The Siren's Song
Page 6
From that one line, the rest of the story took flight. Because in a world without gods or magic, it is the stories people tell themselves that matter most. Personal and family and community narratives were the only history they might know—and I thought it made a neat echo of the overarching idea in our retelling that Odysseus, too, was creating his personal narrative of heroism out of the ruin and devastation he'd brought everywhere he had gone.
So who were my sirens? How did they come to live upon their rocky, barren island to sing poor sailors to their doom?
Once upon a time, it seemed reasonable to me, perhaps a woman had been shipwrecked. The only survivor of such a tragedy, and faithful to her goddess, Persephone. Perhaps she had sought help from a passing ship, shouting and crying and singing hymns at the top of her lungs, and lured it into rocks she had not realized were there. Maybe she lived off what the waves washed up, what she’d dared to salvage. And perhaps every so often, there were survivors of these shipwrecks, now purposely arranged, men who seemed to climb miraculously from the sea, accompanied by supplies of fresh water and wine and foodstuffs, more easily accessed and salvaged by a more well-fed sailor than a starving woman.
Perhaps to her eyes, these men who survived might appear as gods. And perhaps one of them gave her a daughter, and another gave her a granddaughter. And perhaps the story she told her child and her grandchild was the dream of a woman who had been driven into madness by her deprivations, her suffering—or even just something woven from half-truths that might give her small lonely family hope for themselves.
That story in turn would have been passed on to the next generation, and the one after that, embroidered just a little bit more with every telling, until the only story they know, the only truth they might have, is the myth Homer (and other writers) presents us with: Once, these women served Persephone, and when she was lost, they were given wings to search the world over. But when they returned to Demeter, having failed to find her daughter, they were punished and sent into exile on their barren island, where they sang poor sailors to their deaths, forevermore. Until the day a ship passed them by without crashing, and failing in their task again, they were turned into stone.
The stories we tell ourselves, these narratives we weave in our personal lives and our family histories, and our communities, and our countries—I think sometimes we forget that they’re a kind of magic, too. And given enough time and isolation, like the sirens and perhaps Odysseus, we’re still more than capable of forgetting the whole truth.
But when I revised this story for publication as a stand-alone, I realized something else—for me, the whole truth means that underneath that embroidered narrative, beneath all the rationalizing and erasure we engage in to make the myths more suitable to modern audiences in the retelling, the gods still live. And that’s why in this revised edition, I gave the gods back to my sirens.
As a pagan myself, and for all the other pagans out there reading and looking for their reflections in the past, it was something I needed to do.
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Also: I’ve got to give heaps of credit to Libbie for suggesting a little falconry might solve my problems, and to Diana Paz for her early reading and support as I struggled at first to find my way in this strange godless world—and then reading it all over again, when I decided to give the gods back. And of course, my everlasting thanks to Adam for all his support! I definitely would not be where I am now without him.
And thanks, too, to the Smithsonian American Art Museum for the use of Louis Loeb’s The Siren for the (remixed) cover of this rerelease. You can find the original work online: https://americanart.si.edu/artwork/siren-14867.
Also by Amalia Carosella
Helen of Sparta and Companion Titles
Ariadne and the Beast: A Short Story
Tamer of Horses
Helen of Sparta
By Helen’s Hand
Other Titles
A Sea of Sorrow: A Novel of Odysseus
Daughter of a Thousand Years
Writing As Amalia Dillin
Fate of the Gods Trilogy
Forged by Fate
Fate Forgotten
Beyond Fate
Facets of Fate
The Orc Saga
Honor Among Orcs
Blood of the Queen
The Queen and her Brook Horse
Postcards from Asgard Duology
Postcards from Asgard
From Asgard, With Love
Other Titles
Imaginary Friends: A Short Story
About the Author
Amalia Carosella is the author of Bronze Age Greek and Viking Age historical fiction, including Tamer of Horses, Helen of Sparta, and Daughter of a Thousand Years. As Amalia Dillin she also writes mythic fantasy and time-hop fantasy romance, including the ongoing Orc Saga and the completed Fate of the Gods trilogy. Once upon a time, she dreamed of being a zookeeper, but she’s settled for a house cat and a husband instead.
Find her online at www.amaliacarosella.com, follow her on Twitter @AmaliaCarosella, or subscribe to her newsletter, The Amaliad to stay up to date on her latest authorish adventures.
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