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Kirkus Reviews' Best Books Of 2018

New York Times Bestseller

by Madeline Miller ‧ RELEASE DATE: April 10, 2018

Miller makes Homer pertinent to women facing 21st-century monsters.

A retelling of ancient Greek lore gives exhilarating voice to a witch.

“Monsters are a boon for gods. Imagine all the prayers.” So says Circe, a sly, petulant, and finally commanding voice that narrates the entirety of Miller’s dazzling second novel. The writer returns to Homer, the wellspring that led her to an Orange Prize for The Song of Achilles (2012). This time, she dips into The Odyssey for the legend of Circe, a nymph who turns Odysseus’ crew of men into pigs. The novel, with its distinctive feminist tang, starts with the sentence: “When I was born, the name for what I was did not exist.” Readers will relish following the puzzle of this unpromising daughter of the sun god Helios and his wife, Perse, who had negligible use for their child. It takes banishment to the island Aeaea for Circe to sense her calling as a sorceress: “I will not be like a bird bred in a cage, I thought, too dull to fly even when the door stands open. I stepped into those woods and my life began.” This lonely, scorned figure learns herbs and potions, surrounds herself with lions, and, in a heart-stopping chapter, outwits the monster Scylla to propel Daedalus and his boat to safety. She makes lovers of Hermes and then two mortal men. She midwifes the birth of the Minotaur on Crete and performs her own C-section. And as she grows in power, she muses that “not even Odysseus could talk his way past [her] witchcraft. He had talked his way past the witch instead.” Circe’s fascination with mortals becomes the book’s marrow and delivers its thrilling ending. All the while, the supernatural sits intriguingly alongside “the tonic of ordinary things.” A few passages coil toward melodrama, and one inelegant line after a rape seems jarringly modern, but the spell holds fast. Expect Miller’s readership to mushroom like one of Circe’s spells.

Pub Date: April 10, 2018

ISBN: 978-0-316-55634-7

Page Count: 400

Publisher: Little, Brown

Review Posted Online: Jan. 22, 2018

Kirkus Reviews Issue: Feb. 1, 2018

LITERARY FICTION | HISTORICAL FICTION

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'Circe' Author Madeline Miller Battles Long Covid

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THE NIGHTINGALE

by Kristin Hannah ‧ RELEASE DATE: Feb. 3, 2015

Still, a respectful and absorbing page-turner.

Hannah’s new novel is an homage to the extraordinary courage and endurance of Frenchwomen during World War II.

In 1995, an elderly unnamed widow is moving into an Oregon nursing home on the urging of her controlling son, Julien, a surgeon. This trajectory is interrupted when she receives an invitation to return to France to attend a ceremony honoring passeurs : people who aided the escape of others during the war. Cut to spring, 1940: Viann has said goodbye to husband Antoine, who's off to hold the Maginot line against invading Germans. She returns to tending her small farm, Le Jardin, in the Loire Valley, teaching at the local school and coping with daughter Sophie’s adolescent rebellion. Soon, that world is upended: The Germans march into Paris and refugees flee south, overrunning Viann’s land. Her long-estranged younger sister, Isabelle, who has been kicked out of multiple convent schools, is sent to Le Jardin by Julien, their father in Paris, a drunken, decidedly unpaternal Great War veteran. As the depredations increase in the occupied zone—food rationing, systematic looting, and the billeting of a German officer, Capt. Beck, at Le Jardin—Isabelle’s outspokenness is a liability. She joins the Resistance, volunteering for dangerous duty: shepherding downed Allied airmen across the Pyrenees to Spain. Code-named the Nightingale, Isabelle will rescue many before she's captured. Meanwhile, Viann’s journey from passive to active resistance is less dramatic but no less wrenching. Hannah vividly demonstrates how the Nazis, through starvation, intimidation and barbarity both casual and calculated, demoralized the French, engineering a community collapse that enabled the deportations and deaths of more than 70,000 Jews. Hannah’s proven storytelling skills are ideally suited to depicting such cataclysmic events, but her tendency to sentimentalize undermines the gravitas of this tale.

Pub Date: Feb. 3, 2015

ISBN: 978-0-312-57722-3

Page Count: 448

Publisher: St. Martin's

Review Posted Online: Nov. 19, 2014

Kirkus Reviews Issue: Dec. 1, 2014

HISTORICAL FICTION | FAMILY LIFE & FRIENDSHIP

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BOOK REVIEW

by Kristin Hannah

BOOK TO SCREEN

‘The Nightingale’ Is Reese’s Book Club Pick

IndieBound Bestseller

THE TATTOOIST OF AUSCHWITZ

by Heather Morris ‧ RELEASE DATE: Sept. 4, 2018

The writing is merely serviceable, and one can’t help but wish the author had found a way to present her material as...

An unlikely love story set amid the horrors of a Nazi death camp.

Based on real people and events, this debut novel follows Lale Sokolov, a young Slovakian Jew sent to Auschwitz in 1942. There, he assumes the heinous task of tattooing incoming Jewish prisoners with the dehumanizing numbers their SS captors use to identify them. When the Tätowierer, as he is called, meets fellow prisoner Gita Furman, 17, he is immediately smitten. Eventually, the attraction becomes mutual. Lale proves himself an operator, at once cagey and courageous: As the Tätowi erer, he is granted special privileges and manages to smuggle food to starving prisoners. Through female prisoners who catalog the belongings confiscated from fellow inmates, Lale gains access to jewels, which he trades to a pair of local villagers for chocolate, medicine, and other items. Meanwhile, despite overwhelming odds, Lale and Gita are able to meet privately from time to time and become lovers. In 1944, just ahead of the arrival of Russian troops, Lale and Gita separately leave the concentration camp and experience harrowingly close calls. Suffice it to say they both survive. To her credit, the author doesn’t flinch from describing the depravity of the SS in Auschwitz and the unimaginable suffering of their victims—no gauzy evasions here, as in Boy in the Striped Pajamas . She also manages to raise, if not really explore, some trickier issues—the guilt of those Jews, like the tattooist, who survived by doing the Nazis’ bidding, in a sense betraying their fellow Jews; and the complicity of those non-Jews, like the Slovaks in Lale’s hometown, who failed to come to the aid of their beleaguered countrymen.

Pub Date: Sept. 4, 2018

ISBN: 978-0-06-279715-5

Page Count: 272

Publisher: Harper/HarperCollins

Review Posted Online: July 16, 2018

Kirkus Reviews Issue: Aug. 1, 2018

RELIGIOUS FICTION | HISTORICAL FICTION

More by Heather Morris

by Heather Morris

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December’s Book Club Pick: Turning Circe Into a Good Witch

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By Claire Messud

May 28, 2018

CIRCE By Madeline Miller 400 pp. Little, Brown & Company. $27.

I recall with intense pleasure my discovery in childhood of the Greek myths and Homer’s “Iliad,” in various editions, from an early acquaintance with d’Aulaire’s to Roger Lancelyn Green’s versions and, at the French school I attended for several years, a collection memorably entitled “Mythes et Légendes du Monde Grecque et Barbare.” Homer proper came later, in high school, affording both similar and distinct pleasures. In all versions, the concision and openness of the accounts were essential: Somehow authoritative rather than vague, they allowed an exhilarating freedom of imagination.

As familiar as those from the Bible, these stories saturate our literary history, in renditions and translations, allusions and transformations. Mary Renault stands as the 20th-century exemplar of the fully imagined retelling, most famously with “The King Must Die,” in which she granted Theseus his voice and conjured for readers the minute and vivid details of his upbringing and heroic deeds. More recently, Madeline Miller, a classicist and teacher, published “The Song of Achilles”: Widely acclaimed and translated, it received the Orange Prize for fiction in 2012. In that novel, Miller took on the story of Achilles from the perspective of Patroclus, his intimate and, in Miller’s version, his lover. Her fresh and contemporary understanding of this ancient story from the “Iliad” thrilled many and unnerved others. In this newspaper, Daniel Mendelsohn described the book as having “the head of a young adult novel, the body of the ‘Iliad’ and the hindquarters of Barbara Cartland” — ironically a fitting contemporary monster for the task of bringing the “Iliad” to a new readership.

Like its predecessor, Miller’s new book, “Circe,” illuminates known stories from a new perspective. Those familiar with the “Odyssey” will of course recall the wanderer’s visit to her island Aiaia — she’s perhaps best known as the witch who turns the sailors into pigs, and yet who ultimately invites Odysseus to be her lover and to abide with her, along with his men, for a year. Others will recall that Circe — Medea’s aunt, the sister of her father, Aeetes — cleansed Medea and Jason of their crimes, as they fled Colchis with the Golden Fleece and murdered Medea’s brother. She features, too, in the story of the Minotaur: Pasiphae, wife of King Minos and mother of Phaedra, Ariadne and the Minotaur (fathered, of course, by a sacred bull), is Circe’s sister. In all of these stories, Circe is at once important and liminal, just as she is a figure of uncertain powers, a minor immortal, the daughter of Helios, god of the sun and a Titan, and Perse, a lowly naiad.

