Circe, Sorceress of Swine
A queer re-telling of Odysseus’s encounter with Circe in Homer’s epic poem, The Odyssey
By Christina Leshko
Background
The Odyssey is considered the second-oldest known work of Western literature. Authored by the Ancient Greek poet Homer in the late 8th or early 7th century BCE, The Odyssey is an epic poem that tells the story of Odysseus, King of Ithaca, who battled in the Trojan War and adventured through a world filled with deities and monsters in an effort to return home and reclaim his throne. On one of his adventures, Odysseus and his men land their ship on an island ruled by Circe, a sorceress who is imprisoned there. Circe is semi-divine with magical powers, knowledge, and insight. Upset that Odysseus and his men have trespassed on her island, Circe transforms all of the men except Odysseus into pigs. In the original Odyssey, Circe serves a pivotal role in Odysseus’ journey, shifting from antagonist to ally—or so it may appear, given the third-person point of view from which the original Odyssey is narrated. In this queer re-telling, told from Circe’s first-person point of view, we find out the truth: Circe’s role in Odysseus’s life does not follow such a straight path after all. Pun intended.
The Sisters of Fate would have Odysseus and his crew land on my shores, uninvited. These men who traversed the seas, they had left the bloody seven-year Trojan War behind them and were on their way home to Ithaca. I did not seek to punish them for the whims of other gods. They were not the first men to be blown off course during an adventure; it was only their poor luck to have disembarked onto my enchanted island. The seagulls kept me updated on local rumors, so I knew that Odysseus led a noble cause: he was traveling home to his family and birthplace. But before his sandals had even touched dry ground, Odysseus fired an arrow into the heart of my beloved stag. He felled the creature to roast its flesh for his own pleasure. As a king of Ithaca, that goat-strewn rock in the Ionian Sea, Odysseus should have known that taking a prized animal from a land without the ruler’s permission was a punishable offense. I would make him pay for this lapse in judgment. Heroes. They always act so entitled.
Odysseus and his men disembarked and made their way to my home. They had spotted it from the beach because of the smoke rising in spirals from my kitchens. I live in a palazzo atop the highest hill on the wooded island of Aeaea, solitary except for my four handmaidens and the various adventurers who had strayed too far from their intended paths. These lost boys were fated to serve me. But not in their human forms. All of them, I transformed into animal forms—tigers, lions, wolves—so that I could tame them. I created for myself companions who would be more compliant than human men could ever be.
I do not reside on this island by my own design. Zeus had decided that I deserved eternal exile here as punishment for my so-called crimes. What manner of transgression might have warranted such extreme isolation as punishment? My sin, in Zeus’s eyes, was plying my craft against my fellow deity, Scylla. Zeus assumed far too much about my role in Scylla’s transformation into a six-headed sea monster with canine mouths girding her loins. Even after all this time, none of the Olympians seem capable of grasping that it is not I who determines the form of animal a person becomes after consuming one of my potions. On the contrary, my witchcraft merely releases that which had been there all along: the beasts people carry within, hidden away in the recesses of their very own hearts. So, when Scylla drank my elixir and transformed, what happened was simply that her body finally became an accurate representation of her heart. And yet Zeus, my judge and jury, chose to declare me a jealous, spiteful woman, and he cursed me as such. Men in power only see what they want to see.
And so I stood at the entrance to my palazzo, backed by two nymph servants as appropriate for my station, and I prepared to welcome my new guests. I watched as the ill-mannered brutes traipsed up the side of the hill, carelessly destroying my herb garden and muddying my stream. I grimaced, watching as they trampled my carefully tended mint and rosemary under their feet. While I was desperately lonely for company, the sudden presence of all these swarthy, ignorant seamen also annoyed me. I huffed, pulling myself together as they wandered through my gates. I knew that I needed to be a convincing hostess if I was going to subdue so many philistines at once. I tucked a few loose strands of my long amber hair behind my ear and adjusted my braided gold headband.
“Welcome, weary travelers and those blessed by Athena!” I greeted them. “I am Circe, daughter of Helios, god of the sun, and Perse, nymph of the sea. I am honored to share my home with you. Please partake in washing yourselves in the courtyard fountain, and then join me for a feast readied in your honor!”
I smiled at the men, but I knew that my eyes would reveal my deceit if I lingered much longer. I was laying it on thick, after all.
An older man standing a few feet below me on the outer stairs was staring at my face. I saw him notice the hard line of my jaw and the tightness in my lips, the way I was forcing myself to breathe evenly.
“Come, Eurylochus! Let us enjoy ourselves!” exclaimed Odysseus, clapping him on the back.
Odysseus, the hero, is so enamored with himself that he does not suspect a woman as a potential adversary.
After giving me one last look, Eurylochus turned to respond to Odysseus.
