Scan barcode
sofl's review against another edition
adventurous
emotional
inspiring
mysterious
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
4.0
huffeatermelly's review against another edition
adventurous
emotional
mysterious
sad
tense
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
3.75
kzimm2024's review against another edition
5.0
Amazing, Excellent, what a great book. I understand the classics like never before! Madeline Miller, what a great job you did in telling such a potentially complicated story in such a clear and relateable way. I love hearing Circe's voice in this story.
Its like a Greek Telenovella. We have power, sex, murder, lies, deceit, stealing, cheating, war, banishment, and that's just Greek history! I love the way this story was told, it unfolded gently and I followed her story so easily. The end made me tear up with gentleness and happiness. I gleefully told my husband about the pig thing as well as what Madea did to Jason's new bride. HAH! He didn't think it was very funny until I explained that it is what every woman wishes she could actually do.
Circe is my new superhero, she found her power and used it for good (I think). Down with Scylla and the haters! Yea Mortals!
Its like a Greek Telenovella. We have power, sex, murder, lies, deceit, stealing, cheating, war, banishment, and that's just Greek history! I love the way this story was told, it unfolded gently and I followed her story so easily. The end made me tear up with gentleness and happiness. I gleefully told my husband about the pig thing as well as what Madea did to Jason's new bride. HAH! He didn't think it was very funny until I explained that it is what every woman wishes she could actually do.
Circe is my new superhero, she found her power and used it for good (I think). Down with Scylla and the haters! Yea Mortals!
emleemari's review
4.0
4.5 ⭐️
This hits. If I had a Percy Jackson and the Olympians phase in my childhood, this could have easily been a 5 star read.
This hits. If I had a Percy Jackson and the Olympians phase in my childhood, this could have easily been a 5 star read.
bccorrea's review
adventurous
challenging
dark
emotional
reflective
sad
tense
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? It's complicated
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
4.5
kellyruth1's review
adventurous
reflective
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? A mix
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
5.0
lynn22's review
5.0
“You threw me to the crows, but it turns out I prefer them to you”
Metal as hell and worth 6 stars. I loved Madeline’s ethereal retelling of Circe’s tale. The escape from Circe’s terrible family and finding herself is relatable and oh so epic.
Metal as hell and worth 6 stars. I loved Madeline’s ethereal retelling of Circe’s tale. The escape from Circe’s terrible family and finding herself is relatable and oh so epic.
measmi041's review
emotional
mysterious
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? Yes
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
4.25
camiwagner11's review
4.0
The Charm of Circe
Madeline Miller’s Circe is not so much a retelling of The Odyssey as it is a story of its own. One of the most prominent female characters in Homer’s The Odyssey has been given a bad rap throughout history, being seen as yet another obstacle for Odysseus to conquer. Little do readers know the real reason that Circe the witch turned his men into pigs. Circe presents her encounter with Odysseus and his men, as well as many other infamous mythological tales from the perspective of a goddess who walks the line between divinity and human. Early on in the novel, Circe is banished from her father Helios’s palace in Oceanus for (partially) unknowingly using her witchcraft to turn a goddess into the six-headed monster, Scylla, and a mortal romantic interest into a god. The gods fear nothing but power, and they see the strength of Circe’s witchcraft as a threat. The sun god takes her to the island of Aiaia, where Circe is less lonely than she has ever been, despite having only animals for company. On Aiaia, she finds herself, but not without having to confront gods, lose ones she loves, and protect herself from harm. Even so, her witchcraft grows stronger, as well as her self-confidence and belief in humanity.
The goddess/witch Circe is everything a protagonist should be: she is vulnerable with the readers, showcasing every emotion humans experience (despite not being human herself): curiosity, compassion, loneliness, longing, grief, and gratitude. There is much to be felt in a lifetime that lasts centuries, but Miller manages to serve the reader just the right amount of each one. “I had walked the earth for a hundred generations, yet I was still a child to myself. Rage and grief, thwarted desire, lust, self-pity: these are emotions gods know well. But guilt and shame, remorse, ambivalence, those are foreign countries to our kind, which must be earned stone by stone,” (Miller, 156). Circe’s range of emotions is what distinguishes her from the rest of the gods and instead connects her with the humans that surround her, notably the famed craftsman Daedalus, her son Telegonus, and her eventual lover Telemachus.