Miller, writing once again in the first person (“The Song of Achilles” was narrated by Patroclus), gives voice to Circe as a multifaceted and evolving character. Her unhappy youth is explained, as the eldest and least cherished of Perse’s children by Helios, mocked for her unlovely voice (she will learn later, from Hermes, that “you sound like a mortal”). Secretly kind to Prometheus after he is condemned for giving fire to the humans, she is exiled to Aiaia not for this transgression but for her use of witchcraft to turn the mortal Glaucos, with whom she is in love, into a god; and, when Glaucos spurns her for the beautiful but feckless nymph Scylla, for transforming her into the sea monster who will plague sailors for generations.

According to Miller’s version, Circe is initially chiefly unhappy and immature, given to thoughtless lashing out that she lives to regret. When she cleanses Jason and Medea of their crimes, it is not because she is herself amoral but because she doesn’t know what those crimes are: When the pair ask her for “ katharsis,” “It was forbidden for me to question them.” Later, when she transforms sailors into pigs, her apparent malice is revealed in fact to be self-defense born of her isolation and mistreatment at the hands of sexual predators. When she deals with good men, like Daedalus, for whom she feels compassion (“he, too, knew what it was to make monsters”), she is filled with benevolent emotion; and even when her arguably evil brother Aeetes comes to Aiaia in search of Medea, she records feeling “a pleasure in me so old and sharp it felt like pain,” and recalls innocently that “as a child, he had liked to lean his head upon my shoulder and watch the sea gulls dip to catch their fish. His laugh had been bright as morning sun.”

Eventually, Circe will bear a child by Odysseus, a boy named Telegonus (although some versions of the myth have her bearing several boys); and Miller grants her, at this juncture, a profoundly human complex of emotions, from despair at the infant’s constant screaming to a profound and unconditional maternal ardor: “When he finally slept … a love so sharp it seemed my flesh lay open. I made a list of all the things I would do for him. Scald off my skin. Tear out my eyes. Walk my feet to bones, if only he would be happy and well.” Motherhood, then, is what renders Circe fully recognizable, postpartum depression and all.

As this passage makes clear, Miller has determined, in her characterization of this most powerful witch, to bring her as close as possible to the human — from the timbre of her voice to her intense maternal instincts. The brutal insouciance of her fellow immortals — whether her sharp-tongued mother, Perse; or chilly Hermes; or righteous Athena enraged — proves increasingly alien to this thoughtful and compassionate woman who learns to love unselfishly. It is an unexpected and jolly, if bittersweet, development, and one rather closer to Hans Christian Andersen’s “The Little Mermaid” than to traditional Greek myth.

“Circe” is very pleasurable to read, combining lively versions of familiar tales (like the birth of the Minotaur or the arrival of Odysseus and his men on Circe’s island) and snippets of other, related standards (a glance at Daedalus and Icarus; a nod to the ultimate fate of Medea after she and Jason leave Aiaia) with a highly psychologized, redemptive and ultimately exculpatory account of the protagonist herself. That said, Daniel Mendelsohn’s assessment of Miller’s earlier book pertains, perhaps even more so in this instance: It’s a hybrid entity, inserting strains of popular romance and specifically human emotion into the lives of the gods. Idiosyncrasies in the prose reflect this uneasy mixture: Circe sometimes speaks with syntactic inversions that recall Victorian translations from Greek (“frail she was, but crafty, with a mind like a spike-toothed eel”; “a year of peaceful days he had stayed with me”; “young he was, but not a fool”), and at other moments, in a surprising contemporary vernacular (“Meanwhile every petty and useless god would go on sucking down the bright air until the stars went dark”) occasionally punctuated by overly familiar phrases (that laugh, above, “bright as morning sun”; or this odd deployment of cliché: “My blood ran cold to see his greenness”).

In spite of these occasional infelicities and awkwardnesses, “Circe” will surely delight readers new to the witch’s stories as it will many who remember her role in the Greek myths of their childhood: Like a good children’s book, it engrosses and races along at a clip, eliciting excitement and emotion along the way. The novel’s feminist slant also appeals, offering — like revisions of Medea including Rachel Cusk’s 2015 adaptation of the play or David Vann’s 2017 novel “Bright Air Black” — a reclamation of one of myth’s reviled women. Purists may be less enchanted, bemused by Miller’s sentimental leanings and her determination to make Circe into an ultimately likable, or at least forgivable, character. This narrative choice seems a taming, and hence a diminishment, of the character’s transgressive divine excess.

Claire Messud is the author, most recently, of “The Burning Girl.”

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The original nasty woman is a goddess for our times

The archaeological evidence is sketchy, but the first pussy hat was probably knitted by Circe. Among nasty women, the witch of Aeaea has held a place of prominence since Homer first sang of her wiles. For most of us, that was a long time ago — 700 B.C. or freshman English — but popular interest in “The Odyssey” picked up last fall when Emily Wilson published the first English translation by a woman. Wilson, a classicist at the University of Pennsylvania, described Circe as “the goddess who speaks in human tongues” and reminded us that what makes this enchantress particularly dangerous is that she is as beautiful as she is powerful.

That combination of qualities has excited male desire and dread at least since Athena sprang from the head of Zeus. On papyrus or Twitter , from Olympus to Hollywood , we have a roster of handy slurs and strategies to keep women caught between Scylla and Charybdis: either frigid or slutty, unnaturally masculine or preternaturally sexless, Lady Macbeth or Mother Mary.

Now, into that ancient battle — reinvigorated in our own era by the #MeToo movement — comes an absorbing new novel by Madeline Miller called “ Circe .” In his 1726 translation of “The Odyssey,” Alexander Pope claimed that Circe possessed an “adamantine heart,” but Miller finds the goddess’s affections wounded, complicated and capable of extraordinary sympathy. And to anyone who thinks that women can be shamed into silence, this witch has just one thing to say: “That’ll do, pig.”

Miller is something of a literary sorceress herself. As a 39-year-old Latin teacher, she created an international sensation in 2011 with her debut novel, a stirring reimagining of “The Iliad” called “The Song of Achilles.” It’s a pleasure to see that same transformative power directed at Circe, the woman who waylaid Odysseus and his men as they sailed home to Ithaca.

The first English translation of ‘The Odyssey’ by a woman was worth the wait

“When I was born, the name for what I was did not exist,” Circe begins at the start of a story that will carry us across millennia. Although she writes in prose, Miller hews to the poetic timber of the epic, with a rich, imaginative style commensurate to the realm of immortal beings sparked with mortal sass. Circe’s father, Helios, lives in a palace of “polished obsidian . . . the stone floors smoothed by centuries of divine feet.” She describes a royal court just beyond the edge of physical possibility: “The whole world was made of gold. The light came from everywhere at once, his yellow skin, his lambent eyes, the bronze flashing of his hair. His flesh was hot as a brazier, and I pressed as close as he would let me, like a lizard to noonday rocks.”

In this fully re-created childhood, Miller finds the roots of Circe’s later personality and isolation. Mocked by her far more majestic family, Circe is a kind of Titanic Jane Eyre, sensitive and miserable, but nursing an iron will. (She also develops an acerbic sense of humor: Her father, she tells us, is “a harp with only one string, and the note it played was himself.”) Although her relatives disparage her, Circe cultivates the occult arts that will one day shock them. “I had begun to know what fear was,” she tells us. “What could make a god afraid? I knew that answer too. A power greater than their own.”

‘The Song of Achilles,’ by Madeline Miller

While working within the constraints of the “The Odyssey” and other ancient myths, Miller finds plenty of room to weave her own surprising story of a passionate young woman banished to lavish solitude. “To be utterly alone,” Circe scoffs. “What worse punishment could there be, my family thought, than to be deprived of their divine presence?” But her bravado is short-lived. “The still air crawled across my skin and shadows reached out their hands. I stared into the darkness, straining to hear past the beat of my own blood.” In that extremity, Circe discovers the labor and, eventually, the power of witchcraft.

A protagonist, even a fascinating one, stuck alone in the middle of nowhere poses special narrative challenges, but Miller keeps her novel filled with perils and romance. She’s just as successful recounting far-off adventures — such as the horror of the Minotaur — as she is reenacting adventures on the island. In the novel’s most unnerving encounter, young Medea stops by mid-honeymoon fresh from chopping up her brother. Chastened by bitter experience, Circe offers her niece wise counsel, but you know how well that turns out.

Which is one of the most amazing qualities of this novel: We know how everything here turns out — we’ve known it for thousands of years — and yet in Miller’s lush reimagining, the story feels harrowing and unexpected. The feminist light she shines on these events never distorts their original shape; it only illuminates details we hadn’t noticed before.

