If you tried to imagine a super-hyped version of you now, in the twenty-first century, you’d probably picture a supermodel or pop star or big-screen hunk. Today we expect our own small- or big-screen “gods” and “goddesses” to reflect our current standards of beauty. Perfect features, glowing tresses, complexions to die for, and physiques that are—well, let’s just say they are generally the source of elite personal trainers’ fame and fortune. We call these stars “screen idols” and even talk about worshipping them.
It’s not too often, unfortunately, that our own subjects of worship are good behavior models, either (except maybe the stars, starlets, and rock musicians who lend their names, efforts, and finances to support and publicize worthy national and international causes). But there are moments at least when the gods of Riordan’s series act in ways that should inspire us. Like the Ancient Greeks we joke and giggle and sneer at some of the immoral and outrageous actions they take in Percy Jackson and the Olympians, but we also find ourselves surprised at the gods’ better qualities. Who would have believed after Dionysus’ consistently negative attitude toward Percy that the god would come to our hero’s aid and actually save him by destroying the Manticore in The Titan’s Curse?
Also, in spite of his conflicted reactions to having Percy as a half-human son, Poseidon frequently helps our hero: He stirs up the ocean waters several times during Percy’s adventures, saving Percy from certain death. When he begs his father for help, though Percy is never sure Poseidon will come through, he usually gives it.
Toward the end of The Lightning Thief we are given two glimpses of gods not just helping mortals, but being genuine good guys. Poseidon takes Percy aside on Mount Olympus and with a “fiery pride in his eyes” tells Percy outright that he’s done well. A few pages earlier, all-powerful Zeus softens his attitude toward Percy, thanks him, and spares his life—with conditions, of course.
So even if those Ancient Greeks and their gods could be as mean-spirited, bullying, or prideful as anyone we know today, they could also be as kind, loving, joyful, forgiving, and compassionate. When we read stories from The Iliad and The Odyssey and re-read the Greek myths, we find ourselves recognizing the good and bad qualities possessed by gods, demigods, and heroes alike. Their flaws are not mysterious but disturbingly familiar. We sometimes feel as if by looking at their exploits we are looking into a mirror, and when we do, a hazy distorted version of our own selves looks right back at us.
Because, as we learn from reading myths, the qualities, good and bad, possessed by the gods are part of our own nature. We may share their flaws, but we also partake of their amazing powers and goodness.
Indeed, the gods are always among us, whether we are in the world of Percy Jackson and the Olympians or not. And those gods are not just hovering over, eavesdropping on, or wiretapping the phones of the half-blood next door. Veiled to our sight they dwell in our world and within ourselves. Thanks to them we have within us strengths (and maybe some weaknesses) we don’t even suspect.
Sure, the gods often toy with us by throwing us one or more of life’s wicked curve balls. But in the quirky way of those old Greek gods, they don’t necessarily leave us to flounder on our own. . . . Even if they are the source of some of our troubles, they never really abandon us: Those same nosy, interfering, annoying gods are also on standby, ready to inspire us, bolster our resolve, and lend us courage, much as 9/11 emergency workers were inspired to superhuman efforts to rescue the thousands of people who escaped those Twin Towers. The news and current history tend to focus on the tragic souls who didn’t survive. But due to the deep inner strength and courage of those who rushed into buildings to help, many more lives were saved than were lost. Superheroes and demigods in the guise of ordinary very brave men and women walked the city that day, and I am sure they still do.
Great Books on Greek Myth
Hendricks, Rhoda A., ed. and trans. Classical Gods and Heroes: Myths as Told by the Ancient Authors (New York. Morrow Quill Paperbacks, 1974).
Grant, Michael. Myths of the Greeks and Romans (New York and Scarborough, Ontario: New American Library, A Mentor Book, 1962).
Hamilton, Edith. Mythology: Timeless Tales of Gods and Heroes, (New York: New American Library, A mentor Book, 1942).
