bub_9's review against another edition
4.0
Though rather less self-evidently cerebral than the previous few books on my reading list, The Silence of the Girls was certainly no less beautifully written. It marries a daringly unresolved narrative with vivid storytelling skills to match the best; the last star it loses is only in its at times wayward and at times overly conscious exploration of its critique of the obviously male-dominated narratives in the stories of the Trojan War, which all too often center around, and which made famous, male names: Achilles, Ajax, Agamemnon, Paris and Hector, to name just a few, while its main female presence, Helen, is herself not of any consequence, except in the horrific war that emerges from a dispute over her. Pat Barker thus seeks to overturn this, following the struggles of Briseis, Queen of Lyrnessus, who is reduced to a mere slave after her city is captured by the Greeks.
Unlike the more intellectually stimulating, self-conscious metanarration-interspersed-with-narration that characterises much of the postmodern diet I've fed myself on of late, Barker does not write in an obviously unconventional mode. Although this means the novel is not as thought-provoking as say, The Only Story by Julian Barnes, its power lies in its brilliantly executed yet beautifully simple narrative. In fact, not only does Briseis represent the silenced gender, she also represents the silenced nation.
But first, to Barker's startling illumination of what war does to women - the sheer objectifying, dehumanising forces that see once-noble, once-important women reduced to nothing but objects who are "asked for" every night by men, who are reduced to healing their wounds from sexual abuse with goose fat, who have their children thrown off buildings and killed and are then forced to sleep with their very killers. Briseis herself is 'lucky' - through Briseis, in fact, Barker explores several important ideas. She is contrasted to two other women (her cousin and a 15-year-old granddaughter of the Queen of Troy) who are nobly, purely willing and glad to die; "better to die on Achilles' burial mound than live and be a slave", says Polyxena, the latter, yet Briseis finds herself choosing, and later be grateful for this choice, to live. Are either of these options nobler, more virtuous? Barker leaves it up to us. Then there is the recurring motif of one's loyalties, and of falling in love with one's captor. Is it dishonourable to leave behind one's own identity and to attempt to forge a new life story? There are so many different stories - Tecmessa, Briseis, Iphis - that again no 'right' answer is readily attained. I could go on forever, so infinitely nuanced is Barker's look at the desperate attempts of these dethroned, displaced females to ground themselves not just in enemy territory, but in a military camp so obviously reeking of the alpha male and his overbearing personality; one of the best, most incisive instances of Barker's critique comes when she deals with the issue of marriage. Of course, modern conventions of marriage (at least in the developed world) are far different from what they were in the ancient, but the casualness with which marriage is bandied about is still astonishing. Patroclus repeatedly suggests to Briseis that he could have her married to Achilles; while this arises from kind intent, to protect her by securing her status, it is also a remarkable comment on the inequalities of such a partnership, more overtly then but also more implicitly now.
Of course, this is not a novel merely stuffed full of simple, one-dimensional feminist tropes. The overarching concern is more to do with disempowered groups and the narratives they tell, and so we are given voices on another axis of marginalisation; not only are they women among men, they are also Trojans among Greeks; certain losers among certain victors. They witness the plundering, the looting and destruction that is inflicted upon every city; they show to us the conquering in a horrifically gory rather than glorious light. They also humanise and give personality to what would simply be victims; in one particularly memorable meditation, Briseis recalls all the names of the 60 individuals Achilles kills in one day, then pauses to ask - what's the point? Whether there is any point is one of the central questions Barker explores here.
Then there is Achilles. A strange character; at first he strikes us as a typical warrior, though perhaps minus the crazed, bloodthirsty lust - though Briseis initially characterises him as such, it rapidly becomes apparent that he is more levelheaded than many of his fellow fighters; even in sex, he seems to strive more for efficiency than lust and passion. Achilles is beautifully multifaceted; his difficult upbringing and relationship with his mother, for example, illuminate the turmoil he struggles even with defining his own identity; his civility and its stark contrast to the brutality of the other fighters despite being the greatest fighter of them all lead to his self-awareness of the pointlessness and futility of the war they are fighting, and his growing discomfort with his own hands, the hands that have wrought so much death and destruction.
