Circe is a 2018 novel by American author Madeline Miller, published by Little, Brown and Company. Following her acclaimed debut The Song of Achilles, Miller once again dives into the depths of Greek mythology, this time through the voice of one of its most misunderstood figures: Circe, the witch of The Odyssey.
Categorized as literary fantasy, Circe blends mythology, feminist retelling, and philosophical introspection.
It draws heavily on Homer’s Odyssey, Ovid’s Metamorphoses, and other classical sources, but reimagines these stories through a contemporary, emotionally rich lens. Miller, a scholar of Latin and Greek, has a deep love for myth—but not as static tales. She revives them, humanizes them, and in doing so, reclaims forgotten voices, especially of women.
In a world where mythical women are often side characters—temptresses, monsters, or victims—Miller centers Circe as a fully fleshed protagonist. She is no longer just the sorceress who turned men into pigs; she is a mother, daughter, exile, and goddess who dares to choose mortality on her own terms.
Circe is a poetic, powerful reclamation of feminine agency, self-discovery, and moral autonomy in a divine world that silences women. Through masterful prose, emotional intimacy, and philosophical depth, Madeline Miller transforms a marginal mythological figure into a timeless feminist icon. This is not just a retelling—it is a resurrection.
Table of Contents
Summary of the Book
Plot Overview of Circe by Madeline Miller
At its core, Circe is a deeply intimate retelling of the life of the infamous witch from Homer’s Odyssey. But instead of remaining a footnote in a man’s journey, Circe becomes the center of her own myth—a story of transformation, isolation, rebellion, and ultimately, choice.
Born to the Titan sun god Helios and the sea nymph Perse, Circe is not the divine beauty her family expects. She is strange—her voice, unlike the godly cadence of her kin, sounds mortal. From early on, she is unloved and overlooked, even mocked. Her father sees her as a disappointment. “You are a child of Helios, yet you shine no brighter than a flame in a pigsty” (Miller, Circe, p. 32). But that very mortification becomes the soil in which her power takes root.
After discovering her gift for pharmakeia—witchcraft and the transformation of others—Circe uses magic to transform the nymph Scylla, her romantic rival, into a monster. This act earns her exile by Zeus to the island of Aiaia. There, Circe begins to refine her craft, cultivating herbs, taming lions, and becoming legend. But isolation does not shield her from pain or from gods and men who stumble upon her shores.
Odysseus arrives. Their connection is profound, shaped not only by love and loss but by mutual recognition. “I had no right to claim him, I knew it. But in his face I saw the echo of my own” (p. 228). She bears his son, Telegonus, and raises him alone.
Throughout the novel, Circe crosses paths with a dazzling pantheon: Prometheus, who defies Zeus; Hermes, the charming messenger god; Daedalus, the brilliant inventor whose humanity stirs something deep in her; Medea and Jason, bearing the chaos of ambition and betrayal. Each interaction chisels her into someone not just strong—but sovereign.
Eventually, her son longs to meet his father. Telegonus travels to Ithaca and accidentally kills Odysseus, fulfilling a tragic prophecy. Later, Circe shelters Penelope (Odysseus’s widow) and her son Telemachus, and what unfolds is a quiet, unexpected bond built not on power or possession but on empathy and healing.
The final, transformative arc of the novel is Circe’s bold decision to reject divinity. She brews a potion to become mortal. “I had lived too long in the shadow of power… I choose the mortal life” (p. 389). This is not weakness, but an act of will. She embraces suffering, love, and death—because, finally, they are hers to choose.
In essence, Circe is a journey from isolation to identity, from abandonment to autonomy. Every page sings with the voice of a woman who has been silenced, and who slowly, irrevocably, learns to speak in her own language.
Setting and Its Role
The setting of Circe is as mythic and haunting as its characters. It begins in the halls of Helios, gleaming with gold and cruelty, echoing with divine judgment. But the novel’s heart lies on Aiaia, the island of exile that becomes Circe’s crucible and sanctuary.
The island is not static—it transforms as Circe does. At first, it’s a prison. But over time, it becomes a home, a place of self-mastery and healing. The herbs she plants, the creatures she tames, and the spells she casts turn the wilderness into a realm of personal freedom.
The island is also symbolic: a liminal space between godhood and mortality, between the known and the wild. As she says, “Aiaia was not a place I had chosen, but it was mine” (p. 146). Later, Ithaca, Crete, and the halls of the Titans offer contrasting spaces of manipulation, politics, and loss. Aiaia, despite its solitude, becomes the seat of authentic selfhood.
