Madeline Miller is the author of the #1 New York Times bestseller Circe. She grew up in Philadelphia, has a BA and MA from Brown University in Latin and Ancient Greek, and has taught in both languages. She also studied at the Yale School of Drama, specializing in adapting classical tales to a modern audience. The Song of Achilles is her first novel. You can find her at madelinemiller.com. You can find more of my reviews of Miller's works here.
Achilles, "the best of all the Greeks," son of the cruel sea goddess Thetis and the legendary king Peleus, is strong, swift, and beautiful—irresistible to all who meet him. Patroclus is an awkward young prince, exiled from his homeland after an act of shocking violence. Brought together by chance, they forge an inseparable bond, despite risking the gods' wrath. They are trained by the centaur Chiron in the arts of war and medicine, but Greece are called upon to lay siege to Troy in her name. Seduced by the promise of a glorious destiny, Achilles joins their cause, and torn between love and fear for his friend, Patroclus follows. Little do they know that the cruel Fates will test them both as never before and demand a terrible sacrifice.
One of the most heartbreaking aspects of the novel is watching how Achilles deteriorates from the boy-turned-man Patroclus falls in love with to the man who is battle-hardened with only the wish of fame as his legacy. As soon as Achilles leaves Chiron's cave, the downward spiral begins. Despite having claimed that he would be the only hero to be famous and happy, it could be argued that he ends up as neither—or famous for the wrong reasons—once he actively pursues fame. In that pursuit, he ruins his life and chance of happiness. This is because Patroclus was never happy, and the only way Achilles could be happy was if Patroclus was so—but Patroclus could not be happy with everything Achilles did to pursue his fame, he could only be happy for Achilles and be there for Achilles as he did everything he could to achieve fame. That is why the novel is the The Song of Achilles rather than the The Song for Achilles. Because Patroclus could never remedy his own Achilles, could never fight for the man who had become a stranger once he chased after fame—but he could sing the song of the Achilles that he knew, of the Achilles he hoped would be remembered.
Miller explains in her glossary that she drew inspiration for The Song of Achilles from the Iliad, and the older tradition. Meaning that the story we think we know of Achilles dying from an arrow to the heel is not incorporated into this retelling. Because Miller chose this, she elevated the story from the myths we learned as children to a respected tale of the human woes of love and loss. I appreciate Miller's decision for two reasons. The first is that Miller does not paint Achilles as someone who would run from his death, especially once Patroclus has fallen. If the arrow had struck his heel, it would have been in a vulnerable, arched position—potentially had he been running from death. But since Miller does not utilize that "only vulnerable spot is the heel" story, Achilles's death is more noble, even if his back had been turned from his killer. This rather paints his killer as someone dark enough to shoot a man in the back, rather than making Achilles a coward. Secondly, the story becomes more human with Achilles not being invincible. His godhead was already enough to set him apart, that adding the extra protection of the River Styx would have made him seem too arrogant, too proud, too distant, and thus as a character we as readers might not have connected enough with to cry at his deterioration. By not being protected by the River Styx ritual, Achilles is, indeed, a mortal, albeit a strong one. His deterioration is real to readers by being something we can recognize in our own men to this day, rather than a distant spiraling we might not be able to associate with anyone we see deteriorating around us.
The ending was beautiful, and quite possibly the absolute best part of the novel. It is in these last thirty pages that we can draw some beautiful parallels: Patroclus kills a man which puts him in Achilles's path when they are young, and Patroclus dies killing to hopefully set Achilles on the correct path; burying Patroclus and Achilles together, but only getting peace once Thetis finds peace with how her son lived just as entwined with Patroclus as their ashes rest; the only way Patroclus could save Achilles was by becoming Achilles himself, down to the very movement of his body. But the most beautiful, more heartrending parallel is how neither Patroclus nor Achilles could be remembered as they truly were unless both of them were remembered, and remembered for how they truly lived: as loving one another. Patroclus sings that they were two halves of the same soul, and only once their souls met in the underworld could both of them find peace. This story is very much dependent on the philosophy of memory: how will people remember you once you're gone? how do you want to be remembered? who will remember you? What Patroclus remembers of Achilles is what makes the song of Achilles (and thus the novel itself) what it is. How details, intricate and possibly easy to forget, are what makes a story true and full of heart. How a prophecy is remembered, and retold, and that is how it ruins. The different ways in which a person can be remembered—how they were to others, how they were to their beloved, how they were in legend, how they fell to death, how well they loved—and how all of those answers are just as complex as the person they try to describe.
I mention that details are intricate and possibly easy to forget, but they are what makes a story true and full of heart. It is in these details that Miller strings together that gives her story its heart. While the story might read a bit distant at the beginning, this is the tone that is created by Miller placing each detail carefully into the story, the beginning of weaving together a tale. The distant nature does not stay, and is replaced by the deliberate word choice, the ways in which she uses that to create different emotions and to plant seeds for us later in the novel that we will respond to. Once we begin to see the path a prophecy sets for the characters, Miller allows us to grow close to the main characters—Achilles and Patroclus—so that we can later be disturbed, ruined, and heartbroken by their actions. I believe every single word, every single sentence was purposeful and created with the express purpose to make us remember not only Achilles's story, but Patroclus's—but in a way that makes us think of Achilles first, before Patroclus, exactly how Patroclus would have wanted it.
Luckily for us, Miller has written another fantastic retelling—Circe. You can find more of my reviews of Miller's works here, and you can find more of Miller at madelinemiller.com.
*This review can also be found on my Goodreads page*
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