But that's also one of the central problems I have with the book - it simply seems to deal with some things too easily. Having devised a wonderfully intricate characterisation of Achilles, he is then killed with little warning and resolution - while I can accept this as a deliberate comment on the 'women-centric' nature of the narrative Barker attempts to achieve, I find this voids the evident attempts at problematising our traditional treatment of Achilles as well. Another issue is the narrative thread concerning Patroclus. Similarly to Achilles, he is a complex character who is much unlike the other fighters in the camp, yet he suffers a sudden death with little of his personality resolved and much left unknown. The greatest problem, though - where the former two are possibly deliberate authorial choices, this is certainly not - is the relative repetitiveness of the book. Though it starts with a blazing first few chapters that daringly and bluntly describe the state of the Greek camp to us, it does become a little old with not much new added after a while, and the deliberate narrative device of introducing Achilles' voice confused me slightly, given that this book intends to escape the male-dominant narrative.
Nonetheless, I greatly enjoyed the book, and I'll end with a brief look at the conclusion. Here, Achilles is dead yet the Greeks have decisively won; Briseis is pregnant with Achilles' child, and sent off to live with Alcimus in obscurity. She defiantly declares that while she failed to escape Achilles' narrative once, she will make the best of her new attempt. I found this puzzling in that there is little discussion of this supposed independent narrative she asserts, though perhaps her conviction is left all the more powerful in the imagination of readers. While unsatisfying, the ending is undeniably poignant, a true testament to Briseis' fortitude, carving out for herself as she has an entirely new, entirely plausible life, fighting the eternal struggle to have her voice heard.
Unlike the more intellectually stimulating, self-conscious metanarration-interspersed-with-narration that characterises much of the postmodern diet I've fed myself on of late, Barker does not write in an obviously unconventional mode. Although this means the novel is not as thought-provoking as say, The Only Story by Julian Barnes, its power lies in its brilliantly executed yet beautifully simple narrative. In fact, not only does Briseis represent the silenced gender, she also represents the silenced nation.
But first, to Barker's startling illumination of what war does to women - the sheer objectifying, dehumanising forces that see once-noble, once-important women reduced to nothing but objects who are "asked for" every night by men, who are reduced to healing their wounds from sexual abuse with goose fat, who have their children thrown off buildings and killed and are then forced to sleep with their very killers. Briseis herself is 'lucky' - through Briseis, in fact, Barker explores several important ideas. She is contrasted to two other women (her cousin and a 15-year-old granddaughter of the Queen of Troy) who are nobly, purely willing and glad to die; "better to die on Achilles' burial mound than live and be a slave", says Polyxena, the latter, yet Briseis finds herself choosing, and later be grateful for this choice, to live. Are either of these options nobler, more virtuous? Barker leaves it up to us. Then there is the recurring motif of one's loyalties, and of falling in love with one's captor. Is it dishonourable to leave behind one's own identity and to attempt to forge a new life story? There are so many different stories - Tecmessa, Briseis, Iphis - that again no 'right' answer is readily attained. I could go on forever, so infinitely nuanced is Barker's look at the desperate attempts of these dethroned, displaced females to ground themselves not just in enemy territory, but in a military camp so obviously reeking of the alpha male and his overbearing personality; one of the best, most incisive instances of Barker's critique comes when she deals with the issue of marriage. Of course, modern conventions of marriage (at least in the developed world) are far different from what they were in the ancient, but the casualness with which marriage is bandied about is still astonishing. Patroclus repeatedly suggests to Briseis that he could have her married to Achilles; while this arises from kind intent, to protect her by securing her status, it is also a remarkable comment on the inequalities of such a partnership, more overtly then but also more implicitly now.
Of course, this is not a novel merely stuffed full of simple, one-dimensional feminist tropes. The overarching concern is more to do with disempowered groups and the narratives they tell, and so we are given voices on another axis of marginalisation; not only are they women among men, they are also Trojans among Greeks; certain losers among certain victors. They witness the plundering, the looting and destruction that is inflicted upon every city; they show to us the conquering in a horrifically gory rather than glorious light. They also humanise and give personality to what would simply be victims; in one particularly memorable meditation, Briseis recalls all the names of the 60 individuals Achilles kills in one day, then pauses to ask - what's the point? Whether there is any point is one of the central questions Barker explores here.
