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orpheus-type-beat · 5 years

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Percy Jackson part 1

Confession time: I was a gigantic Percy Jackson and the Olympians fan as a kid, so this book is very nostalgic to me. I haven’t reread the series in a long time though, especially not the first book, so it’s very interesting to read this stuff again as an adult. I was struck with a couple of observations. First, It’s a pretty good book, which is a relief. I can defend my 11-14 year old self’s tastes, this is mostly a solid kids fantasy novel.

More relevantly, it’s very different in tone and in execution than Rick Riordan’s later books, especially his sequel series Heroes of Olympus. Those books bounce between different perspectives, and the whole thing is written in a close third person. Moreover, they are so caught up in the lore and the universe and the Percy Jackson formula that they, I feel, lost touch with something the original series had that made it feel special to me. Rereading the first book in the series, I think I have a better understand why.

Perspective

I’m a sucker for first person narration in novels, I’m realizing. Another one of my childhood favorites, the Animorphs series (shoutout to anyone who read those), was also written in this same sort of first person. Each book began with a very post-modern, “if you’re reading this it’s too late,” exposition machine that explained the premise of the series, who the important characters were, and set up the events of the book. The meta, post-modern framing device is never fully explained (why were the characters of the Animorphs, or Percy Jackson himself, writing any of this down?), but are used as a framing device to enhance suspension of disbelief, and to enable humor (through snarky asides).

This close first person, a sort of refined stream of consciousness that feels like a combination between a movie shot entirely in one characters’ POV and a letter written to a friend, is missing in the later Percy Jackson series, I think to its detriment. Not only does the first person narration makes sense in a Greek setting — it emphasises orality, putting this book in conversation with orally transmitted greek myths — it also enhances the series’ humor. A lot of the humor comes from Percy’s wisecracking during fightscenes, which gives the series an action-comedy feel. The comedic portrayal of many of the gods and supernatural beings adds to that, but much of the comedy comes from Percy’s reaction to events, not from the events themself. This enables the events to be able to be taken seriously while simultaneously being mocked and used for humorous purposes.

The first person perspective also differentiates this series, tonally and technically, from Harry Potter (which is a much more obvious influence in this first book: he goes to boarding school, has an abusive home life, and lives in the legacy of a mysterious parental figure). In many ways, this book reads like post-modern Harry Potter — the sense of wonder and fairy tale magic is replaced with humor and a system of magic that feels more logical and rule based. Stuff like the Mist, as an explanation for how the magic in the world remains hidden, and the fact that monsters explode into dust makes this an urban fantasy, akin to sci-fi as much as fantasy. Harry Potter, in contrast, is firmly rooted in fantasy.

The second Percy Jackson series moves to a close third person narration style, and while there are benefits to this (for example, there isn’t the need for the dream sequence exposition hack, and the series can accommodate diverse perspectives more directly) I think something tonally and structurally is lost. It loses the sense of orality, the primacy to the action and humor lent by a first person narrator with a “unbelievable true story” framing device. That blending of the border between fact and fiction is what myth accomplished in Greek times, and what the original Percy Jackson series accomplished for a lot of people, and surrendering that means surrendering something special.

Disability

I had forgotten what a big deal disability is in these books. The thread of all demigods being troubled kids with mental disabilities, specifically learning disabilities, is I think really interesting and radical. We still live in a world where mental illness is taboo, but some mental illness are less taboo than others. In particular, when people say “mental illness” they usually aren’t referring to all mental illness. Usually, they are referring to a subset of mental illnesses, issues like depression, various types of anxiety, bipolar disorder, borderline personality disorder, etc. — mood, personality, or anxiety disorders.

Of course, those illness are all still massively stigmatized, but all of those disorders tend to leave cleverness, speech, and some behavior intact. It’s easier to “pass,” in a sense, with those disorders, than it is with other mental illness. We can understand the troubled genius better than we can understand someone who is intellectually disabled.

That’s what makes the learning disability angle so interesting. In theory, these demigods aren’t troubled geniuses, they’re normal, unexceptional kids (discounting the water bending and sword fighting) who can’t read or write well, can’t focus, and don’t always succeed in the classroom. They aren’t brilliant, but fragile minds. They’re just C, D, and F students, with gifts that are incompatible with our school system’s expectations about the pace of learning and what achievement looks like.

