The Penelopiad

The Penelopiad: The Myth of Penelope and Odysseus. Margaret Atwood. 2005. 220 pages.

Now that I'm dead I know everything. This is what I wished would happen, but like so many of my wishes it failed to come true. I know only a few factoids that I didn't know before. It's much too high a price to pay for the satisfaction of curiosity, needless to say. Since being dead -- since achieving this state of bonelessness, liplessness, breastlessness -- I've learned some things I would rather not know, as one does when listening at windows or opening other people's letters. You think you'd like to read minds? Think again. Down here everyone arrives with a sack, like the sacks used to keep the winds in, but each of these sacks is full of words -- words you've spoken, words you've heard, words that have been said about you. Some sacks are very small, others large; my own is of a reasonable size, though a lot of the words in it concern my eminent husband. What a fool he made of me, some say. He got away with everything, which was another of his specialties: getting away. He was always so plausible...

The Penelopiad is a novel retelling of the Greek myth of Penelope and Odysseus. The story is told essentially from thirteen points-of-view. That is if you count each of the twelve maids as a person, an individual. In alternating chapters, we hear from Penelope, the faithful wife of Odysseus, and from Penelope's twelve maids, beautiful young women who were raped and harassed by Penelope's suitors while her husband was missing in action. While Penelope's voice stays the same throughout the novel, the narration by the maids varies throughout. Almost like a kaleidoscope. These twelve voices are united together as one; they are a chorus begging to be heard, and a chorus demanding justice. I found these chapters to be the most creative. Not that I didn't enjoy Penelope's side of things. I did. How perhaps only in her death did she begin to realize what a jerk Odysseus was. How he had a way of spinning things always to his advantage, a way to make himself appear to be the hero no matter the facts.

I thought The Penelopiad was well-written. It was creative, compelling, and  easy to read. (I'm not so sure you'd even need to be all that familiar with the original myth.) I liked it. I'm very glad I read it. It was definitely an enjoyable way to spend an afternoon. But I'm not sure that I loved it.

© 2011 Becky Laney of Becky's Book Reviews