Then there is Achilles. A strange character; at first he strikes us as a typical warrior, though perhaps minus the crazed, bloodthirsty lust - though Briseis initially characterises him as such, it rapidly becomes apparent that he is more levelheaded than many of his fellow fighters; even in sex, he seems to strive more for efficiency than lust and passion. Achilles is beautifully multifaceted; his difficult upbringing and relationship with his mother, for example, illuminate the turmoil he struggles even with defining his own identity; his civility and its stark contrast to the brutality of the other fighters despite being the greatest fighter of them all lead to his self-awareness of the pointlessness and futility of the war they are fighting, and his growing discomfort with his own hands, the hands that have wrought so much death and destruction.
But that's also one of the central problems I have with the book - it simply seems to deal with some things too easily. Having devised a wonderfully intricate characterisation of Achilles, he is then killed with little warning and resolution - while I can accept this as a deliberate comment on the 'women-centric' nature of the narrative Barker attempts to achieve, I find this voids the evident attempts at problematising our traditional treatment of Achilles as well. Another issue is the narrative thread concerning Patroclus. Similarly to Achilles, he is a complex character who is much unlike the other fighters in the camp, yet he suffers a sudden death with little of his personality resolved and much left unknown. The greatest problem, though - where the former two are possibly deliberate authorial choices, this is certainly not - is the relative repetitiveness of the book. Though it starts with a blazing first few chapters that daringly and bluntly describe the state of the Greek camp to us, it does become a little old with not much new added after a while, and the deliberate narrative device of introducing Achilles' voice confused me slightly, given that this book intends to escape the male-dominant narrative.
Nonetheless, I greatly enjoyed the book, and I'll end with a brief look at the conclusion. Here, Achilles is dead yet the Greeks have decisively won; Briseis is pregnant with Achilles' child, and sent off to live with Alcimus in obscurity. She defiantly declares that while she failed to escape Achilles' narrative once, she will make the best of her new attempt. I found this puzzling in that there is little discussion of this supposed independent narrative she asserts, though perhaps her conviction is left all the more powerful in the imagination of readers. While unsatisfying, the ending is undeniably poignant, a true testament to Briseis' fortitude, carving out for herself as she has an entirely new, entirely plausible life, fighting the eternal struggle to have her voice heard.
bub_9's review against another edition
3.0
Though rather less self-evidently cerebral than the previous few books on my reading list, The Silence of the Girls was certainly no less beautifully written. It marries a daringly unresolved narrative with vivid storytelling skills to match the best; the last star it loses is only in its at times wayward and at times overly conscious exploration of its critique of the obviously male-dominated narratives in the stories of the Trojan War, which all too often center around, and which made famous, male names: Achilles, Ajax, Agamemnon, Paris and Hector, to name just a few, while its main female presence, Helen, is herself not of any consequence, except in the horrific war that emerges from a dispute over her. Pat Barker thus seeks to overturn this, following the struggles of Briseis, Queen of Lyrnessus, who is reduced to a mere slave after her city is captured by the Greeks.
Unlike the more intellectually stimulating, self-conscious metanarration-interspersed-with-narration that characterises much of the postmodern diet I've fed myself on of late, Barker does not write in an obviously unconventional mode. Although this means the novel is not as thought-provoking as say, The Only Story by Julian Barnes, its power lies in its brilliantly executed yet beautifully simple narrative. In fact, not only does Briseis represent the silenced gender, she also represents the silenced nation.