Elizabeth M. Rees is a visual artist as well as an author of numerous middle grade and young adult novels, including Heartbeats, her original six-book series published by Aladdin from 1998 to1999. Her latest work of fiction, The Wedding: An Encounter with Jan van Eyck, was published by Watson-Guptil in 2005 and was listed on the New York Public Library’s Best Books for the Teen Age, 2006. She lives and works in New York City.
Eeny Meeny Miney Mo(m)
Picking Your Very Own Godly Parent
Jenny Han
The lives of half-bloods in Greek mythology usually end in blood and guts and fire—we’re talking vengeful gods, three-headed dogs, monsters, ancient curses. It’s all very dangerous and life threaten-y. If you were the child of a really powerful god like Percy is, you’d have to stay at Camp Half-Blood all year long, for fear of attracting monsters in the real world. You could never really go back home. Your life would be forever changed. If not over. If you’re lucky.
And yet . . . the thought of having that powerful blood surging through you, of having access to a whole other kind of magical world, one that defies reason and gravity, even—it might just be worth it. I know I for one would just love a taste of ambrosia and nectar. I’d jump at the chance to learn Ancient Greek, practice archery, take swordfighting lessons, play Capture the Flag with real armor. But before I could sign up for all of that at Camp Half-Blood, I’d have to actually be a half-blood. I’d have to have a parent who was a god.
The thing is, you can’t pick your parents. Not in this life and not in Percy’s. But if you could choose, who would you pick? Clearly, there are pros and cons to having each god for a parent. Nobody’s perfect, especially not in Greek mythology. So you must choose carefully. You have to really do your homework in order to make an informed decision. So let’s get to it—we won’t only look at Percy Jackson’s world, we’ll look at the Ancient Greek myths for reference too. We want a complete background history. After all, this just isn’t the kind of decision you rush into haphazardly. You’ve got to have all the facts.
“The Big Three”: Potential Dads
We’ll start at the top, with Zeus, ruler of Olympus, lord of the friendly skies. Powerful, impulsive, and passionate, Zeus rules with his master bolt. To be a child of Zeus is to be a child of the sky, which basically means I could fly, if he willed it so. Everyone knows that flying is pretty much the coolest kind of power any person could have. Ever. Not much can top flying as far as powers go. And I would be a princess, because Zeus is the king; he rules over Mount Olympus. What girl wouldn’t want to be a princess? There’s a certain kind of caché associated with being a daughter of Zeus—you’re at the top of the food chain, you might say. You’re so popular, you’re prom queen, quarterback, and valedictorian all rolled into one. I probably wouldn’t have to worry about who I’d sit with in the cafeteria, if you know what I mean.
But being at the top of the food chain comes with a price—with great power comes great responsibility, right? As Zeus’ child, all the eyes of Olympus would be on you. They would be expecting nothing short of greatness from the kid of the thunder god. That’s a lot to live up to.
And then, there is the matter of his jealous wife Hera—something tells me she wouldn’t exactly be a nurturing stepmom. She might turn me into a cow or something, just to spite Zeus for cheating on her again. When Zeus fathered the hero Hercules with a mortal woman, Hera put snakes in the baby’s crib! She did everything in her power to make life hard for Hercules. And this was even after Zeus named the kid after her to appease her (the Greek version of the name is actually spelled Heracles)! So while I would love to be a flying princess, the thought of hoofing around in a field chewing cud or being strangled to death by snakes isn’t so appealin
g. Hera just isn’t the kind of goddess you can win over so easy. If ever.
Next we have Hades, god of the Underworld. As such, Hades controls all the earth’s precious metals. I would be decked out like Princess Grace of Monaco, and I would in fact be a princess, Princess of the Underworld. Princess of the Dead. But not princess-y in a prissy way. No, I would be a total badass, with a long black leather coat and a diamond scepter that doubles as a weapon. Yeah, a weapon!
If Hades were my dad, I wouldn’t be afraid of death. Death would be like my British manservant, my very own butler. I would say, “Serve me,” and Death would. I could even bring back my loved ones from the dead—not without a heavy price, but still. That’s quite the perk.
I might even learn to like living in the dark, without sunlight or flowers.