It is difficult to not be the most intrigued by Circe, having insight into each decision she makes and each new place she finds herself in. She is banned to the island of Aiaia for centuries upon centuries, yet readers never tire of Circe’s life on the island, down to her daily rituals of walking the woods with her lions, finding herbs for spells, or pouring wine and cutting bread. Nonetheless, there are other characters of intrigue. Circe’s sister, the fiery Pasiphaë, leaves readers hungry for more. Pasiphaë was a cruel sister to Circe during their childhood, favoring their brother Perses. Some years into Circe’s exile, Helios allows it to be temporarily lifted to send Circe to the island of Crete, where Pasiphaë and her husband King Minos rule. Surprisingly, Pasiphaë has requested that Circe help birth the minotaur that she is pregnant with after her encounter with a scared bull, having a secret hunch that Circe is the better witch of the two and would be able to conjure a spell to ease the childbirth. Circe is stunned, but proves Pasiphaë’s silent theory correct, managing to both help birth the bull and keep it from harming humans. Circe eventually becomes angry with Pasiphaë, believing that she only brought her to Crete to be humiliated with her bizarre witchcraft. A tense yet sincere conversation between the sisters reveals that Pasiphaë was not blind to Circe’s resilience against the gods in the halls of Helios. She noticed that Circe did not yearn for their attention as she had, and she handled the scrutiny and insults seemingly well. Here, Circe learns her sister is clever herself; Pasiphaë takes what she grasped from being used and manipulated as a young goddess to her advantage.
“My sister laughed, her most silver-fountained sound. It was calculated, like everything she did. Minos raged on, but I was watching her. I had dismissed her coupling with the bull as some perverse whim, but she was not ruled by appetites; she ruled with them instead. When was the last time I had seen a true emotion on her face? I recalled now that moment on her childbed when she had cried out, her face twisted with urgency, that the monster must live. Why? Not for love, there was none of that in her. So the creature must somehow serve her ends,” (Miller, 134).
Pasiphaë does not come in contact with Circe for the rest of the novel, to readers’ dismay. Pasiphaë represents what Circe could have become in another life: quick and sharp like her sister yet cunning and shrewd, able to receive all that she wanted.
Miller beautifully balances the tone of mystical forests and serene waters with the imposing wrath of the gods. At the start of the novel, Helios’s dark halls that only he could illuminate seemed entrapping to both Circe and readers. The gods’ villainous ways fade to simply an inconvenience over time, however. The novel centers around the life of a witch, not the quarrels of the gods. Miller highlights Circe’s independent curiosity over outside threats, making for an exciting read. Readers do not worry about background noise until it is clear to Circe – the protagonist and the reader act as one. The feeling that one is on the island of Aiaia, petting lions and climbing cliffs makes even the mundane moments of Circe’s life interesting, for one, along with the goddess, does not always know what will come next. There is no signal to readers that Hermes will arrive on Aiaia shortly after Circe is exiled, nor is there a warning when ruined ships approach the island in search of aid; readers find out as soon as Circe does. Miller could easily flaunt her knack for poetic, lyrical writing but she only uses it when necessary. The verse does not overpower the subject of the story, which is something not all authors are skillful in. Circe’s inner monologue is not flashy and unnatural. It is twisting and unpredictable, short and precise at some times while descriptive and maundering at others.
“Overhead the constellations dip and wheel. My divinity shines in me like the last rays of the sun before they drown in the sea. I thought once that gods are the opposite of death, but I see now that they are more dead than anything, for they are unchanging, and can hold nothing in their hands.
All my life I have been moving forward and now I am here. I have a mortal’s voice, let me have the rest. I lift the brimming bowl to my lips and drink,” (Miller, 385).
The final paragraphs of Circe sums up its overarching theme perfectly: perspective. With the eternity Circe is granted, her perspective changes. A seemingly static, isolated exile has brought more change to Circe than a life with the rest of the gods could ever. The premise of the novel itself plays with perspective. Circe is a novel from the perspective of the scheming witch in Homer's The Odyssey, shining a light on a minor character in one of the most famous books of all time. Circe proves the age-old testament that things are not always what they seem. Circe did not turn Odysseus’s men into pigs for the fun of it, she did it to defend herself, assuming they would harm and use her the way other sailors had. Of course, her encounter with Odysseus involves a change of perspective as well; he is not like any sailor she has ever met before. He is more interested in sitting with Circe, talking of a few frustrations from his journey than he is in taking advantage of her. Circe’s interaction with humans may be the most crucial change in perspective in the book. “It made me dizzy to realize this was but a fraction of a fraction of all the men the world had bred. How could such variation endure, such endless iteration of minds and faces? Did the earth not go mad?” (Miller, 106). She has always been curious about mortals, with the first example being her relationship with the sailor Glaucous when she still lived with the rest of the gods. Although over time she has been hurt by humans and hurt a few herself, Circe realizes that her thoughts and wishes align with that of a human being more than an immortal god. Her change in perspective leads her to her true destiny, a life with Telemachus and a family, traveling the world and creating memories that will stay with her until her eventual time to go to the underworld. She values a life of compassion, curiosity, and love over an eternity of crafting new spells to defend herself from gods and monsters.
