Medusa - A Book Review

Medusa by Rosie Hewlett

I've heard many retellings of Medusa in my life, and I've always preferred the versions where she's a victim of Poseidon, not his seductress. Other stories just don't make sense, they lack feeling. And though you could say it's because gods aren't human and don't feel like us, but if that were true, Medusa wouldn't have been able to disrespect Athena by seducing a man in her temple, because in disrespect there's fury. And only in fury can you condemn a woman to a lifetime of suffering.

Admittedly, I thought I'd end up disliking this book. The first page is full of telling, and I felt that I was going to be condemned to lazy reading, but I was sorely mistaken. Though there could be more showing to improve the quality of writing, it's necessary to say that this may add authenticity to the story as it's told by Medusa, and comes across more like what she would say if she were sat in front of you. It isn't something that would be as beneficial for any other mode of storytelling, but genuinity is added through this form, and I ended up thoroughly enjoying it.

But in the moment after finishing it, I was shown that this is not only well written, the story is incredible. It takes the cake for my favourite version of Medusa's life because it doesn't just frame her as a victim, halting the storytelling horse in the moments after she's victimised, it tells the touching tale of what happened next, all the way up to her death. It's one thing to talk about a woman who has had the worst luck at every corner, it's another to inject love and hope into the darkest corners, and retelling the appropriate parts to show her agency and capacity for love. We start with a mortal girl, who was rejected by her own family, but comes to be loved by an old woman and raised into loving Athena, to dedicate her whole life to her. As a child, her problems seem innocent and touching, especially when she tries to prove herself to her sisters to earn their respect. But as a woman, I felt a sense of camaraderie for Medusa as her problems morph into newer, scarier shapes in the form of a consequence of beauty and of evil. When you have something that others want, there will always be someone evil who has no issue taking it for themselves. We invent new ways to hide this, we have several hundred different security measures for banks, heavy duty protection for our homes, insurance for everything. The one thing that we cannot hide is our beauty, and Medusa suffering from the piercing corruption of knowing that beauty leaves her vulnerable. I, and all the women I know, have all felt the same feeling before. The one that has your skin crawling, sick to your stomach at the acknowledgement that you cannot do anything about the invasion of eyes. You can't even prove there's putrid thought behind them, but you know deep down.

It was refreshing to read a story where the protagonist isn't praising beauty, and even from the outset, she never cares for it. Being brought up by only one woman, it makes sense that she wouldn't have been taught a single thought about the desirability of beauty and how we should want it. And once she loses it, Medusa barely spares a thought to miss her looks, because there's nothing to miss. It really resonated with me, the way she condemned the attention beauty brought her, because in a world where beauty is everything, it's sometimes forgotten that it is useless. It garners more attention, but only the attention of those who want something from you. In this book, we're taught that beauty is nothing compared to what's inside.

But the best part about this book is it's horrible. It's full of terror, of victimisation, of abuse and suffering at the hands of a terrible fate you cannot avoid, because someone up there has already assigned it to you. Medusa's fate is to be abused by Posideon, rejected by Athena, the goddess she's dedicated her life to, be turned into this horrifying monster, and then have some hero boy come along and slay her. She's shaped into an opportunity for the gods to reflect the image they wish to show of themselves - saviours, hero makers. And all this is horrible, and by rights this should be a depressing story to read. But it's the opposite - it leaves us feeling touched, hopeful. Though this is likely biased towards our expectation of this being a completely tragic story and leaving us more hopeful than we thought we'd be as the readers, it's worthy of the relief we feel as we escape through Medusa's capacity for love. The way she loves Theia, who is essentially her mother, the companionship of her sisters that began as entertainment and grew into fierce loyalty that had them betraying the gods just for a chance to save her, and the love she has for her children. And, the love that grows through her companionship with her killer. Love permeates the book and leaves the notion of victimhood in the dust behind her. Medusa leaves us thinking about how tragic it is that good people are forced by the gods to do as they will, but how the gods can't touch the way that we feel. And she lived her life as a protector, someone worthy of adoration. Her bond with Perseus was unexpected and so deeply touching that I cannot stop thinking about how awful the situation must've been for them both, and how even though it's unsaid, the maternal adoration Medusa holds for him has us as the reader devastated as we realise that Medusa can't hug him and wash away his worries at the moment he needed it the most. Despite all the betrayal, all the horror, she comes out of it as a protector and a woman, not a monster.

This is my favourite retelling of Medusa's story, and I'd like to believe that this is how things went.

(p.s. I'm also lucky enough that Rosie Hewlett signed my copy when I went to see her Q&A session last month and I think I would fight to the death to protect this book now. She was really lovely!)