Hera by Jennifer Saint
“Zeus is unconstrained, the world laid out before him, full of glittering prizes. And he gives [Hera] nothing at all…. She thinks that if she sliced her skin open, her blood would run in rivulets of black venom.”
In Greek mythology, the goddess Hera is characterised as hateful, with a hard and unrelenting heart. But the courage to be so unyielding is not to be underestimated; in all the stories of cruelty Hera unleashes, those of the cruelty she suffers are few and far between. In humanising Hera, Jennifer Saint does not tiptoe around her true nature but presents her just as she is: wronged, ravaged, but enduring.
Formerly a high school English teacher, Saint is now a full-time writer and university teaching fellow. Her acclaimed debut novel Ariadne (2021) is still perhaps her most famous, but she has made a household name for herself with captivating retellings of the Greek myths. Her stories of adventure and heroism focus on women, all told with a delightfully feminist slant.
In her fourth eagerly awaited novel Hera (2024), Saint turns her attention to the Queen of Olympus: the warrior, wife and hell-bringer whose story intersects with so many other figures in Greek mythology. Uniquely, Saint distances Hera from her reputation as the wife who raged over Zeus’ (countless) conquests; this is a story brimming with justice, loss, feminine strength and more pain than anyone should ever have to bear.
Saint opens at the very beginning, the world still fresh and forming, and carries us through to the end, when the gods are finally silent. We meet Hera as a vanquisher, stalking through the smoky remains of the great Titan-Olympian war, after which dawns the reign of the Olympian gods.
Hera’s marriage to Zeus – her brother – is not a union born of love, nor is it one where love grows slowly over time. Hera’s all-encompassing contempt is gratifying when she rejects Zeus’ proposal, but he is a god, unaccustomed to being denied his desires. Hera’s rape is not a novel story; Zeus’ reputation precedes him, his habitual abuse of defenceless women through golden showers and shapeshifting disguises.
Marriage becomes Hera’s “cage”: a denial of her rightful place as a worthy victor and daughter of Rhea, the mother goddess. Saint takes care to establish the role of the gods and goddesses and how each was given powers. But for Hera there is no role, no rule; nothing but the subjugation of wifedom. Humiliated and thwarted, Hera makes a vow:
“She will be [Zeus’] wife, the Queen of Heaven, and she will use every resource she has at her disposal to bring him down.”
He might be King of all, but Hera is a woman, and Zeus learns a powerful lesson: there is nothing an angered woman won’t try in her quest for vengeance.
The story continues and we follow the tortuous path Hera hacks through eternity. Saint describes the creation and rise of mortals, the births and deaths of Hera’s children, the punishments she delivers and reaps in equal measure.
“[Zeus] takes what he wants, by force or deception, by brutality or charm, and she doesn’t ever know why he chooses one or the other. All she knows is that he leaves a trail of broken women in his wake, and she is the most broken of them all. It makes her dangerous, and he knows it.”
Saint crafts a ruthless world where women resort to turning themselves into rocks, and heroes are condemned, slaughtering each other for petty pride and praise. The gods are lust-crazed and petulant, their glamour stripped to reveal them as they truly are. It’s a sadly familiar picture.
Hera revitalises ancient myths of gods and goddesses and their palace in the clouds. However, the novel’s core is startlingly pertinent: a tale of female struggle. The double standards are infuriating: Zeus is brave and mighty and magnificent, Hera is a jealous bitch – yet she has never forced herself on anyone. She can recognise her husband in darkness, simply by the shape and memory of his violence. In a realm where there are monsters, terrifying, many-headed, blood-thirsty, large as mountains – the true monsters, time after time, are shown to be men.
“She knows him at once. She recognises the way he pushes the woman down onto the beach… Love for him is about possession, she knows… Will she be the goddess of faithful wives to faithless husbands?”
Hera pulses with cruelty, sharp and indefatigable, but Saint suggests we look to those she learnt it from, rather than demonise yet another woman who has known only torment. Though Hera’s actions are not completely vindicated, we are so intimate with her agony that her punishment of other women is almost satisfying. We see them as Hera does; pathetic girls, stupid enough to think they could better a Queen.
An enthralling storyteller, Saint’s prose sings with grace, tenderness and poignancy. I will make no secret of how I adore her books; she brings these women of myth to life, gives them strong, unwavering voices. They are lifted out of the mythological past and seated beside you; you hurt and fear and suffer as one.
Saint does not shy away from previous characterisations of Hera – she justifies them. Her Hera does not unveil a soft core if you dig deep enough, she is not forgiving or understanding or kind. Still we want the world to burn, and we want it to be Hera who burns it.
Martha is a neuroscience and literature student from Warrane. Her time is happily spent peering down microscopes and drafting her first novel. She is a lover of stories and astrocytes, and big green fields. You can find her at mdavidjetis@gmail.com