Abusing Medusa

I was in a school play as a child. It must have been between the ages of about eight and ten, as I vividly remember the sports hall of my junior school, with it’s various, rainbow colours on the floor, cramming as may different playing pitches/courts on to a waxed floor as possible.

My big break into show business saw me cast as one third of the Graeae (aka the Grey Sisters) wearing a suitably dull dust sheet and acting my little black heart out. The sisters shared an eye and a tooth between them, passing each around as needed, and I proudly bellowed, across the sports hall.

“Give me the eye, so I may see him”

The eye in question was a large sponge sports ball, you know the ones, dirty yellow and with what alarmingly appeared to be bite marks taken out of it, by the more curious younger children of the school. It had a white, paper pupil and blue, crepe paper iris taped awkwardly to it by the teacher, overseeing the production. I heaved it above my head, with the overextension of a spirited drama school child, then spotted my Mum in the audience and waved. Breaking the fourth wall wasn’t cool back then, and so ended my acting career. But the story stayed with me.

Who was the dude I was eyeing? It was a kid called Darren, who was quite cool at school (if a little bit punchy when frustrated) wearing a bedsheet loin cloth and some fetching strappy sandals. Why are the Graeae interested in Darren, I hear you cry? Who is this hero Darren in ladies’ sandals? Well, he was playing Perseus, who as far as I can tell is far more famous than Darren has turned out to be (although I think he might have later robbed a local post office? I digress).

We were acting out the legend of Perseus, a half-god, who rescued his lover Andromeda from the Gorgon; Medusa. Now I am slightly biased because Darren’s Mum knew my Mum, and so I was rooting for Perseus. Who wouldn’t, he’s the hero of the story. He cunningly tricks the poor Grey Sisters into revealing the items that could kill Medusa, and famously lops her head off. Great stuff. I later learned as an adult that the Graeae were the sisters of the Gorgon’s, but the tragedy of accidentally betraying ones sister passed over my young head at the time. I can’t remember who actually played Medusa in the play, maybe she never really featured in it, and was possibly another yellow sponge ball with plastic snakes taped to it, and waved about on a broom stick. But it’s interesting that I don’t recall the villain, only the hero and a rather inconsequential trio of partially disabled witches. Medusa was a thing to be slain, conquered and had it been a pantomime production, booed.

True to form, I have an item of clothing with Medusa on it – not a t-shirt this time, but a hooded sweatshirt from SOS Clothing. It’s amazing how my wardrobe has unintentionally taken on my life story with each new purchase when I actually pay attention. She’s fearsome in the print, done in a traditional tattoo style, with snakes hissing around her face. I loved the green and red complementary colours and her beautiful face contrasting with the angry, danger noodles, and bought it immediately. There’s a subtle link I feel between Eve, and Medusa, both associated with these low-bellied, slippery serpents, tied to women’s punishment at the hands of a vengeful god. This drew me to her immediately, and I continue to be transfixed by religious and mythological depictions of women, symbolic and sinful, every time.

So let’s talk about this nebulous villain. Most sources you read will tell you that the Ovid poem described Medusa as a human woman, and politely state she had sex with Poseidon in a temple to Athena, who was unhappy they’d sullied her sacred sanctum, and turned Medusa into a Gorgon. Yep, you heard me, couple has sex in holy place, woman gets the rap for it. Sound familiar? Other sources are more impolite, and describe this tryst between the couple as rape. I mean, these male Gods are starting to get a reputation aren’t they. Once again, rape occurs and is described as sex, and the body carrying the trauma is female.

She’s not sounding so much like the villain anymore…

She’s hidden herself away following her punishment, snaky hair and all. Her gaze turning anyone who looks at her, to stone. I find a strange and sad poetry in this abused woman, surrounded by stone men, forming a wall around herself to protect herself from the live ones. More modern feminism uses Medusa’s image to symbolise female rage, and a figurehead to be feared. I see an anger in her eyes that you see in a cornered animal. I may be projecting here, but I don’t see her as vengeful anger, I see her as wounded anger. I see her stone works as acts of defense, not offense.

This brings me to the 2008 statue. I am not the first person to write about it, I’m not even the first blog to look at her and see myself reflected back, as it looking into the mirrored shield of Athena. But the side by side comparison of the classical statue of Perseus holding her head aloft, is a stark contrast to Medusa’s weary stance and understated posture. Perseus proudly hoists that scaled head up, much as I did the awful sponge ball eye, dressed in finery and celebrating a triumph.

Medusa, naked, allows the severed head of Perseus and her sword, to hang at her sides. I see a weary woman, tired of male aggressors, carrying out an act of violence in defeated defence of herself. There is no celebration, for there is no victory for her. I see resignation that more “heroes” will come, and that she will be forever vilified for defending herself. Doesn’t this feel so much like the “angry Feminist” rhetoric thrown at wounded women, exhausted by the daily ordeal of defending herself?

How keenly do I feel a wall of frozen bodies around me, thrown up to protect myself from one who has long since moved on in his myth. Who likely celebrated the victory over me and my body, and whose consequences I live with, wearily and angrily each day.

How strange it is to look back at that school play, and the irony of holding aloft a giant eye, but not really seeing what was there all along. How strange to find an affinity with the villain, and a sympathy for her plight. I didn’t understand the unfairness of her origins, and how even a couple of thousand years down the line, women carry the burden of sexual violence and take the punishment. It’s wondrous how the ideas of female aggression and anger are still vilified, and how angry women, in peaceful protest are dragged from their vigils by the police, and angry men in football shirts roam the streets at leisure. How little things change.

Medusa is no longer a villain, she’s become the hero of the story for me, and I wear her and her wounded anger with pride. I see her as a symbol of righteous anger and refusal to accept the narrative forced upon her, by men who wronged her. I won’t betray a sister, but fight to protect them, and in the process, myself, from those who violate my sanctuary and deign to call me the aggressor.