A review by conspystery
Clytemnestra by Costanza Casati

adventurous dark emotional reflective sad tense medium-paced
  • Plot- or character-driven? Character
  • Strong character development? Yes
  • Loveable characters? It's complicated
  • Diverse cast of characters? It's complicated
  • Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes

5.0

A massive thank-you to Netgalley, the publisher, and the author of Clytemnestra for allowing me the opportunity to read and review this outstanding book! I appreciate it so much! This book is absolutely bewitching. It is fiery and dark and painful and retributive in all the best ways, exactly what I’d hope for in a retelling of Clytemnestra’s story. Clytemnestra not only does justice to its source material but also transforms it, adding complex perspective and depth to its characters, themes, and events. Its spiral into tragedy is compelling.

Part of what drives Clytemnestra’s intoxicating sense of immersion in the narrative is its structure. The book is split up into sections surrounding major events in the protagonist’s life, establishing temporality through time skips and flashbacks. This segmented structure works exceptionally well to pace the story. It adds narrative weight exactly where it needs to go, which is crucial in a story dotted with tragedy like this one, and helps to move the book forward with Clytemnestra herself. Also, establishing a consistent structure and style of immersion like this means that when the format is briefly broken-- like when suddenly the story is being told in letters, or the limited perspective suddenly shifts to follow a new character-- the contrast is all the more fascinating. Clytemnestra’s structure both constructs its addictive downward spiral and emphasizes the fleeting periods of happiness in the story to make the inevitable tragedies hit even harder, pulling the reader along with the protagonist as she descends. 

The writing of Clytemnestra is even more absorbing than its structure. Every word of the book feels intentional and fitting for its setting, characters, and plot. The syntax and figurative language, especially its similes and metaphors, mirror Clytemnestra’s character arc through the novel: in just the first few sections the writing evolves, like her, from devoted and burning and focused to considering and tentatively unguarded, more and more relaxed and peaceful until the plot’s fever breaks into tragedy. It continues to develop as the book goes on with concise, articulated grace perfectly suited to Clytemnestra herself, and complements the book’s atmosphere with its imagery and emotional pull. I love how vicious the language of this book gets at points, especially in contrast with how refreshing its moments of delicacy or natural beauty are-- its imagery of changing seasons to note the passing of time is particularly striking when considered in the context of Clytemnestra’s emotional state and character development. Also notable is the dialogue, which itself is written thoughtfully and grippingly: each character has a distinct voice that matches, or in many more intriguing cases contrasts, the protagonist’s view of them. 

Clytemnestra’s characters are utterly fascinating, which is crucial for a novel so driven by the reconciliation between humans and their agency when confronted with tragic fates and unfair societies. Helen is one of my favorite characters. I’ve never read a version of Helen quite like this one. Many retellings paint her as manipulative or aloof or cruel, which is interesting in its own right, but this story does its best to paint Helen in a thoughtful, sympathetic light. She struggles with her self-worth in the face of surface-level judgment and with constant comparisons to her sister. When her issues boil over the cover of subtlety and mildness she tries to fit herself to, she becomes understandably spiteful, then regretful, then desperate. Even after the Trojan War begins, Helen remains an interesting character in the mind of Clytemnestra, who has to grapple with the biased memories she holds of her sister: did the childhood perfect and unbothered version of Helen that Clytemnestra held in her mind ever really exist at all, or was Clytemnestra’s perception of her tainted by comparison? I love how Helen and Clytemnestra’s sisterhood is so complex. It develops through the novel realistically and intriguingly, not to mention Clytemnestra’s relationships with her other siblings and family members. 

Other characters I especially enjoyed reading are Penelope, Odysseus, and Electra, but really everyone in the cast of this novel, no matter how significant their role, stands out as multifaceted with plenty of layers to consider-- Clytemnestra herself definitely included! She defines this novel as its voice; her perspectives are the ones the audience looks through. This book does a fantastic job of truly bringing its audience along with its protagonist and putting them in her mind while also presenting foreshadowing (the constant references to Artemis are my favorite example of this, knowing Iphigenia’s story) and dramatic irony to tinge the background. The audience processes the world through Clytemnestra’s mind, but they are given enough surrounding information to be able to see the faults in her reasoning and her flaws. Clytemnestra’s development is externally like a downward spiral; however, this book immerses its audience so thoroughly in her world that they cannot help but feel her rage at the injustice and tragedy she is forced to endure again and again and again. Making Clytemnestra into an understandable or sympathetic character is no small feat-- yet this book completely succeeds at doing so, painful and upsetting but also cathartic and contemplative, almost wistful and bittersweet in its moments of reflection. 

The quality of this book that I think sets it unequivocally apart from others in this genre is its commitment to its narrative. Every part of this book feels deliberate; all its potential is followed through to the end. The book commits to its interpretation of events, be that through its own artistic liberty, character choices, or the brutality of its narrative, fully and completely. Many retellings shy away from their own struggle with uncomfortable parts of source material or reinterpret them in a way that is shallow, avoidant, or has questionable implications even and especially when attempting to modernize their themes; Clytemnestra, however, does not suffer this problem and is made better for it. This book leans into its decisions hard. It is violent and horrific when the narrative calls for it, never hiding from its own brutality. While this commitment does result in many extremely uncomfortable, disturbing, and otherwise upsetting scenes, questions raised, and topics covered, I feel that Clytemnestra presents them in a way which brings productive, meaningful light to the implications of the source material. Clytemnestra’s story is dark, tragic, steeped in injustice-- so the book forces its audience to look directly at the ugliness and see it for what it is rather than sidestep it in favor of a more comfortable narrative. Its commitment is commendable.

Ultimately, Clytemnestra is an absorbing, strikingly painful tragedy that draws power from contrast. It is disturbingly violent at times and hazily, near-nostalgically reflective at others, the writing itself crafting powerful immersion within the protagonist’s world and mindset. Its characters and interpretation of events are thoughtfully, evocatively written with depth in every aspect. It raises questions about the truth in a legacy, the sides of stories-- and people!-- overlooked or covered up, and the way people justify injustice itself. This is a brutally powerful novel with a fascinating lead character and message about the cost of being remembered. I loved it. 
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