Now that all the others have run out of air, it's my turn to do a little story-making. I owe it to myself. . . I'll spin a thread of my own
In this passage, Penelope explains that it's her "turn" to tell her version of events. For centuries, the Western world has been enthralled by the Odyssey and its clever hero, Odysseus. Very little thought has been directed toward Penelope, who faithfully waited ten years for Odysseus's return to Ithaca. Penelope is taking the power of storytelling into her own hands. She offers a feminist revision of the record that puts her narrative at the forefront and shows her own power, wit, and cleverness that is often eclipsed by her famous husband.
And so I was handed over to Odysseus, like a package of meat. A package of meat in a wrapping of gold, mind you.
This passage appears right after Penelope is married to Odysseus. Within ancient Greek culture, women have less power than men. They are important only for making advantageous marriages and for birthing sons. Penelope's marriage is economic more than romantic—along with her hand in marriage, Odysseus receives many gifts and riches. In the passage above, Penelope describes this transaction in her sardonic tone.
Helpless as he was helpless, but ten times more helpless as well,
For his birth was longed for and feasted, as our births were not.
His mother presented a princeling. Our various mothers
Spawned merely, lambed, farrowed, littered,
Foaled, whelped and kittened, brooded, hatched out their clutch.
We were animal young, to be disposed of at will,
Sold, drowned in the well, traded, used, discarded when bloomless.
He was fathered; we simply appeared,
Like the crocus, the rose, the sparrows engendered in the mud.
In this passage, the twelve maids are comparing themselves to Telemachus, who will later kill them. They were all born around the same time as Telemachus; yet they had vastly different experiences. The language in the passage above separates the maids from Telemachus. While he is a "princeling," the maids are likened to animals. Telemachus' life is celebrated; their lives are barely valued. They are seen as less-than-human in the eyes of their owners, which means they are also seen as dispensable. This is why it is so easy for Telemachus to kill them later on, even though they are all the same age and grew up in the same castle. The passage above also demonstrates how important the concepts of lineage and paternity are to high-class individuals, as Telemachus is "fathered" and immediately seen as important in the world because of the importance of his father. Meanwhile, the maids "simply appeared"—no one cares about their lineage.
Through my steward I traded for supplies, and soon had a reputation as a smart bargainer. Through my foreman I oversaw the farms and the flocks, and made a point of learning about such things as lambing and calving, and how to keep a sow from eating her farrow. As I gained expertise, I came to enjoy the conversations about such uncouth and dirty matters. It was a source of pride to me when my swineherd would come to me for advice.
In this passage, Penelope describes how her status in Ithaca changed after Odysseus was gone for several years. Soon after Odysseus goes missing, Anticleia, his mother, dies. His father, Laertes, decides he does not want to deal with his palace duties and instead spends all his time wandering about the countryside. This leaves Penelope in charge. She has little experience, yet she learns quickly. The passage above shows that Penelope begins to enjoy her new role and leadership, despite the fact that she is not doing "women's work."
Finally a scheme occurred to me. When telling the story later I used to say that it was Pallas Athene, goddess of weaving, who'd given me the idea, and perhaps this was true, for all I know; but crediting some god for one's inspirations was always a good way to avoid accusations of pride should the scheme succeed, as well as blame if it did not.
In this passage, Penelope explains the dubious origin of her plan to take apart the weaving of her father-in-law's shroud every night in order to keep off the suitors. This passage reflects an attitude that Penelope holds towards the gods throughout the entirety of the Penelopiad. While in the Odyssey, the power of the gods is a given and they constantly exert their influence over the humans, Atwood's Penelope is more of a skeptic. She shows readers the motivation behind using gods as an explanation for human actions. If things go well, then the god can be thanked, and if things go poorly, then the god can be blamed.
In the flickering light of the torches our daylight faces were softened and changed, and our daylight manners. We were almost like sisters. In the mornings, our eyes darkened by lack of sleep, we'd exchange smiles of complicity, and here and there a quick squeeze of the hand. Their 'Yes ma'ams' and 'No ma'ams' hovered on the edge of laughter, as if neither they nor I could take their servile behaviour seriously.
In this passage, Penelope explains how the line between her and the twelve maids blurred as they worked in secret every night together. This passage is powerful because it suggests that Penelope and the maids found commonality despite their vast differences. It also shows how Penelope is able to find a support network within the "women's quarters" of the palace among other women, even if those women come from a very different class than her own. This passage also helps explain why Penelope is so heartbroken when Odysseus kills the twelve maids—they were her conspirators, "almost like sisters."
I didn't let on I knew. It would have been dangerous for him. Also, if a man takes pride in his disguising skills, it would be a foolish wife who would claim to recognize him: it's always an imprudence to step between a man and the reflection of his own cleverness.
In this passage, Penelope explains why she did not reveal that she recognized Odysseus right away when he arrives in Ithaca. She decides to do this both at an effort to protect Odysseus as well as an effort at self-preservation. She is clever enough to know that her cleverness might get her in trouble at this important junction. This passage underlies Penelope's role within the castle and her marriage. Even though she has ruled alone for twenty years, as soon as Odysseus arrives, she defers to him.
Never mind. Point being that you don't have to get too worked up about us, dear educated minds. You don't have to think of us as real girls, real flesh and blood, real pain, real injustice. That might be too upsetting. Just discard the sordid part. Consider us pure symbol. We're no more real than money.
In this passage, the twelve maids are adopting the voice of an anthropology professor that is giving a lecture on their symbolism within The Odyssey. They sardonically parody arguments that only look at them on the symbolic level rather than real, "flesh and blood" women who were murdered by the protagonist. In this passage, the maids' true feelings at this line of thought is evident: they are irate that their personhood is being flattened. They want to remind the modern reader that they, too, felt "real pain" and experienced "real injustice."
It was a likely story. But then, all of his stories were likely.
Here, Penelope is remarking that Odysseus's reason for leaving on another adventure—almost immediately after arriving back home—seems sound enough to her. Odysseus tells her that the prophet Teiresias has told him that he needs to take an oar far inland in order for him to wash the blood of the suitors off of his hands. Penelope expresses disbelief at Odysseus's reasoning—while what he tells her is "likely," she never fully knows the truth. In the end, the Penelopiad leaves us uncertain as to what the "official version" of events really is: we are unsure about Odysseus's reliability, the veracity of his travels as depicted in the Odyssey, and even Penelope's honesty (which is overturned by the maids in "The Perils of Penelope, A Drama."
we had no voice
we had no name
we had no choice
we had one face
one face the same
we took the blame
it was not fair
but now we're here
we're all here too
the same as you
and now we follow
you, we find you
now, we call
to you to you
too wit too woo
too woo
The Maids sprout feathers, and fly away as owls.
Atwood gives the twelve maids the final word in the Penelopiad, which they deliver in the form of the poem above. Here, the "you" is Odysseus and Penelope, who are tormented by the maids' spirits in the Underworld. However, the "you" is also the reader, who by this point has begun to sympathize with the maids and their miserable fate. Atwood gives the maids a happy ending, however: they are able to be reborn into new life as owls, unlike Penelope, who is stuck in the Underworld without end.
