Circe

Circe regrets not telling all her dirty secrets to Odysseus when she had the chance. She believes that he was the only one who would not have judged her:

I had kept from Odysseus, Aeëtes and Scylla and the rest. I had not wanted my history to be only an amusement, grist for his relentless intelligence. But who else would have tolerated it, with all its ugliness and errors? I had missed my chance to speak, and now it was too late (349).

Athena arrives and offers Telemachus the chance to found his own city, which will prosper under her patronage. To Athena’s shock, he declines. She reminds him that without her, he will be no one—not a great hero like his father, but someone history would never notice. She warns him: “[There] will be no songs made of you. No stories. Do you understand? You will live a life of obscurity. You will be without a name in history. You will be no one” (352). Even though he knows she is right and is grateful for the offer, he states, “I choose that fate” (352).

Athena then makes the same offer to Telegonus, who takes it. Athena’s patronage comes with protection and notoriety, representing a chance to live his dream of being a heroic demigod leader. Circe knows he wants to take it. She observes the irony of the situation: “I had let Penelope stay on my island so she would not lose her son. I would lose mine instead” (353). For the sake of his happiness, Circe gives him her blessing to leave and does her best to hide her agony. Telemachus gives Telegonus their father’s sword, and Circe notices the obvious difference in their ages and maturity levels.

After Telegonus leaves, Circe falls into depression. Penelope and Telemachus walk on proverbial eggshells around her and express concern, which she dismisses, saying, “Of course I am well. What could be wrong with me? Immortals do not take sick” (357). She realizes that all mortal lives, even her son’s life, are destined to end while hers is not, making all relationships with mortals fleeting. Circe remembers Trygon’s words about making a new world and calls to her father.

Circe tells Helios to ask Zeus to release her as a favor. When he considers the idea ridiculous, she threatens to tell Zeus about giving relief to Prometheus (for which he would be blamed) and about the Titans’ conspiracies. Dumbfounded, Helios states that this would bring war. Circe asserts that she would gladly cause war and his ruin before remaining trapped on the island for the sake of his convenience. He threatens to kill her, but she responds boldly:

You can. But you have always been cautious, Father. You know I have stood against Athena. I have walked in the blackest deeps. You cannot guess what spells I have cast, what poisons I have gathered to protect myself against you, how your power may rebound upon your head. Who knows what is in me? Will you find out? (361).

Helios once again tells her that she is the worst of his children and reminds her not to dishonor him. For the first time, Circe gets the last word: “I have a better idea. I will do as I please, and when you count your children, leave me out” (361).

Circe offers to take Penelope to Sparta, but Penelope states that she would rather stay on Aiaia, so Circe tells her about the poisons and drugs that she can use without magic to protect herself from sailors. Telemachus has fixed the ship Telegonus had built and added the figure of a growling lioness to the prow. He states that he wants to go with Circe, wherever she is going. She prepares her spells and they set off. They come across Scylla, who nearly destroys their ship, but this time Circe turns Scylla into stone. In the process, she accidentally drops the spear with Trygon’s tail into the ocean, where it will return to Trygon as agreed.

Circe realizes that she doesn’t have to be the same stern and regretful person she has always been. She tells Telemachus the whole truth about Scylla, but he does not judge her. This forces her to realize that she has denied them both love without sufficient cause:

I had kept away from him for so many reasons: his mother and my son, his father and Athena. Because I was a god, and he a man. But it struck me then that at the root of all those reasons was a sort of fear. And I have never been a coward (374).

With this revelation, Circe kisses Telemachus.

Circe and Telemachus’s relationship grows, surpassing even her love for his father. Although they have only spent a month together, Circe reflects that “he seemed to know [her] better than anyone who had ever walked the world” (376). The two travel, Circe pretending to be a human healer while Telemachus fixes boats. They find and retrieve the flowers that Circe used to transform Glaucos and Scylla before returning to Aiaia. Penelope has become a witch in her own right, and Circe suggests she take over the “witch of Aiaia” mantle. She also suggests telling the gods that she’ll take on their misbehaving daughters if she wants company. Penelope asks if she Circe take Telemachus with her when she leaves. Circe says that she will if he will go with her, but she has to take care of something first. Telemachus is supportive of the mysterious task and assures Circe that if she does not succeed, they will simply try again until she does. Circe is deeply moved by unwavering support and loyalty: “Is there a moment that a heart cracks? But a cracked heart was not enough, and I had grown wise enough to know it. I kissed him and left him there” (381).

Circe fantasizes about using the flowers to turn herself human. In her vision, she is mortal, married to Telemachus, and mother to his two daughters. They have a simple, mortal life and grow old together. Circe remembers how she had once feared that the flowers would reveal that she was a monster at heart; she now has the courage to face who she truly is with hope for a better future. Circe muses that the gods are stagnant by nature, unable to hold onto anything due to their immortality, but recognizes that she has always been progressing and evolving. She drinks the bowl of flower sap in the hopes of becoming mortal:

I thought once that the gods are the opposite of death, but I see now they are more dead than anything, for they are unchanging, and can hold nothing in their hands. All my life I have been moving forward, and now I am here. I have a mortal’s voice, let me have the rest. I lift the brimming bowl to my lips and drink (385).