That theme develops long before Odysseus and his men arrive, as the novel explores the prevalence and presumption of rape. Again and again, sailors land upon Circe’s shore and violate her hospitality so grotesquely that she’s forced to develop her infamous potions and spells. “The truth is,” she says ruefully, “men make terrible pigs.” Considering the treatment she has received, we can’t blame her for concluding, “There were no pious men anymore, there had not been for a long time.”

Of course, her grim appraisal is a perfect introduction for Odysseus. He doesn’t arrive on Aeaea until more than halfway through the novel, but then Miller plays their verbal sparring with a delightful mix of wit and lust. The affection that eventually develops between them is intriguingly complex and mature — such a smart revision of the misogynist fantasy passed down from antiquity:

“Later, years later, I would hear a song made of our meeting,” Circe tells us. “I was not surprised by the portrait of myself: the proud witch undone before the hero’s sword, kneeling and begging for mercy. Humbling women seems to me a chief pastime of poets. As if there can be no story unless we crawl and weep.”

There will be plenty of weeping later in this novel, although it’s likely to be your own. In the story that dawns from Miller’s rosy fingers, the fate that awaits Circe is at once divine and mortal, impossibly strange and yet entirely human.

Ron Charles is the editor of Book World and host of TotallyHipVideoBookReview.com .

On April 18 at 7 p.m., Madeline Miller will be at Politics and Prose, 5015 Connecticut Ave. NW. politics-prose.com .

Why the literature of antiquity still matters, by Michael Dirda

By Madeline Miller

Little, Brown. 393 pp. $27

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Circe by Madeline Miller

Circe, a powerful enchantress from Greek mythology, practicing witchcraft in her sanctuary on the island of Aiaia

17 Dec Circe by Madeline Miller

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“Circe” spans several centuries, offering a deep dive into the life of its eponymous character. It begins with Circe’s childhood in the halls of Helios, her father, where she struggles to find her place among gods and nymphs. She discovers her penchant for witchcraft, a talent that leads to her exile on the island of Aiaia. This isolation becomes both a punishment and a sanctuary, allowing Circe to hone her magical skills and interact with various figures from Greek mythology, including Odysseus, the Minotaur, and Athena. The novel is not just a series of events but a profound exploration of Circe’s evolution from a naive nymph to a powerful sorceress, grappling with her immortality and her desire to understand the mortal world.

Main Characters

Circe : Initially a timid and overlooked nymph, Circe grows into a formidable witch. Her journey is marked by moments of vulnerability, strength, and deep introspection.
Odysseus : A clever and complex character, Odysseus’ interaction with Circe adds layers to both their stories.
Telemachus : Odysseus’ son, who visits Circe and develops a unique bond with her.
Athena : The goddess who often stands as Circe’s antagonist, representing the capricious and often cruel nature of the gods.

In-Depth Analysis

Miller’s writing is a standout feature, with its lyrical quality and deep emotional resonance. The novel excels in its portrayal of Circe as a multifaceted character, exploring themes of power, isolation, and identity. It also delves into the pettiness and politics of the gods, contrasting it with Circe’s growing affinity for humanity.

Character Development : Circe’s evolution is the heart of the story. Miller skillfully depicts her transformation, making her a relatable and compelling protagonist.
Lyrical Prose : The writing style is evocative and poetic, enhancing the mythological setting and the emotional depth of the narrative.
Pacing : Some readers might find the middle part of the book a bit slow, as it delves deeply into character exploration.

Literary Devices

Symbolism : Circe’s witchcraft symbolizes her independence and self-discovery.
Foreshadowing : The novel uses subtle hints to foretell key events, particularly in the interactions between gods and mortals.

Relation to Broader Issues

“Circe” speaks to the universal themes of identity, power dynamics, and the nature of humanity. It also touches on gender roles and the struggle for autonomy, particularly resonant in the #MeToo era.

“Circe” will appeal to fans of Greek mythology, character-driven narratives, and feminist literature. It stands out for its fresh take on a mythological figure often relegated to the margins of these stories. Readers who enjoyed “The Song of Achilles,” also by Miller, or “The Silence of the Girls” by Pat Barker, will likely find this novel captivating.

Potential Audiences

Fans of Greek mythology and retellings.
Readers interested in feminist narratives.
Those who appreciate character-driven stories and lyrical prose.

Thematic Analysis

The novel deeply explores themes like female empowerment, the nature of divinity versus humanity, and the search for identity. Circe’s journey is a powerful representation of breaking free from societal constraints and finding one’s voice.

Stylistic Elements

Miller’s prose is rich and poetic, bringing a modern sensibility to ancient myths. Her use of vivid imagery and careful pacing adds depth to the narrative and characters.

Comparison with Other Works

“Circe” can be compared to “The Song of Achilles” in its retelling of Greek myths with a humanistic perspective. It also shares thematic similarities with works like “The Penelopiad” by Margaret Atwood, offering a feminist perspective on classical stories.

Potential Test Questions with Answers

It represents her transformation from an ignored nymph to a powerful witch, allowing her to explore her abilities and independence.
She portrays him as complex and flawed, focusing on his cunning and moral ambiguities.

Awards and Recognitions

“Circe” was shortlisted for the Women’s Prize for Fiction in 2019 and received critical acclaim for its innovative approach to myth retelling.

Bibliographic Information

Title : Circe
Author : Madeline Miller
Publication Date : 2018
Publisher : Little, Brown and Company
ISBN : 978-0316556347

BISAC Categories:

Historical – Ancient
Fairy Tales, Folk Tales, Legends & Mythology
War & Military

Summaries of Awards and Other Reviews

Mythopoeic Fantasy Award Nominee for Adult Literature (2019)
ALA Alex Award (2019) ,
Tähtifantasia Award Nominee (2022)
Women’s Prize for Fiction Nominee (2019)
The Kitschies for Red Tentacle (Best Novel) (2019) ,
Goodreads Choice Award for Fantasy (2018)
Book of the Month Book of the Year Award (2018) ,
RUSA CODES Reading List Nominee for Historical Fiction (2019)

#1 New York Times Bestseller — named one of the Best Books of the Year by NPR, the Washington Post , People , Time , Amazon, Entertainment Weekly , Bustle, Newsweek, the A.V. Club, Christian Science Monitor, Refinery 29, Buzzfeed, Paste, Audible, Kirkus, Publishers Weekly, Thrillist, NYPL, Self, Real Simple, Goodreads, Boston Globe, Electric Literature, BookPage, the Guardian, Book Riot, Seattle Times, and Business Insider.

Purchasing Links

Is this book a series.

“Circe” is a standalone novel. However, Madeline Miller’s other work, “The Song of Achilles,” explores similar themes in a different mythological context.

About Madeline Miller

Madeline Miller is an American novelist and classics scholar. Her debut novel, “The Song of Achilles,” also received critical acclaim and awards. Miller is known for her ability to reimagine ancient myths with contemporary relevance and emotional depth.

Circe by Madeline Miller review: a fresh take on ancient mythical tale

A complex, compelling portrait of one of the most intriguing women in western literature.

The daughter of a sea nymph and the Titan sun god Helios, Circe is doomed to immortality

Circe doesn't take up much space in Homer's Odyssey – the visit to her island takes up just 15 pages in Emily Wilson's 2017 translation – but the sorceress who turns men into pigs makes an indelible impact. Since her story was first told several thousand years ago, she's inspired countless artists and writers from Ovid to John William Waterhouse. In her new novel Circe , Madeline Miller, who won the Orange Prize for The Song of Achilles in 2012, offers a refreshingly complex and utterly compelling portrait of one of the most intriguing women in western literature.

Miller, who has an MA in classics from Brown University, draws on a wide range of ancient Greek and Latin sources to tell Circe’s story. Like its classical source material, the novel is episodic, but this structure perfectly conveys one of the novel’s central themes. Circe is immortal, which means that any relationships she may form with humans, from Daedalus to Odysseus, can only be temporary. They will always age and die, and she will have to move on without them, beautiful, powerful and alone.

The daughter of a sea nymph and the Titan sun god Helios, Circe begins her life in the halls of her father. When she was born, she tells us, “the name for what I was did not exist”. Is she a nymph? A goddess? The truth, as it turns out, is something entirely new. Despised by her divine family, Circe discovers her powers of sorcery when she turns a human fisherman into a god. When he spurns her for another nymph, Scylla, Circe transforms her rival into a horrific sea monster who becomes the sourge of all sailors – an act that will haunt Circe for the rest of her life. Circe is exiled to a lonely island, where she spends centuries honing her craft.

But she’s not totally isolated. She visits Crete, where her cruel sister Pasiphae gives birth to a monster that will become legend, and where Circe bonds with the inventor Daedalus. They work together to contain the Minotaur, combining Daedalus’s human skill and her sorcery. Miller’s depiction of what it feels like to work magic is extraordinarily vivid and convincing – after Daedalus gives Circe a beautiful loom, she is struck by the similarities between working with textiles and with spells: “the simplicity and skill at once…your hands must be busy, and your mind sharp and free”.

