Category: Later Uses of Mythology

Heroism and Violence in Euripides and Anne Carson

Jillian Carlisle (’26) reads H of H Playbook (2021), Anne Carson’s daring, collage-like remaking of Euripides’ The Mad Heracles, and finds that both poets ask audiences to re-examine their understandings of heroism.

Heroism, especially in the mythology of Heracles, is often demonstrated through violence. Many of us grew up hearing as children that “violence is not the answer.” It is usually the answer for one of the most well-known heroes of all time. Five of his twelve labors, as canonically defined by Apollodorus, require Hercules to kill something or someone. If they are not killed, many of his other foes are wrestled or hurt by Hercules’ brute strength. The pattern of violent, hurtful victories in Hercules mythology makes him seem invincible and eventually leads him to be honored by the Greek gods of Olympus with immortality. But at times, this strength, especially when it is one of the key elements of his personality, becomes a fault rather than a virtue. In some less popular, less Disney-worthy versions of his story, Hercules’ own strength becomes his downfall.

In one of the best examples of this downfall, outside the setting of his well-known labors, there is a story about Hercules that has been adapted by many different authors in which he becomes crazy, frenzied, and violent (often referred to as Heracles Furens, or The Mad Hercules). Unlike the protective, heroic, calculated violence previously synonymous with Hercules, this frenzy is gory, shocking, and uncontrolled by the hero. Euripides’ Heracles is one of the most successful and detailed versions of this myth. In the Greek play, first performed in 416 BC, Hercules returns from his labors successful, saves his family from the persecution they faced without his protection, only to go mad and brutally murder his wife and three children after being possessed by Hera and madness. As tragic as they are, these manipulations of Hercules’ strengths are not necessarily ruinous to his character; in fact, Euripides affords the hero some peace after his murderous spree. His play approaches heroism, tyranny, and duty with much nuance, as strength becomes weakness.

mostly blank page with drawing of something that looks like a snake head at the right
An illustration from H of H Playbook (New Directions, 2021), written and drawn by Anne Carson: an abstract interpretation of Hercules’ madness or of the goddesses Iris and Madness, “dressed as an electrical storm… shredding the still air… to part the heart of H of H and break everything in there.” Unnumbered page 66r.

Poet and classicists Anne Carson adapts Euripides’ play for the modern audience in her work, The H of H Playbook, published by New Directions in 2021. Of the nineteen surviving plays by Euripides, Carson has translated seven into English. Her work has garnered her MacArthur and Guggenheim fellowships, the T.S. Eliot Prize, and two Griffin Poetry Prizes. The Playbook draws even more attention to Euripides’ complex depiction of Hercules and likens him to a soldier of the modern era. Carson moves the tragic elements outside of ancient contexts and combines contemporary positions on warfare and PTSD with the hero’s emotional break. In the 2022 edition of the Poetry Northwest Journal Dujie Tahat describes the work as a collage: “drawings and paintings, mostly abstract and some figurative, break up the text, which, page to page, ranges in size and length from a single word to multiple fully-justified 2” x 5” copy blocks.” In her fragmentary, somewhat abstract “collage,” Carson draws out further criticism of both Hercules and heroism generally by portraying his heroic fall as a personal struggle with self and duty, not just a shock of being manipulated by a higher power.

In the Euripides play, the chorus, Amphitryon (Hercules’ adopted dad of sorts), and Theseus (Greek hero famous for slaying the minotaur) do not place blame onto Heracles; they only lament for his great suffering. Involvement from higher powers (mainly the goddess Hera, who hates Hercules) are the main point of blame in the play, even by Hercules himself who asks, “When did madness’ sting attack me? When did it destroy my life?” (Euripides, Heracles 1144). Placing blame onto godly forces and onto uncontrolled fate is a common theme in ancient texts, but this isn’t particularly relatable to modern, non-pagan audiences. Carson blends old traditions with new techniques and creates a hero who, in between adventures, labors, and myth-worthy feats of greatness, also hitchhikes, swears, steals Corvettes, and most importantly, considers his own mental state. His unique nickname in the Playbook, H of H, “means Hera’s glory” as we are told by the goddesses who deliver madness to Hercules/ H of H. The pain inflicted on him by the gods does not disappear from Carson’s interpretation; instead, this misfortune and attack are only a further commentary on the strain and emotional trauma within H of H. Strain that is caused by the violent acts Hercules must continually enact and endure as a hero.

