Zagreus’s Canon vs. Patroclus’s Delusion: How to Perfectly Adapt a Myth (2)

Another common gripe that I have with classical retellings is that their protagonists fall into either the archetype of the uninspiring narrator or the violence-justifying Mary Sue. No matter how good the rest of the worldbuilding is, a poorly-written protagonist can shatter any respect I have for the story. On the other hand, well-written protagonists can elevate the myth to engage new perspectives without dissociating the audience from their story, and that is exactly what Zagreus does for Hades.

Zagreus is more than a posterboy for the Supergiant Games. He’s a love letter to Ancient Greece. Not to wholly vilify the modern YA genre, but it does often feel incredibly one-dimensional. The sudden eruption of novels self-proclaiming to “decolonize” classical tales  has quickly oversaturated the industry. Books like Madeline Miller’s Circe and Natalie Naynes’s A Thousand Ships are taking over local Barnes & Noble YA sections by storm and infiltrating my TikTok brainrot feed with the #BookTok emblem. Under the title of “reimaginings,” they attempt to give voices to perspectives which were pushed to the margins of classical society in what seems more like a discrediting than a respectful challenging of classical authorship. 

As someone who is evidently not part of Vergil or Ovid’s target demographic, I believe that the classics field could greatly benefit from more marginalized perspectives. Without proper historical context, it’s easy to declare a myth misogynist or homophobic, which, in most cases, is not entirely true. Instead of capturing societal nuances, reimaginings tend to want to eliminate those problematic factors from their protagonists completely, creating an awkward juxtaposition between an oversimplified, classical-reminiscient premise and an overtly modern protagonist.

Though I hate to admit it, Madeline Miller’s The Song of Achilles is a prime example of a retelling that is guilty of this flaw. The acclaim of The Song of Achilles is no news to anyone, and as a fervent Trojan War and Patrochilles fanatic, I went into the book with high hopes. To my surprise, the lesser known Patroclus narrates TSoA, which recounts the entirety of his relationship with Achilles from their first meeting to Achilles’s death. Despite Patroclus being the narrator, though, Achilles takes on much of his central focus. The bloodthirsty, arrogant Achilles from the Iliad, now turned the Myrmidons’ #1 loyal boyfriend, capitalizes on Patroclus’s rose-tinted glasses. 

Mischaracterization aside, as a protagonist, Patroclus is unfathomably spineless. His character acts as a mere receptacle for his lover. In contrast to Achilles, the Homeric epics minimally develop Patroclus’s canon, which adds a degree of mysteriousness to his character that Madeline Miller could have taken strategic advantage of. Instead, he serves as a rather apathetic and easily forgiving narrator, whose only development occurs as a byproduct of Achilles’s story. If Patroclus is truly meant to foil Achilles as a symbol of humanity, why are they placed in such disproportionate roles? Where is the warrior from the Iliad who spars as Achilles’s equal? What are Patroclus’s goals separate from his inexplicable devotion to Achilles? In exchange for its romanticization of queer relationships, TSoA sacrifices the opportunity of a much more exciting commentary on the pre-existing theme of Greek masculinity in the Iliad.

On the other hand, TSoA strips Achilles of his incriminating attributes by altering his narrative in a way that fundamentally undermines his character. Achilles in the Iliad was a brutal, greedy killing machine with an insatiable appetite for sex and glory. He had no problem sleeping with the women whose villages he pillaged, including the maiden Briseis. He had a carnal ability for rage and arrogance. Reducing Achilles’s canon complexities into a stereotypical Mary Sue with a slightly stubborn self-esteem for his character to be more more stomachable by a modern audience is not only a slap in Homer’s face but a slap in the face to the existence of queerness in history. 

Where both Patroclus and Achilles’s canons are underutilized and oversimplified, Zagreus thrives. Supergiant Games had even less to go off in writing Zagreus than when Miller wrote Patroclus. Historically, Zagreus was worshipped next to Dionysus, suggesting that he may have been an early Orphic manifestation of the wine god before he was ripped up by the Titans and reborn as Dionysus. Some readings interpret him as an early Chthonic god and Hades’s alter ego while others identify him as the son of Hades and Persephone. Evidently, Supergiant Games went with the latter, but still managed to retain some of Dionysus’s witty charm. 

Zagreus and Madeline Miller’s Achilles share many heroic similarities. Both are strong, bloodthirsty, and charming, but whereas Miller tries to stifle those qualities which could blemish her hero’s white knight image, Supergiant Games’s creative director Greg Kasavin plays into Zagreus’s power fantasy, attributing his effortless physique and polyamorous tendencies to his godhood by virtue. Zagreus’s unquestioned bisexuality, furthermore, faithfully reflects Ancient Greek views on homoeroticism. I also love how Hades takes its time to fully develop Megaera and Thanatos outside of their relationship with Zagreus. Some of my favorite dialogues happen because of that.

Unlike other first-person POV games (or at least out of the ones that I’ve played), Zagreus isn’t a fill-in-the-space protagonist. You play as Zagreus, but before you even log into the game, Hades presents Zagreus with a pre-determined goal, personality, and unique set of values. Zagreus’s innate sass and godlike willpower is what defines him as a character. He approaches the most dire situations with calculated cheekiness. If you try to put him to bed, Zagreus will outright reject your choice. The lack of dialogue choices in the game further highlights Zagreus’s sovereignty over his identity. As players, we’re merely observing the hero’s journey. And there’s something very authentic and intimate about the space we’re given. 

Finally, I want to address the other elephant in the room: yes, Hades does have its own version of Patroclus and Achilles. For someone who spent so much time picking apart TSoA, you’d think that I would’ve talked about them eventually. I will eventually, but this article is about protagonists, and I also have way too much to say about how much I love Hades’s gutwrenching rendition of their love story to fit it into this post. #Patrochilles4ever!!!