Circe is a brilliant novel that shines as bright as the daughter of the sun god herself in a sea of fantastical retellings. Madeline Miller is a master at artfully combining pretentious classical texts with digestible, enticing stories for teenagers and adults to bask in. Despite working with ancient stories, Miller is one of the most exciting modern authors. Circe, as well as her retelling of The Iliad, The Song of Achilles, is worthy of the praise they receive from professional critics and fans on the internet alike. The range of enjoyers goes to show the enchantment of her work that will be enjoyed for years to come. Miller’s journey of navigating the old and new is similar to that of the goddess Circe, finding her place in between the ever-lasting gods and the ephemeral, yet monumental mortals.
Madeline Miller’s Circe is not so much a retelling of The Odyssey as it is a story of its own. One of the most prominent female characters in Homer’s The Odyssey has been given a bad rap throughout history, being seen as yet another obstacle for Odysseus to conquer. Little do readers know the real reason that Circe the witch turned his men into pigs. Circe presents her encounter with Odysseus and his men, as well as many other infamous mythological tales from the perspective of a goddess who walks the line between divinity and human. Early on in the novel, Circe is banished from her father Helios’s palace in Oceanus for (partially) unknowingly using her witchcraft to turn a goddess into the six-headed monster, Scylla, and a mortal romantic interest into a god. The gods fear nothing but power, and they see the strength of Circe’s witchcraft as a threat. The sun god takes her to the island of Aiaia, where Circe is less lonely than she has ever been, despite having only animals for company. On Aiaia, she finds herself, but not without having to confront gods, lose ones she loves, and protect herself from harm. Even so, her witchcraft grows stronger, as well as her self-confidence and belief in humanity.
The goddess/witch Circe is everything a protagonist should be: she is vulnerable with the readers, showcasing every emotion humans experience (despite not being human herself): curiosity, compassion, loneliness, longing, grief, and gratitude. There is much to be felt in a lifetime that lasts centuries, but Miller manages to serve the reader just the right amount of each one. “I had walked the earth for a hundred generations, yet I was still a child to myself. Rage and grief, thwarted desire, lust, self-pity: these are emotions gods know well. But guilt and shame, remorse, ambivalence, those are foreign countries to our kind, which must be earned stone by stone,” (Miller, 156). Circe’s range of emotions is what distinguishes her from the rest of the gods and instead connects her with the humans that surround her, notably the famed craftsman Daedalus, her son Telegonus, and her eventual lover Telemachus.
It is difficult to not be the most intrigued by Circe, having insight into each decision she makes and each new place she finds herself in. She is banned to the island of Aiaia for centuries upon centuries, yet readers never tire of Circe’s life on the island, down to her daily rituals of walking the woods with her lions, finding herbs for spells, or pouring wine and cutting bread. Nonetheless, there are other characters of intrigue. Circe’s sister, the fiery Pasiphaë, leaves readers hungry for more. Pasiphaë was a cruel sister to Circe during their childhood, favoring their brother Perses. Some years into Circe’s exile, Helios allows it to be temporarily lifted to send Circe to the island of Crete, where Pasiphaë and her husband King Minos rule. Surprisingly, Pasiphaë has requested that Circe help birth the minotaur that she is pregnant with after her encounter with a scared bull, having a secret hunch that Circe is the better witch of the two and would be able to conjure a spell to ease the childbirth. Circe is stunned, but proves Pasiphaë’s silent theory correct, managing to both help birth the bull and keep it from harming humans. Circe eventually becomes angry with Pasiphaë, believing that she only brought her to Crete to be humiliated with her bizarre witchcraft. A tense yet sincere conversation between the sisters reveals that Pasiphaë was not blind to Circe’s resilience against the gods in the halls of Helios. She noticed that Circe did not yearn for their attention as she had, and she handled the scrutiny and insults seemingly well. Here, Circe learns her sister is clever herself; Pasiphaë takes what she grasped from being used and manipulated as a young goddess to her advantage.
