Obsessed with mythologies, especially Greek, as a kid, I devoured all those stories. Sometimes I even dressed up in a hastily draped, white bedsheet and walked barefoot over 8.5x11 sheets of immaculate-as-possible printer paper as if they were stony steps up in the sky. These imaginative, solo reenactments probably count as my self-introductions to feeling both masculine and feminine sides of my being, and to genderplay and drag.

I read this book exceptionally fast, repeatedly wanting to write like Madeline Miller and to think on and say in the ways that Circe herself does. In this artful, all-but-divine retelling of the titular character's myth, the author gives us the gift of a recast narrative that's akin to Gregory Maguire's Wicked, likewise compelling though even better written. (And unlike that book, there's no curious "capsule" chapter here that seems to advance nothing and help nothing.)

The writing shimmers, the dialogue is evocative, and the intergenerational and sibling tensions are almost painfully well defined. Some scenes are just so easy to picture, their mood so masterfully envisioned by their creator. I look forward to when this becomes a limited series or feature film. Onward (backward) to Song of Achilles for me!