No monster would ever mess with me—in fact, they’d have to protect me, follow my orders, be my minions. Cerberus would be my pet: I could train him to attack bad guys. (Though my dad would kind of be a bad guy.)
Not all bad though—after all, there is honor in death, and Hades does have some sense of honor. Interestingly enough, he is the only one of the Big Three who doesn’t break the sacred pact and father a mortal hero in the Percy Jackson series. And when Percy returns Hades’ helm of darkness, Hades returns Percy’s kidnapped mother. He didn’t have to do that. The guy has a sense of fair play, even if it is kind of twisted—after all, he did kidnap his wife to get her to marry him.
What Hades doesn’t have is a cabin at Camp Half-Blood, not even an honorary one like Hera or Artemis. Most likely, I wouldn’t be allowed to live at Camp Half-Blood with all my half-brothers and sisters and cousins. I’d have to stick with my dad Hades in the Underworld and sit on my own throne made out of kitten bones or something equally ghoulish. Hell would be my playground. But who wants to play in hell? Not me. I’d rather stay clear of it altogether; diamonds aren’t worth living in a mine.
Plus, what if I inherited my father’s looks the way Nico di Angelo did? Percy describes Nico’s eyes as having that “intense, manic fire that made you suspect he was either a genius or a madman.” Somehow, I don’t think crazy eyes would look good on me.
And finally, there’s Poseidon, Percy’s dad. Chiron calls him “Earthshaker, Stormbringer, Father of Horses” in The Lightning Thief. He is all of those things and more—he is the god of sea. I do love the ocean. I’m sure that if I wanted, I could be part mermaid and spend half the year in the water with my merman boyfriend, freeing dolphins from tuna nets and riding on the backs of humpback whales. Oh, to have my own seahorse! And when I was on land, I would still be one with water. When I got hurt, all I’d have to do was hop into the shower and I’d be all healed up. I could make fountains and waterfalls wherever I went, and I bet I’d be a really good surfer. I wouldn’t even need a board. Maybe I’d be an Olympic swimmer, or a captain of my own ship, or a horsewoman—since Poseidon is the lord and creator of horses, I figure they’ll listen to me too. With the sea god as my dad, the world would be my oyster!
But Poseidon isn’t perfect either. He doesn’t have the strongest relationship with his family—he once defiled Athena’s temple by bringing a girl there for a little afternoon delight, and he is too proud to convince Zeus he didn’t steal his master bolt, thus resulting in Percy’s dangerous quest. And though Poseidon does love Percy, he’s also not above using him for his own purposes.
He’s a prideful god, that Poseidon. Just imagine what it would be like to have a dad who never says sorry, always thinks he’s in the right—not too much of a stretch for most people, which is kind of the point. Having a god for a dad is supposed to be fun fantasy, it isn’t supposed to be just like real life.
All in all, I wonder—would it be so great to have a godly dad as opposed to a godly mom?
Potential Moms
At the top of the goddess food chain is Hera, queen of Olympus, wife of Zeus. She’s probably the most powerful goddess in all of Olympus. And every century, Hera is allowed to grant one wish. Surely she would grant that wish to her own daughter. Wishes aside, it would be an incredible honor to inherit some of that power. The thing is, I wouldn’t want to inherit her jealous tendencies or her vengeful nature.
Hera is the goddess of marriage, so it’s extremely unlikely that she would stray—and even if she did, she seems kind of boring to me as far as godly parents go. Hera doesn’t have many of her own interests. She’s too busy running around turning Zeus’ girlfriends into cows and weasels to be a good mom.
And while we’re at it, let’s take a look at her mothering track record. When her son Hephaestus was born, she thought he was so ugly that she pitched him right off of Mount Olympus. Nice. And her other son Ares, god of war, is pretty much a creep. It’s kind of ironic that the goddess of marriage and childbirth isn’t such a great wife or mom.
Then we have Artemis, goddess of the hunt and the moon, and all-around warrior woman. To be a daughter of Artemis is obviously impossible. She has sworn to be a maiden forever—in other words, no kids and no family, just her pack of loyal huntresses. If she were my mother, well, it would have to mean that I was the product of an immaculate conception. Just call me baby Jesus, version 2.0—not outside the realm of possibility in the world of Greek mythology. I’d be really good at archery and hunting—although I have to say, I’m not into the whole killing animals thing. I don’t wear fur, unlike Artemis, who runs around wearing animal skins—head, hooves, and all.