“My sister laughed, her most silver-fountained sound. It was calculated, like everything she did. Minos raged on, but I was watching her. I had dismissed her coupling with the bull as some perverse whim, but she was not ruled by appetites; she ruled with them instead. When was the last time I had seen a true emotion on her face? I recalled now that moment on her childbed when she had cried out, her face twisted with urgency, that the monster must live. Why? Not for love, there was none of that in her. So the creature must somehow serve her ends,” (Miller, 134).
Pasiphaë does not come in contact with Circe for the rest of the novel, to readers’ dismay. Pasiphaë represents what Circe could have become in another life: quick and sharp like her sister yet cunning and shrewd, able to receive all that she wanted.
Miller beautifully balances the tone of mystical forests and serene waters with the imposing wrath of the gods. At the start of the novel, Helios’s dark halls that only he could illuminate seemed entrapping to both Circe and readers. The gods’ villainous ways fade to simply an inconvenience over time, however. The novel centers around the life of a witch, not the quarrels of the gods. Miller highlights Circe’s independent curiosity over outside threats, making for an exciting read. Readers do not worry about background noise until it is clear to Circe – the protagonist and the reader act as one. The feeling that one is on the island of Aiaia, petting lions and climbing cliffs makes even the mundane moments of Circe’s life interesting, for one, along with the goddess, does not always know what will come next. There is no signal to readers that Hermes will arrive on Aiaia shortly after Circe is exiled, nor is there a warning when ruined ships approach the island in search of aid; readers find out as soon as Circe does. Miller could easily flaunt her knack for poetic, lyrical writing but she only uses it when necessary. The verse does not overpower the subject of the story, which is something not all authors are skillful in. Circe’s inner monologue is not flashy and unnatural. It is twisting and unpredictable, short and precise at some times while descriptive and maundering at others.
“Overhead the constellations dip and wheel. My divinity shines in me like the last rays of the sun before they drown in the sea. I thought once that gods are the opposite of death, but I see now that they are more dead than anything, for they are unchanging, and can hold nothing in their hands.
All my life I have been moving forward and now I am here. I have a mortal’s voice, let me have the rest. I lift the brimming bowl to my lips and drink,” (Miller, 385).
The final paragraphs of Circe sums up its overarching theme perfectly: perspective. With the eternity Circe is granted, her perspective changes. A seemingly static, isolated exile has brought more change to Circe than a life with the rest of the gods could ever. The premise of the novel itself plays with perspective. Circe is a novel from the perspective of the scheming witch in Homer's The Odyssey, shining a light on a minor character in one of the most famous books of all time. Circe proves the age-old testament that things are not always what they seem. Circe did not turn Odysseus’s men into pigs for the fun of it, she did it to defend herself, assuming they would harm and use her the way other sailors had. Of course, her encounter with Odysseus involves a change of perspective as well; he is not like any sailor she has ever met before. He is more interested in sitting with Circe, talking of a few frustrations from his journey than he is in taking advantage of her. Circe’s interaction with humans may be the most crucial change in perspective in the book. “It made me dizzy to realize this was but a fraction of a fraction of all the men the world had bred. How could such variation endure, such endless iteration of minds and faces? Did the earth not go mad?” (Miller, 106). She has always been curious about mortals, with the first example being her relationship with the sailor Glaucous when she still lived with the rest of the gods. Although over time she has been hurt by humans and hurt a few herself, Circe realizes that her thoughts and wishes align with that of a human being more than an immortal god. Her change in perspective leads her to her true destiny, a life with Telemachus and a family, traveling the world and creating memories that will stay with her until her eventual time to go to the underworld. She values a life of compassion, curiosity, and love over an eternity of crafting new spells to defend herself from gods and monsters.
Circe is a brilliant novel that shines as bright as the daughter of the sun god herself in a sea of fantastical retellings. Madeline Miller is a master at artfully combining pretentious classical texts with digestible, enticing stories for teenagers and adults to bask in. Despite working with ancient stories, Miller is one of the most exciting modern authors. Circe, as well as her retelling of The Iliad, The Song of Achilles, is worthy of the praise they receive from professional critics and fans on the internet alike. The range of enjoyers goes to show the enchantment of her work that will be enjoyed for years to come. Miller’s journey of navigating the old and new is similar to that of the goddess Circe, finding her place in between the ever-lasting gods and the ephemeral, yet monumental mortals.