Why do I love mythology so much? I've been asking myself this question ever since I became obsessed with anything even remotely related to Percy Jackson. Is it the relatable stories? The symbolism? The incredibly human nature of the gods and their children? The concepts about identity? Maybe the modern retelling? Honestly, I don't think I'll ever have a precise answer to this. Still, I cannot deny its influence in my life. I have discovered many things about myself through the lens of mythology. For instance, I realized I might be non-binary or gender-fluid when I read about Loki and his shape-shifting powers. However, I'm not here to write about Norse myths yet. I'm instead returning to where it all started, namely Greek mythology. In a nutshell, “The Song of Achilles” played with my heart's strings in the same way Achilles played his lyre: gently. Though I didn't cry, I was still moved and want to explain why. As usual, if you don't like spoilers, cover your eyes.
I appreciate the way everything was described. It felt as if a poet started storytelling because even the most tragic of scenes were described beautifully, yet simply. The death of Patroclus and the reaction of Achilles to it felt piercing, yet poetic, like in a Shakespearean tragedy. Naturally, the imagery becomes vividly detailed. You can hear Achilles scream, whisper and weep at the sight of Patroclus' bloody corpse. You can feel his grief and sleepless nights. On the other hand, there are also scenes that talk about the sheer joy of being around each other. Each moment when Achilles plays the lyre is one of those, whether it's during their childhood or wartime. In these, Patroclus seemed to be almost spellbound by the other's mastery of the instrument, the clearness of his voice, the gentle way he touched the strings. Hell, even the “spicy” scenes are described so poetically that I, an asexual, was almost unable to tell it was about to get sexy. Again, from an aesthetic point of view, I could bet this book surpasses other debut novels.
Another thing I adore is the way the characters are presented. We are too used to seeing the classical heroes as exorbitantly, or even toxically, masculine: Stoic, close to emotionless, valiant warriors. But “The Song of Achilles” has a quite different approach, since the saying “boys don't cry” doesn't seem to exist here. It brings to light a side of Achilles that was not explored as much before, namely his heart. He knows how to hide his emotions, as well as when and how to express them. He smiles a thousand times along with Patroclus, yet cries a river at his most beloved's death. Also, despite their contrasting personalities, they appreciate each other greatly. Odysseus is sarcastic or even cocky, but also talks sweetly about his wife. Agamemnon is a courageous general, yet sensitive to the blood-sealed warning of Patroclus. Even the gods are portrayed in a human manner, typical to most types of mythology at the time. Thetis loves her son deeply and hates his beloved just as deeply, mainly for his mortality. Additionally, the deities take sides during the Trojan War. Apollo, for instance, brings a plague upon the Greek army and, later, the downfall of Aristos Achaion and his Soulmate, which, I would say, is fascinating.
The philosophy adds to such beauty. It would be unfair to say it is merely about war and love, since it goes well-beyond that. Though briefly, Patroclus' direct, yet poetic, descriptions discuss the types and effects of each. He loves Briseis, but not in the same way he loves Achilles. He also senses how this affects her, though she doesn't show it much. Seeing Patroclus' dead body, she calls Achilles self-centred for not realising that others could have loved his Philtatos as much as him. Then Achilles, probably, asked himself with resentment: Why? Why did I let him wear my armour? Why did I have to seize this war and its glory? Wherefore did I have to choose my pride over him? Wherefore did I have to be the catalyst for both of our fates? He ponders and finds no answer, neither from within nor without. Honestly, it's intriguing how a single person can have this huge influence over another. Practically, it reinforces the idea that ordinary people can do extraordinary things, no matter how small they may seem, as the author herself has said. That, I think, is a lovely thought to present.
Also, as a queer person, to read a book where the representation is so casual feels almost surreal. They aren't damned nor praised for their morality, they just are. They are seen as regular people, as much as Greek heroes can be. Once again, it humanises them to have their hearts and minds as the main focal point of the story. They love each other deeply, passionately and if this comes across to you as a hetero bromance, then I would suggest reading it again, without bias. I thrive with LGBT+ casual representation, especially in literature. I've been craving this kind of thing ever since I got into Alison Bechdel's work, not to mention that the history or mythology related to this community fascinates me. In this aria, I have nothing at all to add. It's simply great.
