Is the ancient Medusa myth still relevant to women today?
Upwards of four thousand years since her incarnation, the name Medusa maintains a strong cultural resonance. Whether you know her from Ovid’s Metamorphoses or Percy Jackson and the Lightning Thief, the image of the snakey-haired monster is as familiar as it is unnerving. But as Rosie Hewlett, author of the new novel Medusa, tells me, “so few know her true story” – a story that is just as relevant today as in Ancient Greece.
If your grasp of Medusa’s tale is as tangled as her hairdo, here’s a recap:
Born a beautiful mortal, Medusa was an avowed priestess of the goddess Athena before she was raped by the sea-god Poseidon (stay with me). Out of jealously, Athena transformed Medusa into a hideous monster (hence the hair)who turned anyone she looked upon to stone. The story’s hero, Perseus (avoiding the whole petrifying-stare thing by some sneaky work with mirrors) finally killed Medusa by lopping off her head, which he used as a weapon before presenting it as a lovely gift to Athena herself.
That’s the gist of it. So what have goddesses, monsters and heroes got to do with the 21st century?
Lots, according to Rosie. A historically oral tradition, myths reflect the society by which they’re voiced. She says, “each time these stories are told and retold, people naturally add their own spark, placing a piece of themselves into the narrative.”
This ability to “retell but also reimagine” is partly what drew her to study Classical Civilisation; particularly how certain aspects of ancient stories are emphasised, portrayed and interrogated over time, revealing contemporary preoccupations.
At a time when “women everywhere are making the world listen,” Rosie addresses a key imbalance: “Medusa is arguably the most infamous monster in mythology and yet her voice has remained so absent.”
The novel is written in the first person, which Rosie describes as “pulling the reader into a cultural conversation – a conversation that we all need to be a part of. As Medusa herself says early on in the text: People will always try and wriggle out of uncomfortable truths… Well, now I realise it is our job to make them listen.’’
And there is many an uncomfortable truth to be interrogated. “There are so many disturbingly relevant themes in Medusa’s story,” says Rosie.
“Despite its ancient origin, there is a very modern truth to [Medusa’s] experience. She is objectified for her beauty, victim-blamed for a man’s crimes and demonised by the world – all experiences that are, sadly, still very relatable to women today.”
For example, early in the novel, a seventeen-year-old Medusa encounters male desire for the first time in her sheltered upbringing.
“I suddenly felt uneasy, though I wasn’t sure why. All the man had done was call me beautiful, yet I couldn’t deny my discomfort: it was right there, squirming in the pit of my stomach.”
It’s a horrifyingly recognisable moment, and the claim that follows, “you cannot look like that and not expect attention. She is asking for it, surely?”, could just as easily be said today as four thousand years ago.
It’s significant that the worst punishment Athena can inflict on Medusa is to destroy her beauty, for what bigger tragedy is there for a woman than to lose her looks? Interestingly, modern portrayals of Medusa share an inherently sexualised nature even post-‘monsterisation’, with Uma Thurman and Natalia Vodianova playing her in two 2010 blockbusters (will anything less than supermodel looks ever sell, not even when that’s the actual plot of the story?).
Moreover, the tendency to victim-blame Medusa after her sexual assault prompts uncomfortable questions around contemporary attitudes. Strikingly, at the height of the #metoo movement, the hashtag #me(dusa)too was also trending, emphasising the dismal similarity of female experience throughout millennia.
Indeed, there remains a very modern unwillingness to engage with this aspect of the myth. One website, claiming to offer “the real story of the snake-haired Gorgon", describes Medusa and Poseidon’s interaction as an “ill-fated love affair”, choosing to ignore the latent power dynamics between a mortal and a sea-god.
Contrarily, there’s an uncomfortable moment when would-be perpetrator Lykon, a man pestering an unwilling woman for sex, feels Medusa’s wrath. “Please, I have a wife… a son… I am a good person,” he pleads. This capacity for malevolence within outwardly decent people, reminds me of Bo Burnham’s character Ryan in the gut-wrenching Promising Young Woman.
But the demonisation of Medusa by the world speaks of a more intangible darkness: the fear of female power itself. If you’re a real glutton for punishment, try this exercise suggested by Elizabeth Johnston, associate professor at Monroe Community College in New York: Google any famous woman’s name, from Nancy Pelosi to Margaret Thatcher, along with the word ‘Medusa’. I defy you to find one whose face has not been photoshopped onto that of the Gorgon’s (whether it’s before or after decapitation).
“If you were ever doubtful about the extent to which the exclusion of women from power is culturally embedded, or unsure of the continued strength of classical ways of formulating and justifying it – well, I give you Trump and Clinton, Perseus and Medusa, and rest my case.”
However, when taking all the above into account, it is still possible to read a more, if not quite feminist, less misogynistic nuance to the story. For example, whilst the clear gender lines along which the tale is told frequently persecute women, it’s striking that many retellings of the myth describe Medusa’s petrifying stare as only affecting men. Most even liken the ‘stiffening’ of her victims to, you guessed it, massive erections (Freud, of course, had an absolute field day with this story, merrily comparing Medusa’s face surrounded by serpents to a mother’s genitals surrounded by hair. Whatever you say, Freud).
But this very literal reversal of the male gaze is significant, particularly considering what Madeleine Glennon calls the “striking frontality” of Medusa’s enduring image. Unlike the vast majority of female subjects throughout history, Medusa is reliably depicted face-on, her defiant glare directly challenging the viewer. Indeed, the sheer power of her stare is unavoidable: even after death, the eyes in her severed head retain their deadly ability.
Athena even reputedly placed Medusa’s skull on her shield for protection, perpetuating a concept of the Gorgon’s face as an apotropaic, “evil-averting” device. So, does Medusa’s tale actually speak of female empowerment, of challenging the relationship between gender, power and desire? Rihanna’s depiction as Medusa on a 2013 cover of GQ magazine (topless but for a well-placed python) encapsulates this tension – who has the upper hand here?
Furthermore, as in all classical antiquity, Medusa highlights the ultimate control of the Fates: “you see, we are all the Fates’ victims in the end.” What do these three distinctly female characters who are controlling everyone’s lives, including those of the Gods, tell us about female agency in mythology?
“The whole nature of the Fates is wrapped in femininity,” says Rosie. “The act of creating, allotting and ending lives is done through the weaving of threads, which is an inherently feminine act in the ancient world. Personally, I think this has links to motherhood and women being the creators of life. But I also believe feminising the Fates feeds into the cultural fear of powerful women in antiquity underpinning many of the myths; just look at Medusa, Scylla, the Furies, Sirens, Medea, Clytemnestra, to name a few!”
So, after the enormous success of Medusa, winner of the Rubery Book Award for Fiction as well as Rubery Book of the Year 2021, will Rosie now be turning her deft hand to the stories of more mythical women?
“I’m in the process of writing my next book now! There are so many incredible women in mythology who have fallen casualty to the male gaze. I believe myth particularly neglects the relationships and friendships between women, which is something I want to explore further. There seems to be a real thirst for myth retellings at the moment, and I cannot wait to share my next book with the world.”
You and me both, Rosie.
Title image sourced via Rubery Book Award.
Katherine works in heritage outreach and is based in Bristol. When she’s not busy re-examining history from a female perspective, she lives the 19th-century high-life: embroidering, wild swimming and spending far too much money on gin. Find her on Instagram: @_kgwrites_.
