Completed May 2023
THE SONG OF
ACHILLES
When I picked up this book I had very little knowledge of Greek mythology, so unlike (apparently) most of its readers, I did not set out with immediate knowledge of how it would end. This is a fact I was grateful of at first, but looking back the predetermination did explain of the author's some decision making. This was especially true as the story approached its conclusion, and as it did so, became more difficult to read.
This was a shame, as I thought the first third of the book was exceptional. It felt like an inevitable addition to my favourites shelf and I savoured every word. My god, Madeline Miller can write. Even the most mundane of moments became magical by her pen, whilst the most intense events found themselves elevated beyond compare. There was a beautiful feeling of nostalgia as Patroclus described his childhood, portraying youthful innocence with the clear perspective of hindsight (shout out to I'm Glad My Mom Died which excelled in a similar way).
Miller's masterful portrayal solidified the believability of the protagonists, and I quickly found myself highly invested in their burgeoning relationship. I've rarely found a novel so immersive, as I found myself transported to wherever they spent their time together. Watching them fall in love was like falling in love yourself. And when they finally began to reveal their feelings for each other, I found myself re-reading every word, again and again, scouring every description of intonation and body language. The stakes felt so high – I felt like a teenager desperately trying to tell whether or not their love is requited, when the answer to that question feels like the most important thing in the world.
As you can probably tell, this was the most powerful part of the story for me. However at the time, I didn't expect that to be the case, as I'm well and truly a sucker for pain. It was obvious from the outset that things weren't going to end happily – and as the tension grew, so did my anxiety for the couple's fates. But this didn't worry me much as I was, masochistically, excited to get my heart broken.
This feeling only intensified as the situation gradually became more serious. Unable to make the journey that would begin the war they'd sworn themselves fight, I was anxious yet naive enough to believe a simple solution to be found. I was wrong. The sacrifice of Iphigenia, to appease Artemis into facilitating their transport, was a turning point for me. The dramatic and apologetic bloodshed of an innocent teenager was gut wrenching. Achilles seemed to have a similar reaction, totally thrown by such a callous decision. I hoped at the time that this would be an omen for the rest of the book, which I imagined would portray his inner conflict between instinctive morality and honour.
However, confusingly, this didn't seem to last long. His horrified reaction to death, and his reluctance to impart it himself, seemed to evaporate as soon as he threw his first spear. When Patroclus later asks Achilles if he thought of the men he killed as animals, as he'd been advised to, he simply replies that he did not think at all. Almost overnight this sensitive, warm character had been transformed into a seemingly heartless killing machine. The inner turmoil I'd been counting on never materialised.
Later, pained and confused himself, Patroclus is gently reminded that this was Achilles' purpose after all. He was placed on this earth to kill, not to love. But the warrior's occasional second thoughts never felt genuine to me, and their relationship lost its cadence. My investment in their love for each other was quickly replaced by derision for Achilles and his total abandonment of moral integrity. We were truly meant to believe that his legacy was worth these thousands of deaths? The reasoning just didn't stand up.
This also made me frustrated at Patroclus who, despite it all, remained true to himself and his principles. Watching his efforts to do good were the main thing that kept me going as the war raged on around him. I just didn't understand why he stuck by Achilles' side after his lover revealed his ethics weren't quite as immaculate as his godlike appearance. It wasn't as if he didn't have options – they presented themselves frequently. And he was tempted... but chose Achilles time and again.
Perhaps this was an intentional decision to portray the corrupting nature of warfare, and the absurdity of the decisions that fuel it. But these years of numb slaughter made the novel lose its magic for me. I didn't grieve the lost potential of the couple's lives, as I assume I was intended to, but felt like it was never there to begin with. When the characters met their inevitable conclusions I wasn't heart broken at all. And I didn't find myself begging for more time with them.
After finishing the story I spent a short time reading up on its source material. The Song of Achilles is essentially a retelling, and adaptations aside it did adhere to the overall arc. And if I had to guess, I'd say this is why the later chapters lost their power. Achilles had to be transformed into the dauntless (and at times, petulant and narcissistic) warrior that the myth portrayed – and lost his tender humanity in the process. I can't help but wish the author had had the guts to diverge from the myth, and have the two of them run off to live together peacefully in a cute little cottage, fate be damned. I truly believe this would have been such a powerful and courageous move with a moral message I could actually subscribe to.
I still think this was objectively a brilliant book. Miller's command of language was second to none, with take-your-breath-away sentences abound. Perhaps the mythology surrounding Achilles' youth was more vague, as this is where the novel truly excelled. It's just that unusually for me, this time I experienced more catharsis in the characters' pleasure than pain.
“And as we swam, or played, or talked, a feeling would come. It was almost like fear, in the way it filled me, rising in my chest. It was almost like tears, in how swiftly it came. But it was neither of those, buoyant where they were heavy, bright where they were dull.”