‘Sorceress.’ I repeated the word slowly, drawing out each satisfying drop of sibilance.
Flipping between two retellings of Medea's tale.
🔸 Bright Air Black by David Vann
🔸 Medea by Rosie Hewlett
Medea killed the children she had with Jason when he cast her aside for another woman, a princess, and killed both the other woman and the woman's father — murders which were all planned and executed within a 24-hour period.
In doing so, she thoroughly subverted Jason's schemes, after being entombed in their home for a decade, and escaped the what one might imagine would ordinarily have been the consequences of her actions — in some tellings, the gods provided a chariot for her to escape in leaving no doubt of whom they supported, although in Hewlett's, escape came by way of a dragon she had created.
In all tellings, Medea's tale is a chilling reminder of what a person pushed to the edge can become capable of, and of how divine justice and accountability take into account provocation in myriad forms beyond the imminent danger standard most temporal (patriarchal) laws lean towards. Of how only a fool believes that he is immune from pushback just because it doesn't come fast and furious, immediately before his eyes upon recognition of his having been abusive.
Hewlett, however, focuses on how a man's manipulation and gaslighting played a key role into turning Medea, the woman he married, into what she became. And of how she eventually found herself after his own conduct broke the chains of imagined love and toxic dependency which tied her to him for years.