But first, to Barker's startling illumination of what war does to women - the sheer objectifying, dehumanising forces that see once-noble, once-important women reduced to nothing but objects who are "asked for" every night by men, who are reduced to healing their wounds from sexual abuse with goose fat, who have their children thrown off buildings and killed and are then forced to sleep with their very killers. Briseis herself is 'lucky' - through Briseis, in fact, Barker explores several important ideas. She is contrasted to two other women (her cousin and a 15-year-old granddaughter of the Queen of Troy) who are nobly, purely willing and glad to die; "better to die on Achilles' burial mound than live and be a slave", says Polyxena, the latter, yet Briseis finds herself choosing, and later be grateful for this choice, to live. Are either of these options nobler, more virtuous? Barker leaves it up to us. Then there is the recurring motif of one's loyalties, and of falling in love with one's captor. Is it dishonourable to leave behind one's own identity and to attempt to forge a new life story? There are so many different stories - Tecmessa, Briseis, Iphis - that again no 'right' answer is readily attained. I could go on forever, so infinitely nuanced is Barker's look at the desperate attempts of these dethroned, displaced females to ground themselves not just in enemy territory, but in a military camp so obviously reeking of the alpha male and his overbearing personality; one of the best, most incisive instances of Barker's critique comes when she deals with the issue of marriage. Of course, modern conventions of marriage (at least in the developed world) are far different from what they were in the ancient, but the casualness with which marriage is bandied about is still astonishing. Patroclus repeatedly suggests to Briseis that he could have her married to Achilles; while this arises from kind intent, to protect her by securing her status, it is also a remarkable comment on the inequalities of such a partnership, more overtly then but also more implicitly now.
Of course, this is not a novel merely stuffed full of simple, one-dimensional feminist tropes. The overarching concern is more to do with disempowered groups and the narratives they tell, and so we are given voices on another axis of marginalisation; not only are they women among men, they are also Trojans among Greeks; certain losers among certain victors. They witness the plundering, the looting and destruction that is inflicted upon every city; they show to us the conquering in a horrifically gory rather than glorious light. They also humanise and give personality to what would simply be victims; in one particularly memorable meditation, Briseis recalls all the names of the 60 individuals Achilles kills in one day, then pauses to ask - what's the point? Whether there is any point is one of the central questions Barker explores here.
Then there is Achilles. A strange character; at first he strikes us as a typical warrior, though perhaps minus the crazed, bloodthirsty lust - though Briseis initially characterises him as such, it rapidly becomes apparent that he is more levelheaded than many of his fellow fighters; even in sex, he seems to strive more for efficiency than lust and passion. Achilles is beautifully multifaceted; his difficult upbringing and relationship with his mother, for example, illuminate the turmoil he struggles even with defining his own identity; his civility and its stark contrast to the brutality of the other fighters despite being the greatest fighter of them all lead to his self-awareness of the pointlessness and futility of the war they are fighting, and his growing discomfort with his own hands, the hands that have wrought so much death and destruction.
But that's also one of the central problems I have with the book - it simply seems to deal with some things too easily. Having devised a wonderfully intricate characterisation of Achilles, he is then killed with little warning and resolution - while I can accept this as a deliberate comment on the 'women-centric' nature of the narrative Barker attempts to achieve, I find this voids the evident attempts at problematising our traditional treatment of Achilles as well. Another issue is the narrative thread concerning Patroclus. Similarly to Achilles, he is a complex character who is much unlike the other fighters in the camp, yet he suffers a sudden death with little of his personality resolved and much left unknown. The greatest problem, though - where the former two are possibly deliberate authorial choices, this is certainly not - is the relative repetitiveness of the book. Though it starts with a blazing first few chapters that daringly and bluntly describe the state of the Greek camp to us, it does become a little old with not much new added after a while, and the deliberate narrative device of introducing Achilles' voice confused me slightly, given that this book intends to escape the male-dominant narrative.
Nonetheless, I greatly enjoyed the book, and I'll end with a brief look at the conclusion. Here, Achilles is dead yet the Greeks have decisively won; Briseis is pregnant with Achilles' child, and sent off to live with Alcimus in obscurity. She defiantly declares that while she failed to escape Achilles' narrative once, she will make the best of her new attempt. I found this puzzling in that there is little discussion of this supposed independent narrative she asserts, though perhaps her conviction is left all the more powerful in the imagination of readers. While unsatisfying, the ending is undeniably poignant, a true testament to Briseis' fortitude, carving out for herself as she has an entirely new, entirely plausible life, fighting the eternal struggle to have her voice heard.
Unlike the more intellectually stimulating, self-conscious metanarration-interspersed-with-narration that characterises much of the postmodern diet I've fed myself on of late, Barker does not write in an obviously unconventional mode. Although this means the novel is not as thought-provoking as say, The Only Story by Julian Barnes, its power lies in its brilliantly executed yet beautifully simple narrative. In fact, not only does Briseis represent the silenced gender, she also represents the silenced nation.
