All Things Come to Those Who Wait: The Penelopiad

The Penelopiad by Margaret Atwood

Canongate

Pp. 196

Margaret Atwood’s Penelopiad is part of The Myths series (other authors include Chinua Achebe, A.S. Byatt, Alexander McCall Smith, Ali Smith, and Jeanette Winterson) which offer alternate approaches to the tales we think we know. This novella is a companion piece to Homer’s Odyssey, providing a female-forward counter-narrative to the story of Odysseus’s quest with his heroic journey and the intervention of the Gods in the lives of mortals. Myths are universal and timeless stories that reflect and shape our lives, and Margaret Atwood provides sardonic asides and a contemporary characterisation of the woman left behind.

Penelope’s experience of remaining, running the estate and defending herself from suitors has always seemed the more interesting part of the story (in the way same way as it was in Cold Mountain) but the focus is usually on the male counterpart and his fantastic adventures. Penelope addresses the reader directly, with a wonderfully clear voice and deadpan delivery, as she wants to set the record straight and present us with her side of the story. She has fought hard for the right to speak, as she sets out from the striking first lines: “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. Death is much too high a price to pay for the satisfaction of curiosity, needless to say.”

She begins with her birth, and the disappointment of realising that her mother, a Naiad, doesn’t really care for her, and her father, fearing a prophecy, throws her into the sea not expecting her to survive. She is understandably bitter: “It never hurts to be of semi-divine birth. Or it never hurts immediately.” She proceeds to write about her marriage to Odysseus and consequent move to his home in Ithaca. Odysseus leaves to fight a war, brought about by Paris of Troy who ‘steals’ Helen from Menelaus. Women are chattels; pawns in men’s battles. Penelope is abandoned for years without protection and with a troublesome son, Telemachus, who doesn’t seem to understand her compromised position or to offer to help her in any way. She weaves a shroud that she unravels at night, delaying her marriage decision until its completion, using the only weapons available to her; cunning and an aptitude for craft. Finally, when Odysseus returns, he and Telemachus slaughter the suitors and hang twelve of Penelope’s closest maids, who have been sleeping with them. The reason for this is never really explained, allowing Atwood free rein with her interpretation of events.

Penelope and her Suitors by John William Waterhouse

Atwood explains in the introduction, that she has recreated the hanged maids as “a chanting and singing Chorus which focuses on two questions that must pose themselves after any close reading of The Odyssey; what led to the hanging of the maids, and what was Penelope really up to?” The Chorus that the maids form provides commentary and diversion as was archetypal in Greek theatre, interpreting the action through song ranging from rap and sea shanties to light operetta and skipping rhymes, which are typically topical: “we are the maids/ the ones you killed/ the ones you failed / we danced in air/ our bare feet twitched/ it was not fair.”

If there is one thing more interesting than the story, it is in the telling of it, and here Atwood aligns with and diverges from the traditional Greek structure like a twisting river. She incorporates the gods and their intervention in human lives, but she is critical of their motives. She plays with the concept of Homeric epithets and constant repetition: hell is gloomy; death is dark; Odysseus is wily; Penelope is faithful; Helen is beautiful; everybody weeps. Penelope is also aware of the injustice of simple labels, and declares that she wants to flesh out her character, and to defend herself from the one-dimensional moral paragon which has been foisted upon her.

Penelope by Leandro Bassano

Penelope hears accounts of Odysseus’ adventures from the poems and the songs of the minstrels, who embroider the facts to please her. In the art of storytelling, there are different versions, and Odysseus fabricates as much as anyone on his return. “He was always so plausible. Many people have believed that his version of events was the true one, give or take a few murders, a few beautiful seductresses, a few one-eyed monsters. Even I believed him, from time to time.” As with the wonderful Life of Pi, if the outcome is the same does the ‘truth’ matter, or does it all come down to personal preference? Stories were told in the past to help explain events; they are used in the present to conceal and obfuscate.

The chorus of maids delivers an anthropology lecture at the end; a device Margaret Atwood has used in both The Handmaid’s Tale and The Testaments. It makes the stories more scholarly and academic, tying together the interpretations and connections, such as the returning king motif and the overthrow of a matrilineal moon cult.

In Margaret Atwood’s version, Penelope is a suitable match for Odysseus. She knows all about his cunning and tricks. “I knew he was tricky and a liar, I just didn’t think he would play his tricks and try out his lies on me. Hadn’t I been faithful? Hadn’t I waited, and waited, and waited despite the temptation – almost the compulsion – to do otherwise?” As Atwood explained in an interview when the book was published in 2005, “There are two ways of fending things off it you don’t want them to happen. One is by force – which is not available to her. The other is by guile. So she has to use guile. And that is also Odysseus’s big stock-in-trade. When in doubt, lie. But lie well.” As this is a reinterpretation of a myth and there is no standard truth, it is impossible to say that Margaret Atwood has lied. But she has re-invented. And she has done it very well indeed.

Penelope by Dante Gabriel Rossetti