Raised in a Greek legion, Phaidros has been taught to fight for the homeland he’s never seen and to follow his commander’s orders at all costs. But when he rescues a baby from a fire at Thebes’s palace, his commander’s orders cease to make sense: Phaidros is forced to abandon the blue-eyed boy at a temple, and to keep the baby’s existence a secret. Years later, after a strange encounter that led to the death of his battalion, Phaidros has become a training master for young soldiers. He struggles with panic attacks and flashbacks, and he is not the only one: all around him, his fellow veterans are losing their minds.
Phaidros’s risk of madness is not his only problem: his life has become entangled with Thebes’s young crown prince, who wishes to escape the marriage his mother, the Queen, has chosen for him. When the prince vanishes, Phaidros is drawn into the search for him—a search that leads him to a blue-eyed witch named Dionysus, whose guidance is as wise as the events that surround him are strange. In Dionysus’s company, Phaidros witnesses sudden outbursts of riots and unrest, and everywhere Dionysus goes, rumors follow about a new god, one sired by Zeus but lost in a fire.
"We don’t last long, but our stories do."
Natasha Pulley's The Hymn to Dionysus is, in perfect Pulley fashion, a pointed novel about grief, memory, and identity, a reflection on PTSD and love, and a labirintine narration that draws you in, confuses you, enchants you, and leaves you begging for more. Pulley's distinctive voice is a soothing caress, mesmerising and hypnothising, as she tackles Greek Mythology with a deft hand and creates a new story that feels like the myth. Her Dionysus is a feral and uncanny creature, an ancient and curious god, kind and terrible.
The sole narrator, Phaidros, finds himself earning Dionysus' attention from a very young age. A vicious soldier and a polyglot, widowed of his guardian and commander, he is suicidal and compelled by duty and honor. He's the quintessential Pulley protagonist, and yes, she definitely has a niche, but what she does with her niche works everytime, like beautiful clockwork. This book has an intricate plot, with twists and turns that weren't predictable even by knowing the actual myths, and it meanders gently, pulling you by your hand, slowly unraveling madness and knowledge and freedom.
The relationship between Phaidros and the strange witch he suspects from the start of being a god develops beautifully, with moments of terrible tenderness and others that are heartbreaking. Phaidros' internal monologue paints him as a desperate, grieving man who can't find in himself to believe he's worthy of anything anymore, dealing with staggering loss and with the sudden duties he takes on because he has to. Slowly he'll learn to find value in himself, all while battling with a draught that threatens to kill all and with a supernatural madness taking on soldiers, as well as with a dynastic crisis.
The author did her research into history and myth, and it shows with her usage of greek words and historical references and with her deft threading of her own special Pulley-ness into the mythological tapestry. Her usage of language and etymology is as always superb, as is her particular kind of magical realism. This book has mask magic and bronze marvels that might or might not be inhabited by gods, and her inclusion of the blind prophet Thiresias in a new and fresh way is handled with grace. The major female character is handled with the usual depth and narrative cruelty. It should feel trite, but despite this, her women are always vibrant and never dulled down, and that is the saving grace.
The Hymn to Dionysus is a marvelous piece of art.
✨ 5 stars
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