“I will bring word back to the men at the ship, good Odysseus. I will await your return there,” Eurylochus replied.
My eyes narrowed at the suspicion in Eurylochus’s voice, but I turned quickly and headed inside so that none could perceive it. The men followed me into the banquet hall, where my servants had prepared a long table spread with many dishes. I straightened my one-shouldered tunic and took my seat at the head. Acting the role of gracious hostess was helpful in relieving my endless solitude for a few moments, even if this dinner was a trap.
At each place setting stood a pottage of cheese and meal sweetened with dark honey, and underneath the flavor of more subtle spices, a potion of my own making.
Then I waited.
Many mortals covet immortality, but few realize that everlasting life warrants a great deal of waiting. Forsaken waiting. My potions, however, never disappoint.
It was three days before Odysseus realized his men had been turned to swine. Up until then, he had staggered about the island, drunk on Pramniean wine, making jokes with the crew who could now only respond in grunts and squeals. The shift into their true forms had been swift, taking a few hours at most, yet Odysseus failed to notice. At least my sorcery had improved the quality of the conversation. Without the power of speech, his men were much more tolerable company.
It took a particularly tough haunch of venison, which gave him the need for a knife, for Odysseus to become aware of his brethren’s transformation.
“Elpenor! Pass me that blade, will you? This meat is as tough as Hippolyta’s maidenhood!” Odysseus squawked at his own crass humor.
From my hiding place behind a marble pillar, I eyed him with disgust. Gristle and grease were embedded in his beard. He bit into a loaf of coarse brown bread made from emmer wheat and barley, which were in boundless supply on Aeaea.
With his short, wet snout, Elpenor grunted and nudged the knife that lay near him, moving it towards Odysseus on the table. The utensil moved forward, but only a mere inch at a time, and Odysseus grew impatient. He turned to reprimand his dinner companion only to stop short and stare. I saw the realization dawn in his bleary eyes. Odysseus was finally noticing that his countrymen had been reduced to beasts, were covered in bristles with curled tails and cloven hooves. For days by that point, they had been ambling about him in the dining hall with their faces pressed against the limestone floor, endlessly rooting and foraging.
“What comes now?!” Odysseus barked in bewilderment while staggering to his feet.
“Wily Odysseus, indeed,” I smirked, stepping out of the shadows, away from the marble pillar.
Odysseus whirled to face me. His eyes were suddenly clear and focused. He was stocky, but not large, with the stance of a man who had weathered many battles.
“What have you done, witch?” he spat out.
“I have made your companions more companionable, Captain. I have helped them release their true natures. Personally, I’ve always found a herd of swine more congenial than a mob of men.”
I smiled coquettishly as rage ignited in Odysseus’ eyes, the muscles in his jaw tightening.
He reached across his broad chest and pulled his sword from its sheath without breaking eye contact with me.
“You will return my men to me in their human form,” he demanded. He pointed the tip of his sword at my chest. He took several steps forward on his short, sturdy legs. Now he was within one leap of me, confident in his authority over me.
I grimaced, but not from the threat. The smells rolling off of Odysseus assaulted my nose. Testosterone, sour urine, and sweat. And then my supernaturally sensitive senses detected a faint underlying whiff of moly.[1] I stopped short, caught off guard not only by the scent of the herb itself but by realizing the fact that this mortal buffoon had evidently ingested it. Moly was poison to mortals, as far as I had ever known. Where would this fool have gotten ahold of the one thing that could protect him from my powers?
I sighed, shaking my head. Heroes were truly a species unto themselves.
“Maybe you should pray on it, mighty Odysseus,” I said, disappointed. Not only was he protected from my powers, but for a hero, this man had turned out to be entirely underwhelming. Far from relieving my isolated existence, the visit from these Ithacans had only piqued my anger and deepened my loneliness. I started to turn away from him, intending to return to the comforts of my household.
Odysseus wasn’t having that, though. That ego couldn’t stand being dismissed so easily. In my peripheral vision, I saw him crouch, prepared to pounce and master me with force. His weight shifted forward, he pushed off the ground into the air, and then — was met with the full brunt of one of my beastly consorts, who had launched at him from the side. The wind was knocked from Odysseus’s lungs as his body hit the ground. His heavy sword flew sideways, crashing against a low stone wall. He lay, momentarily stunned, sprawled across the poros[2] stone floor. His head had knocked against a far pillar.
I completed my turn away, glancing only once more behind me at the tawny man-turned-lion who stood with his forepaws on the hero’s broad chest. I nodded my approval and made a mental note to consider shortening the cat’s imprisonment on the island.
I descended the steps leading down to my kitchen where one of my handmaidens was tidying up. Surrounded by so many human men had proven disquieting. I sought the comfort of the hearth, wrapping my arms around myself in an effort to hold myself together. I realized, then, that being around Odysseus had heightened my awareness of how inescapably lonely I was. I felt a deep craving for interaction with an equal, a kindred soul. Having divine powers, an island paradise, and immortality was pointless in the face of an eternity of physical and mental isolation.
