Circe: The International No. 1 Bestseller - Shortlisted for the Women's Prize for Fiction 2019

Every moment mortals died, by shipwreck and sword, by wild beasts and wild men, by illness, neglect, and age. It was their fate, as Prometheus had told me, the story that they all shared. No matter how vivid they were in life, no matter how brilliant, no matter the wonders they made, they came to dust and smoke. Meanwhile every petty and useless go

In the bottom of the pool, in eight feet of water, were the three sirens of Titan, the three beautiful human females who had been offered to the lecherous Malachi Constant so long ago. They were statues made by Salo of Titanic peat.

IN THE DARKNESS, two shadows, reaching through the hopeless, heavy dusk. Their hands meet, and light spills in a flood like a hundred golden urns pouring out of the sun.

I understood now. I was not the goddess who had taken her husband. “Gods pretend to be parents,” I said, “but they are children, clapping their hands and shouting for more.”