But first, to Barker's startling illumination of what war does to women - the sheer objectifying, dehumanising forces that see once-noble, once-important women reduced to nothing but objects who are "asked for" every night by men, who are reduced to healing their wounds from sexual abuse with goose fat, who have their children thrown off buildings and killed and are then forced to sleep with their very killers. Briseis herself is 'lucky' - through Briseis, in fact, Barker explores several important ideas. She is contrasted to two other women (her cousin and a 15-year-old granddaughter of the Queen of Troy) who are nobly, purely willing and glad to die; "better to die on Achilles' burial mound than live and be a slave", says Polyxena, the latter, yet Briseis finds herself choosing, and later be grateful for this choice, to live. Are either of these options nobler, more virtuous? Barker leaves it up to us. Then there is the recurring motif of one's loyalties, and of falling in love with one's captor. Is it dishonourable to leave behind one's own identity and to attempt to forge a new life story? There are so many different stories - Tecmessa, Briseis, Iphis - that again no 'right' answer is readily attained. I could go on forever, so infinitely nuanced is Barker's look at the desperate attempts of these dethroned, displaced females to ground themselves not just in enemy territory, but in a military camp so obviously reeking of the alpha male and his overbearing personality; one of the best, most incisive instances of Barker's critique comes when she deals with the issue of marriage. Of course, modern conventions of marriage (at least in the developed world) are far different from what they were in the ancient, but the casualness with which marriage is bandied about is still astonishing. Patroclus repeatedly suggests to Briseis that he could have her married to Achilles; while this arises from kind intent, to protect her by securing her status, it is also a remarkable comment on the inequalities of such a partnership, more overtly then but also more implicitly now.
Of course, this is not a novel merely stuffed full of simple, one-dimensional feminist tropes. The overarching concern is more to do with disempowered groups and the narratives they tell, and so we are given voices on another axis of marginalisation; not only are they women among men, they are also Trojans among Greeks; certain losers among certain victors. They witness the plundering, the looting and destruction that is inflicted upon every city; they show to us the conquering in a horrifically gory rather than glorious light. They also humanise and give personality to what would simply be victims; in one particularly memorable meditation, Briseis recalls all the names of the 60 individuals Achilles kills in one day, then pauses to ask - what's the point? Whether there is any point is one of the central questions Barker explores here.
Then there is Achilles. A strange character; at first he strikes us as a typical warrior, though perhaps minus the crazed, bloodthirsty lust - though Briseis initially characterises him as such, it rapidly becomes apparent that he is more levelheaded than many of his fellow fighters; even in sex, he seems to strive more for efficiency than lust and passion. Achilles is beautifully multifaceted; his difficult upbringing and relationship with his mother, for example, illuminate the turmoil he struggles even with defining his own identity; his civility and its stark contrast to the brutality of the other fighters despite being the greatest fighter of them all lead to his self-awareness of the pointlessness and futility of the war they are fighting, and his growing discomfort with his own hands, the hands that have wrought so much death and destruction.
But that's also one of the central problems I have with the book - it simply seems to deal with some things too easily. Having devised a wonderfully intricate characterisation of Achilles, he is then killed with little warning and resolution - while I can accept this as a deliberate comment on the 'women-centric' nature of the narrative Barker attempts to achieve, I find this voids the evident attempts at problematising our traditional treatment of Achilles as well. Another issue is the narrative thread concerning Patroclus. Similarly to Achilles, he is a complex character who is much unlike the other fighters in the camp, yet he suffers a sudden death with little of his personality resolved and much left unknown. The greatest problem, though - where the former two are possibly deliberate authorial choices, this is certainly not - is the relative repetitiveness of the book. Though it starts with a blazing first few chapters that daringly and bluntly describe the state of the Greek camp to us, it does become a little old with not much new added after a while, and the deliberate narrative device of introducing Achilles' voice confused me slightly, given that this book intends to escape the male-dominant narrative.