The handmaiden picked up the wash bucket to attend to her next set of tasks and left me to tend myself. I thought about how many centuries I’d lived here, and how long it had been that I’d felt like this, like I was losing a sense of purpose. For so long now, I’d been trapped, not only on my island, but in a cycle of compelled subservience. Odysseus and his men were only the latest to turn up. Inevitably, endlessly, more men would arrive, blown off course by Boreas, the harsh North wind, and I would transform them, just as I had transformed these. The Fates had consigned all of us to this loop. This loop of predictable, passionless monotony.
I moved toward the ivory cabinet that housed my many tinctures, intending to brew myself a restorative draught. I knew it would only provide a brief, numbing reprieve from the sadness, but it was better than nothing.
As I reached toward the little glass vial of chamomile essence, the air in the room shifted suddenly. The metallic scent of lightning mixed with whiffs of fresh grass and a softly alluring scent of orange blossoms filled my senses. My body froze mid-reach as the electric charge in the room became palpable.
“Causing trouble again, Lady Circe?”
The voice was melodious, low in volume but with an indescribable intensity.
I turned. Athena, goddess of warfare and wisdom, was standing in my kitchen doorway. Athena, daughter of Zeus, could fill the world with her war cry, but she had modulated her voice just enough to reach me.
The light of the full moon spilled down the stone steps behind her, outlining her form in a soft blue glow. She was dressed in her godly attire. Her body was modestly robed in white with her aegis, a goatskin shield fringed in snakes, draped around her shoulders. Her thick, dark curls fell across her back and framed her face, making her helm noticeably absent. The front of her muscular arms looked like burnished gold in the light of the kitchen fires, her biceps taut and rounded.
The last time I had seen Athena had been at Zeus’s tribunal for me, where he had administered his justice that had damned me to this island for eternity. Like her fellow Olympians, Athena had stood silently when my sentence was delivered, observing me with indifference. We had never directly crossed paths before.
“I’ve received prayers from my protégé Odysseus to intervene on his behalf with a spiteful, fiery spinster of the dark arts,” Athena smirked. “Your skills are quite well known, after all.”
Her gray eyes were bright but hard as they stared into mine. Serving as the goddess of strategy, she had little compassion for my plight; everything was about moves and countermoves.
I approached her slowly, raising my chin a quarter of an inch higher. Athena might be more powerful, but my father was a Titan. I would not bow to her. Energy radiated in the room, filling the space between us. I took another step closer. For the first time, I was close enough to see that she was a bit taller than me, but not by much. A golden-sandaled foot peeped out from the hem of her robe. Her toes were surprisingly delicate for a goddess of warfare.
“I simply detained him and his men for their violence against my stag,” I stated defensively, “as is my right.”
“That is your right, sister in divinity,” she replied, “as it is my right to advocate for my mortal protégé. Come now, Circe. Haven’t you ever wanted to alter the course of the stars? To make more of this life than what others have made it for you?”
I realized that I was staring at her lips as she spoke. Her bottom lip was slightly fuller than the top, I noticed. The innate sensuosity I had always sensed in Athena from afar was beyond anything I had ever imagined now that we were standing in the same room. So much so that it took me a few seconds to realize the significance of what she had just said. Had Athena, the grey-eyed goddess, born from the Thunderer’s Skull, just chosen to offer me an explanation?
With that token of respect, of acknowledgment of our equality, the low flame of lust that had been burning in me since her arrival roared upward into a blaze of something more complete . . . more profound. The swell of heat traversed the length of my body. Athena’s words had unleashed a desire for freedom that intoxicated me. I wanted to find my escape from this island by running my thumb across those lips; I wanted to touch her face. I imagined the softness of her curls. I had played intimately with my nymphs on occasion, but this—this was new. I had never felt the draw to another woman as I felt this pull from Athena. My hands closed into fists, and I dug my nails into my palms in an effort to bring myself back to the present moment.
Athena smiled, sensing the effect she was having on me. As a goddess, she could exert her desirability over mortals, yet here I stood, an immortal, struggling to resist. Was it her divine powers shaking my resolve? Or could she feel the undercurrents between us as well? Uncertain how to proceed, I shook my head to clear it, but with little effect.
“What would you have of me, Unwearying One?” I asked.
My voice had come out much more breathily than I had intended. My intuition told me that I was already losing this negotiation. Nevertheless, I felt a heat spreading through my body that had nothing to do with the embers glowing gently in the kitchen fire.
Athena stepped forward, closing the gap between us.
“Are you truly angry with Odysseus? Or does he receive the blunt end of your misguided hatred of Zeus, King of Law and Order?” Athena smiled, but her eyes remained hard, scrutinizing me with divine perception.