Analysis
a. Characters
Circe, the titular protagonist, is one of the most remarkable reimaginings of a mythical woman in modern literature. Initially dismissed as weak by gods and mocked by her family—“I was a golden child, none of the talents my family prized”—she evolves into a symbol of self-empowerment (Miller, Circe, p. 9).
Her emotional complexity is the novel’s anchor. She isn’t always kind, or just, or right—and that’s precisely why she feels so real. Her transformation of Scylla out of jealousy, her ambivalence toward gods and mortals, and her yearning for connection speak to a deeply human core beneath her divinity. Her maternal arc—raising Telegonus in isolation—is particularly moving: “He slept in my arms, a creature I had made from my own blood and magic” (p. 257).
Odysseus, in Miller’s version, is not just the crafty hero. He’s layered, haunted, and morally conflicted. Their relationship is not merely romantic—it’s reflective, mirroring two weary souls navigating their own forms of exile.
Other standout characters include:
- Penelope, who shows unexpected strength and depth later in the story;
- Telemachus, whose quiet resistance to divine fate mirrors Circe’s own evolution;
- Hermes, sly and emotionally detached, a messenger who thrives on detachment;
- Pasiphaë, Circe’s cruel sister who shows how female power can become corrupted when forced into submission.
In all these portrayals, Miller dismantles classical archetypes, replacing them with multi-dimensional, emotionally resonant people—especially the women.
b. Writing Style and Structure
Madeline Miller’s prose is a rare blend of poetry and precision. Her sentences ripple with lyricism without ever drowning in excess. Consider: “When I was born, the name for what I was did not exist” (p. 1). This haunting opener sets the tone—mythical, mysterious, yet deeply intimate.
The narrative is first-person, which allows Circe’s voice to guide the reader—an essential choice, given that she’s often silenced or misrepresented in older texts. The chapters are episodic, often anchored by encounters with famous mythological figures, but they never feel disconnected. Her pacing is deliberate, echoing the slow burn of a life in exile but surging with intensity during emotional crescendos (e.g., Odysseus’ departure or Telegonus’ journey).
Literary devices abound: metaphor, allusion, and foreshadowing are expertly used. Even her magic is described in grounded, earthy terms: “I learned to choose my herbs as if they were words for a poem” (p. 114).
c. Themes and Symbolism
The dominant themes of Circe include:
- Transformation: Not just physical (as in turning men into pigs), but personal. Circe’s journey is about becoming—a woman, a mother, a creator, and finally, a mortal.
- Power and Isolation: Power doesn’t liberate Circe—it isolates her. But through that solitude, she reclaims agency.
- Femininity and Voice: Miller gives Circe what myth denied her—narrative voice. Her tale becomes a feminist exploration of storytelling itself.
- Mortality and Choice: In choosing mortality, Circe chooses impermanence, and therefore meaning. Her arc moves from divine detachment to fully human vulnerability.
Symbols:
- Aiaia: A symbol of exile but also growth; it reflects Circe’s changing identity.
- Magic: Represents creativity, rebellion, and self-knowledge—unlike the inherited, static powers of gods.
- The loom: In many scenes, Circe weaves. This echoes myth (e.g., Penelope’s loom) but here, weaving is both healing and creation—much like her magic.
d. Genre-Specific Elements
As a fantasy novel, Circe doesn’t rely on heavy world-building in the traditional Tolkien-esque sense. Instead, it revives ancient myths with emotional realism. The mythological world is familiar, but Miller fills in the emotional and psychological gaps that old texts left behind.
- The dialogue is crisp and modern yet respectful of its classical roots.
- Readers don’t need prior knowledge of Greek myth to understand the story, but those who do will notice clever reinterpretations and subversions.
- The gods are truly alien—their cruelty, immortality, and indifference contrast sharply with Circe’s growing humanity, making the fantasy elements feel earned and meaningful.
Recommended For:
- Fans of mythology and feminist retellings
- Readers of The Song of Achilles, The Silence of the Girls, or Ariadne
- Those seeking stories of empowerment, motherhood, and moral complexity
- Educators exploring myth, gender roles, or narrative voice
Evaluation
Strengths
- Character Depth and Development: Circe’s journey from insecure daughter to powerful, self-defined woman is rich and emotionally layered. Few fantasy characters are this introspective, flawed, and inspiring at once. As one line aptly encapsulates: “I had been old and stern, but now I felt like spring itself” (Miller, Circe, p. 379).
- Lyrical Prose: Madeline Miller’s writing is lush without being overwrought. Her metaphors are vivid, and her language often dances with rhythm. For example: “The island was a bowl of gold, filled with light” (p. 92).
