A Sea of Sorrow

by Libbie Hawker

  My lack of familiarity with Greek culture didn’t seem to matter to the Circe inside my head. She demanded that her story be told, and told in a particular way. I suppose it’s no coincidence that she, of all the characters in The Odyssey, inspired me the most. I have always loved witches; they are my favorite of all the archetypal characters in the ancient craft of storytelling. Throughout recorded history, women have been labeled witches because they broke their culture’s mold of femininity. Not sweet, kind or nurturing? You must be a witch. Too headstrong, too sexy? You’re a witch. Do you have too much knowledge, too much power, or too much confidence? Do you fail to bow low enough at the altar of male supremacy? Tie her up to the stake, lads, and pile the kindling high: she must be a witch. What else can explain her dangerous female power? As a woman who breaks all the molds of expected and proper femininity, it’s no surprise that such characters resonate strongly with me.

  The opportunity to explore the witch archetype gave me a much-needed outlet for expressing myself in the current political climate of the United States, where I live. In fact, it wasn’t until I began listening to Circe’s voice that I realized how badly my writing has suffered of late. I was feeling far more oppressed and hopeless than usual, and that dullness carried over into my writing. It had been a long time—far too long—since I’d felt eager to write anything at all. But Circe was exactly the antidote I needed to cure a serious and long-standing case of The Blahs. She made me excited about writing again. She is a strong, defiant woman who rises from the ashes of victimhood to claim and exercise the fullness of her power. She doesn’t care that you call her a witch. She owns the epithet, and like her herbs—like a whispered spell—she uses the name for her own purposes. Circe stands boldly astride not only her island of Aeaea—she also inhabits and owns all of Western mythology, embodying the first, the original, the most insidious witch of them all. She is the Mother of Witches, the genesis of our culture’s depictions of unchecked female power, and I love her for it.

  I have learned better than to promise that I’ll write about ancient Greece in the future, but I will certainly write more about witches. Circe was just too much fun to work with, to listen to. I know I won’t be able to resist hanging out with her, or her archetype, for long. And I am looking forward to learning what those future women of pure, unapologetic power have to say—what they can teach me, and what they can teach us all.

  My big, heartfelt thanks are due to my fellow authors who participated in this collaboration. Vicky, Russ, Scott, David, and of course, Amalia, whom I consider a personal friend—thank you for your help, your inspiration, and your guidance on all things Greek. I look forward to another H-Team project, but I won’t lie: I hope it’s set in ancient Egypt next time. Or maybe Salem, Massachusetts.

  The Siren’s Song

  by Amalia Carosella

  In a world without gods or magic, how is a Siren born? What might a Siren be? Those were the questions that grabbed hold of me almost immediately when I was asked to join this crew and set sail into a retelling of The Odyssey. I knew immediately that it was the story of the Sirens I wanted to tell – and a voice kept whispering over and over in the back of my mind: Once, we’d had wings.

  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 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.

  Also: I’ve got to give heaps of credit to Libbie for suggesting a little falconry might solve my problems of removing a viable food source and creating more hardship for my girls, and to Diana Paz for her early reading and support as I struggled at first to find my way in this strange godless world – which as you all know, is not my usual sort. But I hope I’ve done justice to the myth of the Sirens all the same!

  Calypso’s Vow

  by David Blixt

  Inspiration. To breathe in.

  When first approached to contribute to this volume, I was asked which story on Odysseus’s journey most interested me. I didn’t hesitate. I wanted to write about Calypso.

  An odd choice, perhaps, for someone usually singled out for his action sequences. Here were no wars, no duels, no hair’s-breadth escapes. Instead there was a story of comfort, and longing, and loss. On both sides.

  Blame Suzanne Vega.

  I was barely a teenager when Solitude Standing was released, and while I love the poetry of that whole album, the song that touched me most was her Calypso:

  My name is Calypso, and I have lived alone

  I live on an island and I waken to the dawn

  A long time ago I watched him struggle with the sea

  I knew that he was drowning and I brought him into me

  Now today, come morning light

  He sails away, after one last night

  I let him go.

  Simple, and heartrending. If you love somebody, set them free. (Sting’s song of that name came out two years earlier, and was far chirpier. I don’t know why the pop music of my youth so tinged this story, but it did.)

  Of course, after that choice came the research. The island, her family. My trouble was that Odysseus spends such a long time there. I didn’t want him to be ensorcelled or imprisoned. Not a sex-slave, as he basically is in Homer. I had no interest in making Calypso a sex-crazed nymph or voluptuous witch. No, she was divine, but in the way rulers are called divine. She was a queen. Queens rule. From there I drew on other myths and traditions, and she grew into a full-bodied character.

