A feminist retelling of the Medusa myth, set in a run-down, modern seaside town, Medusa Retold is filled with the magic and fury of the original tale. It was simultaneously antique with a creative twist, not entirely Greek-inspired art, but something wholly original too. The Greek myths are some of the most lasting tales—often because the stories contain themes that still ring true today as social metaphors—though, as Natalie Hayne’s novel Stone Blind observes, how much of the tales of great heroes are sanitized towards glory due to their status as victors over what we’ve been told are monsters.

This was different to other retellings, combining elements from classic versions of the myth and offering something unique too. I spoke in panic, worried that Argentus’ suspicion of this new arrival would drive him to his boat at any moment. She makes Perseus stay on the outside of the cave wall while they converse and ultimately get closer to each other. I don’t remember when I first saw that, but whenever I thought of Medusa, I thought of that image by Caravaggio.

Now, this isn't a case of me saying "the children are too much like children," I don't expect them to sound like adults. Therefore, this might not read as comprehensive or complex as similar retellings featuring strong female protagonists from the Greek myths. Higgins’s own volume is illustrated by the Turner prize-winning Chris Ofili, whose drawings are charming and airy, suggestive in spirit of Matisse’s pencil sketches.

But when you look into the sources, there’s just so little about her, who she was, and why she was turned into a monster or gorgon.Her prose are a bit too flowery, a bit too meandering when all I wanted was for the story to get to the point. Their relationship takes a tragic turn, however, when Medusa and Perseus reveal their true identities to one another. The reading of it was brilliant and interesting, loved the storyline, a character we all know getting to give her POV kept me hooked. Eighteen-year-old Medusa has been exiled to an isolated, rocky island by Athena, who cursed her and turned her hair into a crown of snakes after Poseidon raped her and desecrated Athena’s temple. It’s true of not just her own luminous, astute retellings, but also of Burton’s bracing and powerful Medusa.

I think this is another unfortunate case where perhaps the author had a word-count to hit, and just used repetitive speech to do so.

How due to a prophecy that his grandson will kill him, Danaë's father locked her in a room, preventing her from marrying. Cursed with the power to destroy all she loves with one look, Medusa condemns herself to a life of solitude. Her story of being cursed to be a monster with snakes for hair and causing people to turn to stone by looking at her as punishment from Athena for being raped in her temple by Poseidon makes me so very angry. Medusa's first-person voice is formally distant, hinting at her inner turmoil and experiences with misogynistic double standards.

Although I did find that the narrator talked a bit too slow for my liking so I did have to speed it up. This version of the story opens with Medusa living in exile on a remote island with her sisters and her dog.So a lot of the significant events in Medusa’s mythos don’t actually *happen* in this book - Medusa just talks about when they happened. With stunning, full-color illustrations and a first person narrative illuminating the fierce, vulnerable, determined girl behind the myth, this astonishing retelling is perfect for readers of Circe, and brings the story of Medusa to life for a new generation. Fierce and tender and full of heart; the reclamation of self that Medusa is owed, the version of the myth that deserves to be told, passed girl to girl, painted across walls and screamed from rooftops.