Figs and Skin: The Song of Achilles
Today I feel like I’ve come back to myself. Lots of my days have felt like they’ve passed in a mush: a mashed potato of work and mopping and acquiescing to the easy option. I think part of that is healing from burnout, but I cannot honestly tell you why I spend at least an hour on Instagram reels every day. Maybe I secretly enjoy brain rot. Waking up with the aggressive interest to romanticize one’s life has led me to an interesting day.
This morning, after picking up my farm veggies from our local co-op, I ended up cooking this chickpea pancake with kale and fennel, which was absolutely tasty and quite easy, although it might require a trip to the supermarket for Za’atar and Tahini. Then I headed down to Lamm’s, my neigborhood art gallery/store to buy some notebooks for no reason at all, and of course, sat down to write this to you all. If you’ve subscribed… :) thank u.
I also dipped my ankles into BookTok and picked up The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller. Honestly, I’ve had my eye on this for a while. Some of my favorite and most formative classes in college were classics classes, but I’m more of a pop-classics girl than anything else. I couldn’t talk to you in-depth about the Greek language or the theories and cultures surrounding the classics, but I sure have read and enjoyed a lot of the plays!
What you probably know about the myth of Achilles is this: he was a great Greek warrior with a weak ankle, and that was his downfall.
What you might be thinking is: I don’t know (or care) enough about Ancient Greece to read this.
Well.
First and foremost, The Song of Achilles is a love story. It’s narrated by Patroclus, and when we meet him he’s a skinny kid being exiled by his disappointed father after he accidentally killed another boy. Patroclus sails off to Phthia, where he joins a boarding house of abandoned boys. He spends his days training to fight (although he can barely aim) and nights tormented by memories of the boy he pushed and killed. Achilles, prince of Phthia shines above them all, fair-haired and mysterious, until one day Patroclus and Achilles meet.
Miller’s prose is lyrical and tender. The plot is voice-driven and even though you have an inkling about what’s going to happen throughout the book, it’s a satisfying (and heart-wrenching) ending that would probably be a fun re-read. This book tastes like figs and salty skin and scraped knees, and it’ll make you think about the power of love, grief, and the immovable powers of destiny.
Nothing hits me as good as a love story, and I felt quite at home between the covers, waiting with bated breath as I waited for the lovers to come together and fall apart. I couldn’t help but think about the love of past and present, about cool ocean water and fresh fruit. Needless to say, it’s a good choice for the summer months. Song of Achilles captures the desperate yearning and deep anxiety of first love, and of course offers readers a tragic end, although maybe not quite of Ancient Greek proportions.
Although I didn’t cry (I’m notorious for my dry eyes) tears were brimming as I reached the final pages. Take that for what you will. I do feel that it’s hard to read a book that has so much hype: I felt myself willing Miller to live up to her reviews. Although she did, the process of reading wasn’t as enjoyable as it would have been had I walked in blind. I guess what I’m trying to say is, if this is the first time you’ve heard about this, don’t look it up, read it. The book market has been interested in these retellings ever since Miller’s smash hit, so you can look forward to more Greek-inspired stories coming your way, including Miller’s more recent Circe.
Long story short: If you’re a sucker for a good literary love story, if you’re craving a queer narrative, or if you’re a reform Percy Jackson kid, you might want to pick this up. That is if you haven’t already. Here’s a playlist for the lovers above and below the earth. Give it a listen and let me know what you think.
x.
O