Artemis would at least be a loyal mom, she’s a woman of her word. It is Artemis who defends Percy, Annabeth, and Thalia at the Olympian council when her fellow gods want them punished in The Titan’s Curse. She says, “If we destroy heroes who do us a great favor, then we are no better than the Titans.” What a classy lady!
She doesn’t discriminate against mortal or immortal. All are welcome (though it’s true she isn’t too crazy about boys joining her band of Hunters), so long as you choose her path: to never grow up and be young forever, just like Peter Pan. That sounds nice but also awfully permanent. I don’t know that I’d want to be a girl forever. I wouldn’t want to be disowned just for choosing true love and a grown-up life. I would want to follow my own path, not my mother’s.
I highly doubt Artemis would be in favor of frivolous things like the prom, or nail polish, or boys. If I got dumped, I can just imagine her reaction: She’d tell me that men are scum anyway and she’d turn the guy into a boar (because all men are pigs, get it?). While there have been times in my life when I’ve been mad enough to wish I could turn a guy into worse than a wild pig, having a mother who could do it—and actually would—is a bit much. I don’t need that on my conscience. Sometimes all a girl really needs from her mother is a shoulder to cry on.
Then we have Demeter; not a very powerful goddess but a semi-important one nonetheless. Demeter is the goddess of nature and the outdoors, and I have to say right off the bat, I’m not a camping kind of girl. I do like flowers though. As Demeter’s daughter, I could grow wheat and flowers and all sorts of pretty things.
Only thing is, Demeter’s other daughter Persephone ended up kidnapped and living in the Underworld, and that’s not where I’d want to be. Even if I didn’t end up Hades’ second wife, Demeter would probably be suffocating and over-protective because big sis Persephone is gone half the year in hell. I would probably be sitting around in my room tending to my plants and wishing I was allowed to go out at night like all my friends. And I could forget about dating—after what happened with Persephone, I’m sure Demeter would veto any kind of boy action. What fun is it being a half-blood if I’m not even allowed to be out and about using my powers? And speaking of powers, growing flowers isn’t the flashiest of magical abilities. If I wanted to be a gardener, I’d be a gardener.
With Aphrodite, the goddess of love and beauty, the perks are pretty obvious. If I were her daughter, I bet I would be so unspeakably beautiful boys would forget their own names. They would forget place and time all because of my pretty—no,
dazzling—face. That’s tempting. But then again, I wouldn’t want to be so wrapped up in my looks I didn’t care about anything else—Percy describes Aphrodite’s children as just sitting around admiring themselves and gossiping all day long. Physical perfection can be boring too.
And what if I didn’t turn out gorgeous like her? That can happen, you know. I might not inherit her beauty genes. I might turn out ugly, or worse—mediocre. That would be devastating. If Aphrodite were my mother, I bet she’d be one of those pageant moms who pressures her daughter to be physical perfection—tan skin and white teeth and bouncy blonde hair. If I didn’t live up to her expectations of what beauty looks like, she might not want to claim me as hers. She might even throw me off of Mount Olympus just like Hera did to Hephaestus.
But apart from the vanity factor, I don’t know that I’d want a mother who claims to hold love above all else, but then turns right around and treats her own husband so shabbily. She is cruel to Hephaestus, and she flouts her relationship with Ares in his poor homely face. Speaking of Ares, what does she see in him anyway? Even if she is the goddess of love, she doesn’t seem terribly wise about it. We’re talking about a woman who started the Trojan War over a golden apple. She seems a lot like those moms who stay with deadbeat dads, hanging around in a dead-end relationship. Wake up and smell the ambrosia, Aphrodite—your man Ares is a creep. Watching her hang out with that guy would get really frustrating, I’m sure. She’s a goddess, millions of years old; she should have outgrown that whole bad-boy complex by now.