Nonetheless, I greatly enjoyed the book, and I'll end with a brief look at the conclusion. Here, Achilles is dead yet the Greeks have decisively won; Briseis is pregnant with Achilles' child, and sent off to live with Alcimus in obscurity. She defiantly declares that while she failed to escape Achilles' narrative once, she will make the best of her new attempt. I found this puzzling in that there is little discussion of this supposed independent narrative she asserts, though perhaps her conviction is left all the more powerful in the imagination of readers. While unsatisfying, the ending is undeniably poignant, a true testament to Briseis' fortitude, carving out for herself as she has an entirely new, entirely plausible life, fighting the eternal struggle to have her voice heard.
matthew_hess's review against another edition
3.0
The concept of the book-the trojan war from a woman's perspective-fascinated me. However, this book, unfortunately, let me down. I wanted to get to know and love Briseis, the main character, however, she seemed to be a minor character in her own book. It felt like at least half of the story was spent on Achilles and other men in the war. I know some background knowledge is necessary, but the appeal of this book is how the perspectives and experiences of a woman are different. The last 3o pages finally gave me the interesting a complex perspective I was looking for in Briseis, but it's too late at that point.
intothestars's review against another edition
dark
sad
tense
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Plot
- Strong character development? No
- Loveable characters? No
- Diverse cast of characters? It's complicated
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
3.0
yfranke's review against another edition
adventurous
informative
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? A mix
- Strong character development? No
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? No
3.25
gabbyw07's review against another edition
- Plot- or character-driven? A mix
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? It's complicated
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
4.25
amongstchaosshereads's review against another edition
4.0
4.5
“We’re going to survive–our songs, our stories. They’ll never be able to forget us. Decades after the last man who fought at Troy is dead, their sons will remember the songs their Trojan mothers sang to them. We’ll be in their dreams–and in their worst nightmares too.”
I have been a little obsessed with Achilles, Patroclus and the Trojan war since reading The song of Achilles and falling in love with the magnificent story Madeline Miller brought to us .... Yet from the very first line in The silence of the girls Barker quickly reminds you that the Trojan war is very much romanticised in the favour of these great warriors like Achilles.
“Great Achilles. Brilliant Achilles, shining Achilles, godlike Achilles … How the epithets pile up. We never called him any of those things; we called him ‘the butcher’.”
The silence of the girls shines a whole different light on the story through this brutal, haunting and disturbing modern retelling which is told to us from the perspective of Briseis - Achilles war prize after he has sacked her city and murdered her family!
I really enjoyed this one. (not sure enjoyed is really the right word!)
It was such a beautifully written and utterly compelling read and quite the emotional rollercoaster! ... The characters so multi-layered and complex I didn't know what to think or feel and a few times found myself slightly conflicted with them.
The feminist spin Barker gives the story is done brilliantly - it is raw, it is brutal, it is heartbreaking, it is powerful! ... such an important read that puts the women, their stories, their daily abuses and sacrifices at the forefront.
I highly recommend!
“We’re going to survive–our songs, our stories. They’ll never be able to forget us. Decades after the last man who fought at Troy is dead, their sons will remember the songs their Trojan mothers sang to them. We’ll be in their dreams–and in their worst nightmares too.”
I have been a little obsessed with Achilles, Patroclus and the Trojan war since reading The song of Achilles and falling in love with the magnificent story Madeline Miller brought to us .... Yet from the very first line in The silence of the girls Barker quickly reminds you that the Trojan war is very much romanticised in the favour of these great warriors like Achilles.
“Great Achilles. Brilliant Achilles, shining Achilles, godlike Achilles … How the epithets pile up. We never called him any of those things; we called him ‘the butcher’.”
The silence of the girls shines a whole different light on the story through this brutal, haunting and disturbing modern retelling which is told to us from the perspective of Briseis - Achilles war prize after he has sacked her city and murdered her family!
I really enjoyed this one. (not sure enjoyed is really the right word!)
It was such a beautifully written and utterly compelling read and quite the emotional rollercoaster! ... The characters so multi-layered and complex I didn't know what to think or feel and a few times found myself slightly conflicted with them.
The feminist spin Barker gives the story is done brilliantly - it is raw, it is brutal, it is heartbreaking, it is powerful! ... such an important read that puts the women, their stories, their daily abuses and sacrifices at the forefront.
I highly recommend!
the_heatherlands's review against another edition
dark
emotional
sad
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? A mix
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
4.75