Although both works ultimately follow Hercules’ madness, the labors are an especially important part of Carson’s complex, strained hero. H of H’s first-person narration gives the hero a unique internal perspective unseen in previous ancient depictions and allows the audience to observe madness creeping into his demeanor before Hera causes the final snap. Hercules’ fourth labor, in which he must capture the Erymanthian Boar, also includes a story in which he slaughters a group of Centaurs who attack him. In mythology, this moment is not heavily dwelled upon; the Centaurs get mistakenly drunk, they attack Hercules, they are killed by Hercules; justice.

The nature of the labors as a public service requires the notion of making the world better, easier to live in. Carson wonders if being asked to make the world safer through violence is a contradiction that pushes the conscious and the psyche too far. The actions of H of H frequently do not align with his interests; yet he persists and continues to wrestle his way through his labors. In the versions of Carson, Euripides, and canonical myth, Hercules is instructed to complete the labors by the King Eurystheus; Hercules is essentially a servant to his demands. Although he has a task to complete, he does not see the Centaurs he is tasked with attacking as a threat at all.

book page with lots of white space, a rather crude drawing of a lion seen from the side at left and a small block of text at the right
Anne Carson, H of H Playbook (New Directions, 2021), unnumbered page 42r.

Next, they sent me to terrorize the Centaurs. ‘Ravaging the plain of Thessaly’ was the official blah blah blah. Centaurs, as you know, are a very early form of cavalry. It’s a master design. I loved to watch them wheel and sweep around the battlefield, shooting arrows both forward and back. No need for a saddle or stirrups, no waiting to shoot till your horse has all four feet off the ground, as a regular cavalryman has to do, or so I have heard – I would have liked to ask them things like that. After I routed them, I was lonely. (Carson, H of H Playbook, unnumbered page [42r]).

Heracles is akin to the Centaurs through their shared mastery of combat and weaponry. Although many would see them as a threat, Heracles observes grace and artistry in their precision. Being an archer himself, he is not so different from his “enemies.” The Centaurs, nonetheless, are targeted for their skill and strength, for disturbing, “ravaging,” the plain of Thessaly. Is Heracles not doing the same throughout the Mediterranean in his labors? He doesn’t regard the Centaurs as an enemy or his opposition, but instead as masters and a group he would be able to converse with.

His loneliness after he routs the Centaurs shows a lack of fulfillment and a lack of belonging. As H of H/ Hercules protects others and uses his strength for “good,” he loses himself and any sort of self-image outside of his heroism, outside of his strength. His actions appear good, but actually just serve the self-interested Eurystheus. He is praised, but for aggressive actions that hold consequences for H of H.

Hercules is often portrayed as a strong man with a club, a bow and arrow, and perhaps most importantly, the skin of the Nemean lion (a trophy from his first labor). The lionskin plagues him in the Playbook. “Do I keep smelling lion? Of course I do, the skull is right next to my face […] It wasn’t even fair.” H of H frequently interrupts his thoughts by noticing the lion’s skin. The repeated instance of this distraction often brings his own moral voice into labors he otherwise seems complacent in. The lion is such a famous indication of Herculean strength that it was even adopted by Alexander the Great in his portraiture. The skin was used on multiple statues and Macedonian coinage. But for H of H, the lion skin is not a proud marker of strength. In fact, it stinks, it’s a bit ugly, and it weighs on his conscience. The things that make him identifiable across the world are not things that he takes any comfort in. His heroism overshadows the self.

His inability to live for himself or escape the emptiness he feels as a hero is also apparent in Euripides through his marriage with Megara (who is very different from the ‘Meg’ of the 1997 Disney adaptation). Heracles uses possessive pronouns to refer to his father and children, indicating that he acknowledges them as his own, a part of his family (Euripides, Heracles 544–546); but none are given for Megara in their interactions aside from only one speech when he first sees his family from afar and calls her “my wife” (Euripides, Heracles 526). Megara uses similar language, referring to her husband as “the man”, their children as “my children” (line 516 and 537). The inconsistent use of possessive pronouns is a purposeful omission of an honest, personal relationship with Megara. It is only when Megara or Hercules soliloquize or talk without the other spouse present, that they will recognize the other as a lover or a familiar person. But while Heracles is in dialogue with Megara, he is actively plotting to save the family’s life; he is a hero in this scene, not a father or husband. He demonstrates love for bloody justice, rather than his own wife, who loves him best of all (Euripides Heracles 514; ​​τἀμὰ φίλτατ’). Megara receives little acknowledgement outside of her position as a victim in need of a hero, rather than a beloved who has missed her lover.