My eyes fell from hers, suddenly burning with emotion. Her words had struck at my frustration and resentment, which simmered just beneath the surface, a shield over my deeper forlornness.
“Neither… Both,” I stammered, unsure how to explain the turmoil inside me.
I wanted to lessen the pain and share the burden of desolation for a while in the way that Atlas shared the weight of the world with Hercules. Was a moment’s reprieve more than I deserved? I felt the pull emanating from Athena grow stronger.
I looked back into Athena’s gray eyes. Seemingly of their own accord, my legs moved me close enough to her that I could now see the flecks of midnight blue just outside her pupils. A breath hitched in my throat. I saw her eyes soften with understanding and then, just barely a hint of interest. She leaned forward, her hair falling in a curtain around both our faces. The world shrank to the space between her breath and mine. I couldn’t see, I couldn’t think. I could only want.
With another inhale of breath, Athena’s lips crushed down upon mine as she kissed me in the way I had only dreamt of. To be desired by an equal, by a goddess as powerful and renowned as Athena, left me momentarily stunned. My body complied while my feelings wavered between surprise, indecision, and eagerness.
I felt her hand on my waist, pulling me closer. The feel of her body pressing into mine released the full might of the desire I had been trying to suppress since I first caught her scent. I felt the pressure of her chest against mine and trembled. I wanted more of her, and she knew it. It had been longer than I could remember since I had felt the possibility of escaping my fated solitude, of being more than just a pawn. Athena’s other hand reached up to gently cup the back of my head so she could kiss me with even less restraint. Her long fingers, so used to wrapping themselves around a spear, were warm against my neck. Locked in this moment, I felt safe. I felt found.
Athena pulled back from my lips slowly, keeping her face close. Her olive-skinned cheek pressed against mine; she was too close for me to see her eyes, but I could feel her breath on my ear.
“Keep Odysseus here for a year. Bear him semi-divine heirs. I want my disciple to gain glory. It does not need to be a permanent union,” Athena whispered, stroking the back of my tunic. “Do this favor for me, Circe.”
My skin tingled and my head swam in confusion. Bear his children, as a favor? Was she yet another Olympian toying with me? My muscles tensed and my breath caught in my throat as I realized what this moment was all about: moves and countermoves. Disgust replaced the desire that had risen within me. For a few breathless minutes, I had known the relief of being seen by a woman as worthy of my notice as I was of hers. I’d had a glimpse of an end to the despair of being forever trapped in a life of passionless monotony.
It seemed that Athena’s attentions to me had served a different purpose.
Athena took a step back, the heat and comfort from her body suddenly stolen away with the space between us. I found it jarring.
“Stay!” I rasped, my voice thick with unsated desire and the heat of longing. I grasped her wrist like a drowning woman at sea clutching a lifeline. I had not bowed to anyone for centuries, but my emotions warred with each other. The thought of serving my body to Odysseus as part of some divine plan was appalling. But even more distressing was the thought of not being able to feel that connection with Athena again.
“Do well by me and I’ll return to you, sweet enchantress,” Athena said softly, extricating her arm from my desperate grasp. She placed her palm over my face with her fingers at my forehead, lightly sweeping her touch down, closing my eyes, and lingering a moment over my lips. Something in her touch diminished my cynicism and started to restore my hope that she did indeed reciprocate my desire, and would indeed return to me.
“I promise.”
When I opened my eyes, she was gone. The only evidence of the encounter was the sound of my heart pounding and the unrest that had been stirred in my blood. My hands twisted together as my emotions refused to settle. Confusion, disquiet, loss . . . tinged with anticipation of what I could look forward to after the unappealing interlude that I’d just been asked to traipse through first.
Beyond the kitchen door, Odysseus and the lion were bellowing at each other. I closed my eyes and moved unsteadily toward their squabble in the dining room, refusing to look up at the stars that would not be re-written.
[1] an enchanted herb with properties that offered protection from Circe’s magic
[2] a type of porous limestone commonly found in Greece, historically used in ancient Greek architecture and sculpture due to its lightweight and workable nature
Christina Leshko teaches in the Social Science Department at SUNY Canton and serves as an AAUW co-organizer on campus. She enjoys reading re-tellings of classic stories, especially The Penelopiad by Margaret Atwood and Kissing the Witch by Emma Donoghue. Christina is incredibly grateful for the opportunity to support the Campus Pride issue of GrasseRoots by trying her hand at the re-telling genre herself!
Works Cited
CNCJ. “Chronology of the Odyssey Timeline.” Timetoast Timelines, 2025, www.timetoast.com/timelines/chronology-of-the-odyssey--2.
Homer. The Odyssey of Homer. Translated by Richard Lattimore, HarperCollins, 2007.