“we are the maids / the ones you killed / the ones you failed.“

The Penelopiad, by Margaret Atwood

Summary

In Homer’s account in The Odyssey, Penelope—wife of Odysseus and cousin of the beautiful Helen of Troy—is portrayed as the quintessential faithful wife, her story a salutary lesson through the ages. Left alone for twenty years when Odysseus goes off to fight in the Trojan War after the abduction of Helen, Penelope manages, in the face of scandalous rumors, to maintain the kingdom of Ithaca, bring up her wayward son, and keep over a hundred suitors at bay, simultaneously. When Odysseus finally comes home after enduring hardships, overcoming monsters, and sleeping with goddesses, he kills her suitors and—curiously—twelve of her maids.

In a splendid contemporary twist to the ancient story, Margaret Atwood has chosen to give the telling of it to Penelope and to her twelve hanged maids, asking: “What led to the hanging of the maids, and what was Penelope really up to?” In Atwood’s dazzling, playful retelling, the story becomes as wise and compassionate as it is haunting, and as wildly entertaining as it is disturbing. With wit and verve, drawing on the story-telling and poetic talent for which she herself is renowned, she gives Penelope new life and reality—and sets out to provide an answer to an ancient mystery.

My Thoughts

As a long-time lover of Greek mythology and mythology retellings, Margaret Atwood’s novella felt like a breath of fresh air solely for the structure. Most retellings go chronologically, piece by piece. The Penelopiad begins in the modern day, with Penelope in the Underworld, and alternates between Penelope’s chapters explaining her life, and her chorus of twelve maids. For context, at the end of The Odyssey, Odysseus blames Penelope’s maids for sleeping/being assaulted by the suitors or supporting them (her maid Melantho ultimately tells the suitors about Penelope unweaving her shroud every night to avoid marriage to them) and they are hung. The chorus of the twelve maids provides a haunting insight into a part of mythology often forgotten about: the innocent victims who are not main characters. Odysseus’s murder of them because he considers them his property, and they slept with the suitors (often unwillingly) “without his permission” brings light to Odysseus’s more brutal traits, as well as the unfair treatment those of lower class received. Most myths are only about kings and queens and princesses, and so this aspect of myth is often unexplored. Structurally, the maids also represent a greek chorus—an intrinsic part of old plays, especially tragedies, where traditionally, there could only be two speaking characters on stage apart from the chorus. Much of The Oresteia is told via chorus, for example, as well as The Bacchae. Further, Atwood’s unique focus on the maids is a form of class commentary; she writes “You don’t have to think of us as real girls, real flesh and blood, real pain, real injustice. That might be too upsetting. Just discard the sordid part. Consider us pure symbol. We’re no more real than money.” Their murder in the narrative, after all, is because they are considered property.

One of the bright aspects of this story is that Penelope is telling it from the Underworld in the modern day; we not only get her story of the past, but her bitter, slightly arrogant commentary on modern affairs. Atwood is smart to focus only on Penelope, with Odysseus himself taking a back seat even in the Underworld (it is not, after all, his story). We see the feminist aspects of her writing emerge in Penelope’s commentary on how she is portrayed by historians—as a measuring stick by which to beat other women—and is quick to dispel the notions that she was perfect, or that she was waiting all those years out of sheer loyalty. No, Penelope is clear throughout that she understood the place women held in Ancient Greek society, and was simply trying to survive. Other stand out characters include Eurycleia, the overbearing old maid who raised Odysseus and is condescending at best to Penelope instead of an ally (demonstrating how systems of power often turn women against each other) and Helen of Troy, her vain, cruel cousin who Penelope bitterly notes escapes the Trojan War with no real consequences, despite absconding with her lover Paris. Odysseus himself is only present at the beginning, and I enjoy that his relationship with Penelope is one where both are “great liars” to each other.

Overall, The Penelopiad was an excellent novella. Not too long, with fun shanties and ballads from the chorus of hanged maids, and biting, pointed commentary from Penelope that tells her story in a fresh, new light. As a long time fan of The Odyssey, I will always love retellings or adaptations, and The Penelopiad hits the mark with its unique structure, class commentary, and different take on the characters.

Review: ★ ★ ★ ★ ☆

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