  But still the question lingered: why does he stay so long?

  There was a lot of discussion between the other authors of the wreckage Odysseus leaves behind him. I d
ecided that it had to have some effect. Redemption is a large part of any hero’s journey. After thirteen years of death and strife, of war and survival, where so many died that he might live, he wants to look in a mirror and not loathe himself.

  His flaw, of course, is that he is so competent. Like Caesar, he is too good at what he does not to inspire awe, or envy. Or love. Which is what happens to Calypso. She loves him. And she sees what they could be together.

  The beauty of Vega’s song is the sacrifice, the abnegation of self. She loves him, but he loves elsewhere. So she lets him go:

  The sand will sting my feet and the sky will burn

  It's a lonely time ahead

  I do not ask him to return

  I let him go

  I let him go

  If self-abnegation was my theme, it had to be his goal as well. That was why he stayed. To prove he could be more than a selfish survivor. To prove he could serve someone other than himself. To prove he could keep a vow.

  But he’s not in love with Calypso, whose story this is. “Are you the villain of my life, or am I the villain of yours?” asks Brutus in Eve of Ides. The truth is we are all the heroes of our own stories, but sometimes we are supporting players in a larger drama. It hurts to recognize that.

  It hurts even more to realize that your part in someone else’s story has come to an end.

  A few years back Sean Graney crafted an astonishing play called All Our Tragic, combining all the known Greek tragedies into a single, 12-hour experience. The title comes from a line that has haunted me: “All our tragic stems from people loving what they should not.”

  I reference that thought here as homage to Sean, and also to the Greek stories that continue to inspire playwrights, poets, songwriters, and now a bevy of amazing writers, among whom I am honored to stand. I have to thank everyone involved in this wonderful tome, Libbie, Russ, Scott, Amalia, and especially Vicky for her guidance, patience, and inspiration.

  The stories of the Greeks inspire us to conspire. To breathe together.

  The King in Waiting

  by Russell Whitfield

  This was a strange project for me because initially I had to do the last leg of the relay (that changed ultimately and Vicky wrote a brilliant epilogue) but more than that, I had to write Odysseus. The Big “O.” The O-meister.

  I’ll be honest—whilst I was enthused to write Agamemnon for “A Song of War,” I was really reticent about taking on Odysseus. He’s a beloved character, there have been so many great stories about him (not least of all the one in “A Song of War” by our Vicky) and I was worried about taking on that mantle. I mean—he’s Odysseus!

  I originally wrote him as a vainglorious man who had disavowed the truth of his past experiences as “everyone’s fault but mine”. This was pretty much how the Romans saw him thanks to his less-than-stellar parts in “The Aeneid,” but for “A Sea of Sorrow” it wasn’t the way to go at all. I think now as I look back on all this that I went down that particular road because I was utterly intimidated by him. It was our editor in chief, Vicky Alvear Shecter, that pulled my reins on this and told me that the story needed to change direction.

  I don’t know if I succeeded: that’s for you reading this to judge (and if you feel I did, it’s only because Vicky edited my story and made it… dare I say… shipshape).

  It was weird writing Odysseus—depressing in a way because many people who write stories lose themselves in the person they’re writing about for a time. I did with Odysseus, that’s for sure; it made me feel older (and I’m pretty old already) and how he would be weighed down by guilt and expectation. He’s guilty over the decisions that he’s made, the actions he’s taken and the grief he has caused but ultimately, he’s a king and kings “had” to act in a certain way.

  All I can say is that I hope that my version of the “wily Odysseus” met your expectations and you enjoyed the story.

  Amphinomus, on the other hand, was much less worrisome because he doesn’t come with the weight of expectation (that word again) that Odysseus does. I felt for this guy too – he had full on “Mrs Robinson” love for Penelope that me the writer and I guess you the reader knew was doomed from the beginning.

  However, it was fun to write with that naïve sense of hope that all young people feel when they’re in love for the first time and for Amphinomus, this love makes him a better person. The prince he should have been. It even helps him become a leader of sorts – proving that the love for a good woman can change a man for the better.

  I did find myself wishing that Odysseus would just stay with Calypso, leaving Amphinomus and Penelope to a happy ending of sorts. Sadly, with Penelope being the wife of the legend who was always going to return, it wasn’t fated to end well for poor old Amph.

