Coming back to this project, as I am currently reading a book detailing what the story of Helen tells us about the Ancient Greek world and what our knowledge of Bronze Age Greece allows us to understand about Helen. It’s fascinating, and made me think of this atrocious story. Though not as funny as
Manhunt by any stretch of the imagination, it’s always funny when troons a.) think they’re smart, and b.) really want to claim every character throughout myth, legend, and history for themselves.
In order to do this, Deane is attempting to weave what he knows of history (and to give credit where it’s due, he sometimes seems to show a deepness to his knowledge right before tripping over his own ego and writing nonsense about how the Greeks didn’t know what umbrellas or parasols were) with his own fantasy. For normal authors who do this, the fantasy part is usually not a wet dream splashed onto ancient text, it’s taking a familiar story and adding bulk and context.
But not for this true and honest woman. He’s on a mission of his own, and I’m going to dive back into it.
They were off to a great start. Achilles felt herself beginning to flush with embarrassment. It would have been better to talk less and listen more, but the flawless Egyptian was a challenge she could not ignore.
I’m sorry, but I’ll never get used to seeing female pronouns given to such a manly hero like Achilles. It just doesn’t work historically-speaking nor does it work for the myth. Achilles is an established hero, and trying to change him into a transwoman means that all that we know about the way ancient writers characterized him has to be thrown out the window.
He is literally Achilles in name only. But at least I haven’t come across any more passages of him claiming to be jealous of women dying of ovarian cancer…
Glyke returned with two huge cups of watered wine and a bunch of desiccated brown fruit that looked entirely unappetizing. Achilles accepted a cup and a few of the fruits, planning to eat one for politeness’s sake and wash it down with wine. She bit into it, and the tiny crunchy seeds burst across her tongue. It was sweet. The wine was good as well, if somewhat bitter.
“Animals used to talk to us,” continued Meryapi. “So which is more likely: That animals were struck dumb by some calamity, or that humans stopped learning their languages?”
Yep, we’re still talking about talking animals. We’re no longer making our Egyptian lady here hold the beliefs of modern scientists, though, that dolphins in particular have language. Now we’re talking about all animals once having language.
Egyptians believed that all animals naturally had their own form of speech, and many of them were conduits for the gods. This is different from Deane’s previous dialogue about dolphins in particular, but still different from Meryapi’s current philosophical (I use that term loosely, as I think Deane’s ego is running away with him and he thinks he’s way more philosophically-inclined than he actually is) waxing about animals speech from a mythological standpoint.
The idea that animals once all spoke Egyptian and then suddenly didn’t feels too Garden of Eden-like to me. Egyptians didn’t believe in a previous version of Earth that was suddenly changed due to the calamity of the first sin, nor did they hold any similar stories. This is Deane thinking he’s clever.
Patroklos had settled down next to them, and Glyke returned momentarily with a cup for him. He was watching them with a bemused smile. Perhaps the conversation was already too ridiculous for him, or perhaps he wanted to watch it play out. Either way, he was no help.
“I suppose it is more likely that humans stopped speaking animal languages,” Achilles said grudgingly. “If we ever spoke those tongues.”
“The gods would know,” said Meryapi. “I was wondering if you could ask them? They are very old, and you are the first mortal I have met who has a goddess for a mother.”
Achilles glanced at Patroklos. “You told her?”
Patroklos shrugged. “Was it secret?”
Poor Achilles, like most troons, finds that given a topic of conversation about literally anything other than porn, skirt-go-spinny, or whatever media he’s trying to appropriate for his own cause, he can’t keep up. And this isn’t even a hard conversation; it’s a retarded Egyptian who thinks that sipping wine and asking, “So, like, maybe animals could talk?” It’s not that hard to follow!
Also, Athena still isn’t Achilles’ mother. I don’t know why Deane did that. I mean, if you were going to change Achilles’ origins to a goddess a little more familiar to modern audiences, why would you pick a goddess known for being a virgin?
Meryapi smiled and sipped at her wine. “I asked about all the kings and princes of the Achaians when I got here. Patroklos answered my endless questions, and now I know everyone’s genealogies. You are the only one born directly of a goddess. Is the wine good?”
Achilles drank stiffly. She had made a fool of herself arguing with the Egyptian, and for no obvious reason. Maybe part of her was territorial about Patroklos. He had always been her cousin, and now this overeducated Egyptian highborn had a better claim on him. Jealousy was an ugly thing, so she pushed it away and drank more wine. “Yes. I’m just thirsty and argumentative. Don’t they have gods in Egypt?”
Again, Meryapi isn’t being educated or smart here, Achilles! You shouldn’t feel stupid talking to her, but troons aren’t exactly known for their logic.
Meryapi nodded. “The gods travel and seldom stay anywhere long. Grandpapa met Djehuty in his youth, whom you call Apollo. They quarreled over the Hittite war.” Her wine cup was already half-empty. She must have been a prodigious drinker.
First of all, Egyptians didn’t necessarily believe all of their gods were travelers. Many of them were stationed in cities where they were resident, patron gods and protectors. Unless this is meant to be metaphorical, but I don’t think Deane thinks that way nor would he write that way.
Also, he clearly thinks he’s being clever again by using the name Djehuty, a more obscure name for the god Thoth. Unfortunately, he again falls over his own over-inflated ego and makes the blunder of saying that Thoth’s Greek counterpart was Apollo. The Ancient Greeks, obsessed with synchronization as they were, believed Thoth (Djehuty) was Hermes.
I’m not sure why he’s making these mistakes. The only thing I can imagine is that, in his rush to get back to describing Achilles' wondrous blossoming womanhood, he’s trying to dredge up half-remembered tidbits of mythological trivia and isn’t even bothering to run to Google for a quick fact-check.
Not to be outdone, Achilles sipped again. The wine was beginning to hit her—quick stuff, wine—and she felt her frown starting to soften. Meryapi was very pretty, in a sparkling-eyed way, and she gestured with her hands when she spoke, setting her jewelry clattering and glinting. Now Achilles wished she had started with small talk. “How did you meet Patroklos?”
This wasn’t small talk?
Also, funny how the troon-brain once again has Achilles looking at Meryapi the way he would if he were still the man the Greeks described.
And with that, my brain is done with stupid. I’ll be back later, but when this book slows down, it really does.