But as troubled and empty as he is portrayed, why must he lose it all? Carson gives an abundant social response to this why,” Euripides explains it as a troubling fate. Nevertheless, the aftermath of the madness requires Hercules to leave his home for Athens with the hero Theseus. He disappears into a future that only propels him further into heroic expectations, rather than forcing him to connect deeper with himself or his family. His acceptance of his madness is both a realistic and heartbreaking continuation of his previous responses to events like his encounter with the Centaurs. He is left lonely, but this time he must consciously reflect upon his actions, his feelings, and his strength.

The madness of Hercules is an absolutely shocking and sorrowful turn within the play. It completely shatters all heroic, perfect imagery surrounding the hero. The tragedy tears Hercules away from his family, his trust in his own strength, and his home. Yet, Carson and Euripides bookend the madness with an intricate observance of the pressures Hercules faces throughout his heroic journey. Their expansions of the slightly predictable, brawny hero ask audiences (still invested in Hercules hundreds of years later) to examine their praise and understandings of such seemingly simple characterizations of heroism.

Penelope’s Odyssey

Rachel Pistol (Dickinson ’25) looks at two modern re-tellings of the Odyssey from Penelope’s point of view, Milica Paranosic’s opera Penelope and the Geese (2019) and Margaret Atwood’s Penelopiad (2005) and finds that, despite their differences, both acknowledge the complexities of womanhood more effectively than Homer’s original.

In the Odyssey, Penelope is depicted as having several positive qualities, chief among them being her fidelity to her husband, her wit, and her intelligence. However, we as readers see just a glimpse of what she endured during the twenty years that Odysseus was away, and even this is mostly focused on the few years that she was being courted by the suitors. All three of these qualities are shown in the myth through her constant despair over Odysseus’ absence and how she never explicitly accepts any of the suitors’ courtships, trying to delay this through weaving and unweaving Laertes’ burial shroud. However, whether she remained entirely chaste during this time later became a topic of ambiguity (Su 2010). Another significant point in Penelope’s story is her dream in which twenty geese whom she loves are killed by an eagle before the eagle reveals that this dream is a vision, with the geese being the suitors and the eagle being Odysseus (Homer Odyssey 19.540–554). This throws into question why Penelope was distraught over the death of the suitors in her dream, and whether that meant that the geese were not really the suitors but a representation of something else (Levaniouk 2011). Both plot points are integral in Penelope and the Geese and The Penelopiad, two modern works that take their inspiration from Penelope’s story and are both told primarily from Penelope’s point of view. This shift in perspective gives new meaning to these central events, although they are taken in different directions.

John William Waterhouse, “Penelope and the Suitors” (1912). Aberdeen Art Gallery and Museums, Scotland.

Penelope and the Geese is an opera by Cheri Magid told almost entirely from Penelope’s point of view as she reminisces on her time away from Odysseus right before seeing him again. In these twenty years, she has taken many lovers, both male and female, and has taken a lock of hair from each lover to weave into a blanket. Throughout the piece, Penelope debates where to put a lock of hair from Odysseus, leading her to recall several of her lovers and what she learned or how she benefitted from her encounters. At the end of the opera, Penelope is anguished over whether Odysseus will accept that her infidelity does not diminish her love for her husband, nor how much she has missed him over the years. The story ends with Penelope saying “Odysseus, I have something to tell you” (Paranosic 2019 1:09:36) leaving the audience to wonder whether she ultimately decides to tell Odysseus the truth or if she is going to tell him the same stories that the original Penelope in The Odyssey did.

This tale of Penelope’s encounters with the suitors serves to place Penelope and Odysseus on equal pedestals. In The Odyssey, Odysseus has relations with Calypso and Circe, yet it is well established that his goal is to return home to his beloved wife (Homer Odyssey 5.204–224). Rather than frame Penelope as a strictly loyal wife awaiting Odysseus’ return, she also has lovers and, just like her husband, this does not minimize how much she has missed him or her love for him over the period he has been gone. With Penelope being well known in both the ancient myth and modern times for her fidelity, this retelling of the story raises the question of whether this Penelope should still be considered a faithful wife. While Odysseus is not popularly described as a faithful husband, readers of The Odyssey cannot deny his loyalty to Penelope, and I believe the same can be said for Penelope in Penelope and the Geese, especially as Penelope voices very similar thoughts to Odysseus that yearn for a reunification of the couple. The opera manages to take Penelope’s drastically different experiences and, in allowing the audience to hear Penelope’s side of the story, still draws parallels between her and her husband, reaffirming their commitment to each other, even if it is unconventional.

