I’ve always been drawn to feminist retellings of Greek mythology that shift the focus away from celebrated heroes and instead centre the women who were so often woefully left in their shadow. In House of Odysseus, Claire North reimagines the aftermath of the Trojan War through a lens that prioritises female perspectives and survival. Rather than treating Ithaca as an extension of Odysseus’s legend, the novel reframes it as a tense political space where Penelope walks on a knife-edge as her intelligence and resilience become the real foundation of stability in a world still shaped by war and myth. In this House of Odysseus review, I’ll be sharing my thoughts on what makes Claire North’s retelling such a compelling addition to the growing canon of feminist Greek mythology adaptations.
Straightaway, Aphrodite proves a fresh and compelling narrator, telling the tale in a witty, scathing, and often sardonic voice. Gloriously aware of her own importance, she nevertheless shows a surprising warmth towards the women whose stories she tells and a keen understanding of the constraints faced by both mortal women and her fellow goddesses. Through Aphrodite’s narration, North delivers sharp social commentary that feels just as relevant today as it would have been in ancient Greece.
“So it is in this manner Hera’s beauty fades, plucked from her body by others’ hand…” This one line alone reflects loss of agency and beauty as a commodity. The image is striking as beauty is presented like yet another resource to be plundered by careless men and wilful gods.
North succeeds in writing prose that adapts and brings the ancient text to a modern audience. What impressed me most was how naturally the novel’s themes flow through the writing, woven seamlessly into the narrative rather than delivered ham-fistedly. Dialogue feels sharp and purposeful, often working over multiple layers. This strength is particularly evident in North’s characterisation as she breathes new life into familiar figures.
What makes Penelope such a compelling protagonist is her understanding of power. She’s astute and walks through the world with her eyes open. Unlike many of those around her, she sees people clearly – their ambitions, weaknesses, and deceptions. And time and again, she is underestimated by men who mistake patience for passivity. Odysseus’ legend was built on his cunning, but North makes a convincing case that Penelope is every bit his equal.
Helen emerges as perhaps the most dynamic character in the entire novel. Helen in House of Odysseus is written with a striking lack of sentimentality, and at first, it’s hard not to notice how unflattering her characterisation is compared to figures like Penelope. She often comes across as deeply self-centred, moving through the aftermath of Troy with an emotional detachment that borders on indifference. What’s particularly jarring is her apparent obtuseness toward the scale of destruction tied to her own myth: the war, the deaths, and the ruin of entire cities.“The woman who broke the world”
The House of Odysseus restores agency to these women who are often left in the footnotes and portrays them in a flattering light. Whereas Helen’s depiction feels almost deliberately unforgiving and surface-level. This subverts expectations as in the third act, we discover Helen is more alert and calculated than anyone, including the reader, gave her credit for. The characterisation of Helen often reminded me of Daisy Buchanan from The Great Gatsby, with the parallels of being “beautiful little fools” in a man’s world.
As a Clytemnestra apologist, I found North’s portrayal of Orestes and his ongoing anguish brilliant. Greek mythology has always been remarkably forgiving of men’s violence while demanding endless suffering and accountability from women, and nowhere is this double standard more apparent than in the House of Atreus.
Clytemnestra is forever remembered as the monster who murdered her husband, not the grieving mother whose daughter was slain by her husband as a sacrifice. As is so often the case in myth, the woman pays for the sins of the man.
This is why I find Elektra such a frustrating figure. She seems utterly incapable of recognising the enormity of her father’s crime, viewing Agamemnon through the lens of patriarchal hero worship rather than moral reality. Her devotion to him feels less like loyalty and more like indoctrination. She mourns the loss of her father while refusing to meaningfully reckon with what he did to her sister.
What makes this particularly tragic is that Elektra herself becomes another victim of that same patriarchal system. Her life is consumed by Orestes and his quest for vengeance. She is hellbent on serving a father and patriarchal lineage that has never shown the same loyalty to its daughters. Orestes, meanwhile, embodies the cycle of masculine violence that drives so much of Greek myth. His actions bring destruction not only upon himself but upon the women around him, yet the narrative tradition repeatedly elevates his suffering while diminishing theirs.
North’s portrayal reinforces how these cycles perpetuate themselves across generations. As he is haunted by the Furies for murdering his mother, he cries out to her, driven to near madness, begging for her forgiveness. After fleeing Ithaca, Penelope has a moment with Orestes. She speaks on forgiveness and the act of contrition. I have continued to think of this passage since finishing the book, as I don’t think I ever really considered that seeking forgiveness and apologising aren’t the same thing.
“Because of course, here is the thing – he never said sorry… That would have been his gift to me, of course. His apology, bestowed on me. But that’s not what happened. He asked me to forgive him. For me to bestow this gift upon my husband. Even in that moment – that tender moment, that tenderest of moments, a moment the poets look to as the act of the greatest devotion from a man to his wife, that needful for well – he did not give unto me, but took…”
My only significant criticism is that the novel’s final act feels somewhat rushed. North spends much of the book carefully building tensions whilst establishing characters and relationships. So it is slightly disappointing that the climax and resolution unfold so quickly. In particular, the collapse of the Spartan threat feels a little too straightforward, given how formidable the army has been presented throughout both the novel and history. To see the renowned Spartan army crumble under barely any pressure feels more unbelievable than a hydra.
I truly believe that the conclusion would have benefited from just another chapter or two.
I absolutely loved House of Odysseus. Claire North has written something that feels both deeply rooted in myth and strikingly relevant to modern readers. Whilst some knowledge of other myths (Troy, the Odyssey, House of Atreus, etc.) is beneficial, it’s not completely necessary to follow this novel. If you’re a fan of feminist retellings, morally complex characters, and mythology that isn’t afraid to challenge the traditional heroic narrative, I can’t recommend House of Odysseus highly enough.
If you’ve read it, I’d love to hear your thoughts, and if you have any favourite Greek mythology retellings, please share your recommendations so that I can fill my book shelves!
Until next time,
Ashleigh x
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