  These H-Team stories are of course collaborations and I’d like to take a moment to thank my fellow writers on this for their support, awesome guidance—it was Scott Oden who suggested “Outis” (the Greek for “NoOne”) in my story as Odysseus adopts his man with no name persona—and general benevolence. Writing a story in parts should be tough—but it never has been with the H-Team –thanks so much, guys—you’re awesome.

  Best of luck and best wishes to all. Thank you for reading “A Sea of Sorrow.”

  About the Authors

  DAVID BLIXT's work is consistently described as "intricate”, "taut”, and "breathtaking”. With novels spanning the Roman Empire (the Colossus series) to early Renaissance Italy (the Star-Cross’d series) up through the Elizabethan era (the espionage comedy Her Majesty’s Will, starring Will Shakespeare and Kit Marlowe as hapless spies), his novels combine a love of the theatre with a deep respect for the quirks and passions of history. As the Historical Novel Society says, "Be prepared to burn the midnight oil. It's well worth it." Living in Chicago with his wife and two children, David describes himself as "actor, author, father, husband. In reverse order."

  * * *

  AMALIA CAROSELLA began as a biology major before taking Latin and falling in love with old heroes and older gods—after that, she couldn’t stop writing about them. A former bookseller and an avid reader, she writes mythic Bronze Age and Viking Age historical fiction, including Helen of Sparta, Tamer of Horses, and Daughter of a Thousand Years. Amalia blogs about classical mythology and the Bronze Age at AmaliaCarosella.com and can also be found writing mythic fantasy under the name Amalia Dillin at AmaliaDillin.com.

  * * *

  GARY CORBY has long been fascinated by ancient history, finding it more exciting and bizarre than any modern thriller. He’s combined the ancient world with his love of whodunits, to create a historical mystery series set in classical Greece. Gary lives in Sydney, Australia, with his wife and two daughters. He blogs at A Dead Man Fell from the Sky, on all things ancient, Athenian, and mysterious. More information is at GaryCorby.com.

  * * *

  LIBBIE HAWKER writes historical and literary fiction featuring complex characters and rich details of time and place. She is the author of more than thirty novels under a variety of pen names, most of which are independently produced. She also partners with Lake Union Publishing on select titles. She lives with her husband in the San Juan Islands of Washington State, where she homesteads on an acre of land. In her free time, she paints landscapes, sews her own clothing, and volunteers as the assistant director of a summer camp. Visit her website: LibbieHawker.com.

  * * *

  SCOTT ODEN was born in Indiana, but has spent most of his life shuffling between his home in rural North Alabama, a Hobbit hole in Middle-earth, and some sketchy tavern in the Hyborian Age. He is an avid reader of fantasy and ancient history, a collector of swords, and a player of tabletop role-playing games. His previous books include Men of Bronze, Memnon, The Lion of Cairo, and the recently released A Gathering of Ravens. When not writing, he can be found walking his two dogs or doting over his lovely wife, Shannon. He can be found online at ScottOden.Wordpress.com.

  * * *

  VICKY ALVEAR SHECTER w
rites historical fiction set in the ancient world. She also writes nonfiction for children, including the series Secrets of the Ancient Gods, about Egyptian, Greek, Roman, and Norse mythology; and the biographies Alexander the Great Rocks the World, Cleopatra Rules, and the upcoming Killer Queens. Her novels include Cleopatra’s Moon, Curses and Smoke: A Novel of Pompeii, and the H-Team collaborative novels, A Day of Fire, A Year of Ravens, and A Song of War. She serves as a docent at the Michael C. Carlos Museum of Antiquities at Emory University in Atlanta. Visit her at VickyAlvearShecter.com.

  * * *

  RUSSELL WHITFIELD’s lifelong fascination with ancient Greece and Rome was sparked in the seventies with The Three Hundred Spartans on ITV. Educated to A-Level, he did not complete college, preferring instead to seek fame and fortune in a heavy metal band. Sadly, fame and fortune were not forthcoming, and a career in telesales beckoned. A series of jobs followed, culminating in the heady heights of “content editor” for a large multinational company. Gladiatrix was his first novel, published in 2008 by Myrmidon Books. The sequel, Roma Victrix, continued the adventures of Lysandra, the Spartan gladiatrix, and a third book, Imperatrix, sees her stepping out of the arena and into battle. Heavy metal is Russ’s music of choice. He is a huge fan of the Swedish band Hysterica and has written a song for their second album, The Art of Metal. Visit him at RussellWhitfield.com.