The Penelopiad by Margaret Atwood also tells the events of The Odyssey from Penelope’s perspective, although the similarities between the novella and the opera do not extend far beyond that. Throughout the story, Penelope compares herself repeatedly to Helen, first jealously and later haughtily. Helen serves as Penelope’s foil. Where Helen is beautiful, Penelope is plain; where Helen had many men fighting to marry her specifically, Penelope saw the men fighting to marry her as more concerned with the dowry; where Helen is proud of how many people died because of her and her beauty, Penelope wants to live a quiet life with her husband. While Penelope is compared to Clytemnestra in The Odyssey to highlight her fidelity to her husband, Atwood’s version of Penelope compares herself to Helen to highlight how she might be plain in looks but is great in spirit and mind. This focus of who Penelope is as a person rather than who she is as a wife only becomes clear once Penelope is in control of telling her own story, and depicts the strength that Penelope had throughout the trials she had to endure in the events of The Odyssey.

Like Helen, Penelope does admit that she enjoyed the attention from the suitors, mostly because she found it amusing. She also tells the readers that she occasionally daydreamed about which one she would want to bring to bed, even though she never slept with nor wanted to marry any of the suitors because she did not like them. Beyond simply ignoring or rejecting the suitors, however, Penelope encourages them to continue trying to win her over simply to keep them appeased lest they try to win Penelope by force. This perspective, untold by the original myth, sheds light on how Penelope had to carefully tread the line between encouragement and avoidance with the suitors, and how dangerous she felt the situation was. This is a feeling that many women both in antiquity and today would likely resonate with, and one that is likely only portrayed because Atwood is able to utilize her own experiences and better portray womanhood than the male-centered narrative of The Odyssey.

Another point in which Penelope and the Geese and The Penelopiad diverge concerns Penelope’s dream and its meaning in the larger narrative. In the opera, Penelope dreams of the geese just as she does in the original myth, but her distress is better explained in the context of her various relations with the suitors. Since the opera dedicates much of its time establishing the care that Penelope has for each of the suitors, it makes more sense in this perspective why she is upset at their deaths. In the opera, Penelope sings that she is glad to be engulfed by the geese’s feathers because it means that she is no longer lonely (Paranosic 2019 58:30), further emphasizing her connection to the geese and the suitors they represent. She also draws parallels between the geese’s hearts and her heart, eventually using the phrase “our heart” (ibid 1:00:25), making them seem as one, just as she has done in weaving the suitors’ hair together in her blanket. By allowing Penelope to tell her own story, including her encounters with the suitors, to the audience, we can better empathize with her distress as we know that Odysseus killing the suitors would also be destroying the people who helped Penelope to grow and be happy over the course of her husband’s absence.

As The Penelopiad removes the ambiguity that Penelope has slept with or even cared for the suitors, it makes her dream even more confounding for the audience, until we get to hear of it from this Penelope’s perspective. Since Penelope knew that Odysseus was himself, even in disguise, she actively chose to tell him about her dream as a test (Atwood 2005). Odysseus interpreted the dream in the same way he did in the original myth, but Penelope tells the audience that he was wrong. She narrates that the geese were not the suitors but rather her twelve maids, which is why she was so distraught over their deaths. Throughout the time that Odysseus was away, Penelope developed a strong bond with her twelve youngest maids as they helped her unravel Laertes’ burial shroud every night. They develop inside jokes with each other and grow even closer when many of the maids are raped by the suitors in an effort to get closer with them to gain information. Even when some of the maids ended up falling in love with the suitors, they still relayed information back to Penelope, so she knew what to expect from them, showing their loyalty to her. This makes their death in the novella even more heartbreaking, especially as Penelope blames herself since she kept the maids’ involvement in her schemes a secret to protect them. In allowing Penelope to tell her own story, including the role of the maids and their real motivations behind their actions, it makes their death, already a glossed over event in the original myth, mean more both to Penelope and the wider theme in The Penelopiad of double standards of justice between the genders.

