Dares Phrygius, believed to be a Trojan priest and chronicler of the Trojan wars, depicted Cassandra, the priestess daughter of defeated King Priam of Troy, as a fiery redhead with enigmatic eyes and uncanny knowledge of the future. This picture of Cassandra, caught in the intricate web of the future, is most pertinent to Pat Barker in her concluding piece of the trilogy about the Trojan wars, The Voyage Home. This final piece follows The Silence of the Girls (2018) and Women of Troy (2021).
Defeating Troy and leaving King Priam’s corpse unceremoniously displayed while his queen, Hecuba, ends her life in despair, King Agamemnon, the triumphant victor, should be overflowing with joy. Among his “spoils of war”, he has Cassandra, Priam’s daughter, who is now just one amongst the prisoner women. However, a clandestine marriage by Priam elevates Cassandra’s status, leading to a grave shared destiny that is revealed later.
Cassandra, who is cursed by the god Apollo to prophesy the future but never to be trusted, predicts this horrendous outcome. Cassandra’s maid, Ritsa, who is both observer and storyteller, narrates this novel. Much like the earlier books in the series, Barker utilises a creative or unrecorded character to frame this story, and provide a voice to the voiceless. Her uncanny ability in the reinterpretation of famous myths lies in her use of simple, everyday dialect, reflecting the language of working-class northeastern England. She skilfully creates a fusion of this dialect with the unspeakable horror and allure of ancient Greece, painted vividly with its “virulent” green seas.
“The Journey Back is vaguely founded on Oresteia’s initial segment by Aeschylus. We’re somewhat acquainted with – or so we assume – the fable: after a 10-year absence from Mycenae and his wife Clytemnestra, Agamemnon navigates his way back home. Only to meet Clytemnestra’s vengeance for his prior sacrifice of their offspring, Iphigenia. This sacrifice was performed to satisfy the deities and assure beneficial breezes for the journey towards Troy. It’s a tale steeped in blood, with the majority of the narrative focusing on Cassandra. She comprehensively grasps and acknowledges her destiny lies intertwined with that of Agamemnon. Cassandra vigorously seeks to figure out the particulars of how the retaliation saga will unfold.
‘The Journey Back’ by Pat Barker is entwined in an engrossing family catastrophe in the midst of the fruitless workings of warfare. Barker’s command over language is splendidly rich and vibrant, while the book is interspersed with sharp, argumentative exchanges.
Then, we meet Cassandra, a rascally character, full of willfulness, known for her “yellow eyes” as per Ritsa – a lady who’s hardly a submissive servant herself. Ritsa is a witty herbalist, known for her snappy comments and potent perspicacity. Barker, like her other volumes in the series, bestows importance and eloquence to females regardless of their perceived significance.
Clytemnestra is portrayed as a compelling portrayal of crushed sorrow, being the less appealing elder sibling of Helen of Troy. She had been ruling Mycenae in Agamemnon’s absence and is now forced to relinquish her power whilst also welcoming his newfound love interest. Author Barker paints a grim picture of the House of Atreus, where impending doom casts a forbidding silhouette over all. She describes a palace haunted by psychological disturbance, its entrance guarded by silent stone lions, quietly watching all. Mysterious tiny handprints are found on the walls and the sound of children’s voices echo in vacant chambers. Allegedly, these eerie traces belong to murdered young boys, said to be the ghosts of victims slain by Agamemnon’s father, Atreus, in an act of retribution for his wife’s infidelity with his own sibling. The atrocious act involves the young children being served as a meal, in a grotesque Titus Andronicus-like manner, to their unsuspecting father, Thyestes.
While Barker doesn’t shy away from the graphic details, most notable is the pervasive air of profound despair that lingers in the darkened rooms and in the person of Electra, Clytemnestra and Agamemnon’s adolescent offspring. She’s a pale, complaining child obsessed with her father, and plagued by eczema and rancour. The couple’s cherished yet deceased daughter, Iphigenia, was a favourite of both parents and her memory is both venerated and begrudged. The couple’s son, Orestes, is conveniently sidestepped to give Clytemnestra the opportunity to execute her premeditated scheme to murder her spouse and, just so happens, Cassandra, portrayed as a slender, ivory-skinned innocent.
This narrative straddles both epic and domestic tribulations, giving the novel its unique winning signature. It focuses on the common, grim tragedies of human lives, juxtaposed against the futile backdrop of warfare. Agamemnon is no heroic conqueror, but a man on the verge of meeting his destiny. His people have faced insurmountable losses due to his unrelenting urge to bring Troy to its knees, leaving them impoverished, weary with warfare, and on edge. His arrival in the palace, observed by countless spectators, is carefully planned by Clytemnestra. She convinces her loathed, uncomfortable yet oblivious spouse to stride on a blood-coloured carpet, turning it into a macabre public performance. As narrated by Ritsa, “I’m certain I’m not the only one who recalls the sight of Agamemnon trekking through his palace on a tide of blood.”
Barker encapsulates elements such as ritual, duty, bravery, fear with an inherent earthy humour and disdain. She brings forth the moral complexity of her characters and their overt flaws. Why is it that a plethora of authors opt for the reimagining of myth, particularly these ones? Another reinterpretation of the Clytemnestra tale is the House of Names by Colm Tóibín from 2017; in 1931, Eugene O’Neill’s play Mourning Becomes Electra also delved into the retribution of her progeny on their father’s killer. Although distant, these dramas appear strikingly captivating and pertinent considering recent happenings; human beings, it seems, never assimilate lessons from history’s cycles.