The Emotional Characterization of a Goddess in Madeline Miller’s Circe
Madeline Miller’s 2018 novel Circe has been making waves in the literary world since it was first published. For those of you unaware, Circe tells the story of the goddess Circe, most prominent in Homer’s The Odyssey. Miller gives life and depth to a figure vilified in history most commonly through Odysseus’s perspective. Circe grows from a timid child at her father’s feet to a force to be reckoned with over millenia in exile. Obviously, my coming posts on Circe contain spoilers for the novel so if that’s something you’re concerned out, you’ve been warned.
The novel is episodic, covering her centuries long life from beginning to end. Madeline Miller does something spectacular with Circe that is not often found, especially in tales of gods — Circe’s emotions play a central role in the happenings of the story. Her relationships with others and her attitudes toward the world she has been forced into are unheard of for the gods, who only care about themselves and their power. Circe is unnaturally human for a goddess. Her voice is “human” as the messenger god Hermes points out to her, and she comes into contact with more mortals in her lifetime than she ever expected. She is thrust into single motherhood, giving birth to a mortal son. Miller makes Circe feel human despite her witchcraft and immortal lifespan.
Circe goes through many relationships in her life. It begins with a mortal fisherman named Glaucos, whom Circe naively turns into a god through her first real act of magic. It is her attempt to save his life and her desire to be with him for eternity that is her undoing. Interestingly enough, these are atypical behaviors for an immortal — wanting to be with a human for the rest of their life. Glaucos in turn begins to display what is more typical for a god — many partners, living a gluttonous life, and all but ignoring the goddess who granted him this new life. It’s Circe’s first crack in the mirror that is this disillusioned life she has led so far.
Circe’s next relationship is far more detached. She begins to have a purely physical relationship with the god Hermes. She’s been exiled at this point, and her only companions are the animals on the island she has semi-tamed. Hermes gives her a link to the outside world, her only line to her old life. It is shallow — she often remarks that she doesn’t even like Hermes. There’s no depth, no emotional connection to the only other being who is like her. She has no interest in it.
Her relationship with the inventor Daedalus is short and unique. It is soft and she loves him and his daughter. She is with him during the short time she is on the island her sister Pasiphae rules over, Minos. While it is a short relationship, it shapes Circe for the rest of her life and the loom he gifts her becomes a trademark of her presence in mythology.
Her most significant relationship is with yet another mortal, and it is one that Hermes told her would come — Odysseus. Her relationship with Odysseus in canon mythology is up to speculation. Is he bewitched? Is he only doing it so she doesn’t kill him and his men? He has to beg her to let them go at the end of his year on Aiaia. However, in Madeline Miller’s portrayal, the relationship they have is real. Circe finds comfort in this mortal’s ambition and she is able to confide in him how it truly feels to turn men into pigs. They have a full conversation before he inquires about his missing men, instead of Homer’s version where he brandishes a sword at her and she cowers and falls to her knees.
Circe’s relationship with Odysseus is truly life changing — she has a child by this man and her future encounters hinge on this fact. She gives birth alone and it is a painful and traumatic ordeal. Her son, Telegonus, becomes her world. Motherhood is not something that comes easy to her, but that’s not for this piece. As Telegonus grows, she sees Odysseus in him. She tells him stories of his father, though she embellishes in order to preserve the image of this brutal man for her son, untouched by the cruelties of the world.
Her final relationship — not of the book, last of her life — is with Telemachus, Odysseus’s legitimate son with Penelope. He and Penelope come to the island after Odysseus’s death by Trygon’s tail and his own arrogance. Their relationship begins slowly and tentatively. Circe suspects him of wanting to avenge his father’s death and kill Telegonus, but they bond over Odysseus’s true nature and neglect of his family after his time outlined in The Odyssey. She and Telemachus leave the island together, with Penelope taking over the mantle of the witch of Aiaia. Circe eventually manages to give up her immortality to be with Telemachus, and they have two daughters together. Circe ages with him and lives a truly mortal life.
Circe’s emotional growth and journey are symbolized through her relationships. The gods are well known for their various trysts with humans and often leaving them high-and-dry worse for wear. Circe is the opposite. Her most meaningful relationships are with mortals and they are the ones who leave her (Telemachus excluded). Her relationship — if it can be called that — with Hermes is shallow and it seems to me that she is simply desperate for someone other than a wolf or lion for company, even if she doesn’t like them. Hermes is a reminder of the gods presence in her life and even after she finishes their relationship, he continues to show up every now and then bringing some message of foreboding to her doorstep, extremely unwelcome.
Madeline Miller’s Circe has far more depth and complexity than Homer’s version. It’s known that Circe has an interesting voice and that she’s a witch who turns men into pigs. But why? Miller gives Circe agency over her story and makes her wholly human. She’s always been different from her massive family and it is because she feels emotions other than the extremities that the other gods feel.
I didn’t expect to find myself tearing up at this, but Circe’s raw emotions when Telegonus leaves her island definitely did it for me. I felt what Circe was feeling. I have never related to a goddess before but through Madeline Miller, Circe was more relatable than ever.