All in all, do I recommend it? YES, it's a good mythological retelling. It's definitely one of the books I'll keep returning to, as are Pessoa's “The Book of Disquiet”, Tolkien's “The Silmarillion” and Wilde's “The Picture of Dorian Gray”. Reading TSOA felt like listening to Måneskin's “Coraline” or Taylor Swift's “Ronan”: it did not move me to tears, but it did make me feel something unexplainable, a sort of beautiful sadness. Do I have a favourite character? I don't think so, though it's humanly impossible to be unable to relate to the narrator: the voice of doubt, of anxiety confronted by Achilles' voice of confidence; occasionally a raven on the hero's shoulder. Whose fearful mind cannot relate to this? Anyway, I'll wrap it up here with a few quotes that I adore. Now back to the tea! 🍵
(source of the image: https://the-bibliofile.com/the-song-of-achilles/)
“I hope that Hector kills you." The breath rasps in his throat. “Do you think I do not hope the same?” he asks.”
“Achilles does not regard me.” Her voice trembled a little. “Even though I bear his child and am his wife. Do you know why this is so?” It was a child’s question, like why the rain falls or why the sea’s motion never ceases. I felt older than her, though I was not.”
“I am air and thought and can do nothing.”
head. Golden strands fall onto the bloody corpse. Patroclus, he says,
Patroclus. Patroclus. Over and over until it is sound only. (c. 31)”
“FOR THE FIRST TIME since my death, he falls into a fitful, trembling sleep.
His limbs twitch and shudder.
shades. I will—
But already he is waking. “Patroclus! Wait! I am here!”
He shakes the body beside him. When I do not answer, he weeps again.”
“I have done it,” she says. At first, I do not understand. But then I see
the tomb, and the marks she has made on the stone. A C H I L L E S, it
reads. And beside it, P A T R O C L U S.
“Go,” she says. “He waits for you.”
“We reached for each other, and I thought of how many nights I had lain awake loving him in silence.”
“This, I say. This and this. The way his hair looked in summer sun. His face when he ran. His eyes, solemn as an owl at lessons. This and this and this. So many moments of happiness, crowding forward.”
“Odysseus inclines his head. “True. But fame is a strange thing. Some
men gain glory after they die, while others fade. What is admired in one
generation is abhorred in another.” He spread his broad hands. “We
cannot say who will survive the holocaust of memory. Who knows?”
“Chiron had said once that nations were the most foolish of mortal
inventions. “No man is worth more than another, wherever he is from.”
“But
what if he is your friend?” Achilles had asked him, feet kicked up on
the wall of the rose-quartz cave. “Or your brother? Should you treat him
the same as a stranger?”
“You ask a question that philosophers
argue over,” Chiron had said. “He is worth more to you, perhaps. But the
stranger is someone else’s friend and brother. So which life is more
important?”
We had been silent. We were fourteen, and these
things were too hard for us. Now that we are twenty-seven, they still
feel too hard.
He is half of my soul, as the poets say. He will
be dead soon, and his honour is all that will remain. It is his child,
his dearest self. Should I reproach him for it? I have saved Briseis. I
cannot save them all.
I know, now, how I would answer Chiron. I would say: there is no answer. Whichever you choose, you are wrong.”
“We are all there, goddess and mortal and the boy who was both.”
“Have you no more memories?”
I am made of memories.
“Speak, then.”
“He holds me so tightly I can feel the faint beat of his chest, like the wings of a
moth. An echo, the last bit of spirit still tethered to my body. A torment.”
“I stopped watching for ridicule, the scorpion's tail hidden in his words. He said what he meant; he was puzzled if you did not. Some people might have mistaken this for simplicity. But is it not a sort of genius to cut always to the heart?”
“The sorrow was so large it threatened to tear through my skin. When he died, all things swift and beautiful and bright would be buried with him.”
“When he speaks at last, his voice is weary, and defeated. He doesn’t know how to be angry with me, either. We are like damp wood that won’t light.”
“Perhaps he simply assumed: a bitterness of habit, of boy after boy trained for music and medicine, and unleashed for murder.”
“His mother comes. I hear her, the sound of waves breaking on shore. If I
disgusted her when I was alive, it is worse to find my corpse in her son’s
arms.”
"Therapon was the word he used. A brother-in-arms sworn to a
prince by blood oaths and love. In war, these men were his honor guard; in
peace, his closest advisers. It was a place of highest esteem, another reason
the boys swarmed Peleus’ son, showing off; they hoped to be chosen."
“For many years now, Achilles, I have urged companions on you and you
have turned them away. Why this boy?”
The question might have been my own. I had nothing to offer such a
prince. Why, then, had he made a charity case of me? Peleus and I both waited for his answer.
“He is surprising.”
I looked up, frowning. If he thought so, he was the only one."
