The Song of Achilles: Miller's tale divides opinion | Madeline Miller
Reading groupMadeline Miller This article is more than 10 years oldThe Song of Achilles: Miller's tale divides opinion
This article is more than 10 years oldTo some it elegantly evokes the 'chill of antiquity'; to others it's hamfisted and infantile. What's your view of last year's Orange prize winner?There are three pages of praise for The Song of Achilles inside my Bloomsbury paperback edition. Serious praise.
AN Wilson says:
"I read this book awestruck with admiration for the quality of its writing, its narrative pace and its imaginative depth."
Donna Tartt says:
"A hard book to put down, any classicist will be enthralled by her characterisation of the goddess Thetis, which carries the true savagery and chill of antiquity."
The Guardian's resident classics expert, Charlotte Higgins, writes:
"Page turning … Nothing strikes a false note in her intricately created world."
Perhaps in response to such extravagant applause, reactions from the Reading group have been more mixed.
On reaching chapter six, Nightjar12 noted:
"The writing seems pedestrian, the characters cliched and the plot more appropriate for a children's book."
This kind of objection cropped up often, and Nightjar was clearly striking a chord. There are, however, pretty strong defences against the claims of cliche and and infantilism. Miller wouldn't be doing her job properly if the characters weren't familiar. We're talking about the oldest and most influential heroes in western literature, after all. As for children's-book plotting, well, take that one to Homer.
But nightjar12 was mild compared to some other commenters. Dylanwolf told us that when The Song of Achilles won the Orange prize, Joanna Trollope, chair of the judges, said:
"This is a more than worthy winner – original, passionate, inventive and uplifting. Homer would be proud of her."
Dylanwolf wanted to know what Trollope "had been smoking". He said:
"Surely if you were going to undertake the retelling of a story from the Illiad, you'd attempt to utilise some eloquence even if you are going to ditch or, rather more prudently, not attempt to match Homer's epic poetic-heroic style.
"Miller seems to have plumped for a 'condescending Ladybird' slash 'inept soap opera' combo which makes for dull reading, laughably prosaic dialogue, a total lack of psychological depth in the characters, embarrassingly juvenile soft-porn love scenes and the resulting conviction that neither Achilles nor Patroclus had even the tiniest aptitude for the field of battle."
Ouch. Dylanwolf also complained – as have plenty of other commenters – that Patroclus is portrayed as "camp, effeminate and psychologically immature".
I'm not sure about that – and Dylanwolf himself later recanted. But there are points that should be addressed. To go for the last first, ID6256988 writes:
"I think the narrative voice works quite well. Yes, it is naive in style, but at the outset it is meant to be the voice of a young boy who describes himself (at one point early on) as the simple son of a simple mother."
Patroclus is supposed to be young, supposed to be simple, supposed to be occasionally silly. What's more, in spite of his self-confessed "simple" nature, I think the narrator speaks with psychological acuity, and does an excellent job of humanising big characters. Take the vain, violent Agamemnon, so hopeless at leading the men in his charge. Or the clever, dangerous but also uxorious Odysseus. Also, the boy/warrior Achilles. I don't agree that he is "psychologically immature". Or at least, no more so than you would expect for someone who is brought up in such strange circumstances, is supposed to be juvenile for most of the book, and who dies so young. Yet while I'm far more prepared to indulge a book I enjoyed than Dylanwolf, even I was reaching for the metaphorical sickbag at the scenes describing Patroclus the "healer" while Achilles was out slaughtering Trojans. I also often felt that Patroclus seemed more like a wife than a gay man. AlanwSkinner also wrote: "The new-age combo of sensitive male/macho male is tiresome."
On a similar note, I'm less cynical about the novel's antiwar preaching – but that too seems to me to be buttered on thick. Not to mention an odd sentiment for Achilles's legendary companion.
As so often in these Reading group discussions, most of this criticism seems to be a matter of taste. As the rapturous reviews and prestigious awards demonstrate, Miller has catered to the tastes of a large audience very well.
There has also been some attempt in last week's discussion to nail poor Miller on more "objective" grounds. Simon92 put the argument nicely:
"I'm struck by how far the opening section of this book seems to fit the structures of very traditional Mills & Boon romances: Achilles as the hyperconfident, hyperachieving hero; Patroclus as the innocent heroine who will come to flourish under the aegis of his love.
"Now, I really don't think there's any harm in doing a slash fic Iliad (here comes a bad joke:), a '50 Shades of Wine Dark Sea'. In fact, I find the idea quite compelling as a beachy summer read. But there's a basic level of bad writing here that jolts me out of a pleasurable reading experience at every turn."
I confess I felt a few of these jolts, myself. When Patroclus is in a blind panic, hunting for the missing Achilles early on in the book, we read:
"He was not in the great hall, busy with servants removing the same platters and bowls there had always been. He was not in Peleus's council chamber hung with purple tapestry and the weapons of former Pythian kings."
Possibly I only noticed the clumsiness of the first sentence because her usual rhythms are so fluid and the writing slips by so easily. But once I did notice it, I began to wonder why Patroclus was so diverted by the details about the rooms' contents when he's supposed to be panicked about Achilles.
There was also this:
"Could a boy of 17 really be our greatest warrior? And everywhere, as I watched the questions, I also saw the answers. Yes, they nodded to each other, yes, yes."
I wished answers would nod at me. While trying to conjure this odd image, I also began to worry about the immediacy with which Achilles was accepted by the Greeks as their greatest warrior. I never felt that he had proved it, early on. It seemed like they – and we – had to take too much on trust.
I could also register irritation about the narrative's occasional – and apparently pointless – shifts into present tense. This too, forgive me, got my goat:
"Iphigenia. A tripping name, the sound of goat hooves on rock, quick, lively, lovely."
Goat hooves on rock just don't sound like that.
But we are getting down to nitpicking. It seems unfair to apply such laborious analysis to a book that has the considerable virtue of being a quick, easy read. Miller's skill, as the old saw goes, lies in hiding her skill. The writing isn't meant to be broken down in such painful detail. What's more, these lapses represent a few sentences among thousands. As everyone knows, even Homer nods.
More interestingly, it could also be said that many of the problems I highlight above might be more properly blamed on the naive narrator than on Miller. The odd flights of fancy and occasional infelicities are in line with what we know about the character. They do not stop the narration feeling vivid, nor do they detract from its emotional power.
So much for criticism. It is just as easy to talk of Miller's virtues. Look, for instance, at this deceptively simple description at the start of chapter two:
"I was summoned to the king. I remember hating this, the long walk up the endless throne room. At the front I knelt on stone. Some kings chose to have rugs there for the knees of messengers who had long news to tell. My father preferred not to."
Those few words speak volumes about this alien land and time, where messengers kneeled and cushions were rare. About the small boy, powerless and daunted by the scale of the adult world. About this harsh father: cold stone and sore knees. Part of the reason the book whizzes by is that Miller is able to pack so much into so little, to create so many images with so few words and to cast such diverse allusions without losing focus on the essential mechanics of each scene. That takes craft and more than a little natural talent. It may be harder to highlight individually outstanding passages than the occasional weaknesses, but the cumulative effect is impressive. Aussiehedgehog says:
"The story was excellent and beautifully told, the language perfect for the character of Patroclus's narration."
Are you inclined to agree?
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