to the lions (and various other animals), Circe also begins learning about her witchery. And this is where we find our lesson.
Circe, as it turns out, was a witch born, but due to her upbringing and circumstances, she is also a witch made. The origins of Circe's power (and that of her siblings) is a fun point of discussion within the book but the actual craft of it: learning what herbs do what, how to cast, which words are Words of Power and which are not; that's all up to Circe.
Miller writes, as Circe, "Yet because I knew nothing, nothing was beneath me." - Pg 86. HOLY COW. Perhaps the exact holy cow that Circe's sister, Pasiphae, schtupped to make The Minotaur. Who's to say? But more importantly, HOLY COW THAT PROSE! And the lesson within.
This is just one of, dare I say, dozens?! of examples of Miller's capabilities, but I've included two more of my favorites below, and also the point of telling them to you.
"All I could carry with me from the last time was the knowledge that it could be done." - Pg 85
"Monsters are a boon to gods. Imagine all the prayers." - Pg 98
The second one isn't really lesson-centric but still. THE JOY. THE SNARK.
But the first is, as is the way Miller writes it, as if Circe is telling us a secret. Like she's giving us a decoder ring and allowing mere mortals into her Goddess' Club for Exiled Children. Miller makes us not just readers. We're co-conspirators, working on crafts alongside Circe so that we too can gain the power to defy The Fates.
But how does she (Miller) do this? With the first person, I say! (See what I did there?)
On the surface, Circe's story---no matter how expertly woven and filled with humanity by Miller---can feel unapproachable. We're talking about an immortal witch goddess who's the daughter of the actual Sun. Like, her dad is sort of a metaphor for the sun, but he's also actually the Sun. It's a whole thing. So, how then, do you invite your reader in so they can share in the magic of Circe's journey: her highs, lows, heartbreaks and great loves?
It's a different question than other stories dealing with the fantastical or preternatural. For instance, in Harry Potter, a little boy becomes a moody wizard and let's his best friend marry a man not even close to good enough for her. What? Did we not read the same books? Regardless, Harry has magic. You don't. I do, but that's neither here nor there. Point is, he's more approachable because A) He's still human, B) He didn't grow up with magic and C) He's got a lot to learn, and so do we. Miller uses C, but in a way that I find especially empowering.
I think it's a similar relationship I always imagined fictional witches having with their deities or their power. I haven't gotten to read the books yet, but Emma Thompson playing Sarafine in the movie of Beautiful Creatures says something to the tune of "Mortals try magic without any real conviction and wonder why their spells don't work." It's this missing link our reality has that the reality created in books with magic does not. Witches cast a spell, they see a result. You cast a spell, and maybe it works? Even if it does, I doubt there's a light show. LOL @ the possibility that somewhere, some witch is reading this and being like "Ha, your life sucks mortal." Luckily, that brings us back to my point.
Sure, compared to a god, yeah, my life does have its challenges. But Circe is a god, and her life is no picnic. BUT, she doesn't let that stop her. She works; physical, hard and taxing labor. She studies and concentrates, the weight of her spells a constant burden near the end of the novel. Her hands are dyed by the herbs she crushes, stained and muddied from weeding in her garden. And all the while, she lets us look in over her shoulder. We're more welcome than the nymphs who are sent to live in her house and why?
Because Circe is about Hope. And what is more human than that? It's about making a tool when you don't have one. About learning how to craft it when you've never done so before. It's about acknowledging fear, and then denying that fear its power.
Circe faces all these challenges with the confidence of eternity, and in doing so, lets us, the reader, the human, experience divinity.
I believe, all of this comes at the behest of Miller's use of first-person. Of her writing "I set the golden basin on the floor..." (Pg 163) instead of "I set a golden basin on the floor." A small change, surely, but one that says "You know what I'm talking about. The gold basin. From the third shelf in the kitchen. You've seen it a thousand times." It's these details that gather us into the huddle. That bring us into Circe's home; the paradise she made out of a punishment. They are "Words of Power," as Circe would put it. They say:
You are welcome.
You can learn with me.
You are strong.
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As mentioned above, I've been into Greek mythology since I was a chitlin, but I think Circe is way approachable even if you aren't like me. Also, there's an extensive glossary in the back that gives you all the necessary info, though if you can, I wouldn't read that cause there's minor spoilers for some characters.
The Song of Achilles is a sort of companion (?) book to Circe that is apparently really good as well? If you've read it or Circe, let me know below in the comments!
If you want to grab a copy, you can use IndieBound to find your local shop. Or a library. Just not ~tHe RivEr~.
The Turn of The Screw is next and yes I started reading it because season 2 of The Haunting was announced and no I'll never stop talking about The Haunting. Until then, I leave you with
ONE FINAL DUMB OPINION:
Pasiphae was absolutely a mean, mean monster BUT, if I were an ocean-adjacent god and got to pal around with the Pantheon, would we be friends? MAYBE. I think it's a case of "The Devil gets all the best lines," but gorram did she seem like a fun woman to have a drink with. Granted, she'd probably poison me, but who knows?
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