Pat Barker
The Voyage Home by Pat Barker is the third installment of her multi-novel project on the Trojan war. In this novel, Barker turns her attention to Agamemnon’s return journey to Greece and its aftermath. The novel unfolds in two alternating threads—a first person narrative in the voice of Ritsa, a captured Trojan woman who serves as Cassandra’s handmaid; and a third person narrative that focuses on Clytemnestra and her revenge on Agamemnon for sacrificing their daughter, Iphigenia.
The novel opens with Ritsa and Cassandra as captured Trojan woman being shipped with Agamemnon to Mycenae. Ritsa describes the harrowing journey in vivid, sensory detail. Barker inhabits Ritsa’s interiority, and through Ritsa, we come to know Cassandra. Their relationship is fraught with ambiguity because, although Cassandra was once higher in status than Ritsa, now they find themselves inhabiting virtually the same status as spoils of war.
The alternating thread revolves around Clytemnestra as she prepares for her husband’s homecoming. She maintains a façade of welcoming his return while plotting her revenge. Clytemnestra has managed the kingdom during Agamemnon’s ten-year absence. She projects a calm and efficient exterior but is haunted by the death of Iphigenia and plagued with guilt for not saving her.
The novel’s strength lies in its depiction of the three female characters: Ritsa, Clytemnestra, and Cassandra. All three have been traumatized by war and all three are victims of male dominance. Each is depicted with a unique voice and perspective. And each tries to exercise agency in a world where women are routinely raped, victimized, and treated as pawns in male power plays.
Barker skillfully evokes atmosphere in both locations. The transport ship to Greece is described in vivid detail with its slippery ropes, creaky joints, cramped quarters, musty smells, damp atmosphere, and pungent stench. The palace in Mycenae is oppressive with its dark and gloomy winding hallways and hazardous stairs. To add to its sinister and menacing atmosphere, the palace of Atreus with its bloody-thirsty history is haunted by ghosts of children whose whispers can be heard and whose handprints are visible on the walls.
The novel strips war of whatever glory it ostensibly carries by depicting its returning warriors, especially Agamemnon, as sweaty, smelly, licentious men, haunted by their past deeds which they try to bury under a façade of ribaldry and partying. The women, traumatized by witnessing the murder of loved ones, the destruction of their homes, and their powerlessness against the onslaught of male sexual violence, epitomize the human cost of war. But the novel is not just about the Trojan war. Barker collapses the time separating the centuries of then and now by peppering her novel with contemporary vernacular to depict the deleterious impact of any war at any time and at any place.