Unflinching horror

Circe must return to her island, where she is visited by her intense niece Medea and her husband Jason, an encounter which reminds her of her own loneliness. Not long afterwards we discover what turned her into the seemingly capricious sorceress of Book 10 of the Odyssey , who turns visiting sailors into swine. This is dark magic born of cruelty, described in scenes of unflinching horror, and for a while Circe's pain threatens to consume her. Then along comes wily Odysseus, and everything changes yet again. But where can your story end, when you're going to live forever?

This is, of course, a ripping yarn, and in other hands Circe could have been an ancient Greek equivalent of Marion Zimmer Bradley's sprawling 1983 bestseller The Mists of Avalon , which tells the story of Arthur through the eyes of Morgan le Fey. Which wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing. But what elevates Circe is Miller's luminous prose, which is both enormously readable and evocative, and the way in which she depicts the gulf between gods and mortals.

The Titans and Olympians in the novel feel both disturbingly alien and utterly convincing. Miller writes of divinity as a quality that can be felt, expressed and, in the case of Circe, sometimes resented. Crucially, Circe never feels like a modern woman. She is the product of an ancient and immortal world, who begins by feeling repulsed by humans and gradually comes to realise that mortals can grow and change while her fellow immortals are doomed to find variety only in manipulation and destruction. Circe can be part of that cycle of cruel and pointless conflict, or she can choose to break it. In this unforgettable novel, Miller makes us care about that magical, mythical choice.

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Circe: A winningly feminist retelling/expansion

Circe by Madeline Miller fantasy book reviews

“When I was born, the name for what I was did not exist.” Thus begins Circe’s self-told tale, and the yet-to-be-invented descriptor she references here is “witch,” though it could just as easily, and perhaps more significantly for this story, be “independent woman,” since both concepts, it turns out, are equally confounding to Titan, Olympian, and mortal alike, much to the reader’s satisfaction.

Beyond that bedeviling of the uber-powerful, there’s a lot that satisfies (and more) here: Madeline Miller ’s lovely prose, how she stays faithful to the myths but fills the spaces between them with a rich originality, the manner in which the tale creates tension despite the fact we know how many of its parts end, the many times we dip into and out of storytelling as we hear of Theseus and the Minotaur or Achilles and Hector, and the way the familiar is constantly being told slant, challenging millennia of storytelling where “humbling woman seems a chief pastime of poets.”

One such poet — Homer — grants Circe a mere handful of lines, making her a literal detour on a great hero’s adventures. But hers is the voice in Circe (2018), and that great hero, important as he is in this story, doesn’t even appear until a little past the halfway point; this time he is merely a waypoint on Circe’s journey toward her own destiny.

It’s a long journey, given that she is an immortal, and it begins in the halls of her father, the sun god Helios, where she witnesses the torture of Prometheus (before the cliff and eagle), who becomes a sort of standard by which she measures her choices. The rest of her days, if she’s lucky, she’s merely ignored; otherwise she suffers the daily taunts of her sister Pasiphae, the other nymphs, and both her parents. Her only refuge is her brother Aeetes, but after Pasiphae is married off to Minos and heads off to Crete (where she’ll birth the Minotaur), Aeetes abruptly departs to found his kingdom of Colchis (where he will hoard the Golden Fleece and father Medea).

Alone, Circe meets a mortal fisherman, Glaucos, and the two eventually become lovers, which is how Circe comes into her power as a witch (all her mother’s children are witches). Seeking to make him immoral so they can be together, she successfully transforms him into a sea god, but this only makes him see “dull” Circe as beneath him. When he turns his eye to Scylla, a beautiful but cruel nymph, Circe uses her magic again, this time turning Scylla into the six-headed sea monster most of us know her as. For this she is banished to the lonely, uninhabited island of Aiaia, where she begins the second part of her life.

Her isolation is broken over the centuries by visits from Hermes, a ship from her sister (captained by Daedalus) to bring her to Crete to assist in the birthing of the minotaur, meetings with Medea and Jason and her brother, and, most personally tragically, a landing of lost seafarers that ends in rape, something well foreshadowed throughout Circe in the many ways females are casually and cruelly treated, as when Circe complains to Hermes about wayward nymphs being sent by their fathers to her island, and he suggests she “take them to your bed”:

“That is absurd,” I said. “They would run screaming.” “Nymphs always do,” he said. “But I’ll tell you a secret: they are terrible at getting away.”

After the rape, Circe turns coldly lethal. Instead of cloaking her island from sailors, something she readily admits she could have done easily, she allows them to land, replaying the same scene again and again:

They all had the same desperate story … There was always a leader … The bench would scrape and he would stand. The men watched … They wanted the freeze, the flinch, the begging…

Now though, the scene has a different ending:

It was my favorite moment, seeing them frown and try to understand why I wasn’t afraid … Then I plucked them. Their backs bent … they thrashed … Their screams broke into squeals.

Eventually, of course, Odysseus does show up, and Circe’s life takes another turn as the two becomes lovers, but in a complicated, adult fashion — not a swooning “love-of-the-dashing-hero” but one where she is well aware of his flaws and meets him as peer or more, god to mortal. Though, of course, she bitingly reports, the later stories will have none of that:

I was not surprised by the portrait of myself: the proud witch undone before the hero’s sword, kneeling and begging for mercy. Humbling women seems to me to be a chief pastime of poets. As if there can be no story unless we crawl and weep.

As he must, Odysseus is eventually on his way to his own story, but Circe’s continues, though I’ll leave the rest of it, perfectly set up and perfectly closed out, for the reader to enjoy. Circe is beautifully written, impeccably structured, thematically tight, but what carries the novel is Circe’s voice: one that is at turns elegiac, reflective, bitter, sharply funny, regretful, joyful, but always real . “The goddess with the voice of a human,” indeed.

~Bill Capossere

Like all good myths, Circe is something of an origins story. The tale begins with Circe as a child, growing up in her father’s — Helios, the sun god — palace. Both her parents think Circe is a dullard. Her cruel siblings tease her remorselessly, yet she keeps coming back to try to win the approval of her father. After witnessing the punishment of Prometheus (he’s banished to have his liver eternally pecked away by birds), Circe develops a deep interest and sympathy for mortals. Not long after, she falls in love with a fisherman, Glaucos, and turns him into a god.

It’s the first taste Circe has of her own witchcraft, and it’s not until she is banished to an island for using it that she really begins to get a sense of her power. Over the coming years she refines her skill, and it’s not until she is summoned to her sister’s home (in a brief hiatus from her banishment) that she realises that her power surpasses even her sibling’s.

Of course, those who have read The Odyssey will know that Circe’s story is gearing towards Odysseus’s arrival on her island. He does indeed make his appearance and it is not long before Circe has fallen for him. Miller’s dealings with Odysseus are actually amongst the most interesting in her adaptation of the myth. He’s presented as a deeply nuanced and flawed character, an angle The Odyssey certainly doesn’t present.

Circe does at times feel like a who’s who of Greek myth. There are cameos from Athena, Hermes, Jason and Medea, not to mention the small retellings of lesser myths that pepper the prose. This does, at times, feel unnecessary, and you wonder whether Miller shouldn’t have saved a few for her next book.

The prose will also be divisive. Many have hailed Miller’s writing as beautifully lyrical, but sometimes it’s just a bit too much. The endless similes can just be a bit dodgy:

Athena snapped each word like a dove’s neck.

And, my personal favourite:

The sun seemed to drop into the sea like a falling plate.

There is no doubt that some passages are lyrical and a pleasure to read, but perhaps a few of the more purple descriptions could have been culled.

For two thirds of Circe , the plot was geared towards Odysseus’s arrival on the island, but after his departure, the story seemed to lose a bit of steam. The pacing at around the two-thirds mark lost momentum, although a satisfying climax compensated for the lull.

For lovers of myth, Circe will be a wonderful read (though one wonders what actual classicists will have to say about the adaptation). Though not quite a feminist icon, Miller’s treatment of Circe provides a portrait of a woman who finds her voice and happiness eventually (albeit with a man). A great summer read.

~Ray McKenzie

BILL CAPOSSERE, who's been with us since June 2007, lives in Rochester NY, where he is an English adjunct by day and a writer by night. His essays and stories have appeared in Colorado Review, Rosebud, Alaska Quarterly, and other literary journals, along with a few anthologies, and been recognized in the "Notable Essays" section of Best American Essays. His children's work has appeared in several magazines, while his plays have been given stage readings at GEVA Theatre and Bristol Valley Playhouse. When he's not writing, reading, reviewing, or teaching, he can usually be found with his wife and son on the frisbee golf course or the ultimate frisbee field.

