In The Hymn to Dionysus, Natasha Pulley breathes heady, hallucinatory life into ancient myth, reworking the tale of Dionysus with eerie elegance and quiet political fury. Known for her signature fusion of genre-bending fantasy and rich historical landscapes (The Watchmaker of Filigree Street, The Kingdoms), Pulley returns with a novel that balances emotional intimacy with god-level stakes.
Set against the gleaming marble of Thebes and the rough salt air of sea voyages, the novel doesn’t simply retell myth—it inhabits it. Through the eyes of Phaidros, a soldier-savant with PTSD, stubborn loyalty, and inconvenient tenderness, Pulley explores madness, memory, and the divine’s tendency to disguise itself as a boy with blue eyes and a sense of mischief.
Plot Overview: The Baby in the Storm
At the center is Phaidros, born and bred in the Theban frontline legion, trained to obey before he could speak. When a routine return to Thebes spirals into a tragedy wrapped in political intrigue and celestial meddling, Phaidros stumbles upon a baby—rescued from a storm of divine fire, left to die, and perhaps born of a god.
That baby, years later, may be the strange, seductive figure called Dionysus—though whether he is man, witch, god, or all three depends on the eye of the beholder. Pulley teases us with myth and mystery: riots follow Dionysus, minds unravel, and across Thebes and its empire, madness seems to bloom like poppies.
Meanwhile, Phaidros trains young soldiers and grapples with his fraying psyche. He’s caught between loyalty to a crumbling regime and the elusive presence of Dionysus, who offers escape—or transformation. As their paths cross and recross, Pulley sculpts a story that is both a slow-burning mystery and an aching queer love story set under the heavy gaze of gods.
Character Deep Dive: Broken Men, Beautiful Gods
Phaidros
As a narrator, Phaidros is not just engaging—he’s addictive. His voice is dry, wounded, and often unexpectedly funny. There’s a kind of knightly rigor to his storytelling: he wants to tell it straight, “without faffing around,” but trauma, myth, and affection leak through the cracks.
A survivor of both war and politics, Phaidros is no hero in shining armor. He’s scarred, angry, confused, and often afraid. But in his fear, there’s immense humanity. His battle with panic attacks, dissociation, and intrusive memory is tenderly rendered—Pulley never pathologizes him but lets us feel his fractures.
Dionysus
The Hymn to Dionysus is not your toga-clad, grapes-in-hand Bacchus. Pulley’s Dionysus is subtle, simmering, and slightly dislocated from reality. He’s charismatic, yes, but also deeply strange. His childlike joy and cryptic insights are both enchanting and unsettling. We’re never quite sure if he’s leading us toward freedom or chaos—and that’s precisely Pulley’s triumph.
Dionysus isn’t the center of every scene, but his presence haunts the pages. Like the god himself, he emerges through shadow, seduction, and sudden flashes of rage and clarity. His love story with Phaidros is quiet, burning, and devastatingly human.
Supporting Cast
- Helios, the trickster-commander and Phaidros’s father figure, is as memorable for his warmth as for the choices that scar them both.
- Agave, the queen whose political calculus has brutal consequences, is a standout.
- Even unnamed veterans and street vendors feel fully alive in Pulley’s hands. This is a world brimming with souls.
Themes: Madness, Memory, and Myth as Resistance
1. Madness as a Mirror
Pulley doesn’t use madness as metaphor but as reality. Veterans return broken. Phaidros cannot breathe. People forget where they are. This isn’t divine punishment—it’s a symptom of a world cracking under its own violence. Dionysus doesn’t cause madness; he reveals it.
2. Gods and Governance
Through Thebes, Pulley offers a thinly-veiled critique of empire, nationalism, and divine right. Soldiers are tools, cities burn, and even sacred children are expendable. Dionysus, the god born of fire and secrecy, becomes a symbol of what the system fears most: joy without control.
3. Found Family and Queer Kinship
Pulley excels at portraying love that defies categorization. The bond between Helios and Phaidros, though not biological, is as profound as any blood tie. The romance between Phaidros and Dionysus simmers with consent, care, and contradiction. It’s not just love—it’s survival.
Writing Style: Myth Meets Machinery
Natasha Pulley’s prose is elegant without being precious, incisive without cruelty. She writes like a watchmaker: intricate, deliberate, and full of wonder.
Her use of first-person narration—specifically Phaidros’s voice—is a masterstroke. It carries trauma and wit in equal measure, and her control over tone is exquisite. In one paragraph, we move from battle trauma to absurd humor. It’s deeply reminiscent of her previous works, but there’s more restraint here, more purpose.
She never overindulges in lyricism. Instead, magic leaks through the edges—marvels that bow, statues that move, horses that choose you. This restraint makes the mythical feel real, and the real feel unsteady.
Strengths: What Pulley Gets Perfectly Right
- Atmosphere:
- Rain-smoked palaces, war-scarred beaches, hallucinatory temples—each setting thrums with emotional texture.
- Dialogue:
- Witty, sharp, characterful. Conversations feel lived, not written.
- Myth Retelling with Purpose:
- This is no paint-by-numbers. Pulley uses myth not as backdrop but as blueprint, subverting and enriching it.
- Queer Representation:
- Thoughtfully rendered, never tokenistic. Love here is complicated and hard-won.
- Psychological Depth:
- PTSD, disassociation, grief—all handled with empathy and accuracy.
Shortcomings: Where the Hymn Falters
Despite its many strengths, The Hymn to Dionysus isn’t without its flaws.
Pacing Lags in Midsections
Some chapters meander, especially as Phaidros’s dissociation deepens. Though thematically fitting, the narrative loses tension for stretches. It may frustrate readers craving a swifter plot progression.Dionysus as an Enigma (Sometimes Too Much)
The god remains elusive even late into the novel. While that ambiguity is part of the allure, some may find it emotionally distancing, especially if seeking a more conventional romantic arc.Requires Knowledge or Patience
Pulley’s subtle references to myth, history, and magic mechanics aren’t always explained. Readers unfamiliar with Greek mythology may need to pause or Google. Others will find this challenge deeply rewarding.
Similar Reads: For Fans of…
- The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller – for myth retellings with poetic heartbreak
- Orphia and Eurydicius by Elyse John – for queerness woven into classical myth
- Circe by Madeline Miller – for stories of gods who are human, and humans who become gods
- Psyche and Eros by Luna McNamara – for romantic mythological retellings
- The Watchmaker of Filigree Street by Natasha Pulley – for those who want more Pulley magic
Final Verdict: A God Worth Following?
The Hymn to Dionysus is a rich, challenging, and deeply humane retelling that rewards patient readers and lovers of lyrical, myth-infused fiction. It is not a fast book, nor an easy one—but it’s a necessary one. Pulley doesn’t ask us to believe in gods. She asks us to look at what happens when humans try to live without them—and what it means when one appears among us with a flower in his hand and madness in his eyes.
Recommended for:
- Readers who love myth retellings with teeth
- Fans of character-driven queer fiction
- Lovers of fantasy that feels grounded in history and psychological truth
- Those craving depth, not speed; intimacy, not spectacle
If you’re seeking a retelling that doesn’t just remember myth but reclaims it—The Hymn to Dionysus is your next sacred scroll. Read it slowly. Let it possess you.
