Circe

by Madeline Miller

Of all the mortals on the earth, there are only a few the gods will ever hear of. Consider the practicalities. By the time we learn their names, they are dead. They must be meteors indeed to catch our attention. The merely good: you are dust to us.

What had I been thinking, that I could stand against such a creature? Daedalus’ throat would be ripped open, my own flesh snatched up in her mouths. What would I become after she was finished with me? Ash, smoke? Immortal bones dragging across the bottom of the sea.

I cried out: ‘Great lord of the deep, I am come from the world to challenge you.’ I heard no sound. Around me stretched the blind expanse of salt. Then the darkness parted, and he came.