RACHAEL "RAY" MCKENZIE, with us since December 2014, was weaned onto fantasy from a young age. She grew up watching Studio Ghibli movies and devoured C.S. Lewis’ CHRONICLES OF NARNIA not long after that (it was a great edition as well -- a humongous picture-filled volume). She then moved on to the likes of Pullman’s HIS DARK MATERIALS trilogy and adored The Hobbit (this one she had on cassette -- those were the days). A couple of decades on, she is still a firm believer that YA and fantasy for children can be just as relevant and didactic as adult fantasy. Her firm favourites are the British greats: Terry Pratchett, Douglas Adams and Neil Gaiman, and she’s recently discovered Ben Aaronovitch too. Her tastes generally lean towards Urban Fantasy but basically anything with compelling characters has her vote.

GIMME GIMME GIMME GIMME

Yeah, this sounds good. :)

Can’t wait to hear what you think! (I’m begging my wife to hurry up and finish her current book so she can move on to this–can’t happen fast enough as far as I’m concerned)

Out of curiosity, what book is she currently reading?

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Circe (Miller)

Circe Madeline Miller, 2018 Little, Brown and Co. 400 pp. ISBN-13: 9780316556347 Summary The daring, dazzling and highly anticipated follow-up to the New York Times bestseller The Song of Achilles In the house of Helios, god of the sun and mightiest of the Titans, a daughter is born. But Circe is a strange child—not powerful, like her father, nor viciously alluring like her mother. Turning to the world of mortals for companionship, she discovers that she does possess power—the power of witchcraft, which can transform rivals into monsters and menace the gods themselves. Threatened, Zeus banishes her to a deserted island, where she hones her occult craft, tames wild beasts and crosses paths with many of the most famous figures in all of mythology, including the Minotaur, Daedalus and his doomed son Icarus, the murderous Medea, and, of course, wily Odysseus. But there is danger, too, for a woman who stands alone, and Circe unwittingly draws the wrath of both men and gods, ultimately finding herself pitted against one of the most terrifying and vengeful of the Olympians. To protect what she loves most, Circe must summon all her strength and choose, once and for all, whether she belongs with the gods she is born from, or the mortals she has come to love. With unforgettably vivid characters, mesmerizing language and page-turning suspense, Circe is a triumph of storytelling, an intoxicating epic of family rivalry, palace intrigue, love and loss, as well as a celebration of indomitable female strength in a man's world. ( From the publisher .)

Author Bio • Birth—July 24, 1978 • Where—Boston, Massachusetts, USA • Raised—New York, New York • Education—B.A., M.A., Brown University • Awards—Orange Prize-Fiction • Currently—lives in Cambridge, Massachusetts Madeline Miller was born in Boston and grew up in New York City, New York, and Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. She attended Brown University, where she earned her BA and MA in Classics. She has also studied at the University of Chicago’s Committee on Social Thought, and in the Dramaturgy department at Yale School of Drama, where she focused on the adaptation of classical texts to modern forms. Miller has been teaching and tutoring Latin, Greek and Shakespeare to high school students for more than a decade. She currently lives in Cambridge, Massachusetts. Miller's first novel, The Song of Achilles (2011) won the 2012 Orange Prize for Fiction. Her second novel is Circe (2018). ( Adapted from the publisher and Wikipedia .)

Book Reviews ( Starred review .) Weaving together Homer’s tale with other sources, Miller crafts a classic story of female empowerment. She paints an uncompromising portrait of a superheroine who learns to wield divine power while coming to understand what it means to be mortal. Publishers Weekly ( Starred review .) Drawing on the mythology of the classical world, Miller deftly weaves episodes of war, treachery, monsters, gods, demigods, heroes, and mortals into her second novel of the ancient world.… [A]absorbing and atmospheric. — Jane Henriksen Baird, formerly at Anchorage Public Library, AK School Library Journal [S]tirring.… Miller beautifully voices the experiences of the legendary sorceress Circe.… This immersive blend of literary fiction and mythological fantasy demonstrates that the Greek myths are still very relevant today. Booklist ( Starred review .) A retelling of ancient Greek lore gives exhilarating voice to a witch."Monsters are a boon for gods. Imagine all the prayers." So says Circe, a sly, petulant, and finally commanding voice that narrates the entirety of Miller's dazzling second novel. Kirkus Reviews

Discussion Questions 1. How would you describe the personality that Madeline Miller crafts for Circe? Why is she so roundly dismissed, bullied, and belittled by her fellow immortals? Talk about the ways in which this treatment shapes her character. Despite her ancient, mythological roots, do you relate to Circe? 2. Follow-up to Question 1 : In what way is Circe's desire for vengeance at odds with her inherent compassion? 3. How does the ancient Greek society, at least in the realm of the deities, view and treat women. 4. Follow-up to Question 3 : Circe tells us:

It is a common saying that women are delicate creatures—flowers, eggs, anything that may be crushed in a moment’s carelessness. If I had ever believed it, I no longer did .

How does Circe disprove the widespread view of women as fragile?

5. Talk about Circe's attitude toward motherhood: as she says, despite all her military style preparations, it was "not enough." What does she mean, and what kind of a mother does Circe end up becoming? 6. What does Circe mean when she says, "All my life had been murk and depths, but I was not a part of that dark water. I was a creature within it"? 7. How does the author portray the love affair between Circe and Odysseus? If you are familiar with The Odyssey , how does the novel differ from Homer's telling (or does it)? 8. How does Miller depict many of the legendary characters of Greek mythology, including Odysseus, Daedalus, Hermes, among others? In other words, how does she flesh out their "human" traits as distinct from their godlike or heroic ones? 9. What did you know of Greek mythology before reading Circe ? If you had some prior familiarity with the mythical figures and their stories, has Miller's novel added to or changed your understanding or appreciation of them? ( Questions by LitLovers. Please feel free to use them, online and off, with attribution. Thanks .)

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Fiction Vixen

Reading Between the Lines: Reviews that Resonate

Circe Book Review, Novel Retelling by Madeline Miller

Circe book review: synopsis.

In this modern feminist retelling of Greek mythology, Madeline Miller shares the epic yet intimate story of Circe, a minor goddess and daughter of Helios, god of the sun. Born lacking divine qualities, Circe discovers she possesses the forbidden power of witchcraft. When Circe transforms her mortal lover using her occult craft, wrathful Zeus banishes her to the remote island of Aiaia. There, Circe continues developing her sorceress abilities, until she is discovered by wily Odysseus and his crew of adventurers returning home from the Trojan War.

Table of Contents

Seeking to take advantage of the solitary woman, Odysseus’s men threaten Circe, who defends herself by turning them into swine with her dark spells. Through trickery and negotiation, cunning Odysseus manages to free his men from Circe’s enchantment. In defiance of expectations for goddesses in Greek myths, independent Circe chooses to take Odysseus as her lover. When he eventually continues his epic voyage back to his wife Penelope, Circe gives birth to their son Telegonus.

Over her long life spanning centuries, Circe encounters many famous figures from legends, including the messenger god Hermes, the murderous sorceress Medea, and Daedalus the craftsman. Madeline Miller, a professor of classics, brings Circe’s story to life with vivid writing and imaginative worldbuilding. Though initially scorned, the daughter of Helios perseveres to become the notorious witch of Aeaea. More than merely a bit player in the epics of legendary men, Circe steps into the light as the powerful heroine of her own extraordinary story.

Circe Main Characters

Daughter of the Titan sun god Helios; born lacking the voice and appearance of a goddess; discovers the forbidden power of witchcraft; exiled to the island of Aiaia after transforming her mortal lover Glaucos; develops her occult craft and encounters many famous mythological figures, including wily Odysseus

Circe’s father; god of the sun who lives in a fiery palace of obsidian; harbors contempt for his disappointing daughter Circe

A mortal fisherman; Circe’s first love; she uses her newfound powers of pharmaka (sorcery) to transform him into a god to be with her; he later spurns Circe for the sea nymph Scylla

Legendary Greek king of Ithaca and hero of the Trojan War; stops at Circe’s island and she turns his men into swine before falling in love with him; cunning and wily, he manages to outwit Circe

Circe and Odysseus’s son conceived on her island; she raises him alone after Odysseus resumes his voyage back to Ithaca and his wife Penelope

Circe’s ambitious brother who rules Colchis, guarding the Golden Fleece

Circe’s sister who gives birth to the Minotaur after her unnatural love for a bull

A skilled craftsman who comes to Circe for help evading King Minos; she provides herbs for his wax wings

Circe’s murderous, wrathful niece who begs for magical herbs and kills her own brother

Circe Book Review: Themes

In this mythological retelling, Madeline Miller explores themes of female empowerment, independence and defiance of patriarchal norms through the characterization of the sorceress Circe. Born a disappointment to her sun god father Helios and the other Olympian gods, Circe discovers her own power of witchcraft and occult craft. In a world dominated by divine and mortal males like Zeus and Odysseus, Circe forges her own life and rules her solitary island of Aiaia. Cast out to the island and expected to live in perpetual exile, Circe flourishes by exercising her will to master her magical abilities through experimentation and persistent work.