Both Penelope and the Geese and The Penelopiad expand on the events in The Odyssey by utilizing Penelope as a narrator. Through this, both pieces clear up ambiguity in the narrative, although they each take this in different directions. However, both pieces do depict Penelope as a more complicated character, who is put on an equal pedestal with Odysseus in both love and cleverness. This creates a more well-rounded narrative that also acknowledges the complexities of womanhood, especially in the time of the original Odyssey.

Bibliography

Atwood, Margaret. The Penelopiad. New York: Grove Press, 2005.

Levaniouk, Olga. Eve of the Festival: Making Myth in Odyssey 19. Hellenic Studies Series 46. Washington, DC: Center for Hellenic Studies, 2011.

Paranosic, Milica. Penelope and the Geese. Saugerties, 2019.

Paranosic, Milica. “Penelope and the Geese by Milica Paranosic and Cheri Magid.” August 14, 2019. Performance, 1:38:27.

Su, M. “Penelope.” In The Classical Tradition, edited by Anthony Grafton, Glenn W. Most, and Salvatore Settis, 1st ed. Harvard University Press, 2010.

Wilson, E., trans., Homer: The Odyssey. New York: W. W. Norton & Company, Inc., 2018.

The Story of Hades and Persephone: Rape and Romance

Contemporary graphic novels romanticize the element of rape in the myth of Persophone in a way quite alien to the Greek and Roman sources of the story, argues Chloe Warner (’20)

Persephone, by Rachel Smythe, from Lore Olympus, Episode 3 (2018). Illustration.
Persephone, by Rachel Smythe, from Lore Olympus, Episode 3 (2018)

The story of the abduction and subsequent rape of Persephone, the young and beautiful goddess of spring, at the hands of Hades, the king of the Underworld, is a famous and heart-wrenching tale. As told by the Homeric Hymn to Demeter (7th or 6th century BC) and, much later, in the canonical version by the Roman poet Ovid (43 BC – 17/18 AD) in the Metamorphoses, it is a story of stolen innocence and the division of a loving family, with the only cause being Hades’ rapacious lust.

It seems obvious to say that their story is in no way a romantic or loving tale, as their marriage occurred against Persephone’s will and without her consent. Even Ovid, who typically highlights comedic aspects of mythology over the more serious ones, still emphasizes how cruel the story of Persephone is. He writes that she was “Terrified, in tears,” and Cyane, in her plea to Hades, describes what she has seen of Persephone with “this girl, frightened and forced.” (Ovid Metamorphoses 5.399–419) However, many modern adaptations and iterations of their story frame their relationship as just that— loving and consensual. This change does not seem to occur with other mythological rape stories, which raises the question of why modern versions of Greek mythology insist upon romanticizing the story of Hades and Persephone. This may be largely due to the resemblance of the rape of Persephone to the tale of beauty and the beast. Hades, perhaps the evilest figure in Greek mythology, fills the role of the beast well, while Persephone, a sweet and innocent young woman, fits the role of beauty. My thesis is not only that the rape of Persephone tends to be romanticized in modern culture, but also that this is due to the fetishization of this “beauty and the beast” archetype of romance.

The weekly webcomic series Lore Olympus (2018–) by Rachel Smythe is a modern retelling of Greek mythology that mainly focuses on the story of Hades and Persephone, framing it as a slow-burn love story. The widely popular web series takes place in a modern-day Olympus where the Greek gods still rule over the mortal realm and have adopted human technological advances, such as cars and phones. Hades is a grumpy, wealthy bachelor and Persephone is a college student studying to become a sacred virgin. They begin a tentative romance that has yet to reach fruition after eighty-five episodes due to their age difference and the general taboo of their coupling (Episode 1).

This taboo is exactly what seems to make romanticizing the two mythological characters fascinating. Hades and Persephone are, in a sense, emblematic of the relationship between the yin and the yang. They represent darkness and light as, if one were to oversimplify their roles, Hades is the god of death and Persephone is the goddess of life. This is exactly what the archetype of the beauty and the beast is based upon. Opposites being romantically attracted to one another is a popular modern trope within the romance genre, which seems to be why there is such a fascination with the relationship between the ultimate and original two polar opposites being joined, whether it was consensual or not.

