Reclamation of Power in “I, Medusa” https://ift.tt/DSTtaU9
Maybe you’ve seen it: The figure of a woman with a head full of snakes, carved as a pendant, woven as a patch, or inked onto skin. The image of Medusa is a familiar one. She’s the monster that turns men to stone, right? Ends up getting beheaded by some guy named Perseus, come to slay the terrible beast?
In 2020, a different vision of Medusa popped up in Manhattan. A 7-foot-tall bronze statue installed in Collect Pond Park, sculpted by Luciano Garbati, depicted a compelling woman with serpents for hair standing on a raised platform, with a sword in one hand and the head of Perseus in the other. This became a powerful symbol picked up by the #MeToo movement, an awareness campaign against sexual abuse, sexual harassment, and rape culture.
So how did Medusa, a frightening creature known to petrify people and terrorize the Greeks, come to epitomize the resilience of survivors of sexual abuse?
Ayana Gray, the New York Times bestselling author of the Beasts of Prey series, shows us insight into how this came to be in her new book, I, Medusa. Released on November 18th, I, Medusa gives us the other side of the typical “brave man come to slay the monster” story.
In the spirit of Maguire’s Wicked, Gray delves into the life of the woman before the myth. But the book is more than just a retelling of a 2,000 year old story. Gray expertly portrays the complexity of women’s relationships with one another through a diverse cast haunted, in their own unique ways, by the man’s world they live in.
The book sticks close to Ovid’s interpretation of Medusa in the Metamorphoses: the mortal child of two sea gods, an acolyte in Athena’s temple, is sexually assaulted by Poseidon. When Athena finds out what happened, instead of blaming Poseidon for the assault, the goddess blames Medusa for desecrating her temple. As punishment, Medusa is transformed into a hideous gorgon with serpents for hair, and the ability to turn men to stone.
Victim blaming, circa 8 CE.
I, Medusa takes place in ancient Greece at a time when Athens was a sprawling epicenter of diversity and expansion. Medusa grows up on a distant unnamed island, the youngest of two older, immortal siblings. She longs for excitement, adventure — something different from the placid world she lives in. Unfortunately, she gets it.
Gray breaks up the novel into 4 parts: Mortal, Maiden, Mistress, and Monster. In each section, the author explores a new aspect of Medusa’s life and the expectations put on her.
In Mortal, Medusa’s world amounts to what political gain her father can scrape up by marrying her off to any semi-prominent figure willing to take her. Unlike her sisters, Euryale and Stheno, who carry with them the grace and beauty of immortals, Medusa feels “like a common moth trying in vain to pass for a butterfly.” Her family, made up of old gods, struggles to find footing with the shiny new Olympians who now rule as the prominent gods of the world. Medusa and her sisters can help further her father’s goals through their marriage prospects. They’re objects. Pawns on a chess board. Until Medusa takes matters into her own hands.
Gray weaves an undercurrent of helplessness and familial duty with the complexity of what women must do to gain agency in hopeless situations. Euryale is the first sister to receive a marriage proposal. Her husband-to-be, Prince Maheer, reveals his cruelty well before the wedding day. When Medusa spots the evidence of it, she despairs at the revelation. “I know he will hit her many more times and that my sister’s face will never betray so much as a hint of his barbarity.” Immortals heal quickly, after all. One of the “perks.” Despite Prince Maheer’s brutal nature, Euryale is willing to suffer it if it means she has a chance to leave her home and see more of the world.
Situations like these crop up over and over again in the book, and this is where the heart of the story resides. In Maiden, Medusa is whisked away to Athens to compete with other women for a chance to become one of Athena’s acolytes. Due to the color of her skin, she’s immediately “othered” by another contestant, seen as a metic, a foreigner. In Mistress, while visiting her island home, Medusa’s blooming attraction for Poseidon is sprinkled with all the warning signs of gaslighting. The terrible reality of her abuse culminates as a public spectacle during one of her parents’ luxurious parties: Why didn’t Medusa say “no” the right way? Loudly? Enough times? By Monster, her journey peaks with a reclamation of power, a justification for her anger, and, eventually, a more nuanced understanding of what it means to be a woman in a world ruled by men.
Gray writes complicated women with rich personalities who exist in a, well, gray area. Take Ceto, Medusa’s mother, for example. At first, I was infuriated with the way Ceto treated her daughters. She’s introduced as an abusive drunk who seems callous and uncaring, more concerned with hosting lavish parties than showing an iota of love for her children. At one point, she hurls a goblet of wine at Euryale, busting her lip. But as the story progresses, Gray shows the abuse Ceto suffers at the hands of her husband, the deep sorrow she carries within her, and how all that grief and fury and love get tangled up.
I, Medusa isn’t just an adventurous tale about the origin story of a classic Greek “monster.” It’s a commentary about the many ways women are oppressed in their lives, the varied forms in which sexual harassment and assault take place, and ultimately the resilience of a survivor’s spirit. If you’re looking for a story to get fired up about, this is the one.
FICTION I, Medusa
By Ayana Gray
Random House
Published November 18th, 2025
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