Priam Quotes in The Silence of the Girls
What I came away with was a sense of Helen seizing control of her own story. She was so isolated in that city, so powerless—even at my age, I could see that—and those tapestries were a way of saying: I’m here. Me. A person, not just an object to be looked at and fought over.
The defeated go down in history and disappear, and their stories die with them.
He looked hollow, I thought. All that killing, all that revenge . . . Perhaps he’d managed to convince himself that if he did all that—killed Hector, defeated the Trojan army, broke Priam—Patroclus would keep his side of the bargain and stop being dead. We all try to make crazy deals with the gods, often without really knowing we’re doing it.
I do what no man before me has ever done, I kiss the hands of the man who killed my son.
These words echoed round me, as I stood in the storage hut, surrounded on all sides from the wealth Achilles had plundered from burning cities. I thought: And I do what countless women before me have been forced to do. I spread my legs for the man who killed my husband and brothers.
“You won’t do it.”
“He’s a guest.”
“Not invited.”
“No, but accepted.”
So this was no longer, straightforwardly, a meeting of owner and slave. There was an element of choice. Or was there? I don’t know[.]
Priam Quotes in The Silence of the Girls
What I came away with was a sense of Helen seizing control of her own story. She was so isolated in that city, so powerless—even at my age, I could see that—and those tapestries were a way of saying: I’m here. Me. A person, not just an object to be looked at and fought over.
The defeated go down in history and disappear, and their stories die with them.
He looked hollow, I thought. All that killing, all that revenge . . . Perhaps he’d managed to convince himself that if he did all that—killed Hector, defeated the Trojan army, broke Priam—Patroclus would keep his side of the bargain and stop being dead. We all try to make crazy deals with the gods, often without really knowing we’re doing it.
I do what no man before me has ever done, I kiss the hands of the man who killed my son.
These words echoed round me, as I stood in the storage hut, surrounded on all sides from the wealth Achilles had plundered from burning cities. I thought: And I do what countless women before me have been forced to do. I spread my legs for the man who killed my husband and brothers.
“You won’t do it.”
“He’s a guest.”
“Not invited.”
“No, but accepted.”
So this was no longer, straightforwardly, a meeting of owner and slave. There was an element of choice. Or was there? I don’t know[.]