The theme of female independence can also be seen in Circe’s subversion of the archetype of a witch who must be defeated or subjugated by a “hero” like wily Odysseus. However, Circe ultimately chooses to love Odysseus on her own terms rather than face suppression. Through Circe, Miller highlights the frequent lack of agency afforded to women in Greek epics. Her life encompasses misogyny, scorn, abuse and disregard by gods and mortals alike. Yet Circe emerges with self-determination, defining her own story over centuries of immortal life. Motherhood later becomes another vital experience shaping Circe’s transformation.

Miller also explores the theme of uncertainty about one’s place in the world, as Circe grapples with loneliness, isolation and not belonging throughout her long existence. As a child of Helios, yet lacking key divine traits, Circe straddles the realms of gods and mortals. Her exile only exacerbates her solitude until she ultimately embraces purpose by helping mythical figures like Daedalus and challenging the will of oppressive deities through witchcraft. This coming-of-age story traces Circe’s evolution from timid girl to confident witch.

Circe Book Review: Writing Style

Madeline Miller’s writing style in “Circe” evokes the lyrical and metaphorical language of the ancient Greek epics. Yet her prose remains fluid and poetic without feeling antiquated. Miller unfurls evocative descriptions of divine realms, conjuring the fiery golden palace of sun god Helios: “The light came from everywhere at once, his yellow skin, his lambent eyes, the bronze flashing of his hair.” Similes empower comparisons, such as Glaucos transforming into “a sea-surge” in his new godly might. Alliteration gives certain phrases melodic impact.

As both classicist and novelist, Miller’s great skill lies in making myths feel vibrant, real and close. She masterfully recreates Circe’s voice through vivid narration – we experience Circe’s exile, experiments with pharmaka and encounters with famous personages like cunning Odysseus with intimacy and immediacy. Miller translates age-old tales of gods and Titans into accessible modern language, while retaining awe-inspiring power.

While crafting her own gorgeous sentences, Miller also weaves in the original text of The Odyssey, layering her expansion of Circe’s tale. References to poetic fragments and recurring themes from the Greek classics enhance Miller’s homage to these enduring stories. For today’s readers, her book’s uniquely feminine point of view offers a welcome perspective to balance the male-dominated narratives of Homer while remaining utterly faithful to the spirit of mythic tradition. The result, as goddess Circe herself declares, feels akin to “a voice of divinity, singing out of time.”

Circe Book Review: Final Verdict

In “Circe”, Madeline Miller succeeds wonderfully in breathing new life into ancient tales. This bold reimagining of a scorned Greek goddess elevates a once-sidelined woman into a complex, flawed and captivating epic heroine in her own right. Miller conjures the realm of Olympians and Titans with equal parts fantasy, feminist spirit, and scholarly faithfulness. Real emotion resonates through elevated language that still feels fresh and contemporary. The pacing moves at a stately yet stirring pace, like a dissolving scroll unveiling secrets and wonders.

Readers fascinated by Greek mythology will find Miller’s work an utterly transportive delight. Her mastery at immersing audiences in legends allows even newcomers to dive right in. Fans of fantasy and historical fiction alike will relish Miller’s rich worldbuilding. The themes of independence, power dynamics between men and women, fate versus self-determination, and humanity’s relationship with the divine all lend themselves to discussion. Modeling a classic hero’s journey toward identity, Circe will resonate strongly with young adults. But ultimately most satisfying is Circe herself – an underdog who grows into courage and conviction.

Unfolding over lifetimes, Circe’s chronicle makes for an odyssey that adventurous, patient readers can bury themselves in, until the hypnotic song of Miller’s words causes one to lose all track of time. “Circe” earns its place among the literary canon as a tale for the ages.

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Review of “Circe”

A Modern Classic?

Greek Mythology wrapped in modern language and agenda anyone? Some are calling this bestseller a modern classic. I’ve always been enthralled by mythology so I eagerly read Circe by Madeline Miller. Miller retells the story of the minor goddess Circe, but so much more. In these pages you learn about Scylla, Odysseus, Helios’ family life, and what happened to Penelope after the Odyssey. A lot of readers I respect loved this retelling. And I see why: it’s reasonably well written and has a unique focus on the Titans as opposed to the usual Olympians. But I have to confess: in the end I disliked this book.

The Telegony

We all know The Iliad and The Odyssey . There’s another epic, NOT by Homer, that purports to continue the story of Odysseus. The origins of this epic, called the Telegonia ( Telegony ) are controversial. The best guess seems to be that it was written at least 2 centuries after The Odyssey . The text of the Telegony is lost, but a synopsis remains. And I, among others, consider it to sound like mediocre fan fiction based on The Odyssey .

Have you ever tried a sequel to a classic, written after the authors’ death? Aren’t they always and universally disappointing? That’s how I imagine the Greeks must have viewed the Telegony : a disappointing sequel centuries after the death of Homer.

Unfortunately, Miller draws heavily on the plot of the Telegony to inform the storyline of Circe . Why does this matter? Well, did you like Telemachus and admire Penelope in The Odyssey ? You may not after Circe . Adding onto the plot in the Telegony that Odysseus had an illegitimate son by the nymph Circe , Miller imagines the fallout. Penelope ends up a manipulative witch. Telemachus falls in love with his father’s mistress who gave birth to his half brother already. Weird, right?

Catholic opinions diverge dramatically when it comes to comfort level with reading books about “good” witches and wizards. I believe you have to take books on a case by case basis. Listen to what each individual author is trying to tell or show. In Circe , Circe and her 3 siblings discover a predilection for witchcraft, which in this book means using herbs and spells to do things like raise the dead, make transformations, and so forth.

Early in the book, Circe explains her love of witchcraft as a love of power. She says learning witchcraft was hard work, but she desired the power it gave her. “I learned that I could bend the world to my will, as a bow is bent for an arrow. I would have done that toil a thousand times to keep such power in my hands.” Circe’s siblings, and even Circe herself, often use their witchcraft for evil ends. But I consider Circe to take an ambiguous stance on witchcraft. Miller takes the position that there’s nothing inherently good or evil about spells and potions; the will, end, and intentions of the witch determine the morality of the action. This, of course, is in direct contradiction to the Biblically-derived zero tolerance for witchcraft policy that we must abide to as Christians.

Intentional Feminist Agenda

At the end of my copy of Circe , there’s an interview with Madeline Miller in which she states that she intentionally wrote the book to push a feminist agenda. Ouch. We can all grant that the ancient world often undervalued and marginalized women. But twisting ancient myths to suit your 21st century agenda is not going to win my approval, ever.

Miller thinks that as a culture we distrust “powerful women.” In Circe , she seeks to destigmatize them. I’ll admit I didn’t think this book actually helped that case. The female goddesses are terrible. Penelope is portrayed as incredibly manipulative. Circe herself misuses her power fairly often, though she later tries to fix some of the damage she does. There’s that typical root misunderstanding of what true feminism means.

Of gods and men

A big theme over the course of the book is the difference between the gods and mankind. The pagan gods are cruel, selfish, merciless, and proud. Most of the humans in the book don’t seem particularly virtuous either: the lustful sailors, manipulate Odysseus, unfaithful Glaucos, and so on. But Circe envies them for their ability to change and die. In the last few lines of the story, she says “I thought once that gods are the opposite of death, but I see now they are more dead than anything, for they are unchanging, and can hold nothing in their hands.” She then chooses to become a mortal.

On the one hand, this was a superbly plotted ending if you grant her point. Throughout the book, Circe has gradually changed, moving towards unselfishness and forgiveness. She’s changed so much she is no longer a god, but a mortal who can die.

But on the other hand, I didn’t agree with the equation she writes for us: divinity = unchanging = unmerciful/unloving/bad. It doesn’t follow or flow, at least to my Catholic mind. I have no idea if Miller is pushing an atheist agenda in addition to a feminist one, or simply trying to justify her ending.

Better Greek Mythology

This section contains affiliate links, which means I receive a small fee if you make a purchase at no additional cost to you.

What do I like better if you do want to familiarize yourself with Greek Mythology? For adults who don’t mind a little British humor, Stephen Fry’s Mythos and Heroes are superbly done. If you have teens, try Padraic Colum’s retellings: The Children’s Homer and The Golden Fleece . For kids, I like D’Aulaires’ Book of Greek Myths and Hawthorne’s A Wonder Book for Girls and Boys .

What do you think? Leave a respectful comment.

Photographic reproduction of "The Wine of Circe." Illustration for The Outline of Literature by John Drinkwater (Newnes, c...