These are the kind of kids we don’t tend to recognize as valuable, and worthy of being written about and made heroes. And if I remember Riordan’s impetus for writing this series was his son’s own struggles with learning disability: dyslexia and ADHD. But in the Heroes of Olympus series, this disability angle is really de-emphasized, and I think to its detriment. It loses the “it gets better” message and inclusivity to people who, even in narratives about mental illness, often get left out.

Myth Making

This brings me to the interesting ways this book is in conversation with Greek myth, and myth in general.

First of all, having all the demigods have dyslexia and ADHD is a clever inversion of the typical Greek hero’s childhood. Usually, Greek heroes were preternaturally gifted, succeeding in and out of school, and are immediately recognized as different and special. In this book, the heroes are recognized as different, but not as special, but as lesser than. This transform the Greek hero’s sense of inevitable destiny into an underdog story — one that works for modern audiences, the way a gifted noble’s path to glory worked for ancient ones. This reflects modern conceptions of democracy, and the mobility of class, that didn’t exist in ancient times (reminder that Athenian democracy was for rich, landowning men).

Second of all, there is a distinctly non-Christian concept of cycles at play in this book, and in this series. Threat to Zeus’ rule by Titans is thematically compatible with ancient Greek succession myths. And the bit about monsters turning into dust and then reforming eventually creates an overarching them of balance: the war between good and evil is eternal and constantly shifting. The best anyone can do is try to shift the balance, temporarily, in a positive direction. This makes all of the fun bits, like locating the modern Mount Olympus in New York City, having the gods adopt modern trends, work thematically as well as humorously. There an almost Eastern theme of yin and yang, which in all honesty is reflective of Eastern influence on the Greeks and Romans.

Thirdly, Rick Riordan has one mode, it’s just the Odyssey, and that’s fine. The road-trip rompy with constantly shifting objectives leading up to some climax that reveals itself to have been behind the scenes all along is a classic narrative structure that is very ancient Greek, and so works in a story so deeply in conversation with ancient Greek myths.

Conclusion

Finally, by way of conclusion, the thing that makes this first Percy Jackson book/series work, and interesting in conversation with fantasy, myth, and stories about heroes, is one of its central themes: the deification of humanity. The gods in this universe are static, comic figures. Humans are the ones that are able to change things — that’s why the gods love them, and keep making demigods all the time — and humans are the ones, in the series, that are capable of real good and real evil.

(Semi spoiler alert) In the last book, it is the human capacity for love, sacrifice, and good that saves the day, and produces positive change in the world. The gods are powerful and eternal, but the real source of beauty in the world is humanity, in its capacity for change, rebirth, and renewal. Gods get bored, get cynical, get complacent. They decay, eternal and unmoving. In contrast, humans die and new ones are born, and to them the cyclic war between good and evil remains fresh. Humanity can continually change without movement or exhaustion, constantly relearning the same lessons and experiencing the same joys and sorrows afresh. Gods, locked in a cycle, go around once and are bored and numbed forever, while the human experience stays continually vital and alive.

That’s why this series, despite being so rooted in Greek myth and fantasy, feels so modern and sci-fi influenced (as a huge sci-fi fan, that’s probably why I like it so much), and why this story — despite its post-modern trappings — reaches for sincerity. Gods, in the Percy Jackson universe, can’t survive on their own. They are immortal, but they can grow tired. They can be broken by endless living, and fade away. The gods rely on people to break up the monotony, to remember them and keep them alive: humans are the source of life in this universe.

(real spoiler alert). The series ends with Percy being offered godhood, immortality, which he rejects. That’s the thematic conclusion to the entire series, and its significant. Besides true love or whatever, the reason Percy rejects immortality is that he realizes that to live and die, taking part in the cycle, is more meaningful than eternal life. Becoming a god would mean forfeiting that meaning. This is a series about gods and monsters and nymphs, but the real magic in this world is humanity.

Our magic is thus: unlike the gods, as time streams past, we remain untouched by eternity. And I’d argue, like this series does, that that’s real immortality.

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