As for the issue of consent, Lore Olympus deals with the problematic aspects of Hades and Persephone’s story by altering the way in which they meet. At a party, during which Hades sees Persephone for the first time, he remarks that she is even more beautiful than Aphrodite. Aphrodite overhears Hades’ comment and forces her son, Eros, to sabotage Hades’ chances with Persephone as revenge. This plan involves getting Persephone extremely drunk and placing her in the backseat of Hades’ car to the effect of Persephone thinking that Hades was attempting to take advantage of her. Alternatively, Hades does not notice her presence until he arrives home later that night. When he does, he asks where she lives in an attempt to take her home but, when she is too delirious to answer, he takes her to his guest room and acts like a perfect gentleman (Episodes 3–5). This only endears the two to each other more and their relationship carries on from there. Although Smythe borrows many plot points from the original story, such as Zeus facilitating their union, Lore Olympus still generously alters their tale to the point that it no longer seems significantly problematic.

Another excellent iteration of the story of Hades and Persephone is the graphic novel Epicurus the Sage. This limited-edition DC Comic series, written by William Messner-Loebs and inked by Sam Kieth, is centered around the famous philosopher Epicurus as he ponders the truths behind well-known Greek myths. Accompanied by Plato and Alexander the Great, Epicurus reveals the supposedly real story behind the myths, framing the actual myths that are familiar to the reader as fictitious stories that are only loosely based upon the truth.

In the first of two editions of the series, titled “Visiting Hades,” Epicurus’ character visits the story of Hades and Persephone and explains that the entire abduction was apparently a facade, although that part of the story was never written down. He goes on to describe the fictitiously “real” series of events, according to which Hades and Persephone were actually in love for a long time before her supposed abduction, which was actually faked in order to allow them the opportunity to run away together. In this version of the story, Demeter was framed as an overbearing mother who would not allow Persephone to pursue her true love. Out of fear that she and the other judgmental gods would not approve of their public relationship, the couple decided to stage Persephone’s abduction so that they could continue to enjoy their relationship in private.

This example highlights the theme of creating excuses for the abduction of Persephone in order to romanticize her relationship with Hades. Decorating an instance of rape with fanciful ideas of what may or may not have occurred behind closed doors is an extremely problematic view. Furthermore, doing so in order to obtain a romanticization of the victim and their abuser is far from an endearing love story of a star-crossed couple. The Homeric Hymn to Demeter emphasizes Persephone’s lack of consent: “Seizing her by force, he began to drive her off on his golden chariot, with her wailing and screaming…” (lines 19–21, trans. Martin West). Attempting to idealize this heinous abduction by interjecting the possibility that it was simply fake is a very weak avoidance of the issue of rape, showing just how ludicrously far modern depictions of mythology will go in order to romanticize Hades and Persephone.

Although it is difficult to decipher the exact message behind the Greek and Roman source material for Hades and Persephone’s tale, it is still clear that it is not the same as Smythe, Messner-Loeb’s, and Kieth’s messages. The abduction of Persephone is a natural aetiological myth explaining the seasons, so it may be entirely possible that there was no other intended message or moral. The Homeric Hymn focuses much more upon Demeter’s struggle during her daughter’s abduction than on Persephone herself, which may point towards themes of loss, mourning, and justice (lines130–330). Ovid also placed an emphasis on the tribulations of Demeter, but not before heavily solidifying the injustice that has occurred to Persephone. For example, when Cyane sees Hades escaping with Persephone, she yells, “No further shall you go! Thou canst not be the son-in-law of Ceres against her will. The maiden should have been wooed, not ravished” (Ovid 5.414–16, trans. Melville).

Both ancient authors seem to emphasize the injustice of Persephone’s rape and subsequent abduction as well as how hard the heartbroken Demeter fights to be reunited with her daughter. Therefore, if there was one central message in this myth, this shows that it would be centered around how inseparable the connection of family and motherly love is, even in the face of a gross injustice. Furthermore, even Homer and Ovid emphasized how unjust the abduction of Persephone was, which is shown to be very substantial by the rarity of this acknowledgment in other rape myths. This simply makes the romanticization of the story even more absurd, as even authors who often excused plot points of rape still emphasized the sad and unjust nature of this event.

The story of Hades and Persephone, despite being an instance of rape, is romanticized in popular retellings of the myth, often by feeding off of the romantic archetype of the beauty and the beast. This is an especially strange and unhealthy alteration to the myth, in strong contrast to classical authors, who depicted the rape as a gross injustice. These examples, among countless others, show how modern creators alter classical accounts of this myth in order to fetishize them through the romantically archetypal lens.