The Penelopiad
Reading around Greek myth as an adult feels like going back to somewhere I spent a youthful summer. Not that I ever really did read much of it when I was younger, but the stories have always been around. There’s a familiarity and nostalgia to them.
The myths have persisted for a reason; the drama and tension carry across the millennia.
But honestly, I’ve read plots of my own time that gripped me and spoke to my present more.
Looking over my reading log, I do return to these, and quite frequently. I’ve been wondering why.
I think it’s for the reappraisal: seeing our best authors line up to take a crack at this pre-copyright work, trying to find something in it that speaks to the present in the voice of the past.
I think also there’s the particular job of authors drawing the neglected characters out of these tales: Pat Barker breathing life into the cracks of the Trojan story, turning offhand mentions of women into believable lives; or Madeline Miller leaving a villain intact, but so deeply contextualising her life that you cheer her witchcraft and furrow your brow at Odysseus.
So finding Margaret Atwood had taken a turn too was a delight. Penelope is the centre, but so are the 12 maids killed after the return of Odysseus.
When I’ve revisited old places where I spent a lot of time, there’s a feeling so similar to what I find in these books: an initial nostalgia that has to be wiped away from your eyes, and then a strange and discomforting experience.
Once-giant features loom less large. Overlooked things are reassessed in an adult gaze. You reflect not just on what you see now, but who you were and have become along the way.
I think these myths are a similar mirror, and I appreciate the authors who give cause and good art to the reappraisal.
After "The Penelopiad" I read: The Fire Next Time
Before "The Penelopiad" I read: Katabasis