Circe

by Madeline Miller

That is one thing gods and mortals share. When we are young, we think ourselves the first to have each feeling in the world.

For I was like any dull ass who has ever loved someone who loved another.

I pressed on. If my childhood had given me anything, it was endurance.

Monsters are a boon to gods. Imagine all the prayers.”

Fear of failure was the worst thing for any spell.

This was how mortals found fame, I thought. Through practice and diligence, tending their skills like gardens until they glowed beneath the sun. But gods are born of ichor and nectar, their excellences already bursting from their fingertips. So they find their fame by proving what they can mar: destroying cities, starting wars, breeding plagues and

But in a solitary life, there are rare moments when another soul dips near yours, as stars once a year brush the earth. Such a constellation was he to me.

His eyes were brown and warm as summer earth. His words were simple. They had no art to them, which of course was also art. He always knew how to show himself to best advantage.

The Fates were laughing at me, at Athena, at all of us. It was their favorite bitter joke: those who fight against prophecy only draw it more tightly around their throats.