- Empowerment Through Voice: Miller hands the narrative entirely to Circe, giving her a voice where mythology gave her none. This reversal of narrative authority is one of the novel’s greatest strengths.
- Accessibility of Myth: While rooted in classical myth, Circe is accessible to general readers. You don’t need to know Greek epics to be moved by the story.
Weaknesses
- Pacing Issues: The novel’s middle can feel slow, especially during Circe’s long solitude. Some readers may wish for more external conflict or drama.
- Side Characters’ Depth: While Circe is thoroughly developed, some mythological figures (e.g., Jason, Medea) feel like passing cameos. Their brevity, though possibly intentional, might underwhelm myth-savvy readers.
Impact: Emotional & Intellectual
Reading Circe feels like reading a myth through the eyes of a therapist and a poet. It confronts themes of abuse, identity, motherhood, grief, power, and free will—not in broad, abstract strokes but through minute, personal decisions. Her line, “I am not a thing to be controlled by fear” (p. 334), echoes long after the final page.
Intellectually, it repositions the mythos of antiquity through a feminist, postmodern lens. It asks: what if the witch was just a woman who learned to survive?
Comparison with Similar Works
- Compared to The Song of Achilles, Miller’s previous novel, Circe is more introspective, slow-burn, and driven by inner change rather than romantic tragedy.
- Against The Silence of the Girls by Pat Barker, Circe offers more poetic style and fantasy elements, whereas Barker’s realism is harsher and more visceral.
- Compared to Ariadne by Jennifer Saint, Circe is deeper in psychological and thematic nuance.
Reception and Criticism
- Circe was a New York Times bestseller and Book of the Year by several outlets including NPR, Time, and The Washington Post.
- Critics praised its voice, originality, and emotional weight. The Guardian called it “a tour de force of character development.”
- Some criticism emerged around pacing and its departure from action-packed myth retellings, but overall, reception was overwhelmingly positive.
Adaptation
HBO Max has optioned Circe for an 8-episode series with Rick Jaffa and Amanda Silver (of Planet of the Apes) as writers and producers. This adaptation has the potential to visually amplify the lush setting and interior life of the character, though it will need careful pacing to preserve the novel’s introspective power.
Other Notable Facts
- Over 500,000 copies were sold within the first year in the U.S. alone.
- Circe was shortlisted for the Women’s Prize for Fiction (2019) and won the Indies Choice Best Adult Fiction.
- It has been translated into over 30 languages, underlining its global appeal.
Personal Insight
Reading Circe felt like more than just a literary experience—it felt like a reclaiming. As someone who grew up on classical myths where women were side-notes or victims, Madeline Miller’s work is a breath of restoration. Circe is no longer just a footnote in Odysseus’s journey—she becomes the author of her own legacy.
From a contemporary educational lens, Circe opens up brilliant interdisciplinary opportunities:
- Gender Studies: Circe’s defiance of patriarchal gods, her solitary empowerment, and her redefinition of motherhood and love offer a rich case study in feminist literature.
- Mythology and Literature: The novel is a goldmine for students analyzing how ancient myths can be retold through modern psychological and emotional perspectives.
- Creative Writing: Aspiring writers can learn from Miller’s pacing, internal monologue, world-building without exposition, and emotionally resonant style.
The quote “I had no right to claim him, I knew it. But in a solitary life, there are rare moments when another soul dips near yours” (Miller, Circe, p. 173) captures the quiet ache of human connection—and resonates especially today, in an era of social isolation, digital noise, and identity crises.
Circe’s final act—choosing mortality over divine eternity—is the most poignant philosophical gesture in the novel. It forces readers to ask: what gives life meaning—immortality, or agency?
Conclusion
Madeline Miller’s Circe is not merely a myth retelling; it is a spellbinding resurrection. By layering emotional realism over ancient lore, Miller bridges past and present, god and human, myth and woman. The novel’s strength lies in its ability to reframe history from the silenced perspective and reclaim dignity from dismissal.
If you are a lover of mythology, feminist narratives, introspective fiction, or simply crave stories that linger long after they end—Circe is a must-read. It’s especially recommended for:
- Students studying literature, mythology, or women’s studies.
- Educators seeking modern texts to accompany classical epics.
- Writers and creatives interested in reimagining canonical works with modern values.
In the end, Circe teaches us that power does not come from domination or fear, but from knowing ourselves, and having the courage to rewrite our own myths.
“I stepped into those woods, and my life began.” — Circe, p. 380
And perhaps, through Circe, so does ours.