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Discussion questions for ‘Circe’

Our December pick for the PBS NewsHour-New York Times book club is Madeline Miller’s “Circe.” Become a member of the Now Read This book club by joining our Facebook group , or by signing up to our newsletter . Learn more about the book club here .

“Circe” by Madeline Miller. Credit: Little, Brown and Company

Below are questions to help guide your discussions as you read the book over the next month. You can also submit your own questions for Miller on our Google form . She will answer reader questions on the PBS NewsHour broadcast at the end of the month.

WARNING: Spoiler alert on questions further down.

Before reading “Circe,” did you know the character of Circe from Homer’s “Odyssey”? If so, what do you remember about her?
From the book’s beginning, Miller makes her gender critique of Greek mythology clear. The goddesses, for the most part, are beholden to the gods. Circe’s father “believed the world’s natural order was to please him.” Why is this critique important? What is Miller trying to tell us?
What do you make of Miller’s voice in the book, at times adopting a more formal style, and at other times more contemporary?
A recurring theme in the book is the meaning of mortality. Circe cares for mortals, is born with a mortal’s voice, even yearns to be one of them. Yet she also sees their frailties, telling us that mortals must deal with death as “best they can.” How does it make you reflect on your own mortality?
How is this book subversive?
One of Circe’s first lessons in the book is: “Beneath the smooth, familiar face of things is another that waits to tear the world in two.” What does this mean?
As a book club, we read “An Odyssey” by Daniel Mendelsohn earlier this year. It was a memoir about a father and son’s transformative journey in reading the Greek epic poem together. “Circe” is a very different take. But does it share any of the same themes?
Much of “Circe” is about finding yourself despite how others may perceive you or try to contain you. Circe’s brother tells her: “Not every god need be the same.” What did you learn about finding yourself in this book?
How does Circe transform over the course of the book? Do you attribute it to her hard work devoted to pharmaka , her loneliness on the island, or something else?
“Most of what passed as cleverness was only archness of spite,” Miller writes, in one of many times she describes the gods in the book as not just powerful, but also petty. Why do you think she describes them this way?
The Minotaur, Artemis, Daedalus, and the Furies all make guest appearances. How does Miller’s retelling make you think of any of them differently?
When Circe is discovered to be a witch, she is treated very differently than her brother. Why? Did this book make you think about “witch hunts” or the persecution of women as witches?
At one point, Miller writes that gods do not care if a person is good, wicked, or beautiful — only that they have power. And yet power, it seems, corrupts the characters in this book. What did you learn about power by reading “Circe”?
When a sailor rapes Circe, she starts turning men who land on her island into pigs with a spell. In Homer’s “Odyssey,” this transformation is perhaps Circe’s most famous scene in that tale. How did Miller’s reimagining cause you to think differently about that story?
In Circe’s relationship with Odysseus, only he tells her stories and she never once tells him about her life. Why is that significant?
Why does Circe’s guilt over Scylla matter? Why is it meaningful that Circe transforms her from a murderous monster into a stone?
How does Circe’s experience of motherhood compare to others in the book? To her own mother? To her sister, Pasiphaë? To Penelope?
Do her lovers, both mortal and immortal, have anything in common? What is it about Telemachus that she finds worth trading her mortality?
What would you do if you had millennia to live on a deserted island? How would you spend your time and energies?
Were you surprised that Circe drank a potion to become mortal? Do you think that she succeeds?

Elizabeth Flock is an independent journalist who reports on justice and gender. She can be reached at [email protected]

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Book Review : Circe

"A bold and subversive retelling of the goddess's story," this #1 New York Times bestseller is "both epic and intimate in its scope, recasting the most infamous female figure from the Odyssey as a hero in her own right" (Alexandra Alter, The New York Times ). In the house of Helios, god of the sun and mightiest of the Titans, a daughter is born. But Circe is a strange child -- not powerful, like her father, nor viciously alluring like her mother. Turning to the world of mortals for companionship, she discovers that she does possess power -- the power of witchcraft, which can transform rivals into monsters and menace the gods themselves. Threatened, Zeus banishes her to a deserted island, where she hones her occult craft, tames wild beasts and crosses paths with many of the most famous figures in all of mythology, including the Minotaur, Daedalus and his doomed son Icarus, the murderous Medea, and, of course, wily Odysseus. But there is danger, too, for a woman who stands alone, and Circe unwittingly draws the wrath of both men and gods, ultimately finding herself pitted against one of the most terrifying and vengeful of the Olympians. To protect what she loves most, Circe must summon all her strength and choose, once and for all, whether she belongs with the gods she is born from, or the mortals she has come to love. With unforgettably vivid characters, mesmerizing language, and page-turning suspense, Circe is a triumph of storytelling, an intoxicating epic of family rivalry, palace intrigue, love and loss, as well as a celebration of indomitable female strength in a man's world.

I had certain expectations going into Circe, a novel about the legendary exiled Greek Goddess and witch who turned men into pigs, had the voice of a mortal, and lived with tamed lions and wolves. I pictured a wrathful goddess who suffered no fools through her powerful witchcraft. Instead, Circe offers a rejected and insecure goddess who is not like the others, and plops her on an island to live by herself for all eternity. The majority of the novel is utterly boring.

At first, I found Circe to be rather interesting. But that was solely limited to about the first quarter of the novel, if I’m being generous, before Circe gets exiled, and still lives among the other gods and goddesses. Too bad that these other immortal beings are absolutely awful in every way, with no redeeming qualities whatsoever. Though it’s hard not to be reviled by the abhorrent behavior of these deities, at least their often bewildering fiascos and schemes are entertaining. At the end of the novel, author Madeline Miller remarked the following on her portrayal of gods:

For me, the Greek gods reflect what happens to humans when we see only ourselves and our own needs. The great gods have such infinite power and resources that they have forgotten what it’s like to want, to suffer, to show empathy, to face all of life’s minor inconveniences. They have forgotten what it’s like to be told no, and it has turned them into monsters, obsessed with dominance and hierarchy, always trying to claw a little higher. The frightening thing is how real this phenomenon is. I see the gods as a cautionary tale.

Though I am used to the capriciousness of the gods in Greek Mythology, Miller’s portrayal of the gods, without any merits whatsoever, was depressing to me. We witness Athena driving Odysseus into the ground with her divine inspiration for the glory of battle, Hermes’s gossip-mongering and meddling manipulating others to make poor life choices, and so and so forth. Every story of the classic gods and their chosen mortals in Circe is a story of tragedy, with no quarter or silver lining. There are no clever mortals tricking the gods or goddesses, or any members of the Greek Pantheon rewarding independence and ingenuity from their blessed mortals. It’s depressing to read.

This is a narrative choice that I feel Miller made in order to drive home her point of how Circe was different, and not like the other gods and goddesses. With all the gods being callous to the life spans and goals of their mortals, Miller’s Circe can’t help but to look more sympathetic to the mortals in comparison. However, her bonds to the mortals she meets never feel anything but surface level to me, as like the other gods, her relationships with mortals are all selfish—they are rooted in her desperate need for validation, companionship, or some other kind of belonging. However, though the synopsis of the book asks the question of where Circe belongs, with gods, or mortals, the answer is that she doesn’t truly belong anywhere, except exiled on her island.

As the gods and goddesses have exiled her there, she simply can’t leave. L iterally, all readers are offered is a daily life of Circe on her island living alone and feeling sorry for herself. She gathers herbs, she pets her animals, she bemoans her fate, and then does it all again the next day. Sure, there are small breaks in the mind-numbing monotony, but these are only relegated to when she sleeps with some random visiting mortal or god, but that’s it.

To me, it is not feminist in the least that the only break in the humdrum of a woman’s life is when a man appears. I think her sexual intimacy with multiple male characters is supposed to be feminist and to make Circe seem independent, wise, and confident in what she wants, but really, she’s just a product of growing up among the Greek pantheon, who we are shown multiple times in Circe to have absolutely no qualms about screwing anything and everything, including literal cows, if it serves their purpose or merely strikes their fancy. And also, the poor exiled creature is basically a poor woman starving for any kind of interaction (though she for some reason hates the wayward and unwanted nymphs the Gods have sent to her island as punishment, which struck me as odd and extremely hypocritical), and is not at all the feared and wicked sorceress of legend.

