The Song of Achilles

by Madeline Miller

For who can be ashamed to lose to such beauty? It was enough to watch him win,

“There is no law that gods must be fair, Achilles,” Chiron said. “And perhaps it is the greater grief, after all, to be left on earth when another is gone. Do you think?”

I had found a seasoned piece of ash and began to fashion it secretly, carving off its soft layers. Over nearly two months a shape had emerged—a boy playing the lyre, head raised to the sky, mouth open, as if he were singing. I had

Later, Achilles pressed close for a final, drowsy whisper. “If you have to go, you know I will go with you.” We slept.