In collaboration with Juliet Sharman-Burke, a psychotherapist, astrologer and tarot reader, leading astrologer and Jungian analyst Liz Greene has done with tarot more or less what she’s done with the planets: adapted their traditional interpretive meanings to match ancient Greek mythic narratives. I can’t help but think that this foregrounding of myth – intended to add psychological depth – has the effect of flattening these rich, and themselves ancient, traditions. But hey, since the true origins of tarot are long lost to us, no deck can ever be definitive. And Greene and Sharman-Burke’s interpretations offer more depth than most other popular guides to the cards. So it’s unfortunate that Tricia Newell’s artwork depicts each stage in the myth cycles so literally, its flatly unimaginative style better suited to a child’s schoolbook than to an adult’s occult tool, and thus lacks the evocative power of many more (and less) conventional decks.
Typically, the use of ancient Greek mythology as a source has produced a glaring gender imbalance, where the main protagonists – heroes, of course, however flawed – are Orestes (son of King Agamemnon), Jason + the Argonauts, Daedalus (father of Icarus), and the odd one out, Psyche (a human female obsessed with a male god) representing the suite of cups or feelings. Even the gender balance of the major arcana is skewed towards the masculine, with Strength symbolised by Heracles wrestling the lion, instead of the woman found in medieval versions of Arcanum VIII (or XI, depending on your deck)… or, eccentrically, X in this case; because, for obscure reasons (such as grouping the cardinal virtues together, but then where’s Prudence?), two other cards – the High Priestess and Temperance – have been relocated in the sequence (IV and IX respectively), inducing a weird dissonance for anyone used to a standard deck.