Behind the story: A guest post by Madeline Miller, author of The Song of Achilles
Hello to you all, and many thanks to Tanya for inviting me to do a guest post! My novel, The Song of Achilles, is a retelling of the myths surrounding the Greek hero Achilles from the perspective of his best friend and lover Patroclus. I like to think of it as equal parts love story and adventure.
I have loved the stories of the Trojan War since I was a child. My mother used to read them to me at bedtime and I was entranced not only by the exciting action, but by the people themselves. Unlike most books I had read, the characters felt stunningly real—fully imagined, tragic, and utterly human. I can still remember my shock at realizing that the first line of Homer’s Iliad—“Sing, goddess, of the terrible rage of Achilles”—was about the hero.
As I grew older and began studying these stories in earnest, I kept returning to Achilles’ rage, and in particular to that terrible moment in the Iliad when Patroclus, Achilles’ closest companion, is killed. In poetry so vivid it sears, Homer shows us Achilles’ reaction: obliterating grief followed by wrath so huge no amount of vengeance can satisfy it. I was deeply moved, but also a bit mystified. Patroclus isn’t a major character in the Iliad; far from it. We see him always with Achilles, but in the background. He doesn’t speak until nearly halfway through the poem. So why is Achilles so upset? Who is this Patroclus?
Answering that question took me ten years, but it was worth every minute. The more I researched the more I found myself drawn to this fascinating man: an exile, a healer, a loyal friend, the only ancient hero called “gentle” in the Iliad. Homer tells us the end of his story, but I wanted to know the beginning.
I also found myself being drawn deeper into Achilles’ own tragedy, especially the terrible choice that he is given by the fates: to live a long and happy life, or die young and be famous forever. Achilles chooses the latter, and goes to war knowing he will never return, that he is gambling every human pleasure for cold posterity.
As I was writing, I made myself a promise: that the story, however it turned out, would not be only for people who knew the ancient stories. When Homer was composing, his poetry was intended for everyone. I was passionate about trying to honor that heritage—to write a story that could engage both myth-lovers and myth-newcomers alike.
These stories are more than three thousand years old, but they don’t feel like it. We may have guns and planes now, instead of spears and chariots, but we have the same hopes and fears, the same loves and losses. In knowing them we know ourselves. Thank you so much for reading; I hope that you might enjoy this book as much as I have loved writing it.
I have loved the stories of the Trojan War since I was a child. My mother used to read them to me at bedtime and I was entranced not only by the exciting action, but by the people themselves. Unlike most books I had read, the characters felt stunningly real—fully imagined, tragic, and utterly human. I can still remember my shock at realizing that the first line of Homer’s Iliad—“Sing, goddess, of the terrible rage of Achilles”—was about the hero.
As I grew older and began studying these stories in earnest, I kept returning to Achilles’ rage, and in particular to that terrible moment in the Iliad when Patroclus, Achilles’ closest companion, is killed. In poetry so vivid it sears, Homer shows us Achilles’ reaction: obliterating grief followed by wrath so huge no amount of vengeance can satisfy it. I was deeply moved, but also a bit mystified. Patroclus isn’t a major character in the Iliad; far from it. We see him always with Achilles, but in the background. He doesn’t speak until nearly halfway through the poem. So why is Achilles so upset? Who is this Patroclus?
Answering that question took me ten years, but it was worth every minute. The more I researched the more I found myself drawn to this fascinating man: an exile, a healer, a loyal friend, the only ancient hero called “gentle” in the Iliad. Homer tells us the end of his story, but I wanted to know the beginning.
I also found myself being drawn deeper into Achilles’ own tragedy, especially the terrible choice that he is given by the fates: to live a long and happy life, or die young and be famous forever. Achilles chooses the latter, and goes to war knowing he will never return, that he is gambling every human pleasure for cold posterity.
As I was writing, I made myself a promise: that the story, however it turned out, would not be only for people who knew the ancient stories. When Homer was composing, his poetry was intended for everyone. I was passionate about trying to honor that heritage—to write a story that could engage both myth-lovers and myth-newcomers alike.
These stories are more than three thousand years old, but they don’t feel like it. We may have guns and planes now, instead of spears and chariots, but we have the same hopes and fears, the same loves and losses. In knowing them we know ourselves. Thank you so much for reading; I hope that you might enjoy this book as much as I have loved writing it.
No comments have been added yet.