What’s worse, is that any time Circe does anything remotely cool, such as turning men into pigs, it’s in reaction to some wrong that befell her. In one scene in the book, I was completely unable to suspend my disbelief that a Greek goddess and notoriously powerful witch View Spoiler » did not take any precaution against a group of disreputable mortal sailors landing on her island. I was more horrified when the captain raped her. Circe does manage to stop the others from having their turn by turning them into pigs, but I just couldn’t believe Circe, who tames lions and wolves, created the most feared monster of the seas with her spells, would let a mortal man dare. I know my take on this scene probably sounds uncomfortably like victim shaming, but this portrayal of Circe as a naïve and hopeless young woman subdued by both her betters and lessers, is honestly the exact opposite of what I thought I was getting with this novel, which is marketed as a feminist retelling. « Hide Spoiler

Frankly, these events just didn’t make any logical sense to me, as the character is View Spoiler » raped to serve as a catalyst for the reason she turns mortal men into pigs. Why does rape always have to be used in place of actual character development? This is not feminism and I find it offensive that so many writers think the only way to make female characters interesting is to rape them or to kill off their love interests, so they can be tough and independent women as a result of the absence of men in their life. Worse, later on, the novel tries to force the agenda that Circe actually loves mortals more than her own kind. I never saw this love for mortals and in fact, when the novel begins, Circe falls in love with a mortal and turns him into a god, only for him to spurn her love for him once he becomes immortal. Circe shows countless times that both men and immortals are absolutely awful, but instead of showing her finding solace with one person, who makes her existence bearable and giving up her immortality for him, she settles for another man who gives her a tiny shred of affection. « Hide Spoiler This is not empowering in any way. In fact, it feels that the character has absolutely no agency of her own, simply reacting to the insatiable and grasping gods who want something from her, or greedy men who randomly trespass.

To be honest, I fell asleep reading this novel many times and I never wanted to pick it up. It was an exercise in willpower to even finish Circe and I can’t really say that I was glad that I pushed through this novel. I didn’t care for the ending either, which to me, felt like a betrayal and disappointment of everything Circe worked towards as a witch in exile. I didn’t find this novel to be empowering or feminist in the least, and didn’t care for the portrayal of any of the famed characters from Greek Mythology, whether god or mortal. Ultimately, I honestly don’t see what everyone found so mind-blowing about a sad woman living alone on an island View Spoiler » who gives up her immortality in the end to be with a mortal man « Hide Spoiler , despite the fact that she spends most of her time turning these same mortals into pigs. To me, this was not a story of a powerful goddess finding she prefers life with mortals, or that she wishes to have her own adventures View Spoiler » (which is the main random idea the book gives for her surrendering of her godhood) « Hide Spoiler , but of a woman giving up what little power she had managed to grasp for herself.

Circe is definitely a character driven book, which is something I love, when I actually like the character. There is very little plot to the novel at all, with the novel also moving at a snail’s pace. This novel could have honestly been edited to a quarter of its total length, as so little happens in most of it. I also found the themes of Circe to be largely confused. Though Circe wants to be a feminist novel that shows a goddess finding her true belonging among mortals, the novel doesn’t succeed at showing either of these things. Circe, in it’s most basic form is a novel about a lonely goddess, who is not like the others, who becomes super powerful against all odds, and then, View Spoiler » gives up all of those hard-earned powers in order to find some semblance of acceptance with a man she just met (and is yuck, half brother to her son, might I add), even though her favorite past time is turning mortal men into pigs. « Hide Spoiler Circe is not a triumph of feminism or even of storytelling, it is quite simply, a Greek tragedy, and a prolonged one at that.

4 responses to “ Book Review : Circe ”

I didn’t mind Miller’s perspective of the gods, however, everything else you’ve said I 100% agree with and honestly, it’s a relief to see someone else put into words the feeling I got from this book. Like yourself I went into it with certain expectations, and I was very surprised when I read it. I definitely did not find the strong female character that reviews shouted about.

Thank you for your comment, Heather! This book has so many glowing reviews and awards that it’s hard not to feel like there’s something wrong with me.? I’m sorry you found it disappointing as well, but also thankful someone else understands where I’m coming from!

I am a man. Admittedly, I probably don’t know what it means to be a “feminist book” beyond what those conjure at face value. However, your critique of this book is completely wrong. Circe was a bad-ass! This book was not slow at all. In fact I felt like the pace was great. The detail and description was appropriate. Before reading this book I wondered how on Earth anyone could turn the tales of the rediculous and disfunctional Greek Gods into anything that I could take serious. Madeline Miller nailed it. This book was a blast to read. Sorry it dint meet your expectations of what a feminist book should be…

Glad you enjoyed the book and that it worked for you. I personally preferred “Song of Achilles” by Madeline Miller to “Circe.”

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COMMENTS

Thoughts on Circe by Madeline Miller : r/Fantasy
26. samskuantch. • 2 yr. ago. I adored Circe, though certain parts were a bit of a gut punch since some of Circe's struggles hit too close to home for me. Circe is probably one of my favorite books I've read this year. A Song of Achilles is also great, though less fantastical and a lot grittier. 25. Robowarrior.
Circe by Madeline Miller
Circe chronicles the life of a lesser god. She is the daughter of the mighty God Helios, the living embodiment of the sun. She is born without any particular talents or powers. She exists in the shadows of her more developed brothers and sisters. She does not shine in such spectacular company.
CIRCE
Circe's fascination with mortals becomes the book's marrow and delivers its thrilling ending. All the while, the supernatural sits intriguingly alongside "the tonic of ordinary things.". A few passages coil toward melodrama, and one inelegant line after a rape seems jarringly modern, but the spell holds fast.
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CIRCE By Madeline Miller 400 pp. Little, Brown & Company. $27.. I recall with intense pleasure my discovery in childhood of the Greek myths and Homer's "Iliad," in various editions, from an ...
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The original nasty woman is a goddess for our times. Review by Ron Charles. April 9, 2018 at 12:33 p.m. EDT. 3. The archaeological evidence is sketchy, but the first pussy hat was probably knitted ...
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17 Dec. Circe by Madeline Miller. "Circe" by Madeline Miller is a fascinating and beautifully written novel that reimagines the life of Circe, a minor goddess and enchantress in Greek mythology. Published in 2018, this book has captivated readers with its unique blend of mythological retelling and character-driven narrative.
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Circe. Author: Madeline Miller. ISBN-13: 978-1408890080. Publisher: Bloomsbury. Guideline Price: £16.99. Circe doesn't take up much space in Homer's Odyssey - the visit to her island takes up ...
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Circe by Madeline Miller "When I was born, the name for what I was did not exist." Thus begins Circe's self-told tale, and the yet-to-be-invented descriptor she references here is "witch," though it could just as easily, and perhaps more significantly for this story, be "independent woman," since both concepts, it turns out, are equally confounding to Titan, Olympian, and mortal ...
Book Review: Circe by Madeline Miller
There's nothing I love more than a book by a woman about a woman, so Circe certainly fits the bill. The novel begins with Circe's difficult childhood as the seemingly ordinary (albeit immortal) daughter of the sun god Helios and the naiad Perse. Overshadowed by her more beautiful and spiteful siblings, Circe is scorned and ignored by her ...
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Well, I've done it. I've finally read the Goodreads Readers' Choice Best Fantasy book of 2018: Circe, by Madeline Miller.And, it only took me until halfway through 2019 to post my book review of it. I usually don't read fantasy, which is a bit ironic considering that the novel I've written is a blend of historical fiction and fantasy. But, I love stories based on religion and ...
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What to love: Circe is brilliant because (1) it gives a voice to women in Greek mythology, and (2) it features a morally gray heroine. Epic tales have been traditionally male (featuring heroes ...
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Circe. Madeline Miller, 2018. Little, Brown and Co. 400 pp. ISBN-13: 9780316556347. Summary. The daring, dazzling and highly anticipated follow-up to the New York Times bestseller The Song of Achilles. In the house of Helios, god of the sun and mightiest of the Titans, a daughter is born. But Circe is a strange child—not powerful, like her ...
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Circe Book Review: Final Verdict. In "Circe", Madeline Miller succeeds wonderfully in breathing new life into ancient tales. This bold reimagining of a scorned Greek goddess elevates a once-sidelined woman into a complex, flawed and captivating epic heroine in her own right. Miller conjures the realm of Olympians and Titans with equal parts ...
Review of "Circe"
A big theme over the course of the book is the difference between the gods and mankind. The pagan gods are cruel, selfish, merciless, and proud. Most of the humans in the book don't seem particularly virtuous either: the lustful sailors, manipulate Odysseus, unfaithful Glaucos, and so on. But Circe envies them for their ability to change and die.
Circe
read the series. preorder for $0.99. Circe by Madeline Miller book review. Circe is a captivating fantasy novel with a wonderful mix of gods, heroes, magic and mythology. It is a refreshing and unique take on Greek Mythology while maintaining the nostalgia of the classics.
Discussion questions for 'Circe'
Discussion questions for 'Circe'. Arts Dec 9, 2019 7:51 PM EDT. Our December pick for the PBS NewsHour-New York Times book club is Madeline Miller's "Circe.". Become a member of the Now ...
Book Review : Circe
Book Review : Circe. "A bold and subversive retelling of the goddess's story," this #1 New York Times bestseller is "both epic and intimate in its scope, recasting the most infamous female figure from the Odyssey as a hero in her own right" (Alexandra Alter, The New York Times). In the house of Helios, god of the sun and mightiest of the Titans ...